by E. C. Diskin
When the service ended, she followed the crowd outside. “Kit Kat!” It was Victoria, Tori to her friends, striding toward her, arms outstretched from under a black cape, eyes hidden behind Jackie O–style glasses, her dark hair pulled back slick. Tori removed her glasses just before their embrace. They held on, both speechless.
When Tori finally pulled back, she held Kat by the shoulders and smiled, her chestnut eyes similarly red and weary. “Look at your hair!” Tori said gleefully.
Tori’s gift was her ability to lighten a mood, like complimenting a hideous haircut or making someone feel better about gaining twenty pounds: “I think you look younger,” she’d once said after Kat spent a month stuffing her face with Oreos while mourning her dad’s death. “A fuller face means less wrinkles. Why do you think I get fillers?”
Kat touched what remained of her hair. “Let’s not talk about it.” Kat’s new life had included chopping her not-long, not-short “mom do,” as she’d always referred to it, in favor of an allegedly high-fashion pixie cut—her attempt to blend in with the chic European women with whom she now spent so much time.
Tori forcefully turned Kat’s shoulders, quickly scanning all angles. “It’s fantastic,” she said. “Like Sharon Stone. Hot mama.”
Kat smirked and rolled her eyes. “Doubtful.” The hairdresser had said the same thing, but when Kat looked at her wispy blonde-and-white strands, she was reminded of her son’s hair, back when he was twelve.
“Where’s Mack?” Tori asked, glancing back toward her husband, Herman, who was talking to several of their friends.
“He couldn’t get away.” A lie. “He said to say hello to you all, though.” Another lie.
Lina stepped over to welcome Kat home with a long embrace. Kat felt another friend slipping away. Lina’s once muscular frame felt frail, and when her hair brushed against Kat’s face, she felt a synthetic imitation of her beautiful thick, dark hair. “Mi amor,” Lina said in that gorgeous, raspy voice that suggested a lifetime of cigarettes, despite her clean living.
“Hola, mi amiga,” Kat replied.
Lina loved speaking Spanish with Kat. Lina’s Cuban parents had refused to speak English at home, a fact the women had bonded over when they’d first met, both being children of recent immigrants. For Kat, the home language had been Finnish, but she’d gone on to master the Romance languages in college with dreams of world travel.
“How long are you in town?” Tori finally asked as the three women relaxed into a small circle of conversation.
“I’ve got about a week. I have meetings in the Chicago office on Thursday and Friday, so I’m staying at the hotel downtown. I was hoping to visit with you all while I’m here.”
“Absolutely,” Lina said. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell us you were coming.”
“It just kind of happened,” Kat said. “I saw the post about the service on Facebook yesterday. I had to come.”
“Shoot. I’m sorry, Kat. I said I’d call you back with service details, didn’t I?” Tori said. “I guess I’m just a little dazed.”
“I understand.” She wasn’t surprised. Other than Tori’s call four days ago about Shea’s death, she hadn’t heard from these women in the three months since she’d moved away. It felt like she’d slipped out of the group as quickly and easily as she’d slipped in all those years ago. She knew it was juvenile to expect more, that no one chatted on the phone anymore, that life went on, that people were busy, but without Shea, who’d essentially provided these friends, Kat wondered if she’d ever see them again after this.
“I don’t understand what happened,” Kat said. “I thought she was happy.” She didn’t mention the fact that she might have known why it had happened if only she’d answered Shea’s call. That unanswered call had consumed her thoughts since hearing the news.
“We’ll talk, but not here,” Tori said, her eyes darting around to the other mourners nearby. “Listen, you’ve got to come with us. We’re leaving this afternoon for Catawba. Just like old times.”
“The lake house?”
“Shea would want us to do something,” Lina said.
“And where else, right?” Tori added. “We’re going to do what we used to do: eat too much, drink too much, tell stories and laugh till it hurts. You must come.”
