“I have a real job.”
“Sure, sure—if you say so.”
Nate rolled his eyes. “My dad put you up to this?”
“Jim? Nah. He’s too busy worrying about all that CC Media nonsense.”
“What CC Media nonsense?”
Sam took a sip of whiskey. “Nothing. Never mind. See, this is what happens when you’re old and drunk. You say things you probably shouldn’t.” He gestured toward Lizzie. “In front of the help, no less.”
Nate cleared his throat. “Hey, I think the fireworks are about to start. You’d better get out there.”
“Same goes for you.” Sam’s eyes flitted toward Lizzie. He grinned. “Ah, I see.... Don’t worry, I get it. If I were your age I’d try to tap that, too. Frankly, even if I weren’t your age—”
“Better get going, Sam.”
“All right, all right—I’m out of here.”
Sam raised his hands in the air as he headed back outside, weaving back and forth with an unsteady gait.
“Sorry about that,” Nate said. “Sam is . . . well, he’s . . .”
“We’ve met before.”
“Oh. So then you know.”
“Unfortunately.”
“I’ve never understood why he and my dad are still friends. I think it’s one of those friendships that endure because they’ve known each other for so long. Like, the past is what’s keeping them together, not the present or the future, if that makes sense.”
Lizzie thought about April. In their case, the past was keeping them apart. Lizzie hadn’t seen April all evening and wondered if she’d decided not to come.
“Anyway,” Nate said, “I’m heading out there. You coming?”
“In a sec’. I just want to put the finishing touches on everything so that dessert is ready once the fireworks are over.”
“I’ll save a spot for you by the tiki bar.” He made for the door but slowed his step before he reached it. “By the way . . . contrary to what Sam said, I’m not trying to ‘tap that.’ Don’t get me wrong—you seem nice and all, but that really isn’t my style.”
“Understood. See you by the tiki bar.”
“Looking forward to it.”
“Me too,” Lizzie said, and to her surprise, she meant it.
* * *
The fireworks were some of the most beautiful Lizzie had ever seen. There were the traditional red, white, and blue bursts, the explosions speckling the sky like stardust. But there were more exotic ones, too, whose glittery streams would crackle and flash like confetti or explode into small constellations that would fall through the sky in formation. One looked like a heart with an arrow through it. Another burst into the shape of a shooting star. During the finale, the crew shot off a series in which the cascading tail of each firework detonated into another firework, until the entire sky above the Silvesters’ property was alight. Lizzie couldn’t believe the Silvesters—or, more specifically, Ken—had arranged all of this for a private party. The cost must have been astronomical.
To whatever extent the fireworks enthralled Lizzie and, afterward, the sundae bar thrilled the guests, both reactions paled in comparison to Lizzie’s reaction the next morning when she tried her first doughnut from Kohler’s.
“Oh. Oh, wow.”
She took another bite, standing over the sink in the butler’s pantry so that the mountain of powdered sugar wouldn’t cover the floor. The doughnut was soft and pillowy, filled with a thick, white cream filling. She could almost feel the sugar rushing straight to her brain.
“See? What did I tell you?”
Lizzie looked up to find Nate standing in the doorway. She quickly wiped the powdered sugar off her face. He was the first to arrive for breakfast, and Lizzie and Renata hadn’t finished preparing everything. Renata had only just returned with the order from Kohler’s.
“You were right,” Lizzie said. “These are pretty amazing.”
“I hope you saved some for the rest of us?”
“Plenty. This is my first. Though I’m guessing it won’t be my last.”
“Please say Renata picked up some sticky buns, too.” He approached the counter and lifted the lid to one of the boxes. “Yes-ss-s-s. Save room for one of these. You won’t be sorry.”
“Until she gets diabetes.”
They both looked toward the kitchen door, where Zoe stood with one hand on the frame. Her hair was wet, as if she’d just swum or showered, and although she didn’t appear to be wearing any makeup, her skin seemed to glow.
“Leave it to you to ruin all the fun,” Nate said.
“You know it’s what I do best.” She nodded at Lizzie. “What I don’t understand is how you can call yourself a healthy cook and then eat crap like that.”
