Youll have to be patient, Garth calls back, and decides his youngest child is spoiled rotten.
Maybe thats what happens when youre the baby of the family. He wouldnt know. Hes an only child, and his parents were older, and far from doting.
Brynn dotes.
Nothing wrong with that; she adores the boys. So does Garth, for that matter.
But Motherhood is Brynns life. To the extent that shes actually suggestedmore than oncethat they have another baby.
Garth laughed until he realized she was dead serious.
Brynn cried when he ruled it out.
He often relents when she cries, but not about this. Their little house is already overflowing, they cant afford to move; they cant afford another child, period. Money is too tight.
She didnt see it that way.
Daddy!
Ive got it! Garth swiftly hacks through eight slabs of Wonder Bread crust with a b.u.t.ter knife, drops it among the dirty dishes in the sink, and returns the sandwiches to the boys.
Caleb, still glued to the television, doesnt acknowledge him, just reaches for a sandwich and chews, robotic, fixated on SpongeBob.
Jeremy, however, breaks into a baby-toothed grin and announces, No crust! Yay! I love Daddy!
Garths heart melts. Maybe hes not spoiled rotten after all.
But they definitely are not having another child. No way.
The phone rings before he can return to his work. Its Maggie, a mom down the street, wanting to set up a playdate with Jeremy and her son, Zack.
Thats Brynns department, Garth tells her. Ill have her get back to you.
Where is she?
Out to lunch with some old friends.
Lucky her, Maggie says. If you have trouble holding down the fort, feel free to drop the boys here to play with mine.
Garth, who resents the implication that hes incapable of holding down the fort, tells her that wont be necessary.
At last he returns to the den, a former sunroom with tall windows on three walls, adjacent to the living room.
Its warm in here, the midday sun causing a greenhouse effect through the row of southern-exposure windows. Garth uses the old-fashioned hand cranks to open all of them, as well as the tree-shaded north-facing ones on the opposite wall. Instantly, a cross-breeze wafts into the room.
There. Much better.
He settles once again at his large desk, the broad wooden top entirely obscured by research booksthough no more gruesome ones, in keeping with his promise to Brynnalong with stacks upon stacks of papers and notes, plus his desktop computer components.
The computer is on its last legs, but of course they cant afford a new one. It takes a few full minutes for the antiquated system to boot up.
As he waits, Garth stares at a framed photo of himself with Brynn, snapped just before their wedding. She framed it for him as a gift that first Christmas together, when their newlywed budget was too strained for extravagances.
Which it has been ever since. Last Christmas they didnt even exchange gifts with each other, opting instead to ensure that Santa could bring the boys most of what they asked for.
Garth tilts the frame to reduce the glare of the sun streaming through the windows, gazing at his wifes image.
Look at her. Shes so different now.
It isnt that shes aged, exactly. The picture was taken just eight years ago when she was in her early twenties; she still hasnt chronologically, or physically, left that youthful decade behind.
But the Brynn in the picture exudes carefree joy, and her attention is focused solely on her husband-to-be. Thats how it always was back thenso different from now.
When was the last time she looked at him like that? As though she was really noticing him?
Its been a long, long time.
Definitely not since Jeremy came along.
She looks at the boys that way, though.
Garth often catches her staring at one or the other of their sons, utterly captivated by their most mundane actions or, sometimes, it seems, by their mere existence.
But in this long-ago moment captured on film, shes looking only at Garth.
And Garth is looking at the camera.
More specifically, at the woman holding the camera.
How well he remembers that day spent wandering around the autumn arts-and-crafts festival in town, one that was attended by the locals as well as by college students and alumni.
How well he remembers the irony thatshe, of all people, would offer to take a picture of him with Brynn that day.
Okay, smile, she said casually, aiming the lens.
Does she still remember that day? Does she remember what happened the night before, when Brynn was working the overnight shift at the Amble On Inn?
And if she remembers Will she keep her promise never to tell Brynn their secret?
Youd better not tell,he warns her silently.
Not about what happened years ago or about the sordid past revisited not so long ago at all.
Fiona immediately spies a familiar figure at the table as she reenters the dining room. Lithe, exotic Ca.s.sandra Ashford, wearing a coral sweater thats striking against her mocha complexion, now occupies the fourth chair.
Ca.s.sie! Good, youre here. Fiona pauses to give her old friend a quick hug before sliding back into her seat. Where have you been?
I I had a little trouble finding this place.
And where the heck haveyou been?
