“I’ll stay with you,” Zach says, wrapping his arm around her.
“I’ll be right back,” I say. I grab the napkin from the table and cover my nose and mouth and follow Jamie and Greer into the chaos. The air is thick and hot, and the dust feels like soot. Tiny pieces of gravel sting my exposed skin.
None of us can see farther than our outstretched hands. We walk carefully, and slowly. Until Ryan yells again, over the storm: “Come to the pool!”
Before I know it, we’ve reached the swimming pool. And there’s a body floating in it.
I hear myself screaming as I see Jamie jumping into the water and, with Ryan and Greer’s help, dragging a limp Brett to the side. We all help pull him out of the pool and watch helplessly as Jamie performs CPR. She works on him for what seems like hours; I don’t know how long we all stand there, hoping, watching in terror.
And the flashbacks come before I can stop them, of Sunny, floating, dead in the pool, the pool that looked so much likethis one. Her green shirt. Her ponytail. Her tennis necklace. All of them flash through my mind. I cough and rub my eyes. The dust is everywhere, in my mouth, my eyes, my nose. We huddle together around Jamie and Brett, trying to shield her, them, from the storm.
Brett isn’t moving, hasn’t moved since they pulled him out of the water. Amelia has joined us outside, standing silently, watching. None of us speak.
And the reality begins to sink in. Despite Jamie’s best efforts at reviving him, we eventually have to face the truth.
Jamie stops CPR, leans back, and shakes her head.
“I did all I could,” she says, her face covered in dust and mud, her eyes exhausted. “But I’m afraid Brett is dead.”
24
Amelia
People swirl around me in the kitchen, yelling, wet, crazed, in shock. It’s a relief to be back inside the house, but I’m still disoriented from being out in the storm. The air is dirt, and the floor beneath my feet feels like it’s swaying slightly, back and forth. It’s pandemonium, and yet, I feel calm. It’s strange. I pinch my own arm. Pat my cheek and eye socket where the pickleball hit me. I don’t feel anything. Not pain, not sorrow or grief.
Once I got over the shock of seeing Brett in the pool, face down, and then waterlogged and lifeless on the deck, the only emotion I’ve managed to feel is indifference. It’s not like I’d known Brett all that well, to be fair. We’d hooked up a few times, sure, and the sex was great, but I certainly hadn’t been in love with him. That much is clear. He was annoying and became even more so each minute of this weekend.
Why did he turn out to be such a flirt, such an ass, and such a bad sport? Who knows. And now, everyone is focusing on his death, trying to figure out what to do, and that means I must postpone the critical conversation I was planning to have with Roxy this afternoon. We have business to discuss, and now she, like everyone else, is completely distracted.
Despite the fact he’s now dead, I’m angry at him still. This is all Brett’s fault. In a short amount of time this weekend, he morphed from being a fun date into a show-off flirt. He couldn’t focus on me, the most gorgeous single woman in the house. No, that wasn’t enough for him. He decided it would be much more fun if he paid attention to Beth and Jamie, who has a husband who is always around her. I mean, like why flirt with Jamie? It was so strange. And then that whole pickleball situation. Part of me wonders if he hit me in the face on purpose, hoping to knock me out or get me out of the way. I guess I’ll never really know what he was up to this weekend. But one thing is for certain—whatever he was up to, he won’t be up to it anymore.
I watch with mild interest as Ryan, Greer, and Zach carefully carry Brett’s body past me, heading to the far reaches of the house, no doubt. Outside, the haboob, as we have learned the dust storm is called, is still a menace, turning daytime into night. Hopefully, the storm will pass soon, because the emergency operator indicated they would not send a squad to collect an already dead person in this sort of weather. Brett, and the rest of us, must wait for better skies.
I wonder if he will begin to smell as he decomposes. A chill runs down my spine at that, and I’m glad at least I feel something. Disgusted.
I peek down the hallway and see that the men have placed Brett’s body on top of the piano in the living room, visible from all of the first-floor entertainment areas of the house. They walk toward me in a solemn clump, leaving Brett on the baby grand, like he’s awkwardly fallen asleep there. But he hasn’t. He’s dead. I wonder if he has a family, parents or siblings or anybody. Someone will need to break the bad news to them.
I remember that awful day when Sunny’s body was discovered. Beth had to call Sunny’s mom from the lobby of the hotel while we all stood by her for moral support. It was heartbreaking, the kind of call no one ever wants to make, or receive, for that matter. It’s a terrible coincidence that both Sunny and Brett died in a pool in Palm Springs. Maybe this whole town is cursed, or maybe it’s us.
I stare down the hallway at Brett’s body. I wonder if he’s ruining the shiny finish with the pool water and whatever is leaking out of him. Disgusting. Then again, even if by some miracle the baby grand remains pristine, Roxy will probably replace it the first chance she gets. There’s no way she’d be willing to have someone play a piano a dead man once rested on. I hurry away from the view down the hallway and wonder if I can make it to the pool house to change, or if the storm is still furious, a relentless swirling of dust particles. It is unsettling outside, the force of nature so powerful, so surprising. ButI’m unsettled inside, too, knowing Brett is at the end of the hall, dead. I mean, what are the chances?
So much for Roxy’s big plans to create happy memories here to replace the sad ones.
25
Roxy
Nothing has gone as planned. Obviously, Brett dying in my pool was the worst possible thing. Well, one of the worst possible things. Another huge problem is that Ryan thinks we’re over, which we’re not, and I’ll have to fix things between us. And I will. I think the stress of hosting all of these college friends here has really pushed him over the edge. They’ll be gone soon, though, and we’ll be fine. And then there’s the haboob—I’ve never heard of such a thing—spitting dark sand and scary wind at us. So far this engagement weekend has been…I won’t say a bust. But a challenge.
But now it is time to regain control of the weekend. I’ve taken a shower and changed into my dinner gown, a full-length, body-hugging silk stunner in baby blue that brings out my eyes. I look gorgeous, I do. I add some of my favorite diamond jewelry, which I brought to show off to my sisters, of course. Satisfiedthat I look amazing, I hurry back downstairs to find my guests. And my husband. Surely this look will help change his mind. It’s his favorite color.
A shudder runs down my spine as I look down the hall to the foyer and into the living room. I know his body is on the piano, but I refuse to look at it. I’ll never be able to walk past it if I see him there now I’ll always see him there. I turn around and head to the kitchen, pushing the memory of this afternoon out of my mind.
We still have an engagement to celebrate. We will honor my son—and his future wife, who I’ve come to enjoy being around. She’ll be easy to work with, malleable and compliant. A good partner for my rather dominant, strong-willed son. She was so quiet when we met the first few times, but now, I’ve been able to appreciate her sense of humor and her heart. She is stunning, so I’ll have adorable grandchildren to spoil someday, but I’m definitely not in a hurry to be called Grandma.
I need to talk to Ryan about buying them a house near us. That’s what all my friends are doing who can afford it. I mean, it’s almost impossible for the kids to get a start these days. What a wedding gift that will be. Nothing but the best for my boy and his wife. I do hope she’ll continue to listen to me about the wedding planning. I know what I’m doing. And her mom, well, she’s over her head. Always has been, poor Beth.
When I walk into the kitchen, I see all the guests and the couple of honor, minus Brett, have gathered. It’s the heart of the home and should be a relaxing space, but I can feel the tension.Yes, someone died, tragically. But they need to refocus. They need to get cleaned up. They are a mess, and they’re soiling all the new furniture. I need to remind them what this weekend is all about.
