All of a sudden, Lily finds it difficult to breathe. She needs a pill as soon as possible. There’s no way in the world she can survive today without the placid river those pills send her down.
“Why?” he asks.
For a split second, a ridiculous thought races through her mind: maybe Cody really is doing drugs (even though Roger told her he’d denied it) and, if so, maybe she can ask him if he has any extra oxy lying around? But that’s nuts! She can’t ask her stepson for drugs. Roger would never forgive her, and even Lily will admit it’s not exactly a stellar example to be setting for her stepson.
“Oh, it’s nothing. No big deal. My back was hurting a little. Too much heavy lifting, I guess, before the party. I’ll manage. I’ll pop an Advil or something.”
She hops off the bed, suddenly focused on only one thing: finding more oxycodone. No way can she be expected to be the life of the party, the hostess with the mostess, without a magical pill to point the way. She grabs her phone and heads downstairs to greet Donna and pour herself a generous cup of coffee.
“Good morning!” Donna is dressed in a crisp white shirt, black pants, and a black apron, and radiates pure enthusiasm. She hands Lily a cup of coffee, which she gratefully accepts. “Splash of milk and two sugars, right?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“So, are you ready for the big day?” Donna busily arranges dainty quiches on a tray. “It stinks that it’s raining right now, but I checked the forecast and this whole front is supposed to move out by ten thirty or so. That should give us plenty of time to finish setting up. Fortunately, the tent kept the tables and chairs dry. That was a good idea by you.”
Lily nods and sips her coffee, gazing out on the dreary, rain-sodden backyard. Even the white tent stands abjectly in what can only be described as a downpour at the moment. Lily appreciates Donna’s optimism, especially when she can barely muster the energy for anything beyond drinking her coffee. She has to figure out a way to get a few more painkillers.
“If you’ll excuse me for a minute?”
“Go, go,” urges Donna. “I’ll handle everything. That’s what you’re paying me for!”
In the family room Lily flops onto the couch and waits for her phone to come to life. She texts Haley. Hiya pal! Sorry to bug you but I’m fresh out of you know what. Happen to have any more on you? It’s an emergency. Graduation party at our house today!!
Seconds later, Haley has typed back. Oh, no! Wish I could help, but we’re out of town this weekend. Have you tried Antonio?
She reads the message twice. Has she tried Antonio? No, she hasn’t tried Antonio because to do so would be to join the ranks of the addicts who seek him out regularly for a fix. Lily is decidedly not one of those people. But then again, if Haley recommends him, he can’t be all that bad, can he? What harm can it do for one little weekend? Maybe housewives all over town are hitting him up for a little extra something to take the edge off, just like housewives of the 1950s used to pump themselves full of amphetamines. Is this the big, dark secret that no one talks about at book club or in line at the grocery store? The thought hits her like a sledgehammer. Maybe Lily’s valiant efforts to keep this all a secret is for naught. Maybe there’s no shame associated with a little pop of oxy these days. If it’s what everyone else is doing...
She climbs back upstairs to her bedroom and pulls out the slip of paper buried beneath her socks in her top bureau drawer. Roger’s voice floats out from the shower, singing. She goes into her closet, flips on the light, and punches in the number on her cell. After two rings, she hears a voice. “Hello?”
“Hi, um, is this Antonio?” she asks and takes the leap.
* * *
Minutes later, she is grabbing her car keys from the ceramic bowl and heading out the door. “I’ll be right back,” she calls out to Donna. Roger is still upstairs in the shower. She’ll be home before he even notices she’s missing. “Forgot one little thing.” Donna waves. She’s too busy counting how many canapés will fit on a silver tray to notice.
The route Lily takes to the parking lot behind the elementary school winds through town. The hypocrisy of getting drugs anywhere near a school occurs to her, but she honestly doesn’t care at the moment. If she can just get her hands on a few more pills, she’ll be fine. She double-checks her wallet at the stoplight. Five hundred dollars. Ordinarily, her wallet isn’t nearly so flush with cash, but she dropped by the ATM yesterday in order to be prepared for the long weekend. Is five hundred enough? Lily has no idea how much it will cost. She’s never paid for drugs on the street before! Will Antonio want fifty dollars? A hundred dollars? More than she can afford? She realizes she should have asked him before she hung up the phone but she was so nervous, all she could say was that Haley told her to call.
