A Sin Such as This

by Ellen Hopkins

  “Rarely are people quite so blunt. It’s refreshing.”

  “I prefer forthrightness to playing coy. I’ve worked hard and invested well. The fund-raising is a hobby, one I spent years doing in San Francisco. Now I’ve moved here, I’d like to continue with nonprofit work. Housewifery is not exactly intellectually stimulating.”

  She laughs. “How long have you been married?”

  “Six weeks, give or take. Cavin is what brought me to the lake full-time. So I just recently left the Bay Area, with its assorted baggage, both good and not so, behind.”

  I don’t mention my husband’s baggage, the prime example of which holds court across the room, Maury on one side of her and two cast members, including the promising young actress, on the other. Sophia’s focus is clearly on the male actor, who responds as most straight, just-beyond-adolescent men might, with a hopeful leer. Wonder what exactly about said boys entices her thumbs-up or thumbs-down.

  As I watch, Cavin and Austin pause to chat with her and her entourage. Even from here, it’s obvious that my husband and Sophia have some sort of history by the familiar way they engage. She diverts her attention from the actor and focuses it completely on Cavin. He leans down to say something close to her ear, and when he straightens, she rewards him with laughter. Hope Maryann can’t see the new plumes of smoke emanating from my ears.

  “How do you know Sophia?” I ask, completely unable to help myself.

  “Sophia?” She turns to assess where I’m looking, find context. “Oh, the woman with Maury? I’m not acquainted with her, but I believe Austin is helping Maury secure funding for some show she’s producing. In addition to his work with the festival, Austin coordinates private sector investments. He’s got a particular interest in arts projects, of course. He and Maury are old college chums and have in common a love of the theater, though Austin’s leans toward Broadway, while Maury’s runs more in the direction of burlesque.”

  “Yes, I can see that. Cavin and Sophia are old friends, too. Small world.”

  “It is, and the older you get, the more it shrinks.”

  That’s what I’m afraid of. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go find a glass of wine.” And reclaim my husband.

  “Please do. The bar is in the next room. Why don’t you give me a call sometime next week and we can discuss putting you to work.”

  “Sounds like a plan. I’m traveling to Idaho on Monday, so it will probably be closer to Friday.”

  “Whenever is fine. The foundation isn’t going anywhere. It was lovely getting to know you. I’ll have to thank Genevieve.”

  “She’s not here tonight?”

  “We expected her, but I haven’t seen her yet. Oh, here comes your husband. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you two newlyweds alone.”

  Off she goes in one direction while Cavin joins me from the other. “Everything good?” he asks.

  I know he’s referring to his close encounter with Sophia and tailor my response suitably. “Everything’s just fine, except I’d like a glass of wine. Coming with me?”

  “Of course. Sorry that took so long, by the way. That Maury sure likes to talk about himself. It was hard to break away.”

  “Really. From here it looked like Sophia was doing most of the talking.”

  “Tar—”

  “But that’s okay. It was good to have a few minutes with Maryann. Looks like I’ll be doing some work for her organization. You don’t mind, do you? I’m in need of a little intellectual stimulation.”

  Obviously relieved I let him off the hook, Cavin lifts my hand to his lips, kisses my fingertips. “I don’t mind one bit. You stimulate your intellect. I’ll take care of the rest of you. Deal?”

  “Apology accepted.”

  For the moment.

  We stay long enough to indulge in a glass of wine. I wouldn’t label it “good.” Apparently the Colvins don’t feel the need to pander to a troupe of actors and their fans. Personally, I’d serve better, boosting the estimation of those in attendance, and write off the expense. No ego there, of course.

  Wine consumed, mission accomplished, we are among the first to bid adieu to Austin and Maryann. Sophia and Maury remain. Genevieve has yet to appear. It being close to midnight, the road home is fairly quiet. The long unlit stretches make me glad Cavin is familiar with the highway.

  It is along one of the dark, deserted segments I ask, “So, did you have any idea before tonight that Sophia was moving to Tahoe?”

