Edgewater (9 page)

8

GRAVESIDE CHAT

ON MY WAY BACK HOME I RAN ALONG THE ROAD
instead of the beach, figuring pavement versus sand would make the running easier. The houses I passed looked like paintings in their perfection, but I only got as far as the Point before I had to stop and drop to my knees, my breaths coming in short, ragged bursts. My legs felt like they were made of Jell-O. It was a few minutes before I stood back up and walked over to the guardrail. The ocean was roaring below, and there on the lip of the cliff was a bouquet of flowers—roses, at least a couple dozen of them, tied together with a satin ribbon, the petals browning from being left out in the sun. I knew it wasn't the smartest idea to walk out to the edge of a cliff to get them, but we'd seen that guy out here in the same spot the night Lennox had picked me up from the airport. God, that seemed like ages ago.

If he could do it, then I could.

Just as I stepped forward, a gust of wind came up and swept the bouquet off the rocks. The water below was too rough to hear a splash. I stepped back again. Why did I want withered flowers anyway? We had more than enough things that were dead and dying back at Edgewater already.

Behind me, a car was coming down Break Run, and I heard the sound of gravel crunching as it slowed, and then a honk. “Lorrie!” Lennox called.

“Hey.”

“You looked like you were thinking of going over.”

“There was a bouquet of flowers,” I told her.

“Huh. Maybe the freak put them there.”

The breeze blew again. It was pushing ninety degrees, but a chill suddenly went up my spine. “Oh my God,” I said. “You don't think someone left them here for him, do you? Like, because he fell or something?”

“Oh, no,” Lennox said quickly. “If that had happened, we would've heard all about it.”

“Yeah, maybe.” I paused. “So where are you headed?”

“Just coming back from the nail salon.”

I looked at her hand on the steering wheel, nails free of polish. “Going for the natural look?”

“Diana double-booked, if you can believe it. And the only reason the other customer got there first was because I held the door open for her. Which just goes to show that no good deed goes unpunished. Diana doesn't have another opening today, but she said maybe,
maybe
she could squeeze me in later this afternoon—like she'd be doing me a favor. I'd have to go all the
way back there, and she wouldn't even be able to do my toes, too.”

I had a flash of a mean thought in my head:
Oh, the hardship of Lennox Sackler-Kandell, having to paint her own toenails.

But then I felt bad for being begrudging. Hardship is all relative. “That's annoying,” I said.

“Yeah. My next manicure better be on the house,” she said. “But the good news is, I ran into you. I just tried calling to see if you wanted to have brunch. I've been calling you for days, as a matter of fact.”

“Sorry about that. Cell-phone issues.”

“So, brunch?”

I shook my head. “I don't have any money on me.”

“No prob,” she said. “I do. I can add it to your tab.”

I didn't want to owe Lennox any more than I already did. Besides, I was too sweaty for the club and too mortified to appear at any of a half dozen places in town where Susannah and Brian previously might have left their waiter in the lurch when the check came. “I'm not that hungry, actually,” I said as my stomach turned over in hunger. I wondered what treats Lennox had in her purse right then. A candy bar? A power bar? “But I will take a lift.”

“Hop in.”

I walked around to the other side and pulled open the passenger door.

“Where to?” Lennox asked.

“Let's just drive around for a bit, if you don't mind. I'm not ready to go home yet.”

“Your wish is my command.”

“Did you tell the moms about my plane ticket?” I asked as Lennox pulled out onto Break Run.

“Yeah,” she said. “They'll get the credit card statement, and I didn't want them to open the envelope and just find out like that. But don't worry—they were completely cool about it. They know there's a cash-flow issue out of your control and you're in a tough spot sometimes, and obviously they wouldn't want you stranded in North Carolina until the funds cleared up. You're practically another daughter to them.”

“Thanks, sis,” I said.

“Besides, they know you're good for the money.”

Ah, there was the rub—the difference between
practically
being another daughter and
actually
being one. An actual Sackler-Kandell daughter would get to take a lot for granted, like having the money to get home from wherever it was she'd gone, and like not opening mail to find out her tuition hadn't been paid. Like knowing she was, in fact, good for the money.

“You're not mad, are you?” Lennox asked.

“No, no, of course not. I knew you had to tell them. I just wondered if you had yet, that's all.”

“But there's something you're not saying,” she said. “I don't mean to go all therapist on you, but we never did have that ice cream chat.”

I turned away again, took a deep breath, and exhaled out the window into the wind.

“I don't think it's healthy to keep too much inside for too long,” she said. She looked away from the road for an instant and put her free hand on my knee. “I'm serious about this. You can tell me anything.”

“I know I can,” I said. “I'm just still processing everything.”

“Process with me,” Lennox said. “I'm a journalist, you know.”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“I'm good at information intake, that's all.”

“Soon,” I told her. “I promise.”

“All right,” Lennox said. “I'll take a hint, even though I don't want to. I have something really exciting to tell you anyway.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“The Copelands are back, and there's a party at the Compound tonight. I got a Google Alert about it.”

“You have a Google Alert for a Copeland party?”

“For anything Copeland,” she told me. “So I can be the first to know.”

“Well, you're actually the third person to tell me about the party,” I said. “I was at Oceanfront just before this, and Jeremy said he'd heard there'd be fireworks.”

Lennox gave me a sly smile. “Let me guess what kind of fireworks Jeremy had in mind.”

“You're incorrigible,” I told her.

“Nice use of an SAT word.”

“I try.”

“Anyway,” Lennox went on, “Claire said the usual crowd will be at the club tonight.”

