by Joy Fielding
Jennifer was barely fourteen, her own breasts just starting to fill out and attract male attention, when her mother underwent a double mastectomy. This procedure was followed by numerous rounds of chemo, the chemo accompanied by nausea, fatigue, and the loss of her beautiful hair. Then there were the radiation treatments, which scorched her mother’s skin and robbed her of whatever energy and dignity she had left. “Hopefully we got all of it,” the doctor had said.
And miraculously the various treatments did seem to work. After five years of holding its breath, the family had breathed a collective sigh of relief when the doctor pronounced Jennifer’s mother “cancer-free.”
And then suddenly it was back. Unprompted, unexpected, unwelcome. Her mother had endured more chemo, more radiation, more surgeries, as the cancer spread its poison like a slow leak, ultimately infiltrating her lungs, her liver, her pancreas, her spine, her bones, and finally even her brain. Inoperable. Unresponsive. Terminal.
Over those last seven years, Jennifer had watched her mother disappear a little bit at a time, her once-happy family vanishing along with her: Jennifer into her work and a series of casual affairs; Cameron into an ever-deepening well of self-absorption; her father into an ever-thickening haze.
She pictured her father, alone in his stuffy apartment in Queens, a mere shell of the man he once was, with not even fond memories to sustain him. Sometimes death could be a blessing, she decided, thinking that as grisly as the awful murders they’d been hearing about were, perhaps being murdered—quickly and with ruthless efficiency—was preferable to the slow, agonizing death by cancer her mother had endured, or her father’s equally slow and agonizing deterioration.
What the hell is the matter with me? Jennifer thought in the next instant, wondering where such dark thoughts were coming from. She flipped back onto her right side, propping herself up on her elbow and peering through the darkness at the sleeping figures in the next bed, watching the steady rise and fall of Val’s shoulders. What are you doing here? How did this happen?
“Is something wrong?” Brianne asked groggily beside her.
“No, honey. Sorry if I disturbed you. Go back to sleep.”
Jennifer fell back against her pillows, praying for unconsciousness to overtake her. Is that what those poor people prayed for while they were being butchered? she wondered. Did they fight for their lives or did they hope only for a swift end to their pain? Did they think about their families or did their panic preclude any thoughts at all? Did they believe in an afterlife and if they did, did that belief provide them with any comfort?
Jennifer didn’t believe in an afterlife, although she’d tried. When her mother was first diagnosed, she’d prayed often. Prayed for the doctors to be wrong, prayed for scientists to discover a cure, prayed for her mother to get better, or ultimately to live out what little time she had left in relative peace and comfort. But if there was a God, He hadn’t been paying attention. Or maybe He just didn’t have time to answer all the prayers He undoubtedly received on a daily basis from the families of the sick and the dying. Whatever the reason, her prayers had gone unheeded, and the day her mother died, Jennifer had stopped praying altogether.
And then she’d stopped believing.
It was easier that way. There were fewer expectations, and fewer expectations meant fewer disappointments.
“If there is a God,” she remembered telling her sister, “He doesn’t affect my life one way or the other.”
“God’s gonna get you for that one,” Cameron had said with a laugh.
Now Jennifer was sharing a bed with her fiancé’s daughter, listening to the soft whistle of his soon-to-be ex-wife’s gentle snores, and wondering if this was God’s revenge. For not believing. For not honoring His commandments. For having an affair with a married man.
It doesn’t bode well, she heard her father say.
“Shut up, Daddy,” she thought, not realizing she’d spoken the words out loud until she felt movement and opened her eyes to see Brianne’s face looming only inches above hers.
“Did you just tell me to shut up?” Brianne asked, her breath warm and smelling of spearmint mouthwash.
“No. Of course not.”
“It sounded like you said ‘shut up.’ ”
“No.”
“Ssh,” Val admonished from the other bed. “There are people trying to sleep over here.”
“I thought you were asleep,” Brianne said.
“I’ve been trying to.”