Tori’s lake house was on one of the channels off Lake Erie, and when they visited in late summer, a thirty-minute boat trip to the four-hundred-acre South Bass Island—otherwise known as Put-in-Bay—was always on the agenda, given its reputation as Key West of the Midwest. It attracted more than two million visitors each season, drawn to the fishing, historic landmarks and homes, quaint shops, restaurants, bars, and wild nightlife.
And Shea had died on that island. One week ago today. “I’m in,” Kat said. The guilt might swallow her whole if she didn’t find some answers. Going there might be the only way to get them.
“Excellent,” Tori said. “You’ll be with me and Lina. We’ll swing into the city on the way out of town and grab your things. Dee is going in Evelyn’s car later. Georgia can’t make it, but we’ve got four, now five with you.” She put an arm around Kat’s shoulders. “It’ll be great.”
“I should find Ryan,” Kat said, stepping out of Tori’s arm, looking around. People were leaving, and she surveyed the crowd, spotting Shea’s husband, Ryan, and the kids a half block down the sidewalk, heading home. Ryan’s left arm was draped around Stephen’s shoulders, even though the twenty-year-old was taller than his father at this point. Ryan’s other free hand held Leigh’s. She’d become a replica of her mother in the last couple of years—the same hair, posture, those sun freckles, ice-blue eyes, even the innate sensuality in her gait. It was impossible not to blink, hoping that Shea was fine, headed home right now, walking hand in hand with her husband. Kat wanted to catch up to them and hug them all, but it didn’t seem like the right time.
She turned back to Tori. “How could this happen?”
“We’ll talk,” she said, entwining their arms and guiding Kat down the steps to the sidewalk. “Come on. My car’s over here.”
CHAPTER 3
WITH THE SUNROOF OPEN, the cool air wafted through Tori’s car as they pulled on to the highway. The radio was set to a Top 40 station, and Tori was singing along and tapping her hands on the wheel. Kat didn’t recognize the song; she didn’t spend a lot of time in cars these days.
Lina, sitting up front, finally started searching for a new station. “You’re torturing me.” Lina had played drums in an all-girl band in high school and often remarked that real music died in 1979.
“Fine,” Tori said, “just nothing depressing, please. I don’t think I can handle any more tears today.”
Lina found the Eagles playing “Hotel California” on a classic rock station. She and Tori sang along. Kat grinned, relishing the sounds of friends and music that reminded her of college, but as she closed her eyes to soak it in, she saw Shea’s face and the smile she’d never see again. And when the song took a dark turn and Don Henley began singing about how someone could check out of that hotel but never leave, she thought of Shea, checking in to some hotel on Put-in-Bay and never walking out again. Suddenly, the air felt cold and the music too loud.
Tori must have had the same thought. She abruptly turned off the radio without a word, letting the car fill with silence. Kat looked at her phone to see if Mack had tried to reach her, but he hadn’t. She wrote him a quick text. Done with service, heading to Catawba with Tori, Lina, and gang. Call you later. She reviewed the note and added a couple of heart emojis to the end before hitting “Send.” If she acted as if nothing were wrong between them, perhaps she could will it to be true.
Tori asked how everyone’s kids were doing. For decades, their group had bonded over sleep deprivation, potty training, bullies, grades, sports, and teen drama. But now all their kids except Tori’s youngest, a junior in high school, were off at college. Lina and Kat offered single-sentence updates, and Tori regaled them with stories of h
er middle daughter, Viv, now a freshman at University of Illinois, who’d recently confided in Tori about the guy who’d dumped her after a passionate, slightly intoxicated hookup, a recent pregnancy scare, and a friend’s near-fatal alcohol poisoning. There seemed to be no topics untouched.
Kat couldn’t help but feel grateful that her son, Peter, now a junior at Tulane, limited his updates to the broad brushstrokes of “going out,” “parties,” and “you, know, the usual.” The only detailed information she could extract related to classes, internships, and money.
Kat suddenly feared being the one to bring up Shea too soon. Maybe Tori and Lina knew more than she did, facts that would devastate any hope of an enjoyable drive to the lake. “So, Lina,” Kat asked, leaning forward from her middle seat in the back, “how are you feeling?”
