“I’m just… I’m sorry, I’m trying to understand what you are saying.” She cocks her head to one side and screws up her face in the pantomime of a puzzled woman. “You think one of our neighbors spiked a shot at the Allards’? Which you took, but it may or may not have been for you? Am I getting that right?”
“I guess, yeah.”
“Oh, Caren, sweetie.” She takes a step closer and rubs my arm. “Oh, honey. I know exactly what’s going on. I feel the same way about Noah leaving. Like my whole world is disintegrating. I literally just signed Shawn and me up for ballroom dancing classes. Can you believe it? Over at Glen Echo. And while I was on their website, I also signed up for a beginning watercolor class. I mean, what are we going to do with ourselves now that our kids are gone? I’ve been, like, sobbing at random times.”
“That’s not what this is.” I pull away from her caresses, which are creeping me out.
“Isn’t it, though? You’re not working right now, and that can be brutal on your self-esteem. And with Rachel leaving, no wonder you’re floundering. You will rediscover yourself. I promise.” She brings a hand to her chest, and I almost expect her to say,Cross my heart. “There’s a Caren 2.0 in there somewhere. Don’t be embarrassed to—”
“I’m not embarrassed,” I interrupt.
“I’ve been drinking more too,” she continues in a quiet voice, as if I said nothing. “It’s normal to have a little bit of a meltdown at this stage in life. But it’s not healthy, you know, to indulge in these crazy conspiracy theories.”
“Okay, that’s enough. If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re not.”
“Oh, but I am! Don’t be mad! Combining the empty-nest stuff with perimenopause, it’s like we’re all losing our collective minds!”
I take a step back and bump into the sideboard. My grandmother’s china, which I only use on Thanksgiving, rattles inside. I do feel like I’m losing my mind. But not for the reasonsKenya is listing. Yes, facing what life is like without my kids is tough. But I’m not hallucinating. “Let’s just deal with the email I got, all right? We need to do something.”
“Of course, that’s why I’m here. To help. Who is this woman?”
“You know her. Holly Stone. She lives on Baltimore and she’s always jogging, pushing her kid who’s too big to be in a stroller, like, four times a day?”
Kenya makes a face. “Holly Stone. Oh yeah. I’ve had a few run-ins with her.”
“Have you?”
“She thinks she got short shrift on the pool waiting list.” Kenya waves her hand. “It’s dumb. Go on.”
“I got a crazy message from her about the yard sale. She said that something on the website was stolen.”
Kenya shrugs. “So? That’s not the first time, right?”
“Well, no. That’s true.”
“People drop all kinds of things off during the donation period. It’s total chaos. She’s not the first person to spot something on the website that was stolen. Remember last year we had that scooter that had been taken from somebody’s front yard?”
“I remember.”
“The rules are, if she can show proof of ownership, we’ll return it. That’s the policy. It’s on the FAQ page. Did you tell her that?”
“No. I didn’t.”
“Why not? What’s the issue?”
Kenya’s questions come rat-a-tat. It’s obvious what makes her such a successful headhunter. Organized, relentless, indefatigable. But I’m wiped out from Kenya’s high-octane energy.
“Caren, what’s going on?”
“I found the bracelet in Rachel’s room,” I blurt out, my defenses depleted. “Or I should say I found it in a big bag of clothes she was going to donate to Goodwill. I looked through it to see if there was anything we could sell at the yard sale, and I found a few things, including the bracelet.”
“Okay. I don’t follow.”
“The bracelet is stolen, Kenya. So how did Rachel get it? I’m scared to even think.”
“You can’t think she stole it.”
“No, I don’t think that.” What do I think? That the fall of junior year was a disaster for Rachel. She started spending all her time with Eloïse and her clique. Sometimes she would break curfew or come home drunk. There were fights between us, slammed doors, horrible words screamed in the heat of the moment.