“Yeah? Okay, well anyone who’s good with my lady Haley is good with me. How many do you want?”
“Um,” Lily hesitated. “Maybe fifteen pills?”
“Lady, are you sure that’s gonna be enough?”
Lily had already done the quick math in her head. If she figured on up to six pills per day, that would get her through the remainder of the weekend easily. “Yeah, that’s more than enough,” she said. She’d forgotten to ask if they were talking about oxycodone, but what else could it be? That’s why Haley had given her Antonio’s number in the first place, wasn’t it?
“See you behind Memorial in twenty minutes.”
“Memorial? As in the school? The elementary school?” She felt like such a neophyte but she had to be clear.
“Yeah, where else? Later.” And the line went dead.
So now Lily travels along back roads to the school in case someone might be following her. She’s acting a little paranoid, she knows, but she’s never done this before. It takes her fifteen minutes to get there when it should only take five. She circles the Jeep in front of the building and then heads around back, where the playground and the tennis courts are. On the drive over, the sky has begun to clear so that it looks curtained, one side dark and gloomy, the other brightening and blue. Maybe it’s a sign that her luck is changing.
When she pulls up, a gray Mini Cooper waits in the lot. Is she supposed to park next to it or hover a safe distance away? She decides to park a few spaces over in case it’s not Antonio. When she turns off the car, she glances over at the Mini Cooper and spies a young woman sitting behind the wheel. Not Antonio. Lily slumps in her seat, hiding behind her largest sunglasses. Within minutes, the girl, probably around seventeen with ombré-tinted hair, climbs out of the car and heads toward her. Lily panics. This isn’t Antonio. Could this woman be an undercover cop about to bust her? Her palms are sweating, the back of her neck prickling. The girl gestures for her to roll down her window.
“Can I help you?” Lily asks innocently.
“That depends. Are you Alicia?”
Lily nods. It’s the name she gave Antonio.
“You called Antonio?”
She nods again, still unable to speak. What if this girl is wearing a wire? Lily has been watching too many television shows.
“Okay, good. Well, I’ve got something for you, if you’ve got something for me.”
“Where’s Antonio?” Her voice sounds like a horse’s whinny. She’s so nervous she thinks she might throw up.
The girl throws her head back and laughs. “You thought you were going to meet Antonio? My papi?” She’s amused by this for some reason. “No one gets to meet Antonio. He takes the calls. I do the deliveries. So do you have something for me or not?”
Lily lets this information settle for a minute. This Antonio guy pimps out his daughter to sell drugs? This is where Haley has sent her? She’s equally horrified and desperate, but desperation wins out in the end. “Um, yeah, how much?”
“Antonio said you wanted fifteen pills. So, that’s four hundred.”
“Oh, wow. I didn’t realize it was t
hat much. Maybe I don’t need so many? It’s just for a little back pain I’m having.” She finds herself spinning a web of lies for this complete stranger.
“Like I said, my papi’s expecting four hundred dollars. It’s a good deal, lady. I’d take it, if I were you.”
Lily hesitates. Does she really want to negotiate with this girl and, by extension, with Antonio? Torture scenes dart across her mind—fingernails being ripped out, eyeteeth removed with a set of pliers. She’s probably better off accepting whatever is offered and getting the heck out of here. “Of course,” she says finally and counts out four hundred dollars from the bills in her wallet and hands them over.
The girl takes the money, stuffs it in her coat pocket, then reaches into her other pocket for a brown paper bag, which she passes through the window to Lily.
“Thanks.” Lily doesn’t know what else to say.
