Page 33 of Don’t Open Your Eyes

But she wasn’t here to look at her mom’s clothes. She was trying to find something. She was looking for anything her mother might have held on to from the time before she was married. Scarlett was sure there had been someone her mother loved before her father. Because she was convinced that her mother had gotten pregnant before they were married, and she also believed that it wasn’t by the man she called “Dad.” That was why he’d been so adamantly opposed to Scarlett taking the DNA test. But what he didn’t know was that she had forged her parents’ signatures and had taken it anyway. And now she had the proof that they were a pair of liars.

Annabelle

James spritzed cologne on his jacket and glanced over at Annabelle, who was finishing her makeup.

“We’re going to be late,” he said, shaking his head.

“You know I hate to arrive right on the dot. It’s three houses away. We’ll be fifteen minutes late, tops. Fashionably late.”

“You say fifteen, but that means a half an hour.” He walked over and kissed the top of her head. “Try to move it along, please.”

Every first Friday of the month, five couples in the neighborhood, including James and Annabelle, alternated hosting a “First Friday Fiesta.” All their neighborhood activities had cute names like that. It was a little cringeworthy, she’d admit, but James loved the sense of camaraderie and belonging their neighborhood provided. Her friend Kiera joked that Annabelle was becoming a Stepford wife, but the women were anything but subservient robots. They were smart with varied careers and backgrounds. The neighborhood she’d grown up in was friendly but not social, and while she enjoyed a party as much as the next person, it sometimes got a little old, hanging out with the same group so often, hearing the same complaints and jokes.

Tonight’s party was at the home of Phil and Anita, a couple she and James often played tennis with. Phil was a dentist, and Anita was an editor for a large publishing company.

Annabelle finished with her makeup and got dressed. It was a beautiful October evening, but it would be cool, even with outdoor firepits. Most of these gatherings took place outside until it turned too cold. She slipped on a pair of black silk pants and a champagne camisole. A red silk jacket completed the look. When she went downstairs, the girls were watching a movie, Parker on the couch in between them.

“What did I say about letting the dog on the sofa?” she asked, only half serious. All he had to do was look at her with those big brown eyes, and her resolve melted.

“He likes to sit with us,” Olivia said, beginning to pet him.

“All right. Scarlett, keep your sister company. We shouldn’t be too late.”

James looked at his watch. “I stand corrected. You made it in fifteen.”

She gave him a stiff smile in return. Did he have to make a point out of everything, even if it was to concede that he’d been wrong? It was tiresome. They stepped outside, and he put an arm around her as they walked down the sidewalk.

“Listen, babe. I don’t want to be a party pooper but take it easy on the wine tonight. Remember we promised Scarlett we’d go sailing to Port Jeff in the morning, and I don’t want you to have a hangover.”

“You act like I’m an alcoholic or something. Just because you hardly ever drink, don’t try to make me feel bad for having a few glasses of wine on the weekend.”

James sighed in exasperation. “I’m not saying you’re an alcoholic. Why do you have to be so dramatic? I’m simply asking you to take it easy, so we can get an early start tomorrow.”

“Fine.” Her mood spoiled, she didn’t even feel like going now.

“Thank you,” he said, completely missing the note of annoyance in her tone.

They walked through the gate and around to the large backyard, where music was playing and white twinkling lights gave the patio a festive feel. The bar was set up in the pool house, and four firepits were surrounded by cozy seating areas, but most of their friends were standing around the patio. Anita approached them as they came in.

“Welcome! Phil’s been waiting for you, James. Wanted to ask you something—Oh, here he comes.”

Her husband joined them, and Annabelle thought once again how much better he would look if he shaved that ridiculous mustache. Every time she saw him, an image of a villain tying someone to the railroad tracks came to mind.

“Hey, I picked up that 5-Star Baller’s Choice from Honma Beres. Watch out next Saturday!”

James whistled. “You must have done a lot of root canals this month.”

Phil laughed. “I do okay.”

James arched an eyebrow. “I decided to pull the trigger on the Damascus Grand putter.”

“Nice. Let’s hope you don’t snap that one in half when you miss your putt.” Phil turned to Annabelle. “Your husband is quite the hothead on the course. But then again, I guess I’d be pissed, too, if he was the one who’d gotten the hole in one that day.”

Annabelle needed a drink. She couldn’t stand here another minute listening to these two one-upping each other. She turned to Anita. “Shall we leave the golf talk to the boys?”

Anita looped her arm through Annabelle’s as they walked away. “So, I invited the new neighbors from fourteen. He’s a builder, and she’s a therapist. Rumor has it that he left his first wife for her.”

“What kind of therapist?” Annabelle asked, not taking the bait. Anita was nice enough, but her fondness for gossip left a bad taste in Annabelle’s mouth. It was one of the reasons that she never confided anything to her. She remembered her mother often repeating the adage: If a person talks to you about others, they will also talk about you to others.