Fiona looks up to find Tildy gazing intently at her from across the table, chin resting in her propped hand.
In the ladies room, she lies smoothly.
No, you werent. You were outside sneaking a smoke and checking your cell phone.
Fiona shrugs. Guilty as charged since that apparently is a crime?
Ca.s.sie, I almost forgot, lets see your engagement ring! Brynn cuts in brightly.
Oh, thats right, congratulations on that, Fiona tells her.
She cant help but notice that Ca.s.sie isnt exactly a gushing bride-to-be as she obligingly extends her left hand. Her smile is stiff, and shes having trouble answering basic questions about the wedding.
Either shes been utterly derailed by this impromptu sorority reunion and the strange birthday card that triggered it, or she isnt thrilled about getting married.
Maybe its both,Fiona concludes.
The waiter arrives to take Ca.s.sies drink orderclub soda with limeand to recite the daily specials.
Are you ready to order?
They look at each other.
Typically, Tildy decides, without asking, that they are. Id like the escargot to start, she says promptly, and then the warm duck club sandwich.
Shouldnt we at least let Ca.s.sie look at the menu? Brynn protests.
Oh, Im fine. Do you have a chicken Caesar salad? Ca.s.sie asks the waiter, who nods. Ill have that.
Thats probably not what she wanted, Fiona concludes, watching Ca.s.sie as Brynn is ordering a burger.
Shes as low-maintenance as ever; she didnt want to make us wait while she looked at the menu.
Unlike high-maintenance me.
When its her turn, Fiona quizzes the waiter at length about the ceviche and the sorrel salad before deciding on the wild mushroom tart.
What? she asks, catching Tildy giving her another look.
Some things never change, Tildy comments with a smug shake of her head.
Like ?
Like being in a restaurant with you. Have you ever just walked into a place and ordered something off the cuff?
No, because when I do get a chance to eat, I like to make sure things are going to turn out to be exactly the way I want them. Otherwise its all just a big waste of time.
Ostensibly, Fiona is talking about food. But she could be discussing life in general. Or her failed marriage.
She waits for the waiter to retreat before clearing her throat as a prelude to her announcement: So, Brynn thinks Rachel is still alive.
Three jaws drop simultaneously.
Why doyou look so stunned? Fiona asks Brynn. Youre the one who said it in the first place.
Yeah, but I didnt think you were just going to throw it out there like that.
How can Rachel still be alive?
Fiona shrugs at Ca.s.sies bewildered question and asks pointedly, What doyou think, Tildy?
Matilda Harrington seems to have no qualms about looking her in the eye as she responds, She isnt alive. I checked her myself that night.
Which, of course, means nothing.
It wouldnt be the first time Tildy carried on a lying charade right under their noses.
But when it comes tothat illicit situation, Fiona concludes that its better for everyone involved to let some bygones be bygones, rather than go dredging up every last secret from the sisters shared past.
Because what Brynn doesnt know cant hurt her.
At least, I hope not,Fiona thinks uneasily.
To Tildy, she says, All we have is your word that Rachel didnt have a pulse when you climbed down there.
Allyou have? Tildy echoes. What else do you need? You know my word is worth more than well, more than More than you are? Ca.s.sie supplies. I mean financially.
Tildy responds with a tight little smile.
So the oath, Fiona says thoughtfully. I guess thats what this is all about in the first place, isnt it? We gave each other our word that we wouldnt tell a soul what happened that night. But obviously, somebody did.
Silence as that sinks in.
Then Tildy commandeers the conversation. So then, of the three of you sitting at this table, whose word is completely worthless?
There arefour of us at this table, Tildy, Brynn points out.
Do you really thinkI told? Youre forgetting that I was the one who had to convince the rest of you to do what was best for our sisters.
Rachel was our sister. Brynns jaw is set firmly. Was leaving her there in the woods best for her?
You mean leaving herbody there, Tildy clarifies. We had nothing to do with her death itself. We didnt cause it or even contribute to the cause. She drank her own disgusting grain alcohol; its not like we gave it to her, or pushed her off that rock.
Tildy pauses to let that sink in.
Then she continues, Look, we all know Rachel was responsible for her own actions that night. We tried to stop her, for G.o.ds sake. But who would have believed we were entirely innocent after what happened to the Sigmas? That night, we did what was best forall of the sisters, not just the four of us. That was my biggest priority. I was the sorority president, remember? I took my oath more seriously than anyone else. I wouldnt break it.