Thinking about Marco made Bianca chuckle as she climbed out of the car, taking the pale green gift bag containing the gun and the Polaroids with her. Time for a little target shooting. She was out of practice and she needed to get the hang of it again now that she knew about Chelsea and John.
She walked into the woods, carrying the gift bag and hoping she wouldn't meet anyone on the trails. One trail was less traveled than the others, overgrown with saplings and weeds, and that was the one she took. At one point, she had to clamber over a fallen tree, and tore the knee of her black pants, swearing a little. But the tree was good. Who wanted to do what she just did? Most of the entitled elite in the area were used to things being mowed and cleared for them. A dirty old fallen tree would make them turn back.
Then she was in the small clearing, the same one she recognized from the last time she'd practiced all those years ago, knowing someday she might need a gun. As usual, she was right. She pulled out the gun from the gift bag, dropping the bag on the grass, clasped it in both hands and straightened her arms, making sure not to lock her elbows. The silencer helped a little with the recoil, but didn't completely eliminate it, just the way it didn't completely make the gun silent. But it was quieter and that helped.
She took a practice shot at a branch and hit it dead on. So she hadn't lost it. Well, motionless things were easy to hit, big whoop. She lowered the gun and waited, looking around the quiet clearing.
There, a squirrel. She raised the gun, aimed at its little round eye, and fired. Its head exploded, and its limp long-tailed form fell from the tree where it had been clinging into the tall grass. Bianca smiled and lowered the gun. She definitely still had it. But she'd hit a few more just to be sure. Besides, she was having fun.
Ten minutes later, a brown rabbit appeared, hopping haltingly out from under a bush. Bianca raised the gun and said, "Hey Chelsea! You dumb bunny."
Then she pulled the trigger. The rabbit's neck ripped open, blood squirting, and its soft furry body tumbled. Bianca lowered the gun again. She would invite that dumb bunny over for drinks the week after the dinner party. She would insist, tempting Chelsea with a promise of a luxurious present and saying it was a belated birthday gift. She would also claim to be convinced everything was fine with John after all, that she was just a silly girl imagining things. She would even say that John was being particularly amorous lately and that's how she knew their marriage was secure. That would drive Chelsea crazy.
When Bianca spotted a robin land fifteen feet away, she picked it off, leaving a clump of dripping feathers on the ground and thinking about how equally easy it would be to shoot either of them. John wouldn't know it was coming, she'd catch him unaware, and Chelsea would be so overwhelmed when she saw that John was dead, she'd be stunned still, just like the quivering bunny rabbit that she was. Then Bianca would wipe the gun, get Chelsea's fingerprints on it and drop it near Chelsea, whom she had shot in the face at the correct angle so that it would look self-inflicted, and scream.
The police would do the rest, kindly take care of the bodies, and she'd be the pitied wife whose husband had cheated on her with her best friend. Worse, she'd had the horrible misfortune of finding the two lovers' bodies after Chelsea, in a fit of jealousy, shot John dead and then turned the gun on herself. Bianca would also be very rich as John had no other heirs and had listed her as his primary beneficiary in his will, a will that hadn't been updated since Sebastian's birth.
Grinning, Bianca lowered the gun again and waited for another woodland creature to venture into the clearing, knowing she had plenty of ammunition, also obtained illegally through Marco, and hours to practice.
Vodka Martini
"Hey, you!" Jimmy said, smiling with delight and throwing his arms open when he saw Sharon walk in. O'Malley's regulars were already occupying most of the bar stools and some turned to look with curiosity at the latest arrival. As she was average-looking and they didn't know her, they turned back to their beers.
"Hey, yourself. How are you doing?" Sharon said, stepping over to an empty spot at the bar and taking a deep whiff of the tantalizing smell of freshly fried onions coming from the kitchen. She could see why Alan loved this place. It never changed. Even Van Morrison was playing on the jukebox as usual, "Moondance" this time.
"Eh, the usual. Well, better. Last time I saw you, my wife was teed off about Alan staying over all the time. No more, thanks to you. How's he doin'?"