“Just because I cook healthy doesn’t mean I always eat healthy—”
“Obviously. But don’t you think that’s a little hypocritical?”
Nate clicked his tongue. “Pots and kettles, Zo . . .”
“What are you talking about?”
“Never mind. I don’t want to start something.”
“Of course you do. You always do. All I’m saying is that she hosted some show called Healthy U that was all about healthy eating and she doesn’t even eat healthy food. Is that why it got canceled?”
“No. And I do eat healthy stuff. But sometimes I also eat unhealthy stuff. . . .” She took another bite.
“Apparently.” Zoe glanced at her phone. “Anyway, Nate, weren’t you supposed to be leaving first thing? That’s what Dad said yesterday.”
“That was wishful thinking on his part. But as it turns out, I do need to hit the road—though not before grabbing a few of these.” He pulled a doughnut and sticky bun from the box.
“What, is there some sort of sociological emergency that requires your immediate attention?”
He rolled his eyes as he took an aggressive bite of sticky bun. “You too? I get enough grief from Dad and Kathryn, thanks.”
“Please. They’ve been driving me nuts lately. You need to take some of the heat.”
“You’re joking, right? They’ve been on my ass for years.”
“Not without justification.” She looked at Lizzie and gestured toward Nate. “Mr. Doughnuts here is a ‘sociology professor.’ ” She used air quotes, which confused Lizzie. Was he actually a professor of sociology? Or was that some sort of code for “drug dealer” or “pimp”?
“I’m sorry, remind me what you do again?” Nate asked Zoe.
“I run a lifestyle Web site.”
“You mean a blog.”
“No, a Web site. And an app. Which, by the way, makes me a fair amount of money.”
“So you say. . . .”
“So I know.”
“Whatever. I just don’t see why being a professor of sociology at a respectable university is taken less seriously by this family than writing some blog about . . . eating seaweed or whatever it is you write about.”
“Oh—so you’re actually a professor?” Lizzie cut in.
“Yeah. Why?”
“I just thought . . . the way everyone talked . . .” She trailed off.
“What? That I was a stoner who couldn’t quite get my life together?”
Lizzie flushed. “Something like that.”
“Nice. So apparently my family thinks what I do is so lame that they make total strangers think I’m a loser without a job.” He took another bite of sticky bun. “Well, then I’d better get back to wasting my life.”
He yanked a square of paper towel off the kitchen roll and used it to wrap up the rest of his baked goods. “Lizzie, nice meeting you. I’ll see you in a week—unless I get so busy with my lame, do-nothing job that I can’t make it.”
“Aw, Nate, but then you couldn’t mooch off your rich dad.” Zoe mimed a pout.
“Stay bitchy, Zo. You do it so well.”
He turned and stormed out of the room, and Zoe watched him leave, her expression unreadable. “Watch out for that one,” she said. “He’s
trouble.”
Funny, Lizzie thought. I bet he’d say the same thing about you.
* * *
Later that afternoon, once the out-of-town guests had left and Lizzie had tidied the kitchen and pantry, Kathryn knocked on Lizzie’s bedroom door.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said, though Lizzie suspected she didn’t really care one way or the other.
Lizzie slid her phone onto the nightstand. She’d been checking social media to see if April had posted anything about her July Fourth activities. She never showed at the Silvesters’ party, but she hadn’t texted Lizzie and there was no indication, on the Internet at least, that she had done something else instead.
“Nope—just trying to decompress.”
“You deserve it. What a weekend! Jim and I are thrilled with the way everything turned out. Except for the ice sculpture—don’t even get me started. But you had nothing to do with that. All the food was wonderful. Those burgers! And everyone raved about the ice-cream sundaes. A must for the menu next year. Speaking of which . . .” Kathryn moved farther into the room and shut the door behind her. She lowered her voice. “It’s a bit early to discuss next year, I know, but Jim and I have been talking, and given how well everything has gone so far this summer, we were thinking . . . maybe you stay on with us after Labor Day back in Gladwyne.”
Lizzie tried to mask her surprise. “Full-time?”
