I need to show Luke how it feels to be put in this position. So he’ll stop doing it. And Blair.
I love Luke so fiercely, and I’ m clinging to the dream of us in New York City together. Not about to let Blair, or anyone for that matter, get in our way.
She’s now sitting cross-legged on the dock, smoking a joint. And maybepouting? Behind my glasses, I squint at her, but the sun is so bright, it’s hard, from this angle, to make out her expression.
In my periphery, I see—no,feel—Luke standing on the far corner of the dock by the boathouse, leaning against it. Now he’s the one sulking. Again, good.
As if desperate to reclaim the spotlight, having been out of it for precisely five minutes, Blair springs to her feet. Walks over, begins climbing the ladder to the old tin boathouse. Giggling asshe does.Why is she always giggling?She’s always the first to dive in from the roof; I guess she waits for everyone to arrive before she does so, just so she can have her full audience.
Once she climbs the final step, she clambers on top of the roof, looks down to make sure everyone is watching.
We are.
She raises her arms above her, sways her hips, places her hands together.
Then she jumps off the roof, diving smoothly. It’s a good twenty feet to the water, and I have to admit, it’s a little too high for me. To jump off, it’s fine, I’ve done that, but to dive, you need to have had real lessons, like rich-bitch Blair has all her spoiled-brat life. Not like me; I learned to tread water, keep my head above it, in swimming holes.
Before she hits the lake, a bloodcurdling scream ripples through the air.
I look over to find Blair diving directly into the tip of an old metal canoe that wasn’t there seconds ago.
Her scream is immediately replaced by a boomingthunk.
59
Charleigh
Late-afternoon light streams through the kitchen window. Charleigh, sunburned—and yes, disgustingly hungover—stands there gazing out over her backyard.
She was just in the pool, trying to get rid of said hangover, but the sun is a torch, and the pool is warm as bathwater; the dip wasn’t at all refreshing.
So she’s slicing through a dozen lemons, intent on making a fresh batch of lemonade for herself and for when Alexander and Nellie get home.
Alexander from the shooting range, Nellie from the swimming hole.
The citrus fruits, pulled from the fridge, feel cool against her fingers. At leastthat’srefreshing.
Whew, this headache, like a vise gripping her temples.
She’d love to have Jackson over right now, mix up some margaritas, a little hair of the dog, but after she toweled off from the pool, she trotted over to her answering machine, which was blinking at her.
He’s in Dallas, or on his way there, staying at the Galleria for a bit.
Maybe she’ll go surprise him in a day or two. Do some shopping.
Because she sure as shit doesn’t want to be aroundhere, aroundNellie.
Her daughter’s been moping about all morning, smoldering in her disappointment after seeing Blair together with Lukelast night, but unable to be consoled, reasoned with. Every time Charleigh tried to open her mouth this morning, Nellie’s responses were biting. Cruel.
She was even caustic with Alexander, and sheneveris.
“Wanna go to the shooting range with me?” he asked her at the breakfast table.
She scraped her chair back, stood to leave. “No, you go. Byyourself.”
Charleigh had no idea what Nellie meant by that, but she was relieved when she yelled at them from the front door, ten minutes later, that she was headed for the swimming hole.
She hopes that whatever happened last night is all smoothed over by the time Nellie gets back. She hopes Luke is out there, gives her plenty of attention. Or at least a little.