  Cavin considers for a moment, and I don’t like that his ready answer wasn’t a simple no. Finally, he says, “Eli told me it was possible.”

  “And neither of you thought you should mention it to me?”

  “Tara, I’m never sure how much of what Eli says is truthful. As you well know, he thrives on provocation. I wanted to wait until I was certain before making you worry needlessly. And besides, whether or not she actually winds up on the south shore, it doesn’t matter to me. I have nothing to hide from you.”

  That’s what he keeps telling me.

  Everyone has something to hide.

  “Why would Eli confide that to you but keep it quiet from me?”

  “Kayla is my guess. He figured you’d tell her straight off.”

  How do I play this one?

  “She has a right to know.”

  “You’re absolutely correct. She does. But should you or I be the one to tell her? Besides, she’s leaving for school in a couple of weeks, yes? Time and distance might take care of it. And if you really think about it, how much of a threat to Kayla is Sophia? Eli is just the woman’s plaything. She’ll never be serious about him, nor he about her. Kayla has more to worry about from the girls Eli will see at school every day.”

  I mull all that over. Generally I favor logic over emotion, and his argument is totally rational. The problem is I become a party to a huge lie by omission. If Kayla finds out Sophia’s here, and that I knew but didn’t say anything, she’ll be righteously—and rightfully—pissed. I despise being put in this position. Still, I don’t have to make a decision tonight. “I guess you’re right. We’ve achieved a small sense of harmony at the Lattimore residence. No use upsetting that fragile balance over a maybe.”

  “Glad you agree. And I’m happy tonight was successful for you.”

  “What about you? Did you meet any potential patients?”

  He laughs. “This is Tahoe. Anyone who spends time here regularly is a potential patient.”

  It’s almost one by the time we pull into the driveway, so I’m surprised to find Eli not only awake but also upstairs, looting the refrigerator. “Don’t you know it’s bad to eat right before you sleep?” I ask, setting my purse down on the counter.

  He pops a Thompson seedless into his mouth. “Just a few grapes. I’ve got the munchies.”

  Of course he does. “Is Kayla still up?”

  Cavin shoots me a warning glance, continues down the hall toward our room.

  “Nope. She crashed an hour ago.”

  Okay, I could just stay quiet, but that’s so not my style. “So, I have a question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Why didn’t you inform me that Sophia might be moving to the lake?”

  He regards me with curious eyes. “I told Dad.”

  “But not me.”

  “I wasn’t sure how you’d take it. Dad said not to worry, that he’d discuss it with you.”

  “Are you sure? He never said a word.”

  “I’m positive. But if he didn’t tell you, how did you find out?”

  “We ran into her at the festival tonight. She was delighted to share the news.”

  “Yeah, well, she can be a bitch, especially when she’s buzzed. But like I’ve said before, a buzzed bitch is great in bed. Anyway, however you found out, I’m glad you know. Shit like that shouldn’t be a secret between a husband and wife.”

  “Really? So Kayla knows?”

  “No. But we’re not married. Are you going to tell her?”

  �
�Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On if I ever find Sophia in my house again.”

  He comes closer. Close enough to touch me. In fact, he rests his forehead against mine, looks me directly in the eyes. “You won’t. I promise.” Warm grape-scented breath infiltrates my nostrils and just as I think he’ll kiss me, he takes a small backward step, sparking a fleeting moment of regret. “At least, not at my request.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know. Just wondering why Dad wasn’t more up front.”

  Spores of doubt release again like dandelion seeds, riled by the breeze.

  Cavin would never bring Sophia here. He wouldn’t dare. And why must I worry about that, anyway? “Your father said he didn’t want to upset me needlessly and that Sophia’s plans were still up in the air.”

  Eli’s smile defines “wry.” “Sounds plausible.” He finishes his grapes. “I should go to bed. Anyway . . .” His fingertips meander softly along the length of my jawline. “I wouldn’t worry. Sophia isn’t half the woman you are.”