“Or part-time. We are open to discussion.”
“Wow. I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to decide now. This isn’t a formal offer. We’d have to negotiate a salary and all of that, and of course our lifestyle is a bit different at home than it is at the beach—fewer big parties, more dinner parties, a bit less loosey-goosey, et cetera. But it’s something for you to think about. We’d compensate you well—certainly better than what we’re paying now.”
What they were paying now was more than Lizzie had made at any of her gigs in New York combined, other than her TV show. She wasn’t entirely sure she’d want to be a member of the Silvesters’ “staff,” but if the job paid better than this one she wasn’t sure she’d be able to turn it down. She still had school loans to pay off, and the interest payments were growing so fast some days she wondered if she’d ever be able to keep up with them.
Kathryn clapped her hands together. “Anyway! I just wanted to thank you for your hard work this weekend. An excellent job all around. I hope you were at least able to enjoy yourself a little bit.”
“I did. The fireworks were incredible.”
Kathryn beamed. “Weren’t they? I told Ken, ‘You are one lucky man,’ because if they hadn’t been so completely fabulous, he wouldn’t be hearing from me ever again. But he claims the ice sculpture was a onetime mistake, and everything else was A-plus, so for now he is back in my good graces. He promised me I’ll have an ice sculpture for Labor Day, but I warned him—if anything even looks vaguely inappropriate, he’s finished. I mean, honestly. That eagle!” She shuddered. “Luckily we have two months until Labor Day, so he has plenty of time to find a new artist. Though to call the man who sculpted that atrocity an ‘artist’ is a stretch, if you ask me.”
Lizzie hadn’t asked, but Kathryn was clearly still traumatized by the penis-eating eagle and, if Lizzie had to guess, probably would be for some time.
“By the way,” Kathryn said, “I’m sorry your friend April wasn’t able to make it.”
“Me too,” Lizzie said. “I’m not sure what happened.”
“I am—sounds like Jim has her working overtime these days. Something to do with changes at the company.”
Lizzie thought back to Sam’s comment to Nate about all the “CC Media nonsense.” She had little to no interest in company business, but she was curious what was so pressing that April needed to work Fourth of July weekend. A small part of her hoped that, whatever the issue was, it was fully responsible for April not even having time to send a text letting Lizzie know she wouldn’t make the party. It seemed plausible, though just as plausible as April having no interest in reconnecting with a friend who’d treated her badly all those years ago.
“What kind of changes?” Lizzie asked.
“God knows. I stay out of company business. I mean, sure, I love gossip as much as the next person, but when it comes to information that could impact corporate results—no, thank you. I don’t want that on my conscience.” She glanced at her watch. “Anyway, given how crazy this weekend has been for you, you deserve the evening off. Sound good to you?”
“Are you sure?” Lizzie asked, though as soon as she did she regretted it. She desperately needed some downtime. If Kathryn suddenly changed her mind, Lizzie might actually cry, mostly because it would be her own fault.
“Absolutely,” Kathryn said. “Jim and I will eat at the club, though between you and me, I won’t be eating much of anything after all the holiday indulgences. Time to get back on track. Summer isn’t even halfway through! Not that your food isn’t worth every calorie. Thank goodness you have a background in healthy cuisine.”
Lizzie smiled, but now that she knew she had the rest of the day off all she wanted was for Kathryn to leave. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to nap on the beach or read a book or stare at the wall, but all sounded very appealing.
“I’m sure you have plenty to keep yourself busy,” Kathryn continued, “but if you need any recommendations on places to eat or things to see, just ask. Frankly, Renata is your best bet. She knows everything when it comes to this town. You two should talk!”
“Will do,” Lizzie said, even though Lizzie already had a list of things she wanted to do and talking was most definitely not one of them.
* * *
Lizzie searched for the best word to describe her six hours of freedom and decided on blissful. She napped under an umbrella on the beach, read four chapters of her book, napped some more, and bought an ice-cream cone from Sundae Best. There was something so perfect about an ice-cream cone in the summer, especially at the beach. She ordered two scoops, and as she licked the top of the cone she felt like a kid again.