Lina turned. “Well, I’m sure you’ve noticed I’m as bald as a newborn, but today’s a good day, and I wouldn’t miss this weekend for anything.”
Typical. Lina was never one to complain, simply advising her friends via text last fall, Girls, the big C is back. Bastard. But I’m a fighter. No worries. Onward and upward. Well, hopefully no time soon. The women had to pry details and press her to accept their help, so no one knew exactly how bad it was.
“What about you, Kat?” Lina asked. “How’s the new job?”
“Good. Busy.” There were many other adjectives that might fit: stressful, all consuming, overwhelming, marriage crushing, but she didn’t want to go there. No one wanted to hear her complain. These women had long ago dubbed Kat’s life jet-setting, glamorous, and exciting. When she had to miss happy hours or dinners, it was almost always prefaced with “Sorry. In Hong Kong,” or “In Bali,” or “In Spain . . .” Since she’d moved to Houston, her new position involved overseeing new hotel openings around the world. It was a dream job for the girl who’d wanted a life of travel and adventure, though, like everything else, nothing was as good as it looked from the outside. “I’ve got some trips to Europe coming up, but of course I miss Maple Park. I miss you all.”
“Well, it sounds fantastic to me,” Lina said. “My bucket list included several European cities.” Kat noticed the past tense but chose to ignore it.
Tori glanced back at her, eyes wide. “Do they ever have celebrities at your openings?” The prospect of a celebrity spotting drew Tori’s attention like shouting “squirrel” to a dog. She could tell you about breakups, affairs, pregnancies, and drug arrests in Hollywood with more authority than E! News.
“Not usually,” Kat said, “but there are some good perks. I think by the end of the year Mack and I could take a trip around the world with all my miles. I just don’t know when we’ll have time.”
“Sounds like a great reason to retire.” Tori gripped the steering wheel and looked off to her left before glancing at Kat in the rearview mirror. “Life is too short.”
That had certainly been true for Shea. She had come to Chicago from Florida more than thirty years earlier for college, a first stop in her grand plan to see the world, but life got in the way and she’d never left. They’d taken family trips, of course, but she’d never been out of the country. Kat and Shea used to talk about taking a couples’ trip, an adventure to Australia, once the kids were grown and off the payroll.
“I think retirement is still beyond the horizon,” Kat said. The word retire was not in her vocabulary. She and Mack had both chosen careers for the work more than the pay. And just when her job finally offered a nice salary, Mack’s situation had tanked.
Tori couldn’t possibly understand. She’d been blessed with some sort of trust fund, a life without financial worries, Shea had once confided. Fortunately, other than her expensive wardrobe and extravagant vacations, most of the time it was easy to forget that Tori came from some stuffed-toy empire.
“How’s Texas?” Lina asked.
“Still assessing,” Kat said with a smile. It had only been a few months. She held out some hope that the fighting and tension were temporary. Her phone buzzed in her hand. Mack had answered her text: Have fun, two harmless words, coated in passive aggression.
“What’s the new house like?” Tori asked.
Kat put the phone away. “Different. It has potential. We’re on an acre, and it was built in 1990.”
Tori and Lina both chuckled. That was definitely different. Maple Park had city-size lots, except for a few of the old estates, like Tori’s place, built for the town’s earliest and most influential settlers. Nearly all the homes had been built between 1890 and 1930. The community bonded through a love of historic architecture, shared issues that came with living inside antiques, and the ability to see, while standing at the kitchen sink, inside their neighbors’ homes.
But Kat’s new house was also different because it didn’t feel like home yet. Boxes hadn’t been unpacked, rooms sat empty, and Kat had yet to share more than a wave with neighbors as she passed in her car. Everyone was friendly, but no one needed new friends. And, of course, Kat had never been too good at making the first move. Shea had practically been Kat’s personal cruise director when she and Mack moved in next door all those years ago.
“How is Mack? Does he like it there?” Tori asked.
“He’s . . . adjusting.”
“And he can do the work virtually? Isn’t it great that he was able to do that?” Lina added.