“Thank you. Have a nice day.” Lily watches the girl return to her car, get in, and drive away, as if she has performed this little ritual dozens of times—and she probably has. Her hands shake when she opens the bag and pulls out the bottle. In place of a prescription label, there’s a white sticker with the words oxy, 15 tablets scribbled across it. Otherwise, it looks like a regular bottle she’d pick up at the pharmacy. She unscrews the lid, examines the pill (which happily resembles the ones she’s been taking, except these are pink, not yellow) and throws it back with a swig from her water bottle. She allows herself a moment to breathe and waits until her hands cease shaking. Then she starts the car and heads home.
SIXTEEN
Saturday afternoon, 12:30 p.m.
Sometimes when Dawn feels worried or depressed, she’ll play the At Least game. Joel got them started on it years ago whenever they would complain about something trivial, like their ten o’clock curfew or the lack of sugarcoated cereals in the cupboard. Well, at least you’re not homeless, he’d say. At least you’re not a starving child in Africa. At least you’re loved. It always struck her as trite, a dumb distraction, but the older she gets, the more she finds herself playing the game, like a reassuring smooth rock she can rub her finger over on tougher days.
Ironically, today is one of those days. They’re on their way to her dad’s house, and while the car should be filled with mindless chatter, everyone is silent. She wishes her family would relax, but she imagines her mom is bracing herself for more upstaging by her dad. And her dad’s house is probably the last place on earth that her nana would willingly visit. Cody, meanwhile, slouches against her shoulder while trying to sleep on the drive up, because, as he’s already confided in her, he’s “wicked hungover” after meeting up with Matt last night. Dawn is wedged in between her nana and her brother. She shoves her brother’s head off her shoulder and watches it flop against the back seat, his mouth agape. To make matters worse, the radio station is tuned to a country western channel (at her nana’s request) that’s annoyingly partial to Hank Williams.
Yes, Dawn is living in her own private hell at the moment. And because Matt’s family is forcing him to hang out at his cousin’s house in Lexington all day for his own graduation party, Dawn won’t even get to see him until dinnertime.
So. Back to the At Least game. At least my whole family can come together to celebrate graduation (even if some would rather not). At least I have a boyfriend. At least I have a nana who loves me and parents who seem to care about me on most days. At least I’m healthy. At least I’m not homeless. At least I’m not living in a Serbian war zone waiting for the next bomb to drop. At least I’m not alone, without a job, sitting in front of the television with my hand deep inside a bag of potato chips. At least I’m not pregnant and alone. At least I’m not a drug addict or an alcoholic. Or a serial killer or a wife beater. Or a Republican.
The last one makes her smile because she’s pretty certain her nana is a Republican, though Carol is too discreet and old-school to ever say so. Her nana doesn’t believe people should tout their political views but rather keep their opinions to themselves until revealing them in the voting booth, much like sins should be kept secret until confession. That Dawn includes being a Republican on her At Least list would no doubt enrage her nana. Oh well, she thinks. It’s a new generation, the #metoo generation, and she’s proud to be a part of it.
Half an hour later, they’re pulling up to her dad’s house, where already ten to fifteen cars edge the circular driveway. Joel parks behind a red Mercedes convertible. Probably one of her dad’s friends. Her nana, she realizes, has never set foot here, and Dawn senses her astonishment at the mansion that greets them.
As she climbs out of the car, her nana clucks her tongue. “Honestly, hasn’t Roger ever heard of ostentatious wealth?”
“What do you mean, Nana?” Cody’s eyes are still bleary with sleep.
“This,” she says, gesturing toward the house. “Some people don’t understand that it’s not polite to show off how much money you have. That if you’re lucky enough to have money, then you should put it in the bank for a rainy day or save it for when you really need it. This house,” she pronounces, “is show-offy.”
“Now, Mom, be nice,” warns Joel. “We’re not here to stir up any fires.”
“Oh, is that right?” her nana asks archly. “I’ll be very well behaved. Watch me.” She winks as if to suggest she’ll be anything but.
