by Gina LaManna
As gently as possible, Lulu reached for the novel and removed it from her sleeping husband’s chest. She felt tenderly loving toward him, almost more of a fondness than a love, and she realized her spark for Pierce had faded into something else, something new. A level of comfort she hadn’t obtained with any of her past relationships.
It was with tears in her eyes that Lulu realized Anderson right: she was deeply, madly, truly in love with Pierce Banks.
Twelve
Detective Ramone: Ms. Brown, please tell me about Lulu Franc. You met her the night of August 16? That would be your first night at the resort.
Emily Brown: I know which date I arrived at the resort.
Detective Ramone: I understand you met Lulu at the lobby bar?
Emily Brown: Yes, I did.
Detective Ramone: I understand the two of you grew close over your stay at the spa.
Emily Brown: I suppose you could say that. As close as two strangers can get over the course of a couple of days.
Detective Ramone: What did you discuss?
Emily Brown: The well-known fact that men are assholes.
Detective Ramone: I see. Did Lulu mention anything about her husband?
Emily Brown: She said she loved him.
Detective Ramone: What else do you remember from that night?
Emily Brown: Not a whole lot, seeing as I was at least a bottle of champagne in when I got to the bar, and I didn’t stop there. Can you get to the point?
Detective Ramone: Ms. Brown, Lulu admitted responsibility for a man’s death this evening. Here’s a photograph. Do you recognize him?
Emily Brown: Well, she can’t have killed this man.
Detective Ramone: Why not?
Emily Brown: Because that’s the man I shot.
Detective Ramone: You’re admitting to shooting and killing this man? Did you have help from Lulu?
Emily Brown: No, I was alone with him under the pergola when it happened.
Detective Ramone: Then why would Lulu confess to killing this man?
Emily Brown: I don’t know, Detective. All I know is that it’s impossible for a man to die twice.
* * *
Emily waited a respectful amount of time for Lulu to disappear into the elevator before she sidled over to Sydney. “Your arms must be killing you. I’ve been around children quite a bit; I was a preschool teacher for some time before I got a job in marketing,” she said. “You’ve been standing for hours. Would you like me to take Lydia again?”
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Sydney blinked in surprise. “I don’t mean to be foisting my baby onto you all evening. This is supposed to be your vacation.”
Emily couldn’t think of anything she wanted more than to hold Lydia to her chest and imagine that, for a moment, Lydia belonged to her. But if she said any such thing aloud, if she even thought about it too obviously, she’d sound like a psychopath, and any good mother would never let Emily near her child again.
So instead, Emily said, “Oh, I don’t mind a bit. Have a bite to eat. You are so thin.”
Sydney wrinkled her nose. “Well, it’s not as if I can compete with Kate’s body. When she walked into the resort, I was convinced she was a celebrity.”
“Get used to it,” Emily said, single-mindedly focused on the baby. Now that she was this close to Lydia, it had become more than a fascination. A sort of addiction, like a vampire’s thirst for blood. “Kate has been perfect since I met her in college. Some things never change.”
Kate was ordering another bottle of champagne from the bar—for whom, Emily had no clue. Emily had switched from booze to water an hour ago when she realized Ginger was giving her an odd, pitiful sort of look. Emily knew how to manage, how to abstain, how to blend in, and she’d decided that holding this baby and feeling something again was far more important than blacking out her past.
Emily surveyed Kate too. She had the lean, muscular look of someone who paid big bucks for trainers and gyms and equipment. Then, she looked over to Sydney who had the scrappy, thin look of someone who’d lost weight to stress and lack of proper nutrients. Emily had never been thin, nor had she particularly had a problem with her body size or weight, but she knew it was a rare thing for a woman to be comfortable in her own skin. The thing was, Emily had much bigger problems than a number on a scale.
“I don’t know that you need to look like anyone else,” Emily said to Sydney. “I think you look great. Plus, you need to be kinder to yourself—you just had a baby, and you’re going the road alone. I think that makes you pretty damn strong. Here, let me get Lydia for you.”