"Okay. I'd like him to quit completely but he says he doesn't have a drinking problem," Sharon said, shrugging. This last comment earned her a contemptuous look from the regular sitting on the next barstool, a man with a nose that was practically purple with broken blood vessels. Sharon knew the look too well and ignored it.
"Well, I thank you, kind lady. Grab a stool and I'll fix you up with the driest martini you ever had."
"Actually, I'm getting a table. I've got some friends joining me and I was hoping we could get one of the quietest tables, the booth over there in the corner? Can I just take it?"
"No maître d' here. Just plant yourself. I'll send over a waitress and that drink, assuming you want it?"
"You bet I do, with just a whiff of vermouth, like a half-remembered dream."
Jimmy's face crumpled and he begged, "Don't get all poetic on me. I just know how to pour them."
"You do, Jimmy, you really do." Sharon raised her hand in a salute, and walked over to the quietest table in the bar and the first place she thought of when Lucie and she made their plans for the big showdown with Molly. It was nice and private, with walls on either side and tucked in the farthest corner of the room. It was also in O'Malley's, where loud arguments were a daily occurrence and taken as par for the course in a place that catered to functioning alcoholics. If Molly got feisty and made a scene, it would either be ignored or ridiculed.
Sharon slid into the banquette and, thinking of Alan, she decided to take advantage of the wait for the other girls and call him. It was nearly six and according to their agreement, he would've had his one "reasonable" gin and tonic by now and would be cooking dinner, which he usually ate in front of the television while watching the news. For awhile she stopped by each day to check on him and bring him groceries, but lately she'd been so busy with helping Lucie and work, she had fallen out of the habit, resorting to daily phone calls and weekend visits. He seemed better and he had promised he would stay that way this time.
The phone rang and Sharon waited for the click of the receiver and Alan's warm rough voice to say, "Hi mommy. Yes, I did have a good day at school today. I even played nice with all the other children," the way he started to every day lately when he saw it was her on his caller id. She would reiterate that she just wanted to make sure he was okay, and he would reiterate that he was and that it wasn't necessary to keep calling him, that everything was fine now.
But the phone continued to ring and then his voicemail picked up. After pressing one to skip the greeting, she said, "Alan? It's me, Sharon. I just wanted to check in. I guess you're making dinner? I know this annoys you, but... I worry about you. Can you call me back when you get this? You can yell at me all you want, but just call me anyway. Okay?" Sharon paused and sighed before saying, "Please. Do it for me. Indulge me, your favorite crazy worry-wart. Please." Then she hit the end button and put the phone down in front of her so she wouldn't miss his return call. Her drink came and menus for everyone, even though she told the waitress most of the girls probably wouldn't eat, that it was just a cocktail hour.
Then Lucie appeared, limping across the room to Sharon and smiling.
Sharon stood up to hug Lucie hello. "Look at you! Walking! Next thing I know you'll be running a marathon."
"Look at you, back to your jeans for our cocktail hours," Lucie said, looking crisp and practically nautical in white capris and a trim navy top.
"O'Malley's is super casual. You're overdressed. But you look great, as usual. It must be the French in you," Sharon said, gesturing at the booth and sitting back down.
&nb
sp; "I never wear jeans. And you know, you're right, I am like Mere. She never wore jeans either."
"Are you nervous?"
"Terrified," Lucie said, bugging her eyes out.
They reviewed their plans for later that evening, going over them step by step, and Lucie placed her order for a glass of wine just before Chelsea walked through the door. A loud wolf whistle was heard, perhaps one of the regulars, and the spotlight that had briefly centered on Sharon earlier now blared down on Chelsea, who was wearing a clingy pink dress and mile-high silver strappy heels. She was obviously enjoying the attention, striking a pose in the doorway as she scanned the restaurant for the girls. Then she spotted them, gleefully smiled, and jogged in little baby steps across the the bar toward their booth. The men at the bar turned around completely on their stools and craned their necks to follow her progress.
Arriving at their table, Chelsea squealed, "Hi! Oh, my God! I love this place!"
"Hmmm," Sharon said, shaking her head slowly, "I wonder why?"
Lucie laughed at Sharon and announced, "Guess what? I can walk again! No more crutches!"