I stiffened in my seat. It was hard enough to hang out with Claire Glidewell and the usual crowd and pretend to be like everyone else on a good day. If I told Lennox I didn't want to join them, she'd have to choose between them and me. I knew she'd choose me. But Lennox liked those kids. I think it was fun
for her to have some Idlewild friends who were normal. Making her choose wouldn't really be fair to her.

“Wait a second,” she said. “You said I was the third person to tell you. So, Jeremy and I are two. Who's three?”

“
There's
my journalist.”

“Am I supposed to investigate this further or just take some wild guesses?”

“You'll never guess.”

“Brian?”

“Ew! Why'd you pick him?”

“I was going for Person Least Likely to Have Any Intel on the Copelands.”

“Actually, Brian's so weaselly, I wouldn't put it past him to know everything,” I said. “But you're wrong on this, and you should just give up so I can tell you and watch you freak out.” She nodded for me to go ahead. “Charlie.”

“Charlie? Who's Charlie?”

“Franklin Charles Copeland the Third,” I said. “Otherwise known as Charlie.”

“Wait! What?”

The car swerved and I gasped. “Eyes on the road, Len!”

“I can't,” she said. “I should pull over for this.” We happened to be on Lamb Avenue just then, the road that ran alongside the Idlewild Cemetery. When I'd said Charlie's name, Lennox had nearly driven into the white picket fence that bordered the property. Now she slowed to a stop, and I glanced out the window at a row of headstones.

The cemetery had never been my favorite place. When Susannah and I were young, we held our breath whenever we
drove past it, so we didn't inhale any of the dead's souls. That was the old wives' tale that Gigi had told us, and of course it was bullshit, like most other things to ever come out of her mouth. The dead were harmless, and better for us to pull over here than in front of someone's house. These residents wouldn't look out and wonder what Lennox and I were doing on their front lawn.

“Okay, go,” Lennox said.

“I met him at the gas station,” I said.

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

“You met Charlie Copeland? At the gas station? Yesterday?”

“Are you going to repeat everything I say in question form?”

“It's just . . . I'm just . . .”

“I can't believe I've rendered Lennox Sackler-Kandell speechless.”

“I can't believe the first I'm hearing about this is right now.”

“I've been wrapped up in family stuff, so, honestly, I hadn't really thought of it since.”

Which wasn't true. I had thought about it. I'd thought about it a lot—and about Charlie's strong jaw and square shoulders. Everything about him was square, even his hands. I'd noticed that when he held out his wallet and offered to buy my gas and soda. Gas and soda that, pathetically, I couldn't afford to buy myself.

“And I figured I wouldn't go to the party anyway,” I said.

“Hold up. You were
invited
to this party?”

“Charlie invited me.”

“What? Why have you been holding out on me?”

“Sorry,” I said. “It's complicated.”

“You have a complicated relationship with Charlie Copeland that I don't know about?”

“Okay, ‘complicated' is the wrong word. It's just embarrassing.”

“Lorrie, this is me you're talking to. Your best friend. You can tell me anything. So spill the Copeland deets, please, or we'll be sitting in front of this graveyard all day.”

“I needed gas and I barely had any cash on me. Charlie offered to fill my tank. But I felt weird letting him, so he said it could be a loan, and I could pay him back at this party. Except Gigi moved our trust to some secret location and locked herself in her room. I can't get any money out of the ATM, but I can't show up to his party and not pay him back, right?”

“His father is a billionaire.”

“So? Doesn't mean he owes any of it to me.”

“Ah, Lorrie, is this what you've been processing?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” I told her.

“Well, don't worry,” she said. “This isn't a problem.”

“But—” I began.

“No ‘buts,'” Lennox said. “It's a money problem, and Ma says problems don't count when you can spend money to fix them. That's what money is for. It's the other problems you should really be worried about.”

I knew what she was saying—it wasn't an illness or a death or anything. But still, it was an easy thing for Allyson Sackler-Kandell to say: She'd always had money. Up till now, so had I.

“I think you should go to this party,” Lennox said. “And I think I should come with you. I'll give you the money for Charlie.”

“You're not my personal bank.”

“Just think of it as my admission fee to the best party of the year. You don't even have to pay me back.”

“Charlie probably doesn't even remember he invited me.”

“So what? He'll remember when he sees you.”

“If he notices me at all. He probably invited every girl he's spoken to this week to this thing.”

“It's still a holy-shit-big-deal thing to go to the Copelands' house. I wonder if his parents will be there.”

“He said it was his
parents'
party,” I told her.

“Oh my God,” she said. “My knees are shaking. Look at them. They're actually shaking.” I looked; they were. “I've never met a president-to-be before.”

“You don't know that he'll ever be president,” I reminded her.

“The senator
has
been keeping a low profile lately,” Lennox said, speaking as if she were reporting to a crowd at large. “But my suspicion is, he's gearing up for the big announcement. Even his wife is working the campaign trail these days, giving lots of speeches. You know the First Lady is one of the most visible people in the world, and she doesn't even get to be on the payroll. But the voters have to like her, too. People vote for the family, not just for the president.”

“You know, Len, I adore you. I really do. I love how you're passionate about stuff like this—like what's going on in the world. I love how completely unapologetic you are about what a nerd it makes you.”

“It'd be a landmark thing,” she insisted. “The first time we'd have a third-generation president in the White House. Do you think he'll announce tonight?”

I shrugged. “Charlie didn't say.”

“Charlie,” she said incredulously. “You keep calling him Charlie.”

“What else am I supposed to call him?”

“Did he pump his own gas?”

I nodded. “The stars, they're just like us,” I said. Lennox made a face. She hated those tabloid newspapers. She wanted to be a serious journalist. “I've never seen you so starstruck before.”

“Are you kidding? You just lived my dream. Did he say you could bring a friend to the party?”

“He didn't say I couldn't.”

“Good. Because I'm definitely coming with you.”