The familiar chaos of the Bennet house welcomed Lizzy when she walked in. Laughing and yelling, pots and pans clattering, all happening over the sound of the ancient air conditioner clattering away in the front window. It was so normal that Lizzy stood for a moment in the foyer, hesitant to break the odd spell.
Then Kitty poked her head around the corner and saw her. “Lizzy’s home!”
Here we go, she thought.
Lizzy followed Kitty into the living room. Lydia was on her phone, deep in conversation on the sofa as Kitty landed beside her, listening intently to whatever her sister was saying. In the kitchen, Mrs. Bennet was filling a glass of wine with one hand and holding her phone to her ear with the other.
Lydia’s head popped up when she saw the white cardboard box in Lizzy’s hand. “Muffins!”
Lizzy deposited the box on her sister’s lap as she stopped next to the couch. “What are you two doing?”
“Nothing,” Kitty replied, even as her eyes went wide, a telltale admission of guilt. Lydia, on the other hand, had no such tell.
“Where are the scones?” she whined.
Lizzy was too tired to answer as she headed for the kitchen. Her mother was leaning against the counter, deep in conversation and oblivious to Lizzy’s arrival. And behind her, at the kitchen table, was Mary, slathering a Pop-Tart with peanut butter. Scattered around her were piles of food wrappers—Oreos and Pringles and Sour Patch Kids.
“Oh my God,” Lizzy said, rushing around the table and embracing Mary’s blue pixie cut in a hug. “When did you get back?”
“A few minutes ago,” Mary replied, her voice muffled by the sleeve of Lizzy’s sweatshirt.
Lizzy released her and fell into a nearby chair. “And?”
Mary paused mid-chew. “And what?”
Lizzy’s eyes widened. “Mary, you were in jail yesterday and now you’re sitting at the kitchen table OD’ing on food with artificial preservatives in nonbiodegradable packaging.”
She held up a half-empty bag of gummies. “These are going carbon neutral by 2030.”
Lizzy sighed, pushing her hair away from her face. “What happened?”
“A miscarriage of justice.”
“No, I mean, why aren’t you still in jail? Did Dad post your bail?”
“No.” Mary took another bite of her Pop-Tart. “Tristan dropped the charges.”
Lizzy blinked. “Why would he do that?”
“Probably because I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Mary, you destroyed an insanely expensive piece of art.”
“Yeah, but he deserved it.”
“Because he was securing the permits on Gretna Island for HamptonFest?”
Mary snorted out a laugh.
“Oh, please. He didn’t even try to secure those permits. He got Hank to pay him to come out here all summer and ‘consult’ or whatever, but he was just living it up without doing anything.”
“How do you know that?”
“Green Justice monitors all permit applications,” Mary replied, as if the fact was obvious. Then she took another bite of her Pop-Tart. “Hank had been hounding the office about HamptonFest for the past three summers, but this year? Not one permit application. Not even a phone call.”
Lizzy stilled as everything seemed to click into place in her brain. “Oh my God.”
“I know,” Mary said around her mouthful of food. “Capitalist pig.”