“Wow, that’s really nice of you to say.” Sydney stretched, maneuvered her arms so that Lydia blinked sleepy eyes and settled, then passed her to Emily. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”
For some reason, the gratefulness in Sydney’s voice combined with the weight of the baby sent pings of feeling to Emily’s heart. It’d been so long since she’d dared step foot in the same room as a baby without babbling some excuse and backing away. She wasn’t sure what had come over her tonight, but something had changed. Everything had changed. Nothing had changed. She wasn’t entirely sure which.
Yet with a fierce longing for Lydia, and a blackened hate for her own destroyed life, she suddenly blamed him.
The fury was overwhelming, and Emily trembled as she tightly curled the small child to her chest. A wave of annoyance washed over her as she heard Ginger complaining about something her children had done on the flight to California.
At least you have children you can complain about! Emily wanted to scream. But it was Emily’s fault for not coming clean with the truth. When Lulu had mentioned Emily not wanting children, it had stung.
You have it all wrong, Emily wanted to tell her. How could she ever want another child after what had happened to Julia? It would be disrespectful to her memory. Emily hadn’t been strong enough to save her first daughter—she didn’t deserve to have a second chance.
However, she’d kept her mouth shut and nodded, and now the women thought she was purposefully child-free. She’d felt too guilty to contradict Lulu, as if her desires were a dirty little secret. As if she’d be betraying Lulu by voicing her true feelings.
Emily protectively curled Lydia closer to her chest, wishing she could slip away with the baby for a private, cozy little feeding. With a start, Emily realized her baby would be almost the same age as Ginger’s oldest. Julia wouldn’t need feedings anymore; she’d make herself a sandwich or go out to eat like other teenagers.
The thought jolted Emily with surprise. She’d never thought of her daughter as someone who might’ve grown up; Julia was forever a baby imprinted in Emily’s mind, but that wouldn’t have been true. Emily should be worrying about her teenage daughter counting calories and talking to boys and demanding social media when Emily thought she was much too young for that nonsense, but no. Ginger had all that and still couldn’t manage to be grateful, while Emily, once again, was empty.
“Hey, maybe I can get a little snuggle?” Kate took a few tipsy steps toward the baby. “She is the sweetest thing, Syd. My God, she’s an angel.”
No! Emily shrieked in her head. Get away! Trying to control the irrational curl of anger that’d snapped in her stomach, Emily sidestepped the question and said instead, “But I just got her, and she really does smell divine. I can’t get enough of the baby scent.”
“I shouldn’t hold her actually. I’ve dined on a bit too much champagne, but maybe I can have a sniff.” Kate leaned a little closer, took an exaggerated inhalation, and grinned. “Seriously delicious. I could gobble her right up. Maybe a snuggle tomorrow?”
“Of course,” Sydney said, looking up at Kate in awe. “Speaking of tomorrow, I hate to cut the party short, but I really need to get this little miss to bed. Thank you all for your help.”
Emily felt
the life drain out of her as Sydney finished her goodbyes and turned expectantly toward her. Emily lingered a touch longer than necessary with the baby, knowing Ginger’s eyes were fixed on the exchange, yet unable to muster the energy to care. When Sydney held her arms out, Emily reluctantly handed Lydia back.
“Well, I think I’m a bit too tipsy to find my room,” Kate said with a laugh. “I’m going to stroll outside, grab a coffee—stretch my legs for a bit.” She glanced down at her watch. “Damn, it’s after midnight. Does anyone remember when the juice bar closes? I really could use some fresh coconut water or the bags under my eyes will be horrendous tomorrow.”
“There’s a market open all night to the left of the doors,” Sydney said. “I don’t think they’ll have fresh juice, but they’ll have water and other things. I’ll walk you there if you like—it’ll only take a minute.”
“Perfect,” Kate said. “Shall we?”
