“Everyone, so glad we’re all together,” I say, putting on my best sorority rush face. I’ve still got it. Everyone knows it. I clap my hands a couple times. I need to jolt some energy into this group. They’re all sitting around with sad faces, lost in thought. I really can’t stand it. “Look, what happened to Brett is a tragedy. I’m not going to pretend it isn’t. Everyone in this room did their best to save him, and we failed through no fault of our own. But now there is nothing more we can do to help him. And from what I saw of his lively spirit this weekend, he would want us to continue with our planned festivities for Celeste and Zach. So can we make the effort to put on our happy faces to honor his memory?”
As my gaze slides from one person to the next, I notice Amelia has dressed for dinner too. Good. I mean, if she can snap out of the misery daze, they all can. She wears a skin-tight black gown, her red hair curled and framing her neck like a lioness. There is no sign of the pickleball injury on her perfectly made-up face, and no sign of grief in her expression. She looks like nothing terrible has happened here at all. I like that. I smile at her in appreciation, but she rolls her eyes at me.
“I hope you don’t mind, I grabbed one of my bags from the pool house and moved into one of the spare rooms in the main house here,” Amelia says. “It’s scary out there, especially now,after what happened. Nice pep talk, but you didn’t even know him, Roxy.”
“Sure, whatever,” I say, glaring at her. “I’m being nice, respectful of the dead.”
Heck, she’s the one who brought him here, not me. I mean, none of them really knew Brett, and they’re acting like they lost an uncle or something. I do notice the stark contrast between Amelia and me, and everyone else. I’m sure they must be as anxious to shower off the dust as I was. I still feel it in my throat, taste the earth on my tongue. A good meal will make all of us feel better.
“Look, we’re all trapped here for the foreseeable future. Who knows how long this thing outside will last,” I say. “And that’s fine, because we’ve got another feast on the menu tonight. The staff should be here any moment to start getting things ready, and we have all the supplies we need to make it very special. So why don’t you all go put on your party clothes and get ready to enjoy a fantastic dinner I spent weeks planning? A shower feels great, Jamie, Beth; it really does. All I need is for you all to snap out of it and go get changed. You’re all covered in dust.”
Ryan stands and I think for a moment he’s obeying my command. My heart flutters. He’ll lead the charge to the showers; he’ll help me help them forget about Brett and refocus on the kids. I see him look at Zach, and they hold a look for a moment. And then Ryan takes a deep breath and turns and looks at me.
“I’m sure you think you’re being helpful right now. But we are all sick of this, this Roxy Show,” he says, his blue eyes flashing at me in anger.
I feel my mouth drop in shock. I’m mortified. How can he talk to me like this, in front of all of them? In front of Zach, my boy?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m trying to lift everyone’s spirits, to celebrate the kids, to make everything perfect,” I say. I pinch my hand because I feel tears welling up in my eyes. I do not want to drip water on this gorgeous gown.
“It’s not perfect, Roxy. It’s about as far from perfect as you can get. A man has died; we’re trapped here by a dust storm that has, according to the alert on my phone, caused a thirty-car pile-up and a raging fire near the electric transponder. The haboob should be over soon, but the damage will take days, or weeks, to recover from. But you’re acting as if nothing is wrong. I know I promised to behave in front of the guests, to play my role in your show, but I can’t, not anymore.” Ryan is shaking his head, hands on his hips. I don’t like the looks of this, not at all.
He can’t do this. “No, stop talking—you can’t do this. Not here. Not now,” I say. I reach for the kitchen counter behind me to steady myself.
Ryan sweeps his gaze around the room. “I’m sorry to make a scene in front of you all, but I don’t feel comfortable lying to you any longer. Roxy and I are getting a divorce,” he says.
I hear someone gasp. I suspect it was Amelia, though I cannot bring myself to meet anyone’s eyes. The room has gone silent again, but this time it’s because of us, our marriage, imploding in front of them.
“Ryan, please,” I say. I can’t stop the tears running down my cheeks.
“I’m sorry, everyone. I truly am,” he says and strides out of the room.
I hold on to the counter behind me, certain if I let go, I’ll slump to the floor. I do my best to maintain my bright smile because no matter what, the show must go on. Even if I am watching the life I worked so hard for unravel before my eyes.
26
Amelia
I watch as one by one the guests make excuses to leave the kitchen. Jamie, who has been pale and withdrawn since her failed attempt to resuscitate Brett, stretches her arms in the air and stands up. Her pickleball outfit is covered in a mixture of mud and dirt, mud from the swimming pool water, dirt from the dust storm.
“I’m taking a shower and then a nap,” she says and walks out of the room. I don’t blame her. It looked like hard work, what she did, and all to no avail. It must be tough on doctors when their patients die. I mean, not that Brett was actually a patient of hers, but still, she was the doctor who tried to save him. And they were pickleball partners for a moment.
“I’m going to go check on the latest weather report,” Greer says, following Jamie out of the room. “Maybe the phone service is better in our room.”
Zach has been staring at his mom ever since Ryan left the room. I’ve watched as Celeste tried to console him, but he’s clearly beyond angry, and beyond words. Zach doesn’t bother with an excuse when he leaves the room. He simply shoots his mom a look of betrayal as he flees the room with Celeste and Beth hurrying after him.
Finally, it’s only me and Roxy, Roxy still standing by the oven, me sitting at the kitchen table.
“I guess it’s just us,” I say. I stand and walk over to Roxy. “Are you OK? That was quite a bombshell Ryan dropped.”
Roxy begins to laugh, a maniacal chuckle that gives me the chills. She points at me, a long, thin pointer finger sporting a huge diamond and sapphire cocktail ring. “Spare me your fake sympathy. I know you’re only worried about yourself and your little monthly allowance. Well, you should be, because I won’t be paying you a dime of hush money from now on. I’ll be too busy trying to get enough money for myself, to live on, and I won’t be funding your lifestyle too. It’s over.”
I stare at Roxy and see her clearly, the woman she actually is. The blackmail hasn’t been about the money, but she clearly doesn’t realize that. I have plenty, especially now. It’s been about revenge. Because it’s always all about her, always has been, always will be. We are all props on her stage. I remember the last night of spring break. It was before dinner and I knocked on Sunny and Ryan’s hotel room door, hoping to borrow a dress to wear for dinner and to go out that evening. I hadn’t brought along enough sexy, desert options, and Sunny had looked spectacular every day and night.
The door opened and it was Roxy standing there. But I’d knocked on Sunny’s door.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, confused. There was no way she was there to borrow a dress like I was—Roxy would never have been caught dead in someone else’s clothes. Roxy looked uncomfortable, like I’d caught her with her hand in a cookie jar.
“Get in here I need you,” she said, grabbing my arm and dragging me inside and closing the door behind me.