“You’ve been snoring loud enough.”
“I have not.”
“Yes, you have. Hasn’t she?” Brianne asked Jennifer.
“It’s really not a big deal,” Jennifer said.
“That’s so generous of you,” Val said.
“For God’s sake, Mom. She was being supportive.”
“I don’t need her support.”
“Can we all please settle down?” Melissa asked groggily from beside Val.
“What’s going on in there?” James called from the next room. “Am I missing something?”
“Isn’t anybody asleep?” Brianne wailed.
“I do not snore,” Val insisted.
“Then why did Dad always say that your snoring kept him awake half the night?”
“I don’t know,” Val said, biting off each word, “but I guess it’s a good thing he doesn’t have to worry about that anymore.” With that, she flipped over with such force that both beds shook.
THEN WHY DID Dad always say that your snoring kept him awake half the night?
The question twisted through Val’s brain like a tornado. Damn it, she thought. Yes, Evan had occasionally complained about her snoring, but so what? Snoring was hardly one of the seven deadly sins.
Val suddenly found herself trying to recall exactly what those seven sins were. Pride, she thought. Gluttony. Anger.
I’ve certainly been guilty of each of those on more than one occasion, she thought.
What else?
Lust.
Ah, yes, she thought, recalling the last time she and Evan had made love. She hadn’t slept with a man since. Hadn’t had so much as an urge. Talk about sins. Although that was more of a shame than a sin, actually.
Envy.
Okay, yeah, all right. You got me. I’m envious all right.
Sloth.
Probably guilty of that as well.
What else? Pride, gluttony, anger, lust, envy, sloth. That’s six. What’s the seventh? “Melissa,” she whispered into the back of her friend’s black silk pajamas. “Melissa, are you asleep?”
She felt Melissa wiggle around to face her, her head joining Val’s underneath the covers. “Did you say something?”
“What are the seven deadly sins?”
Even under the covers and in the dark, Val could make out the look of disbelief on her friend’s face. “Are you kidding me?”
“I can only think of six.”
“Pride,” Melissa said sleepily. “And anger.”
“Got those. Also envy, lust, gluttony, and sloth.”
“I hear whispering,” James called from the next room.
Melissa whipped the covers off her head and sat up. “We’re trying to remember the seven deadly sins.”
“I don’t believe this,” said Brianne from the next bed, underlining her displeasure with a prolonged groan.
“Lust,” said James quickly. “Anger. Gluttony. Envy.”
“Pride and sloth,” Val and Melissa said together, their voices overlapping.
“What’s sloth?” Brianne asked.
“We can’t think of the seventh sin,” Melissa said.
A moment of quiet, then, “Covetousness,” Jennifer said quietly from beside Brianne.
“Of course,” James said. “As in ‘Thou shall not covet thy neighbor’s …’ ” He stopped abruptly.
How appropriate for you to know that one, Val thought.
“What’s next?” Brianne asked. “Twenty questions? Charades?”
“
I love charades,” James said.
“Can we all just get some sleep?” Brianne begged. “Please?”
“Sorry, darling. Good night, everybody.”
“Good night,” Melissa said.
“Good night,” echoed Jennifer.
James laughed. “This is just like The Waltons.”
“Who are the Waltons?” Brianne asked. Then quickly, “Never mind. Don’t tell me. Just please, everybody—get some sleep.”
BRIANNE’S THUMBS WORKED furiously beneath the sheets. I can’t believe it, she typed angrily into her BlackBerry. They’re still up. She flipped onto her side. This way she’d be able to see when Jennifer came out of the bathroom. Try 2 b patient a little while longer, she continued typing. I’ll b there as soon as I can.
It was after one o’clock in the morning. Why wasn’t anyone asleep yet? Why did everyone seem intent on drawing out their misery by staying awake as long as humanly possible?
Almost as if they knew.
Except how could they?
