Abel drops my hand like a stone. His gaze is set to the left, the opposite direction entirely. He glances over to the three of them briefly. “That’s her.” He gives me a firm squeeze, pointing me in their direction. “Go on up. I’ll be there in a sec.” He’s lost in the crowd before I can protest, and my heart gives a few unnatural thuds. Abel must really be embarrassed about those pictures. How foolish of me to think he’d be fine with them. And my God, I have to face his mother of all people? Oh Lord, a lightning bolt hurled in my direction might actually be welcomed right about now.
“Here she is!” Kennedy welcomes me into their small circle with a wave. Kennedy dazzles in a black sheath dress, a gold choker her only accessory. I’ve always felt I’ve tried too hard at these events as evidenced by the siren red dress that clings to every curve, matching patent stilettos. They say you can’t buy class, and I doubt I’d have the money to even if I could. I’m fine with it. What I’m not fine with is looking this sweet woman who birthed Abel in the eyes.
“So you’re the saucy vixen who took a pencil to my baby boy.” She hoots to the sky and instantly I like her. “That boy was redder than a turnip when he let me in on your dirty little secret.” She slaps her thigh like it was the funniest thing.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think Caleb was blushing, too. “Mom, this is Zoey Jackson—a fine artist in her own right, despite the fact she allowed her career to run away with that circus rat you birthed.” He gives a subtle wink my way. “Where is the man of the hour, anyway?” He cranes his neck past me to no avail.
“He said he’d be here in a sec.” I’m quick to shake his mother’s hand.
“Martha McCarthy. I haven’t been up here in years. Of course, it’s my ex’s territory. His brother and nuisance of a family have resided here for years.”
“Mother.” Caleb tips his head back and grunts at the dig, but Kennedy and I can’t help but laugh. It’s true. Warren McCarthy is the nuisance in question, and she pegged him correctly. He used to be engaged to Reese until he wasn’t, and then he tried to force himself on her—at least that’s what Neva told me. I wasn’t around that summer. It was a mess, and I’m glad it’s over. Reese and Ace are happy. Gavin and Demi are happy. Caleb and Kennedy are happy. I like happy. I want to be happy, too, although, at the moment, my hand feels a bit empty.
“I’m delighted to meet you.” His mother leans in. “It’s been hard for Abel, you know.” Her nose wrinkles as she frowns.
I’m sure she’s talking about all the time he’s taken from work. I’m sure to the world it looks as if he’s run away from reality, but if anyone understands the importance of stealing a moment to center yourself, it’s me. I’ll be the last person to judge Abel.
“He’s making do up here,” I assure her. “He’s quite the charmer. I should know. He’s been charming me for months.”
She blinks back as if I struck her. “Pardon?”
Caleb’s eyes grow wide. “I think I see my uncle headed this way to say hello. If I were you girls, I’d ditch us right about now.”
Kennedy doesn’t hesitate, threading her arm through mine and leading us down to the sand.
“What was that about?” I try to glance back at Abel’s mother, but Kennedy is driving us straight down to the water.
“Who the hell knows. She’s been closeted up in that house of hers twenty-four seven. She hardly knows what year it is.”
A blonde with a martini glass comes barreling over. “Kenny!” she shouts, laughing and snorting as if she’s had one too many of the libations currently nesting in the crook of her hand. “This is our song!”
“Jessie’s Girl” blares over the speakers, and Kennedy belts out a raucous scream. “I’ll be right back!” she shouts before letting the blonde yank her over to the dance floor, where an entire herd of Kennedy lookalikes lose their heels and their shit while grinding to the music.
The lapping of the lake lures me along its outskirts away from the party and I kick off my own heels, relaxing my feet into the cool damp sand below. It feels like heaven. My God, why do women torture themselves with heels, anyway? I know firsthand Abel loves my feet just the way they are. He’s nibbled on them enough to assure me of this. A silly grin sits over my face, and I can’t shake it, don’t want to.
I stray past the masses until the music, the laughter fades in the background like a dream. In its place is the sound of discourse, a man and woman having it out just beyond a wiry century old oak that settled just above the beach long before the wealthy residents ever did.
“And I’m not telling you to leave,” he thunders, and something about that familiar tone sends a chill up my spine.
“Fine then. I’ll stay. I can’t wait to meet yourwhore.” Her voice is caustic and cruel.
My feet carry me in that direction, even though it’s the last place I want to be. The familiar frame of a man, that suit I had my arms wrapped around just a half an hour ago, stands just a few yards from me. They’re whispering now, lower hushed tones, indiscernible words not meant for prying ears. I step around the trunk ever so slowly to get a look at the woman in question. Auburn hair twisted in a chignon, matching lipstick, little black dress punctuated by an elegant strand of pearls. They glow white like stars draped around her neck and accentuate her startling beauty.
“You said you loved me.” Her arms land around his neck as she pulls him in, her mouth whispering something just over his lips, and my adrenaline spikes without notice.
“Oh my God.” I stumble forward just before her mouth has a chance to close in on his. “What the hell is going on?”
Abel steps back, his eyes cut to me with a mixture of panic and anger. “Zoey”—he blinks back as if trying to discern if I were real—“head back to the party. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Is this her?” The redhead moves in.
“Are you Elizabeth the ex?” I ask as I step in close. The moonlight steals the youth from her face, and I can see the crow’s feet, the creped skin of her neck.
“Ex?” She blinks back a moment. “I’m hiswife.” Her lips curl with a hint of satisfaction. “You must be kidding me, Abel.” A laugh gurgles from her, cutting me to the bone with her mocking intent. “This is just a kid.”
It occurs to me that I’m the whore in the equation as I look to Abel, my handsome Abel, my boathouse lover.
He steps in close, his hand reaching for mine, but I pull it back.
