Jules exhaled. “Don’t make a move,” he said. “I’ll speak with a lawyer immediately.”
Whitney bit her lip. When she had first met Jules, his complete self-assurance had made her feel taken care of. How wonderful it had been, after a life of being self-sufficient, to have someone telling her exactly what to do! She’d agreed with everything he said, even getting her real estate license tojoin his agency. She’d reveled in the many (many) photo shoots they’d posed for—Austin’s Power Couple! Love & Real Estate! Riding the Wave of Austin’s Population Boom, Meet the Brownsons!(The last posed on their matching stand-up paddleboards in the middle of Lady Bird Lake.) But over the years, as he got American citizenship and they built a family and a business, his dictatorial way with her began to chafe.
Whitney didn’t know what had happened on the greenbelt. But she knew what had come before, and she did not want a lawyer’s sharp eyes on the case. She wanted some overworked cop who she could lead like a dog to his dinner.
Jules had made her into a sleek, powerful machine. Whitney flexed her muscles. “I don’t think we need a lawyer,” she said.
There was a silence, and then Jules said, icily, “Sorry, darling?”
Whitney looked at her face in her rearview mirror. She looked flushed, self-assured. She raised her chin. “I said,darling,that Xavier had nothing to do with whatever happened on the greenbelt. We don’t need a lawyer. “
“I disagree,” said Jules.
Whitney cut the call. When Jules called back, she did not answer. This washer son.Whitney knew Xavier. He was not a murderer, and she was not going to behave as if he were. She was certain that Xavier had no secrets.
Whitney, however, had many.
—
SHE TURNED ON BARTONHills Drive and her front gate came into view. They had been the first in the neighborhood to install a security gate, but not the last. Whitney paused in front of the sensor and the metal door swung open slowly. Shepulled the Tesla inside, waving to the men working on their new topiary garden, passing the pool guy’s van. She waited for the garage door to lift, and slid her car into its spot, next to the Mercedes G Wagon, in front of the Jet Ski rack. (They didn’t have a Lake LBJ home yet, but that was in the works. Waterfront lots on the constant-level lakes surrounding Austin were selling like gangbusters, and the Brownson Team planned to invest heavily in the area.)
Whitney had treated her two best friends to a weekend on the lake, even renting a pontoon boat so she, Annette, and Liza could watch the sunset from the water. They’d cued up a Yacht Rock playlist on the boat, drunk margaritas, and sung at the top of their lungs to “Come Sail Away” and “Brandy, You’re a Fine Girl.” Whitney loved her kids, but spending a weekend getting sunburned, readingUs Weekly,and letting Liza paint her toenails had made her feel as if she had a sister again. It had been so wonderful.
The garage door closed. Whitney’s mind spun and she tried to stay still, to scan her body, taming the frightened parts. She climbed from her car and entered the house. A “Welcome” mat fully sanitized the bottoms of her shoes before she stepped inside. Blinding light filled her modern kitchen. Maybe white marbleeverywhere(except the obsidian countertops) had been a bit much. Whitney smiled weakly at her cleaner, Gilly, who was polishing the freezer drawer of the already gleaming stainless-steel refrigerator.
Jules had texted that he would be home in an hour, and Whitney knew she needed to be calm and collected by then. She went into the master bathroom, torn between playing a Breethe meditation through her bathroom speakers, taking a hot bath in her double-sized Jacuzzi (complete with lights that could be synced by Bluetooth to her favorite songs),or popping a Xanax. She stood before her bathroom mirror, letting the sensors measure her heart rate, BMI, posture, and blood flow. (Their toilet regularly tested their waste for signs of disease.) Whitney opened her medicine cabinet. She couldn’t resist putting her hand on her Kate Spade makeup case. Liza had given her the case the year before “just because.” Whitney had almost cried when she opened it, savoring a friend who thought of her “just because”! Was that love? It felt like love to Whitney.
Whitney started to unzip, just wanting to make sure everything was still in place…
The bathroom door swung open and Roma strode inwithout knocking. “Mom?” said Roma.
“Honey?” said Whitney, zipping up the case quickly and slamming shut the cabinet.
“What’s going on?” said Roma, sitting on the edge of the Jacuzzi. Roma was deeply tanned, wearing a yellow bikini. Whitney felt a stab of jealousy at her daughter’s youthfulness, followed by a wave of affection for her pinkish, sunburned nose. “Why doesn’t anyone ever tell me anything?” said Roma, looking at herself in Whitney’s bathroom mirror.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” said Whitney.
“You probably thinkIhad something to do with this,” said Roma, standing up, opening Whitney’s cabinet, helping herself to Whitney’s hairbrush and running it through her glossy brown hair. “You always blame me for everything.”
Whitney bit her tongue and sent a quick prayer:Please don’t let her open the Kate Spade case.
Roma met her mother’s eyes in the mirror with a strange expression. Whitney tried to convince herself that maybe…maybe?…her daughter was just looking at her with simple teen disdain. That was normal, right? Teenage girls were supposed to disdain their mothers!
From infancy, Roma had been worrisome. While Xavier latched right on, Roma would not nurse, turning her tiny headdisdainfullyand wailing. After three days, when Whitney was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, Jules came home with formula, a bottle, and twelve kinds of plastic nipples. “Leave her to me,” he said. He took baby Roma (clad in her pink Vuitton pajamas, a gift from Jules’s mother) and left the master bedroom, shutting the door.
“No!” Whitney had cried, a sense of failure descending. “Jules! No!” Whitney desperately missed Roma, but also (her stomach twisted when she admitted it to herself) felt enormous relief.
Jules had opened the door, peered in. “No?” he said.
Whitney felt guilty, but whispered, “Thank you.”
Jules looked at her with tenderness (he had once been tender!) and shut the door.
Xavier nursed easily, gazing at Whitney. “My love,” she said. His eyes fell shut and he nestled closer. Whitney breathed in the smell of milk and skin, leaned her head back against her silk headboard, and smiled.
—
NOW, WHITNEY TRIED TOhide her annoyance with her fifteen-year-old daughter. “Come on, Roma,” she said. “I would never think—”