She walked along Dune Drive, devouring her ice cream as she looked up at the sky, which was streaked with pinks and blues and purples as the sun began to set. She’d walked the thirty blocks from the Silvesters’ house, figuring she could use the exercise, and with the entire evening stretched before her she was in no hurry to get anywhere.
Renata had recommended Sundae Best as “the” spot for ice cream in Avalon, declaring it just as good as and closer than the famous Springer’s in Stone Harbor. As she finished her helping of It’s All Good, a signature flavor of vanilla ice cream studded with chocolate-covered pretzels and swirled with creamy peanut butter, Lizzie had to agree. It was some of the best ice cream she’d ever eaten. When it came to local suggestions, Renata was like a walking edition of Yelp or Google. Lizzie could always count on her for the perfect recommendation.
Lizzie checked on her car when she returned to the Silvesters’ house, turning on the motor and letting it run for a few minutes to keep the battery in good condition. As she let the motor run, she glanced out the window and saw Zoe’s car parked in its usual spot. Had it been there when she left? Lizzie didn’t think so, but in all the excitement over her free afternoon and evening she hadn’t paid much attention. She’d been meaning to follow up with Zoe about her Web site and ask why she never posted the recipe for the beet salad. Lizzie had sent it to her more than a week ago, but Zoe never confirmed she’d received it and it hadn’t appeared on the site.
Lizzie also had a lot of questions about what had appeared on the site—mostly gorgeously photographed meals whose origins Lizzie couldn’t ascertain. There were amethyst-colored acai bowls striped with chia seeds, almonds, and goji berries; lush arugula salads studded with yellow peaches and juicy red tomatoes; and verdant tangles of zucchini noodles slicked with puréed avocado sauce. One dish was more enticing than the last, but Lizzie couldn’t figure out when and where Zoe
had made them. Were these things she’d made while she was traveling in Europe? Or maybe before she left? It seemed unlikely, if only because several of the meals involved produce that had only just come into season. But Lizzie could say with almost absolute certainty that Zoe hadn’t prepared these meals in Avalon. The kitchen was Lizzie’s domain, and she saw and heard everything that went on there.
Regardless, what struck Lizzie most was how perfect Zoe’s life appeared online when, in reality, even Lizzie knew Zoe’s life was far from ideal. Sure, her family had money and she came and went as she pleased, but her relationship with her parents was highly dysfunctional, and in the few encounters they’d had Zoe never seemed particularly happy. Whatever personality she conveyed on her site was carefully curated to portray a version of Zoe that didn’t actually exist.
Lizzie turned off the car and headed back toward the house, which twinkled in the dusky evening light. She didn’t want to confront Zoe, if only because she didn’t want to admit she’d been stalking her site. But something about The Clean Life felt off to Lizzie—first the photos of her own food, now photos of dubious origin, not to mention the way the entire thing seemed at odds with reality. If it weren’t for the fact that Zoe had admitted to Nate she’d made money from it, Zoe’s site wouldn’t hold much interest for Lizzie. Okay, so Zoe claimed credit for a few recipes that weren’t really hers. So what? But with almost two hundred thousand followers on Instagram and probably just as many on her Web site, Lizzie was beginning to think maybe it did matter. People were following Zoe because they believed she was a wellness warrior. They were signing on to her lifestyle, and she was making money off their interest. What if that lifestyle wasn’t really hers?
When Lizzie got back to her room, she loaded Zoe’s site again. There was a new post, titled “Sad News”:
I’ve been struggling for the past few weeks with how and when to share this news with all of you because I haven’t fully made sense of it myself. And on top of it all, it isn’t really my news to share. But I talked to Marie last night, and she gave me the green light, so here it goes:
Marie’s cancer has returned. Her knee and hip started aching a few months ago and she figured it was just from running, so she cut back and started swimming instead, but the pain didn’t go away. She went to the doctor, and they ran a few tests, and that’s when she discovered she had cancer in her bones. It had also spread to her blood, but luckily (if I can even use that word) it hadn’t spread to her liver or brain.
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