And what was with all that nonsense about the seven deadly sins? They must have made those up, Brianne decided. She could think of far worse sins than any of the ones they’d mentioned. Anger and envy? Big deal. If they were considered deadly sins, the entire population was going to burn in Hell. And covetousness? Wasn’t committing an act far worse than just wanting to do it? And what was the matter with pride? Pride in your work, your appearance, your accomplishments? Wasn’t that supposed to be a good thing?
As for gluttony, well, okay, there were definitely too many fat people in the world, but was being a glutton really as bad as being a thief or a child molester?
What about assault? Rape? Torture?
And in what kind of warped universe did sloth trump murder? Guess murder isn’t deadly enough, Brianne thought with a smile as Jennifer returned from the bathroom.
“My turn,” Brianne said, climbing out of bed as Jennifer crawled back in. At least in the bathroom she’d be able to text in peace. Besides, it was getting hot lying in bed with her clothes on underneath her pajamas.
Once in the bathroom, she locked the door, turned on the taps, and tore off her pj’s. Holding her breath to keep from being overwhelmed by the thick cloud of Jennifer’s perfume, she sat down on the edge of the tub and began texting. Sorry about this, babe. These morons seem intent on ruining my life. I promise I’ll make it up to u. Tonite will be the best ever. Don’t start without me.
Minutes later, there was a knock on the bathroom door. “Brianne,” her mother whispered, “are you all right?”
Brianne bristled with annoyance. “I’m fine, Mom.”
Silence, then, “You’re not texting in there, are you?”
Brianne immediately buried her BlackBerry underneath her arm. “Go back to bed, Mom.” Brianne waited until she was sure her mother was no longer standing outside the door, then entered one last text: 2 dangerous 2 text anymore tonite. Hopefully everyone will conk out soon. Then the fun begins.
She climbed back into her pajamas, flushed the toilet, turned off the water in the taps, and left the room.
“Are you all right, pumpkin?” James asked as she tiptoed past the sofa on which he was sprawled.
“Fine.” Damn it. Wasn’t anybody asleep?
Another hour elapsed before Brianne was satisfied everyone was finally unconscious. Both her mother and Melissa were snoring in gentle unison, and Jennifer hadn’t moved so much as a muscle in twenty minutes. Pushing herself slowly and gingerly out of bed, Brianne tiptoed toward the living room. She saw James lying on his stomach, one foot reaching for the floor, his head to the wall, eyes closed, mouth open, seemingly dead to the world.
Brianne quickly removed her pajamas, like a snake shedding its skin, stuffing them into her canvas bag along with one of the keycards she’d swiped from the top of the desk. Hopefully she’d be back before anyone even realized she’d been gone. And if someone did wake up and see she wasn’t there, she would simply claim that the earlier ruckus had left her too wound up to sleep and, not wishing to disturb anyone further, she’d gone out for a walk.
That’s me, she thought as she opened the door and stepped into the hall. Always thinking of others.
HE WAS SITTING by himself on a chaise beside the deserted swimming pool when she spotted him.
“Hi,” she said, approaching slowly, looking back over her shoulder to ascertain whether anyone else was watching.
He looked up at her, sad eyes radiating confusion.
“Can’t sleep?” she asked.
He nodded. “One of those nights.”
“For me, too. Do you mind if I join you?”
“Lots of empty chairs,” he said.
Not encouraging exactly, but not discouraging either, she thought. “I saw you earlier. In the dining room. David, right?”
He cocked his head to one side. Like a quizzical puppy, she thought. She’d never been a fan of puppies.
“I heard your wife call you David,” she said, answering his silent question.
“Among other choice epithets.”
“Yes. She seemed pretty upset.”
“Sorry about that.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
He smiled. “You are …?”
She gave him her sweetest, most beguiling smile. “Nicole,” she said softly. “But you can call me Nikki.”
NINE
OKAY, SLEEPYHEAD. TIME TO wake up.”
Brianne groaned and flipped over onto her stomach, pulling the covers up over her head in protest.
