Social Lives (23 page)

“Do you want to go first?” she asked.

Barlow frowned playfully. “If I must.” He got up from the bed, gathered his clothing, and headed for the bathroom.

It was a lovely inn, the Lindly, nestled by the shore just at the edge of town. The small, cozy rooms were filled with antique furniture, fine linens, and the softest towels. Too quaint for business travelers, it was used, almost exclusively, for wedding receptions and out-of-town family members who were too unruly to be put up in one's house. Without a spa service in sight and a menu that was a bit too pedestrian to draw attention, it was virtually deserted during the week. Come tomorrow, the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, it would be booked solid. But today, a day of shopping and cleaning and packing, it was as safe as they could get without traveling out of town, and Barlow had decided it was the perfect scene for their crimes.

None of their planning, it turned out, would matter.

Searching the room for her own belongings, Jacks heard the soft buzzing in her purse. The phone had been turned to vibrate and now, it seemed, she had missed a call. Sitting on the bed, she pulled the end of the sheet across her body and called in to her voice mail. There was only one message, which seemed at first blush to be entirely benign. It was Eva Ridley, first going on about some tiff she'd had with a teacher at the Academy, then the meeting for Rosalyn's blow job committee that was scheduled for this afternoon. Jacks had planned on attending, but then Barlow had sent her a text message:
Wouldn't it be perfect to meet today?
He had been right, of course. Knowing where Rosalyn would be, and for how long, made it as perfect a time as they would ever have. Rosalyn had selected Casa Michelle, a pretentious and overpriced French restaurant on the other side of town. And Jacks hadn't told anyone she had changed her plans and would not be joining them. That was a call best left for the very last minute, when they would all be too preoccupied to push her for an explanation.

Sitting on the bed, Jacks felt the breath rush into her body. She stood up, let go of the sheet, and began to gather her clothing—underwear, bra, slacks, blouse. With the phone still pressed to her ear and the water running in the shower, she took in every word at the end of Eva's message. Having been to Casa Michelle the night before, Eva had asked that they change the location of the meeting. And the new destination was the Tavern at the Lindly.

Embedded within a story that was going on and on in the message were the pieces that Jacks was now putting together.
Eva said she knew a woman who knew another woman who was friends with the chef and wouldn't it be fun to try the new menu . . . only they didn't start serving lunch until after noon, so the meeting would be pushed back
. . . .

As she buttoned her blouse, Jacks stood behind one of the draperies by the window and looked outside. Snow had been falling for over an hour and was now blanketing the small parking lot that was behind the inn, hidden from the road. There were seven, maybe eight cars, but only two that had Jacks concerned. Her gold Lexus with the vanity plates that bore her initials, and Barlow's orange Corvette. Flipping the phone shut, she checked her watch. It was five minutes to twelve. When she looked up again, it was just in time to see a red minivan turn the corner.

With her mind reeling, Jacks scrambled to put on her shoes, buckle her belt, comb her hair.

“You're dressed,” Barlow said, sounding surprised as he stepped out of the bathroom.

“They're here.” It was all that Jacks could manage to get out. Her throat was bone-dry.

Barlow smiled. “What, aliens?” He laughed and reached out for her, his arms wrapping around her waist.

But Jacks pushed him away. Moving as she spoke, she managed to tell him about the phone call, about the red van.

“Fuck!”

“I'll go down first. I think I can duck into the ladies' room. You come down later. After everyone has arrived—after Rosalyn.” Saying her name in this room, under these circumstances, was agonizing.

Barlow was shaking his head. He was deep in thought now, thinking through the options. “No—I need to get the car out of here. What reason will I have for being at the Lindly in the middle of the day?”

“Listen to me. There's no time. They'll either see you drive out, or they'll see the car parked here. Which would you rather explain?” She'd dressed and gathered her belongings, and was headed for the door.

“Right. You're right. I'll think of something. I'll stay here until I see them all.”

Jacks stopped for a second and looked at Barlow. This was a disaster for both of them, and the recklessness of their actions crashed down in pieces at their feet.

“I'm sorry,” she said.

But Barlow took her in his arms and kissed her. “Don't be sorry. Don't ever be sorry for this.” How desperate he was in that moment, to have her feel for him what she had made him feel for her.

But Jacks didn't have time to think about that now. “I have to go.”

“Go,” Barlow said, suddenly drawn back into the urgency of the situation.

Jacks left him in the doorway as she hurried down the service stairs that led to the kitchen. She was barely noticed as she emerged, the nicely dressed customer who'd lost her way. She was nonchalant as she wove through the workers, chopping and washing as they prepared the lunch menu. She pushed through the door used by the waitstaff and into a hallway that led straight to the powder room.

When she got inside, her senses began to return, the thoughts settling into place.
Yes—I have arrived early. I'm freshening up. And I have no idea why Barlow's car is parked outside.
She was covered, as covered as she was going to be, and convincing herself of this made room for the other conclusions that had been forming inside her head. Eva never cared where they ate, as long as they had wine and salad. And why at the last minute? Rosalyn had confirmed the meeting days ago. And, finally, why here? It was almost too perfect, the coincidences that had been woven together and were now threatening to expose her. It was almost as if Eva had known.

The door opened. Jacks finished the stroke through her hair she had started moments before and smiled. “Hi, Sara! How have you been?” She leaned over and kissed Sara Livingston on the cheek.

“I'm good. How are you?”

“Fine. Just fine. Getting ready for Thanksgiving.”