  He turns away and I’m glad he doesn’t see the way he’s made me tremble. What is wrong with me? He’s a kid, and not just any kid. He’s Cavin’s kid. All sense of personal integrity crumbles in this moment. It took sheer strength of will not to purchase copious quantities of whatever it is Elis was selling. What happens the next time he comes knocking on the door?

  Beyond that, the central question materializes. Why wasn’t my husband up front with me?

  I go to bed myself, where Cavin waits, skin hot from the wanting, to stimulate everything but my intellect. The whole time he does, I’m vaguely distracted by a little voice inside my head.

  It’s insistent.

  Persistent.

  And what it keeps repeating is:

  Better watch your back.

  nineteen

  T URNS OUT THE REASON Genevieve never showed up at the Colvins’ was horrific. As the Saturday morning headlines announced: FAMED MODEL CRITICALLY INJURED IN COLLISION ON MT. ROSE HIGHWAY. Apparently, she was driving way too fast down the mountain road when a two-ton truck turned out onto the highway in front of her little BMW roadster. There wasn’t much left of the Z4, and what remains of Genevieve is currently in guarded condition at Renown Hospital in Reno. Doctors aren’t sure if she’ll live, and if she happens to, she won’t model again.

  The news hits me hard. Whatever our relationship has mellowed into, she was once a vibrant element of my life and a rare female friend. A snippet of conversation at The Taming of the Shrew was about how much she missed that.

  “I wish things would’ve gone differently,” she said. “You’re one of the few people I’ve ever thought I could trust.”

  That surprised me. “Really? Why?”

  “Because of your brutal honesty. Whether or not I appreciated your answer, I always knew if I asked you a question you’d respond truthfully. That’s a rare thing in my world.”

  That was only eight days ago. Today, her world is an intensive care room, where she’s fighting for her life.

  I can’t help but think about that as I steer my own BMW over the same stretch of roadway where her accident happened, on my way to the airport. I did my best to leave myself plenty of time, assuming I’d take Highway 50 all the way down into Carson City, then catch the freeway into Reno from there. But a brushfire up on the pass diverted traffic through Incline Village, and it’s been slow going, something I’m grateful for, all things considered, as long as I reach the gate on time.

  Luck is with me and I make my plane with ten minutes to spare. I still can’t believe I’m doing this. Why the hell did I agree? It’s a no-frills flight, nothing but peanuts for food, and I skipped breakfast, thinking I’d have time to grab a bite at the airport. But, no direct flights available, I’ve got a two-hour layover in Las Vegas. I can eat something then to absorb the alcohol from the two Bloody Marys I’m intent on consuming on the first short leg of my journey.

  “Are you sure you want two?” asks the flight attendant, sticking her nose where it clearly doesn’t belong. “You are aware we’re only in the air another forty-five minutes?”

  “I am completely cognizant of that, yes.” I could tell her I’m going to my mother’s funeral, elicit sympathy I’m not seeking. But I’m an adult, not drunk already, and not causing trouble. I don’t have to explain myself.

  Reluctantly, she hands me two bottles of vodka and a can of spicy tomato juice. “Fourteen dollars.”

  “Allow me,” says the elderly woman beside me, handing her four drink coupons. “I’ll have the same.”

  “Thank you,” I tell the lady.

  When she smiles, her eyes crinkle even more. “It’s never too early for vodka, especially when you’re going to Vegas.”

  Generally I discourage conversations with random seatmates, but she did cover my drinks, and it’s not like I’ll be stuck talking with her for hours. “Actually, I’m just passing through on my way to Idaho.”

  “Idaho. Never been there. Going home?”

  “Believe me, you haven’t missed a thing. I left there when I was a kid, and I’ve never gone back.”

  “Why now then? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

  “For my mother’s funeral. Well, burial. Guess she still considered Idaho home.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry you lost her.”

  “Don’t be. I’m not.”

  Vodka plus empty stomach equals too much information. At least it allows me to slip into silence. Pretty sure my companion is as uncomfortable as I am. We both concentrate on our drinks and manage to finish them before the snooty flight attendant comes around to collect our cups. By the time we touch down, I’m relishing a light buzz.