“Come on, sweetheart. We’re starving. It’s almost nine o’clock. Everybody’s been waiting for you.”
Brianne said nothing. Nine o’clock meant she’d been asleep barely four hours. She was exhausted. Every part of her was sore. All she wanted to do was sleep and dream about last night. Maybe if she refused to answer, her mother would go away and leave her alone.
“They stop serving breakfast at ten o’clock,” Val said instead.
“I can’t believe you feel like eating anything.”
“I’m feeling much better this morning. Besides, we can’t very well go hiking on an empty stomach.”
“Hiking?” Brianne reluctantly poked her head out from beneath the sheets, squinting into the bright sunlight that was pouring into the room from the bedside window. Who had opened the drapes? What was her mother talking about? “You gotta be kidding me.”
“It’s no joke,” Melissa said from somewhere across the room. “Your mother has decided to take us all hiking. We’re going shopping for proper clothes right after we eat.”
“Oh, happy day,” said James.
“Forget it. I’m not going anywhere.”
“We’ll talk about it at breakfast,” Val said.
“You talk about it at breakfast.”
“Come on, Brianne …” Val began pulling at Brianne’s sheets. “It’ll be fun.”
“Who are you—the camp counselor from Hell?” Brianne pushed herself up onto her elbows. Through eyes that were still half closed, she saw her mother and her friends, freshly scrubbed and dressed. She craned her neck for the sight of her father’s fiancée. Surely Jennifer hadn’t agreed to participate in any such insanity. “Where’s Jennifer?”
“She went to the gym,” James said. “You should have seen her in her cute little pink outfit from Lululemon.”
“Said we should just do our own thing and not worry about her,” Melissa said.
“Sounds like a plan.” Brianne flopped back down, dragging the covers back over her head.
Val immediately pulled them down again.
“God, were you this bossy with Dad?” Brianne said. “No wonder …”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Val said, knowing exactly where this little sentence was going. “Let’s get something straight right now, shall we? Your father didn’t leave because I was bossy.” Did he? “And he didn’t leave because I snore.” Did he? “He left because he’s an idiot!”
There
was a collective intake of breath, Val’s gasp the loudest of all. Had she really just called Evan an idiot? She’d never done so before, never even allowed herself the luxury of thinking it.
“Way to go, girlfriend,” said James, as Melissa nodded vigorously.
“This weekend was not my idea,” she continued softly. “But your father won’t be here till later, and I thought we could use the time for …”
“For what? Some mother-daughter bonding?”
Was she really that transparent? Val wondered. More like pitiful, she thought. “Would that be so awful? I remember when we used to enjoy each other’s company.”
Brianne said nothing, which Val chose to interpret favorably. “Now, get your cute little behind out of bed, and meet us in the dining room for breakfast in twenty minutes. Brianne? Did you hear me?”
Brianne’s response was a loud groan.
“Good. Then we’ll look forward to seeing you in the dining room in twenty minutes.” With that, Val swiveled around on her heels and marched from the room, Melissa and James scurrying to catch up.
“Well done,” Brianne heard Melissa say as the door to their room opened and closed.
“Bravo,” seconded James.
“Yeah, right,” Brianne whispered. Then she flopped back down on her pillow and disappeared under the sheets.
* * *
“DO YOU THINK she’ll show up?” James was asking as they stepped out of the elevator into the main lobby.
“Probably not,” Val conceded.
“So, what happens then?”
“Damned if I know.”
Passing by the reception desk on their way to the dining room, Val recognized the young woman who’d been arguing with her new husband at dinner the night before. She was wearing denim shorts and a sloppy gray sweatshirt. Val estimated her age as late twenties, and noted she didn’t look any happier this morning than she had last night. Obviously David hadn’t apologized.
“I’m telling you something has happened to him,” Val heard her saying to the receptionist. “He went out last night around two o’clock and he never came back.”
“If you’ll give me a minute, Mrs. Gowan, I’ll get the manager.”