Sara took out a lip gloss, though she seemed to have a fresh layer. “I think we're the first ones here,” she said, revealing the reason she had come into the ladies' room. Late, early, late, early. Poor Sara Livingston never got it right.

“Did your family come up?”

“They did. They've been here since yesterday.”

“How's that going? Do they just
love
the house?” Jacks took out her own lipstick.

Sara sighed as she would with a close friend. “Actually, no. They think it's extravagant. They're pretty modest people.”

Jacks managed to look surprised as she rubbed her lips together, then blotted them into a tissue. She would have been surprised were she not so consumed with panic. “Your house? Extravagant?”

Sara nodded. “I know.”

“Oh, well. That's family for you.”

The conversation stalled as Jacks let her thoughts go where they wanted, to the plan that was forming in her head.
No,
she said to herself. How could she even think it? But it was too late. She had started down this path and was too far gone to turn back.

“I guess I'll see if the others have arrived.” Sara was out of excuses to stay now and was putting the gloss back inside her purse. She turned to Jacks and smiled.

Let her go.
Jacks looked into her bag and pulled out her concealer. She held back until the last second, until the opportunity was almost lost. The battle being waged inside her now was tearing her in two.

“Wait. . . .”

Sara turned to face her, her hand on the door handle.

Jacks closed her eyes as she jumped off the cliff she'd been standing on since the moment Sara Livingston walked into the room. And the feeling of the free fall nearly took her breath away.

“I think we're meeting on the second floor.”

Sara looked at her with gratitude, her voice perky, innocent. So very innocent. “Thanks!” she said.

And Jacks had no words to justify what she was doing, what she had done. She thought about David, how he'd cried in her arms that night. She saw the faces of her girls, felt their happiness within her the way a mother does.
God forgive me.

Sara was watching her, waiting for some kind of response.

And Jacks, after pulling herself together, managed to give her one. “You're welcome. I'll see you up there.”

 

 

 

 

 

R
OSALYN SAW THE CAR
as she pulled into the snow-covered parking lot of the Lindly. But she said nothing of it to Eva, who was sitting beside her. “Honestly. This place is so far out of the way.”

Eva studied Rosalyn's expression. There was a hint of annoyance, perhaps. Irritation. And yet it was unmistakable, the Creamsicle Corvette whose tires were nearly covered by the snow that had begun to fall an hour before. The car had been here for a while.

“Sorry. I ate at Casa Michelle last night, and honestly it was terrible. Plus I know the new chef here—”

“So you said. Let's just get inside before we're buried alive.” As Rosalyn focused on turning the car in the snow, Eva could see her eyes taking in the other cars in the lot. Jacks's gold Lexus was parked just beyond Barlow's, but the tire tracks were fresh. And beside the Lexus was the unmistakable red minivan. Hard to tell how long it had been here. It was under a tree, which at the moment seemed to be holding the majority of the snowfall. The information swam in both their heads as they circled the lot.

They pulled in as close to the entrance as possible and went inside. An older gentleman met them in the foyer.

“Yes, mesdames. Are you guests of the inn or just dining with us this afternoon?”

Rosalyn was too busy shaking the snow from her brand-new Jimmy Choos to answer.

“Just lunch. I called earlier. We have a party of seven,” Eva said. Then she paused and turned to Rosalyn. “It's seven, right? You asked three more?”

“Yes, seven—if everyone can make it. What a day it is out there!” She lifted her head and smiled politely, handing her coat to the man.

“Indeed. Right this way. We have you in the back dining room. It's very warm by the fire.”

Rosalyn turned to Eva, looking absolutely delighted. “A fire! How nice.”

“Yes, it's lovely. One of your guests has already arrived.”

They walked in silence past the small reception desk, the women marching behind with cautious steps as though any move they made might disrupt the evidence that could be hiding around them.

On the second floor, Sara was making her way back toward the stairs. She'd walked down two narrow hallways, each lined with a worn antique runner and floorboards beneath that creaked like her grandmother's house. The inn had actually been a home, someone's mansion nearly two hundred years ago, though it was now modest compared with the estates in Wilshire.

The small meeting room at the end of the first hallway had been empty, and it hardly seemed appropriate for a lunch. With nothing but plush chairs and reading tables, it was clearly intended for just that—late-night reading. The second hallway had proved equally futile, lined solely with the closed doors of the guest rooms, and Sara now found herself perplexed and frustrated. She checked her watch. She was ten minutes late to the meeting, if there even was a meeting, somewhere in this maze of rooms and hallways. Finding an exit door, she pushed through it and started down the stairs. Then she heard the same door open again from just above her, and she stopped.

“Sara?”

Ernest Barlow was shocked, though with his unfailing charm always on standby, he managed to appear only mildly surprised when he came upon her. He'd done as Jacks asked. Waited until she could get to the table, then thought of an excuse for his presence at the inn. Finding Sara Livingston in the back hallway where he was making his escape had not been part of the plan.

“Barlow,” Sara said, though it felt strange to call a grown man by his last name. That practice usually didn't make it past freshman year of college. Still, she had felt from the moment of their first introduction that it was his stubborn desire to hold on to the amusements of youth that made him so enjoyable, and she found herself smiling now.

“I see you got the same bad information I did.”

Barlow's face lit up as he bounded down the few stairs to where she stood. From the sky had just fallen his escape. Whatever excuse Sara had for being in this hallway would now become his as well.