  As we stand to deplane, I turn to the woman. “Enjoy Vegas. And thank you again for the drinks.”

  “No worries. I’ve got lots of coupons. I fly here regularly to visit my son.”

  “That’s nice,” I say as we start the slow shuffle up the aisle.

  “It really is. We didn’t speak for many years. His wife and I didn’t get along, so I missed a great deal of my grandchildren’s childhoods. She finally left him, and he and I reconciled, but that was time I can never regain. I regret not having tried harder to mend our relationship sooner. If an old woman can offer one word of advice? Hold on tight to the people who matter to you. Sometimes that requires forgiveness.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  I do as I take leave of the woman and make my way into the insanity that is McCarran International Airport. Forgiveness. That is not something I understand, not even when my brain is less fuzzy. I’ve always considered forgiveness a sign of weakness.

  Forgive, you invite whatever damage you originally suffered.

  Forgive, it’s like saying it didn’t hurt so bad after all.

  Forgive, it means you have to care in the first place.

  And that is what I’ve always avoided.

  It’s also why there can be no forgiveness for my mother. I would’ve had to care about her in the first place. Or, perhaps much more accurately, she would have had to care about me.

  I stuff that depressing thought and, as planned, text Mel, whose flight should have landed almost simultaneously with mine. Just arrived, Gate C-14. Starving. Are you here?

  The answer comes immediately. Taxiing in now. Arriving C-11.

  I glance around. Meet me at Jose Cuervo Tequileria. I’ll get a table.

  That proves easier said than done, considering it’s twelve thirty and apparently everyone else has been dining on peanuts, too. I’m still waiting for them to clear a table when Melody comes puttering up. “Phew. It’s wicked flying in over that mountain. The turbulence was scary.”

  “ ‘Mountain waves,’ I believe those air currents are called. Fortunately, we only hit them as we circled to land. God, wouldn’t it be the worst kind of irony to crash and burn on this trip, of all trips?”

  “Jeez, Tara, what are you trying to do
? Jinx us?”

  I study my sister. “Don’t tell me you’re superstitious.”

  “Not really. But no use tempting fate.”

  “Do you read your horoscope, too?”

  “Not every day.”

  The hostess informs us our table is ready, and we follow her to a small space near the back of the garishly colored room. She hands us menus, and before she can leave I ask for a Bloody Mary.

  “Bloody Mary?” asks Mel.

  “Considering the restaurant, I would have ordered a margarita, but I already had a couple of Bloody Marys on the plane. Don’t want to mix liquors.”

  “It’s a little early, don’t you think?”

  “On another day, maybe. But it feels necessary today.”

  It takes forever, but our waitress finally arrives, Bloody Mary in hand. I’m glad I ordered it when I did. Mel asks for the taco salad and a Diet Coke. I go for carne asada. Protein, that’s what I need. Steak. And vodka.

  My drink is halfway gone by the time our meal is delivered, so the protein has some catching up to do. Mel grimaces at the first bite.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “Nothing. It’s okay. A little greasy, and fat is something I’ve been avoiding.”

  “Rule number eighty-two. Order basic fare at airport restaurants. It’s hard to screw up a steak. Want half? It’s good.”

  Mel shakes her head. “No. That’s okay. I had breakfast, so I can just pick. You, however, need to eat if you’re going to keep drinking like that.”

  “That’s my plan. Hope you don’t mind doing the driving once we get there.”

  “At this point, that’s my plan.”

  We work on our food without talking for a few minutes. Finally, Mel puts down her fork. “Ugh. Enough. So, I’m thinking we should go ahead and drive into Glenns Ferry this evening. Not much in the way of accommodations there, I’m afraid. I went ahead and booked us a room in one of the downtown motels. There are only two. Tomorrow night we can stay in Boise so we’re closer to the airport.”

  “What time are they dropping her into the hole?”

  Mel cringes. “Must you be so blunt?”