"Oh! Congrats! That's so exciting!" Chelsea said, sliding into the booth on Sharon's side.
While they caught up, Sharon's gaze was constantly drawn back to her phone. Why hadn't Alan called her back? He had to have heard the phone ring?
Kate arrived then and she looked much more like the old Kate, the one Sharon remembered from the first night they met at Ibiza wearing jeans and a too-loose top. Gone was the heavy makeup, gone were the unflattering dresses, and almost gone was the crazy hair. Now her hair was growing out, her natural blond taking over, the purplish ends looking like leftovers from a punk-rocker costume. She was also visibly shrunken and tired-looking as she crossed the room to them.
"Hi?" Kate said, sliding in next to Lucie. "Sorry I'm late. Where's Bianca? Is she late, too?"
"Well, not exactly," Sharon said, picking up her martini and taking a grateful sip. She needed a little Dutch courage as she had held off on mentioning this little detail to Kate on purpose. Kate was so enamored with Bianca she might have refused to come if Bianca wasn't invited, and Sharon needed Kate there, had an important question that only Kate could answer.
"What? Is she okay? Oh, I should call her? I've been so busy. I'm such a terrible friend?" Kate said, reaching for her purse.
Sharon put her hand up. "No, no, don't call her. I didn't invite her."
"Why not?"
"Well, I wanted to talk to you guys," Sharon said. She took a big breath and went for it. "Um, the truth is, I've been having these terrible feelings about Bianca. Now, wait, don't look like that, Kate. Seriously, I'm worried, and I just wanted to get some feedback from all of you. There's something I thought I saw the other night."
"What night?" Chelsea was leaning in, eyes wide.
"Our night at The Vault."
"Really?" Lucie said, brows knitting. "Why didn't you say something to me? We talk about everything else."
Sharon sighed. "I thought it was my imagination."
"Well, maybe it was?" Kate said, shaking her head and blinking.
"I don't know. That's why I wanted to talk to you. You, in particular, Kate."
"Me?"
"Did you," Sharon said, and paused. How did you say this delicately? There was no way. "Did you feel anything, I mean, anyone push you?"
"Push me?" Kate said, jerking back.
"Yes, push you. If it happened you would have felt something, maybe on your back?"
"Are you saying," Lucie said. "That Bianca pushed Kate down those stairs? That you saw something?"
Kate's pale face flooded with color and shook her head violently. "No! No!"
Sharon leaned forward and reached for Kate's hands that were clenched on the edge of the table, but Kate pulled them away, pushing them into her lap. Sharon explained, "I just thought I saw something and-"
"How could you? Really?" Kate said. "What kind of friend are you? You're terrible! Bianca's the best kindest person I've met here; all she thinks about is other people and making them happy. You know, I thought you were like Mary, but you're not like Mary?" Kate looked around at the other girls' faces, her mouth trembling. "None of you are, are you? You're not my friends?"
"Of course we are," Lucie said, her voice sympathetic and soft. "You know that?"
"Yes, we are!" Chelsea said. "We love you, Kate. We're just-"
Kate jumped to her feet. "I can't talk to you right now. I'm just...I've got to go." Kate turned and practically knocked into the waitress who was bringing Chelsea's Alabama Slammer before letting out a screech and running from the bar.
Sharon sadly watched the door shut behind Kate and said, "Well, that went well."
Corona
Kate stormed out to her car, dizzy and buzzing all over with shocked anger. She climbed into her car, slammed her door in fury, and then burst into tears. It was too much. Everything was. She was trying so hard and in every way, pulling herself through her days by sheer will. She couldn't handle this, too.
Sharon's words echoed in her head, metallic and harsh like slamming lockers in a long polished hallway. "Did you feel anything, I mean, anyone push you?"
Kate shook her head, wiping at her eyes as the cloudburst of tears abated, and started the car. At least she had said exactly what she thought. How could Sharon think such a thing? Say such a thing? Bianca worried about Kate and looked out for her, was one of the most caring friends in the world. This thing that Sharon had suggested was impossible and utterly horrible to contemplate. It seemed that Kate's uneasiness about Sharon had been correct after all.