“I should go check on my family and turn in for the night,” Ginger said, her eyes quickly flicking toward Emily. “It’s been great talking to you all.”
Emily realized everyone was looking at her. She’d been so dead focused on the child that she’d already pushed the women to the back of her mind. “Right! I’m headed to bed too. Long day.”
Sydney waggled her eyebrows. “I’ll say.”
Kate snorted with laughter. Even her snort was somehow ladylike and adorable. Not fair, Emily thought. If Emily snorted, she’d sound like an asthmatic horse.
She gave them each a good-natured smile, but anyone watching closely would have seen it wasn’t genuine. The ache persisted in her gut. The wave of tears that’d built up in her chest pressed to come out, to wash over her like Niagara Falls.
Why couldn’t Emily have picked a perfectly acceptable time to cry and defuse this mess? Last night when she’d been alone in the shower. This morning when she’d been too hungover to get out of bed. In the bathroom on the airplane after Henry had left her alone. This, here, was a horribly awful time to feel the urge to cry.
“I’m exhausted,” Emily assured the group. “Thanks for the drinks, Kate.”
“Thank Max,” Kate shouted happily over her shoulder. “See you for the massage tomorrow?”
“Yep.” Emily agreed before she could talk herself out of it. Whatever it took to get out of there. She suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of one more look at Lydia tucked snugly against her mother’s chest or Ginger’s eyes watching her with a brutal intensity, filled with judgment for things she knew nothing about.
Emily ascended in the elevator, well aware the time was much past polite calling hours. However, nothing about her relationship with Henry Anonymous had been polite. So, she marched right up to his door and knocked.
The door opened to reveal Henry Anonymous standing there in his jeans, almost as if he’d been expecting her. He had no shirt on and his stomach was a tanned, glorious six-pack. (Eight-pack? Was that possible?) His physique was incredible, but it was the look in his eyes that fired into Emily.
“I don’t want to be alone,” she whispered, and the tears began to fall.
Henry Anonymous watched her through cautious eyes.
Then he opened the door wider.
* * *
Detective Ramone: Ms. DeBleu, I’d like to understand more about the rift between Ginger and Emily. How is it relevant when all this happened over a decade ago?
Whitney DeBleu: That’s such a man thing to say, no offense, Detective. There’s a certain code of conduct between women, between friends. See, when all this happened, Ginger and Frank were still recently broken up. Best friends aren’t supposed to date each other’s ex. They just aren’t.
Detective Ramone: Isn’t Ginger married to Frank?
Whitney DeBleu: She is now. But back in college, they took a break. Emily was also freshly out of a relationship with this guy she really liked—Daniel. Emily swore he was the one, so she was heartbroken when he broke things off.
Detective Ramone: So, then, Emily dated Frank?
Whitney DeBleu: Not exactly. They got all hot and heavy one night after a few bottles of wine. When Ginger came home, she found them on the couch. I wasn’t there, but I hear Emily had her shirt off and Frank could barely see straight… Suffice it to say, it didn’t look good. But I seriously don’t think it meant anything. After all, Frank had come over to win Ginger back.
Detective Ramone: It doesn’t seem like his plan worked.
Whitney DeBleu: It’s no wonder you made detective.
Detective Ramone: What happened after that night?
Whitney DeBleu: Ginger and Emily’s friendship fizzled after that evening, but I don’t think it was long before Ginger went back to Frank. I think it shocked her to see him with someone else and spurred her to get back together with him. Ironically, I think Emily ended up back with Daniel too. In a way, maybe it was a good thing this all happened. But what do I know?
Detective Ramone: You mentioned earlier that you don’t keep in close contact with your college friends anymore. If that’s true, why did you invite them to your wedding?
Whitney DeBleu: Because they were my best friends for several years! And when I floated the idea to Kate—we still text now and again—she agreed it would be fun to get together. After all, college was so long ago. Things all shook out how they were supposed to. Ginger is married to the love of her life with three great kids. Emily is a preschool teacher in Chicago—or at least she was when I last asked. Kate is Miss Megabucks out in New York. I thought it would be a fun reunion. I mean, I never thought it would kill anyone.
