When the ID flashed her former area code she realized she hadn’t been saved at all.
She managed a scrambled “excuse me,” and pressed the phone to her ear as she rushed out the front door to Harriet’s front steps.
“Hello?”
“Scofield here.”
“That’s some prompt service.” Jen paused for Scofield to laugh, which he didn’t. “I’m sure you don’t remember us, it’s been years since you saw our son, seven if I’m counting right, he was in kindergarten—”
Jen lowered her voice as the Perleys walked past her and Laurel paused on Harriet’s porch for Hank to hop on her back. Annie and Mike linked arms and Hank chanted a pop song and they all joined in as they strolled across the street to their house, not even bothering to check for cars.
“Eight years,” Scofield corrected. “He’s just turned thirteen, right?”
“Right, I don’t know if you keep notes or not, but his name is—”
“Abe. The guinea pig killer.”
“It was a hamster,” Jen said, already annoyed, “and no one died.”
“Riiight,” Scofield said in an indulgent ooze that made clear that the rodent’s well-being wasn’t the point.
“But I’m wondering,” Jen said, “if you might have been right about him.”
“Which part?”
There was a long, empty pause.
He was a horrible man, sadistic. He was going to make her say the word aloud. There was a difference between thinking it and tasting it on her tongue, slithery and rotten.
“The part—” Jen held her chin high just on principle, and realized in a flash that Dr. Scofield was inconsequential. The man was not some oracle. He was an asshole, and always would be. The important struggle had always been the one between Jen and herself. Could she even consider this about own son, let alone say it?
It turned out that she could.
“The part,” she said, “about Abe’s being a sociopath.”
OCTOBER
To: “The Best Book Club in the World”
From: [email protected]
It’s that time again, Ladies!!! Put down that pumpkin carving knife and open this month’s read …
The book: IN SICKNESS AND HEALTH. Paige Smithson is a pediatrician, married to the love of her life, with the career of her dreams, two beautiful young children, and a diagnosis of terminal cancer.
The story of a woman, mortality and how to say goodbye, written by the husband who loved her, has been called “as heartbreaking as it is life-affirming.” “A treatise on what it means to be human.”
I’ve read this twice now—am-A-zing!—and will warn you: bring tissues!!!
The place: Deb Gallegos’s house, 5552 Frontview Way. Deb would like me to warn you about the hole in the front yard due to an issue with the pipes, so please watch your step, especially in the dark! And also, please leave your shoes in the front hallway when you come in.
I am just realizing, Deb, that all of your instructions are feet-related! Fetish anyone?;）;）;）
The time: 7:30*
To bring: Tissues, drinks and snacks （so many great offerings last time, let’s keep those themed masterpieces going!）
Until then, readers!!!!! （Who’s with me in not believing it’s October?? Where is the year going???）
*Is anyone else open to pushing the start back to a little later in the evening? （Just maybe like eight? Soccer mamas, are you with me? Katie’s sport schedule is killing us this year!! #Goaliemom）
CHAPTER SIX
Annie’s first appointment on Tuesday morning was with Deb Gallegos’s daughter Sierra, whose science teacher had written her up for yet another dress code violation. Annie would have told Deb regardless—Cottonwood parents kept each other informed—but this offense, Sierra’s third, triggered a mandatory call home.
Phone to her ear, Annie tapped her pencil’s eraser against the yellow legal pad on her small desk. Most of the time, Annie wasn’t bothered by how much younger she was than her neighborhood friends, but occasionally, from Deb, Annie felt an undercurrent of amused condescension that rankled.
Anticipating this, when Deb picked up, Annie blurted out the news abruptly and officiously.
“Sierra cannot wear denim underwear to school.”
Deb snorted. “Oh my god, Annie. Your tone.”
Annie felt herself blush. She had sounded rather harsh. “They’ve got to be at least mid-thigh. And no rips.”
“Who makes this stupid rule?”