Pulling out of the parking lot, Kate took one last look at the small rundown bar and remembered how excited she'd been about going to a casual place for a change, one that reminded her of some of the neighborhood pubs she used to go to in Vermont with friends. She'd known exactly what to wear and felt at ease the minute she walked in the door and looked around at the working-class crowd. How quickly her comfort had disappeared. Well, she'd be home in a minute and find comfort there; surprise Grant who was probably eating the leftover stuffed pork chops and vegetables and reading one of his medical journals at the kitchen table.
She drove through town and then down the main street that connected with their small cul-de-sac. When she made the last turn onto their road, she remembered the warm pressure on her lower back that night at The Vault. It had to be from her new high heels; everyone knew that wearing heels compromised your spine. But it was just before she fell.
Kate shivered. Now look what Sharon had done? She had made Kate doubt Bianca, planted destructive questions in her mind. Kate decided as she pulled into their garage that she wasn't going to honor this whole mess with another thought. She hoped Sharon and the other girls would have the good grace not to mention it to her again and devastate what little remained of their friendship.
Getting out of her car and walking through the house, Kate put on her best cheerful face, calling out "Hi?" as she walked into the kitchen. Grant was just getting up from the table with his dirty plate, a medical journal splayed open on the table.
"What happened? I thought you were meeting the girls for drinks at O'Malley's?" Grant said, stopping where he stood and holding his plate and utensils in front of him.
"I was? We did? But...," Kate said and paused, not knowing how to explain. Grant had never warmed to Bianca and if she told him what Sharon said, it might alarm him, bring out the part of him she liked to call Papa Bear: scary in his utter protectiveness. Papa Bear might insist that Kate break off her friendship with Bianca, say that he knew all along that something was not quite right about her friend, and if Sharon said that she saw Bianca push Kate down those stairs, she might have. Actually, Papa Bear would go further, would have Bianca investigated, getting the law involved if he could. He would be unstoppable and unrelenting. Just the thought of how bad it could get terrified Kate. She told Grant everything, but she couldn't tell him about the outrageous accus
ation that Sharon had made: it would be inviting Papa Bear to come roaring in.
Instead, Kate swallowed and said, "I just had some cramps again. I know, it's probably fine, but I got nervous. I just didn't want to risk it. And besides, we'll see everyone at Bianca's next Saturday anyway."
"Oh, no. Are you okay?" Grant said, going to put his plate and utensils in the sink and then crossing the kitchen floor to where she stood, his hands going to her shoulders as he looked into her eyes.
Kate looked down and nodded, shame piercing her. She had never lied to Grant.
"Well, why don't you lie down on the sofa and I'll heat up some soup for you? Would you like that?"
"Oh, no, I'm okay. You're so wonderful?" Kate said, looking back up, tears threatening again.
"You're the wonderful one. I have to admit I'm glad you're back in the office full time. I know it's selfish, but I missed you."
"I missed you, too. Though I loved being at that school. I just..."
"You did the right thing. You're very brave, you know? I'm so proud you're my wife. And someday soon we'll have our own family. It'll happen, I promise you. Just...I know it," Grant said and wrapped his arms around her.
Just then the phone rang. Grant said in her ear, "Don't get it. Let's ignore everyone."
Kate shook her head and pulled back to look up at Grant. "It could be Bianca? I've been such a bad friend, never calling back? I just couldn't talk to anyone. But I should get it? Just in case?"
"Oh, Bianca," Grant said, rolling his eyes but smiling indulgently. "Okay, better get it."
Kate pulled away, and jogged two steps to grab up the phone just as it was about to go to voicemail. "Hello?"
"Katie? It's Dad."
"Dad? Oh, it's so good to hear from you! How is everything?"
"Everything's fine. How are you two doing?"
"Good? I'm back at work? I mean, at the office?"
"You're feeling well enough?"
"Fine, Daddy," Kate said wistfully, wishing her family and the farm were just down the road. If they were, this conversation would be held sitting at the kitchen table with coffee and a cake, or maybe a simple and small supper, her parents smelling sweet and soapy after the daily evening showers they took to wash away the dirt, dung, and sweat the farm coated them with.
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