“I’ll see you then,” I said. I thought the Swim Club was cheesy, too, but Matthew mocking it made me angry, suddenly protective. I turned my back and walked away. I couldn’t stand to smell him, to see his teeth, his arms, his neck, his hair. Already I felt my body betraying me, the way I ached for him. I wanted to touch his skin, to kiss all of his fingers. I wanted to slap him as hard as I could.
I went back to the boutique, picked up a palette of eye shadows. Autumn Auburn. Gold Leaf. Hot Cocoa. I started to stack them on a stand, to put away the summer shades that would soongo on clearance: Sandy Beach, Horizon, Caribbean Blue. I wondered if the people who named these colors ever actually experienced seasons, the feelings that they evoked. The melancholy of fall, the stifling claustrophobia of a humid summer, the despair of a long, dark winter.
“So. What’s the deal there?” Emily stood over me. “Here,” she said, handing me one of the metal shopping baskets to put the old products in. “This might help.”
“You heard everything. We’re having a drink. I didn’t know he’d show up.”
“So why see him at all? The guy who screwed some other woman while you were together?”
“I don’t know.”
Skeptical quirk of the eyebrow. She didn’t believe me. “Well, don’t do anything stupid.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, come on, Lily. Did we not, like five minutes ago, have a conversation about being obliterated, in part, by men? About what happens when women let themselves fade into the background? Lie down for him and you’ll get stepped over for the rest of your life.”
“I’m not getting back together with him! It’s just a drink.”
“Well sometimes for youadrink means six. And who knows what you’ll do after that.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“I’m just saying, he doesn’t deserve you. And yeah, that’s a cliché thing women say to one another, but it’s true most of the time. I know he’s this hotshot artist, but he’s a shitty person. And don’t say I don’t know him. I know enough about him from three minutes in his company to know what’s up. And you’re my friend. You deserve better.”
I wasn’t sure what made me so annoyed. Probably that I knew she was right. Despite myself, I also felt a thrill at Emily callingme her friend. “Let’s not talk about what I deserve, please. We all deserve better than what we get, okay? You, me, everyone. It’s really just a drink, and nothing more. I’m not reading anything into it. It’s not like I agreed to marry the guy and cook his dinner every night of my life.”
“Suit yourself,” she said. I hated the chill in her voice.
I banged the wire basket onto the ground and turned my back, focused again on the display. Emily huffed around the corner. We went through the next few hours that way, separated by the glass partition: her at the desk, me in the boutique.
“Looks good,” she said.
“Thanks.” I hated that we weren’t speaking, but I didn’t know how to explain. We were silent until my lunch break, the only sounds the clacking of the new compacts and Emily’s occasional sigh.
I was on my way to the caf when Clara intercepted me in the hall.
“Hey, what’s up? Did you get my text?”
She looked terrible—violet circles under her eyes. “This can’t wait until the end of your stupid shift, Lily. I told you that this is important. I shouldn’t even be here. You shouldn’t even be here. It’s dangerous. I need your help. I mean it. I don’t want him to see me.” I hadn’t forgotten about her text, exactly, but since Matthew came in I’d been distracted, my mind running on a single track. What would I say to him? How could I possibly try to save face? Plus, the library trip, and then all this buzz about the spa visit, Emily’s voice breaking when she talked about ending up like her mom.
“Well, I’m here now. What’s dangerous? Who don’t you want to see you? Have you found Peaches?”
“She’s … I think she’s with the others. They’re all together, Lily. Five of them.”
“Together where?”
“I don’t know, but they’re … they’re dead.”
My breath caught. “Hold on, step back a second. How do you know that?”
“It’s Luis. That guy you work with. He did it. He hurt them, Lily. I knew there was something wrong with him, but I didn’t do anything about it, and now look.”
“That’s insane,” I said automatically. But a thought jolted me—did this have something to do with why Luis was MIA? “Clara. Jesus. Okay, tell me from the beginning.”
“I saw him, in front of my shop. I think he followed me there. And then I have this vision, and it’s of women, five of them. All … all bruised up. They’re like, arranged.”
“What do you mean?”