It’s funny, but Dawn has been here enough times that the house, while impressive, no longer strikes her as insanely big. It used to, when she was younger. She remembers wondering if there were servants inside when she first laid eyes on it (she was twelve). The white clapboard house is fronted by a wide portico with columns stretching up like tree trunks, and to her child’s eyes, it resembled the White House, the only other home Dawn had ever seen with columns. Gradually, though, over the summers when she and Cody came to visit, it began to feel like their home, too. And on the odd weekend in college, they’d sometimes rent a car to drive up, say hello, beg a free meal, and throw in a few loads of laundry. Still, if her nana is stunned by the outside, wait until she sees the inside, thinks Dawn. And the backyard that winds down to the beach.
Above the portico hangs a sign that reads, Congratulations, Dawn & Cody! Class of 2020!
“How nice,” her mom volunteers, but Dawn can tell she’s struggling to be nice herself. “Should we ring the doorbell?”
“Mom, it’s our house, too. I don’t think we need to ring the doorbell.” Dawn pushes open the heavy front door and ushers everyone into the foyer. A bouquet of pink-and-white peonies sits on a cherry credenza with a gigantic mirror above it. Aside from the mirror and an oil painting of the sea, the walls remain bare, pristine. The heady scent of barbecue drifts through the air.
“Well, isn’t this something?” says Carol, scanning the foyer. “I’d say Roger has done quite well for himself.”
Before anyone can respond, Lily rounds the corner from the kitchen and calls out, “Hello, everyone! Welcome! Come in, come in.” Lily is wearing a pink-and-green polka-dot Lilly Pulitzer apron (how fitting, Dawn thinks) over a green sundress. Her hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, bringing to mind a preppy Audrey Hepburn. She casts a brilliant smile their way. She’s acting happy, too happy, really, as if she’s a flight attendant welcoming passengers into her own home. Maybe she’s just being a good hostess. Or, maybe she’s already been drinking.
After last night, Dawn assumes all bets are off for good behavior. She doubts Lily missed her mom’s veiled comments about her job as an enhancer. Typically, Dawn has a tough time feeling sorry for her stepmom, but last night a shudder of dismay rippled over her as her mom drilled Lily, as if she were slowly dissecting a frog and enjoying every minute of it. She’d almost told her mom to lay off but then reconsidered. Lily was a grown-up. Let her save herself, she’d thought.
Now, after an exchange of obligatory hugs, she casts around for her dad.
“Your dad’s out grilling,
” says Lily, as if reading her thoughts. “He couldn’t wait to get the party started.” There’s that smile again.
“I’ll bet. What a lovely home you have, dear,” her nana says. “Absolutely stunning.”
“Thank you!” Lily’s voice hits one decibel too high. “Come in. Let me show you around. The party is out back. Hope you brought your bathing suits!”
Her brother shoots Dawn an alarmed what’s-wrong-with-her glance as they follow their stepmom down the hall, through the sparkling, well-appointed kitchen, and out into the backyard. Maybe it’s nerves. It hits Dawn that this may well be the first time Roger and Lily have hosted the entire family in their home. She’s not even sure Joel has been inside, although he’s obviously seen the house on drop-offs during summers past.
They head out back to the deck, where her dad is manning the grill with a dopey chef’s hat. “It’s the guests of honor!” he exclaims, setting down his spatula. Tidy rows of barbecued chicken and ribs line the grill. When he spins around, she notices the inscription on his hat: Master Chef, Graduate’s Proud Dad. “Hi, Daddy. You look ridiculous in that hat, you know.”
“Really? I thought it was kind of cool. Give your old man a hug.” Dawn obliges before Cody.
“Nice hat.” Cody extricates himself from his dad’s embrace. “Except the apostrophe is in the wrong place.”
“Ha! I was wondering who would notice first. Do you know how hard it is to find a chef’s hat that acknowledges you might have two graduates in the family? Next to impossible.” He turns to their grandmother. “Hello, Carol. Welcome to our home. Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something to drink?” Her dad rattles off the lines as if he’s been rehearsing them all week.
“Thank you. I’ll have a gin and tonic, please. What a lovely home you have, Roger.”
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