Beth
After the drama of Amelia’s injury—and it was all drama, no trauma, as far as I could see—it was nice to watch Jamie in action with her doctor bag and supplies, taking charge. She moved Amelia to a lounge chair in the garden before checking her injury, which seems to simply require an ice pack. Brett, the poor sport, also returned from his room and offered Amelia pills, which she declined. Jamie seemed furious he was intruding on her care.
Ryan and I decided we didn’t need to stick around, and I was more than happy to get back out on the pickleball court. The second match went even better than our game against Jamie and Brett. Ryan and I trounced Roxy and Greer, who came over to the courts to watch and ended up playing. I cannot stop smiling as we sit down for a late lunch in the oversized dining room. Outside the windows a trellis adorned with pink bougainvillea vines rustles in the breeze.
Everything about this place is perfect except one small thing: When I went to find the newspaper from the day Sunny died, it was gone. And now, I’m beginning to think it was never there at all. From the look on Ryan’s face when I told him, I could tell he thought I was making the whole thing up. I wasn’t. I wouldn’t. Would I?
“Are you sure the newspaper was really there?” he’d asked as we walked to the pickleball court.
“It was,” I said. But I was beginning to have my doubts.
“Well, if it or anything else like that turns up, please let me know,” Ryan said.
“The photo of the young woman, in the hallway outside my room—did you realize the model looks like Sunny?” I asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ryan said, giving me a look like I’m losing it. “Look, Roxy and Greer are ready to play. Get your game face on.”
I did, and we won big. Now, as I walk into the gorgeous dining room, I remind myself I’m Roxy’s guest. I should have an attitude of gratitude, as they say. But I can’t help myself. It’s so nice to see the high and mighty Roxy put in her place for once. She is a sore loser, although not as violent as Brett was when we beat him. Ryan pulls my chair out for me.
“Here you go, partner,” he says as I sit. I know I’m grinning from ear to ear. I’m also Ryan’s guest, not just Roxy’s, and he seems to appreciate my company much more than his wife does.
Roxy gives me a sharp look. “So did I tell you all about thefabulous bachelorette party I’ve been planning for Celeste, with her input of course?”
Celeste and I lock eyes, and she mouths “don’t worry” and shakes her head. I try not to let Roxy get to me, but as usual, she does. This is why I couldn’t stand her in college. Roxy always loved putting me in my place, letting everyone know I was the scholarship student, the poor one, as often as she could. And now she has the nerve to do it in front of my own daughter.
As Roxy rattles on and on about her fabulous plans for Celeste and her bridesmaids, I glance through the window of the dining room. The sunshine we’d enjoyed earlier is gone, replaced by gray skies and—if the furiously swaying palm trees and the flying pink petals of the bougainvillea are any indication—gusty winds. It looks like we’ll be staying inside for the rest of the afternoon. I feel a sense of relief.
Truth is, the more time I spent playing pickleball, and I really enjoyed myself, the more I’d found my eyes drawn to the swimming pool in the distance. The rectangular pool with decorative tile is a nod to the art deco architecture and design that was prevalent in the 1920s in Palm Springs. And it’s too much like the pool where Sunny died. A chill runs down my back thinking about it.
A thick fog comes out of nowhere as I watch out the window and the tennis court fades from view. The vibrant colors of the flowers and greenery are becoming muted, as if a hazy curtain has dropped over the yard. The longer I watch, the darker it gets outside, and I am not sure if it’s fog or somethingelse I’m seeing. There’s a smell in the air now, of earth and dryness.
“Hey, you guys, look outside,” I say. “What is happening?”
“It looks like a dust storm,” Ryan says. He stands and walks to the window. “Do you hear that? The howling is the wind.”
Beside me, Brett is making a strange sound. He seems to be struggling to catch his breath. He must be having some sort of panic attack. Maybe he’s afraid of storms?
“Brett, are you OK?” I ask.
“I’m fine. Need some air,” he says. He stumbles to the door leading outside from the dining room, pushes it open, and hurries outside.
“Brett, you really shouldn’t go out there,” Ryan calls. But Brett either doesn’t hear him or chooses to ignore him. Ryan swears under his breath. “I’ll go get him.”
“Ryan, wait, you need a face mask, and one for Brett. One minute,” Roxy says and hurries out of the room.
We all watch as Brett stumbles around outside, but it’s surreal. The thick dust makes it hard to see anything clearly, even a large man like Brett. The formerly bright landscaping has become ghostly silhouettes. And then, as we all watch from the window, Brett disappears, obscured by the swirling dust.
“Somebody go get him! We can’t just stand here,” Amelia says, rushing to the door, watching anxiously as we all are. “I’m not going out there.”
Roxy returns to the room. “I couldn’t find masks.”
“I’ll get him. Everyone stay inside; it’s dangerous out there,” Ryan says and disappears into the storm.
It’s not more than five minutes later, as we all stand looking out the windows, hoping to see them coming back inside, that we hear Ryan yell, “Help! Jamie! Help!”
Jamie looks at me and says, “Come with me, Beth. Greer, let’s go.”
“Mom, don’t go out there,” Celeste says.
