Callie wrenches open the back door, vanishes inside the house. I look over to Tina. Her expression is stunned, her mouth hanging open.
I, too, want to follow Margot out, even though I know she knew exactly what she was doing, so I stand and take a deep breath, exhale, and head inside.
The house is empty, so I walk to the front door and pull it open. Margot is sitting in her black Mercedes with the engine running. Her face is stone, her sunglasses shielding her eyes.
Callie is leaning into the driver’s side window, talking softly to Margot.
They haven’t noticed me, so I stand there and watch. Margot stares down into her lap. Callie leans in further, smooths a hand over Margot’s hair. Margot seems to melt. She leans back in the driver’s seat and her mouth forms an O, exhaling.
I want to go over to her, to be the one who’s consoling her. But she’s not mine to console; she’s Callie’s.
Callie bends further at the waist so she’s now eye level with Margot. She presses her lips to Margot’s cheek, runs a hand along Margot’s face. But Margot removes Callie’s hand and shakes her head.
Before they can see me, I dissolve back into the house and shut thedoor.
30
Friday, April 13, 2018
I’M DRIVING OUTto Margot’s lake house, heading there a little early. I want to arrive before everyone else; I want to see if she’ll open up to me. I didn’t hear from her all week after the scene at Jill’s, so I sent a text, checking on her. But she never responded.
She only sent a group text just yesterday, short and clipped.
We’re back on for tomorrow night. I expect to see everyone there.
Jill was the first to respond with an overzealous:
Great! Can’t wait!
Then Tina:
Woo-hoo!
Then Callie, with just a thumbs-up emoji. I texted that I was excited, followed by a rifle emoji.
—
BEFORE I LEFTthe house tonight, I kissed Jack on the top of his shampoo-scented head and wrapped my hands around Graham’s neck, promising to be home no later than midnight.
“Go get ’em, shooter,” he drawled in his mock Southern accent before nibbling on my ear and pulling me into him.
We hugged for a long minute before he released me. “But seriously,” he said, suddenly stone-faced and solemn, “don’t pull an all-nighter.”
“That’s not happening, I promise. There’s no way I’m doing that,” I said, my eyes never leaving his face.
—
EVEN THOUGH IT’Sstill early, the sun is beginning to set, a wedge of mango sinking into the treetops. It’s even warmer than it has been, and the balmy, late-afternoon air feels good against my neck. I’m wearing a yellow sundress and some vintage boots I found at the thrift store this week. My windows are down as I curve around the lake roads, filling the car with the forested scent of the woods. Delicate wildflowers sprinkle the sides of the road, and when I round a sharp bend, a meadow opens up and the lake shimmers beyond it, sparkling and rippling like a breathing thing, and again, I’m struck by the picturesque splendor of the area.
When I pull into the drive, Margot is standing on the porch, leaning against the house with a bottle of amber liquid in her hand. She’s wearing a cherry-red tank top with painted-on, faded jeans tucked into cowgirl boots that look like they cost thousands. Her hair is sleek and perfect, and a pair of diamond studs twinkle from her earlobes.
Callie is already here. Of course she is. I let out a long sigh and my shoulders slump in disappointment.
She reaches for the bottle from Margot, takes a long pull, and then passes it back to her.
Callie then begins loading shotguns onto the back of a four-wheeler, but when she sees me inching closer to the house, she gives me a blank stare and a quick wave. She’s wearing a tight black T-shirt, and her ropy, blond hair is pulled into a high ponytail.
I climb from the car, walk over to Margot.