Thirteen
“Here we are.” Sydney came to a stop in front of a small market that doubled as a gift shop and smiled up at Kate. “Will this work?”
“It will do the trick.” Kate spotted a refrigerator in the back that likely housed overpriced bottles of water, soda, and other snacks. “Do you need anything while we’re here?”
“No, I’m good.”
However, when Sydney didn’t make a move to head back inside the resort, Kate surveyed the young woman—hip bones jutting out beneath a pair of ill-fitting jeans—and was struck by their peculiar new friendship. It was odd how Sydney had eased into a group of much older women solely because she had a child. Without Lydia on her hip, Sydney would be just another young twentysomething enjoying the spoils of an unworried youth.
Kate didn’t envy Sydney’s youth; she cherished her lifestyle of luxury, along with the respect she’d garnered from a highly successful career. But a hint of jealousy was still there, hidden behind Kate’s expensive foundation and overpriced antiaging creams—because this young woman had a child, and all the money in the world couldn’t buy Kate that gift.
“Oh, I’ll wait with you,” Sydney said at Kate’s expectant stare. “I’m not in any particular rush, and it’s not like I’ve had a ton of adult interaction recently. I can’t afford to do a whole lot without a salary, so…” She shrugged. “What are you gonna do?”
Sydney said the last phrase in a deep imitation of Tony Soprano that made Kate laugh. It felt good. Kate hadn’t realized it before, but her relationship with Max had begun to morph over the last year and a half, ever since she’d realized they were going to have an uphill battle trying to conceive. There’d been less laughter, less silliness, less frivolity. Kate wasn’t a frivolous person by nature, but she appreciated a witty joke here and there.
When she thought back now, there hadn’t been much in the way of humor between her and Max for the past several months—there’d been the exchange of schedules (weekly and on Sunday evenings), polite niceties when they’d been in good moods and biting snips when cross, and the dreaded ovulation updates. They’d become business partners with sex on the side. How dreadfully unromantic.
“Kate?” Sydney asked. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah, sorry. Can I at least hold something for you?�
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“Oh, I don’t need help—”
“Give me that,” Kate said, beckoning toward the baby bag. Even a bit drunk, she knew how to take charge. “Your arms are full. Don’t be silly.”
“You must think I’m such a mess.” Sydney shook her head after foisting the diaper bag over to Kate. (A horrific hand-me-down from Goodwill, Kate noted.) “I can’t afford anything, I keep my baby out until all hours of the night, and I let strangers help me do everything.”
“Of course not,” Kate said, pushing away the guilty, fleeting thoughts that’d flashed through her brain. (I can afford nice things! I can manage a schedule and bedtimes and bath times. I can stick to a routine and afford professional help!) “I think you’re a wonderful mother. It’s clear you love your daughter more than I can probably understand.”
“I do love her. You know, you’d make a great mother,” Sydney said almost wistfully. “You’d have your baby dressed in the trendiest clothes, and you probably wouldn’t have spit-up in your hair, and you’d be back at the gym miraculously quickly.” She gave a hoarse laugh. “The opposite of me. I’m sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?” Kate hoisted the bag onto her shoulder. She often wondered why mothers as a general group tended to offer apologies for things out of their control. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know, it’s…” Sydney heaved a huge sigh. “It feels like I’m not doing right by Lydia. I’m not organized, nor am I particularly prepared. It feels like I don’t deserve her. I don’t have this high-flying job, or even a husband. Er—” Her face turned red. “Not that a woman needs a husband to be complete.”
Kate let the comment slide past and feigned interest in the kitschy, manufactured little market. It’d been lit with twinkling lights, noxious candles, and loud sweatshirts in desert shades of neon pink and painful yellow, with a backdrop of soothing music piped through the surround-sound speakers. Kate felt crowded with the fake, overpriced tacky bundles of junk.