“Yeah,” Kat said. There was nothing great about it. His IT job disappeared when the company restructured, and he’d been asked to stay on as consultant for half the pay, which was why there’d been no real discussion about whether or not she’d accept her promotion. Mack didn’t want anyone to know those details until he’d figured out his next move. And she didn’t want anyone to know they were drifting apart. “What about Herman?” she asked.
“My man leaves for China on Monday morning, so I’m a single mom all week. But he’s good.” Tori had once said that her husband’s name had nearly been a deal breaker when they met, but after she started calling him “my man,” and he started referring to himself as “her man” while pointing at Tori, she embraced it. He was a good decade older, an intellectual who spent 80 percent of his work life traveling and most of his free time alone, reading about world history. It was hard not to wonder where the spark between them came from, given Tori’s preference for parties and outlandish reality TV shows.
“Have you made any girlfriends yet?” Tori continued. “There must be a Shea in every town.”
“I’m sure there is one, but we’re at different stages. They’re babies—and I don’t just mean the children,” Kat joked.
It was the perfect opportunity to mention Shea’s call, but Kat’s guilt was like a gag. She hadn’t even told Mack about it. Every time Kat thought about how she’d ignored that call, tossing the phone aside as if Shea were a nuisance, her heart ached. She had died the next day. Alone in a bathtub. Far from home. Leaving a husband and kids and an entire community baffled and heartbroken. She’d obviously needed her friend. She’d reached out to Kat, and Kat had tossed her aside.
“Do either of you understand this at all?” Kat asked, leaning forward. “Why Shea came all the way out to Put-in-Bay alone? Why she’d get that drunk? It just doesn’t make sense.”
Lina looked at Tori, who took a deep breath before she answered. “I know she and Ryan were having issues.”
“What kind of issues?” Kat had heard the occasional argument over the years; it couldn’t be helped with homes just ten feet apart. But as far as Kat knew, their marriage was solid.
“He’s been out of work for quite a while. He didn’t tell anyone, not even Shea. She only found out because some letter came to the house about an exit interview. He’d been leaving in the morning for weeks, like it was any other day. And even after she found out, he wouldn’t talk about it. It was weird.” Tori turned back to Kat. “Well, that, and remember our last girls’ trip out here at Thanksgiving?”
“I couldn’t go, remember?” Tori, Shea, Lina, and a few others had decided to
do an impromptu getaway, a “battery charge” before the turkey-day duties. Kat would have loved to recharge her batteries, but work had conflicted. Her side of the fence always felt more harried. But Shea and Tori were great at coming up with reasons for GNOs—girls’ nights out—or all-girl getaways. They would fly off to Miami or Vegas for the weekend almost twice a year. Kat sometimes felt like a visitor at the cool kids’ table, simply because she was around less, because she had to work. Though, when it was just Kat and Shea, it was different. Shea was one of those people who could make you feel like you were the most important person in the room.
“Well,” Tori continued, “she told a few of us in confidence that she was going to leave Ryan.”
Kat couldn’t believe it. Shea had been her closest friend. They’d lived next door to each other for two decades, and there was almost no one, other than Mack, Kat thought she knew better. She couldn’t believe Shea had been that unhappy and never said a word to her.
Had Kat been too oblivious, too wrapped up in her own life to notice Shea was going through something? Had Shea tried to tell her? She recalled the dozens of conversations between Thanksgiving and Kat’s departure in January. Nothing had seemed off.
She thought of their good-bye three months earlier, looking back as she and Mack rolled away in their overstuffed minivan, while Shea and Ryan stood on the sidewalk, bundled in their coats. Ryan had pulled Shea close, kissing the top of her head. “They seemed fine.”
“He was cheating,” Lina said.
“No.” It came out as a whisper, too unbelievable to be true. Ryan was a flirt, particularly when he’d had a few drinks, and a notorious close talker, like everything he wanted to tell you was a secret, but he looked at Shea like he’d continued to marvel, every day, at his good fortune in somehow landing a woman far out of his league. He’d said as much a thousand different ways.