Ah. Now Alexa saw why Caitlin asked her to cross state lines and brave the parking on Market Street on a perfect summer day to have lunch with her. It wasn’t to try to mend their friendship, or at least not entirely. It was for this.
Blue Inn was a boutique luxury hotel whose most expensive room went for more than one thousand dollars a night in the summer. There was no way Tyler had either the cash or the desire to take Zoe Butler-Gray to Blue Inn for any sort of rendezvous.
(But did he?)
No! Tyler’s idea of romance, in Alexa’s experience, was limited to the three-for-twelve flower specials at Shaw’s and, on a special occasion, pre-boxed chocolates from one of the downtown stores. He had never bothered even to put together a custom box at Simply Sweet.
She dignified this story with a raised eyebrow, no more, no less. Caitlin shifted in her seat and picked a crouton out of her salad, watching Alexa the whole time.
Alexa’s phone rang with an unfamiliar, local number. Normally she’d decline a call from an unknown number, but she had the urge to show Caitlin that she was busy and important. She answered.
“Alexa?” said the caller. “Hi, sorry, hi, my name is Sherri, my daughter Katie is friends with your sister. Morgan?”
“Okay,” said Alexa. Her mother had mentioned something about a new mother and daughter.
The woman, sounding flustered, went on to explain that she was looking for a babysitter for her daughter and someone on the Mom Squad group chat suggested that she try Alexa. Alexa thought,They let a newcomer on the Mom Squad group chat? As far as Alexa knew, the borders between the Mom Squad and the rest of the world were like those of Castro’s Cuba: closed until further notice.
Alexa turned away from Caitlin and said, “I don’t really babysit.” She wondered which of her mother’s misinformed friends had put forth her name.
“Oh, I see.” The woman sounded disappointed. “Okay, I’m sorry. It’s hard when you’re new to town, you know? To find all the stuff you had where you lived before. Especially as a single mom. Do you have any friends who might be interested?”
She could offer the babysitting job to Caitlin. Caitlin would probably take it, and she’d somehow make it look like she wasdoing Alexa a favor even as she got paid. Alexa thought about that and got mad. She thought about Tyler disembarking from his car in the parking lot of Blue Inn and got madder. She was even mad at the popover that came with her salad for being so good that without noticing she’d eaten the whole thing.
So she did two things in a row. First, she asked for details. Second, she told Sherri she would be more than happy to babysit her daughter the Monday evening after the holiday weekend. And then she did something else, brought on by—oh, who knew. Brought on by Caitlin’s vainglorious posture, by the fake apology, or maybe by the very simple fact of being in a different city, over the state line, with the rest of the day spread out in front of her, as unfilled as a blank notebook. She kept her body turned away from Caitlin and she texted Cam Hartwell to see what he was up to that night.
Immediately after she sent the text, three dots appeared, then the text itself.
Got plans.Against her will—she didn’t care, truly she didn’t, why should she care about someone she hardly knew, and anyway that kiss in his driveway was just a kiss,nothing more—she deflated.
Another text plopped onto the screen.
The plans are with you,it said.I’ll call you later with the details.
“What are you smiling about?” asked Caitlin.
“Nothing,” said Alexa bitchily. Now she wasn’t even mad about what had happened in March; she was much more irritated about the ruse Caitlin used to draw her closer before inserting the knife. She put her phone down and said, “You’re missing an earring.”
Caitlin’s panicked hand rose, found a hoop in each ear.
“Not that one. Third hole up. The little diamonds? The ones you got for your birthday? One of those is gone.”
Alexa rose from the table, deposited her dishes into the correct bin, and escorted herself out of the restaurant before Caitlin had a chance to find out if Alexa was lying.
22.
Sherri
Sherri climbed the stairs to Katie’s room carrying a basket of laundry that she’d just dried at, yes, the Laundromat.
The door to Katie’s room was closed, and Sherri put down the basket of laundry to open it. They weren’t a doors-closed sort of household, especially now that it was just the two of them. Sherri had always prided herself on her openness with Katie, on using the anatomically correct terms when referring to body parts, both male and female, and if Katie should ask her any questions about sex, Sherri was going to tell her everything she knew. Which, admittedly, was far less than you could find out online these days. But Sherri would do her best.
“What are you doing up here, sweetheart?” she asked, as she was opening the door.
“Mom!” cried Katie, and almost immediately after that, “Nothing!” She was lying on the bed, holding something, and whatever it was she was holding she shuttled swiftly under her bottom. She lay there stiffly, staring at the ceiling, like a corpse awaiting the attentions of an undertaker.
Out of nowhere Sherri was angry. The rage came upon her so quickly that it carried with it its own personal heat, like a sudden sunburn. She was angry at Bobby, and she was angry at the adjustment counselor, with her pantsuits and her work pumps and hergentle smile and her freaking advice. She was angry at the cheap cotton comforter on Katie’s twin bed, and she was angry at this town, where she and Katie, who had been somebodys where they came from, now had to prove themselves worthy, like college girls pledging a sorority. She was angry at her stupid ugly shirt and her sensible shoes and her hair color and her short, ugly nails. She pulled at the thing that was sticking out from under Katie, and Katie said, “Mom! Don’t!” Katie grabbed part of the comforter in each hand and pressed her back down, trying not to surrender her treasure. But Sherri was motivated, and she was stronger, and she pulled and pulled until she had it in her hands.
It was a notebook, one of those black-and-white composition books sometimes required for school.
