Annie felt painfully, deliciously exposed at the phrase: she would never ever have to go it alone again.
It was horribly cheesy, but now, in the bushes, Annie closed her eyes and visualized it, just like the daytime television show had instructed.
He was here somewhere—or he would be soon—and he’d find her and they would sit in that gorgeous garden, on a stone bench. She would fish out of her pocket the flimsy ultrasound print and she would watch him looking at it, and they would be together, encircled in joy.
Annie opened her eyes, reached into her jean jacket pocket, pulled out her phone.
There was an uncrowded spot near the house, far from the liveliness of the dance floor.
If u r here, she texted, I’m waiting by the house.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“A neighborhood book club,” Rachel repeated. “Well, why not?”
“That’s what I think,” Lena said. She opened the oven and peeked under the foil. The turkey legs were still pale.
“What happens if you don’t approve of their selections, though?” Rachel’s voice grew ominous. “Watch out, ladies of Cottonwood.”
When Rachel attempted jokes about how dangerous Lena was—never gracefully, never with any actual wit—Lena felt like snapping at her. But she hadn’t ever.
“Did you know anyone at book club?” Rachel’s voice was back to normal.
“Just Harriet Nessel, and she didn’t miss a beat. It felt like I saw her just last week. What time are you and Evan’s family meeting at their club for the big meal?”
“Seven. What time is Uncle Ernie coming over?”
“Four. He’s got an early flight tomorrow.”
Ernie apparently no longer felt sorry for Lena and had already grumbled at length: friends of theirs spent Thanksgiving Day in Hawaii. He didn’t understand why Lena was commanding him to stay here and go through the motions.
You’re a grown man, Lena replied. I can’t command you to do anything.
He and Rachel probably had long, unjustified conversations about how incorrigibly bossy Lena was.
Alma had had a very strong personality, and her mantra was: family is everything. That’s why Ernie was sticking around. It had nothing to do with Lena. And as far as Rachel went, Lena had called the shots fourteen years ago, in a moment of crisis.
It was the very definition of parenting, and Lena had always hoped that as Rachel matured, she’d understand that life wasn’t always so black and white. Sometimes, laws must be broken for a greater good.
But Rachel was already in her thirties. The lesson seemed to have eluded her.
“Do you remember the Thanksgivings we used to have?” Rachel said.
“I remember cooking for a full month before.”
They’d used to host almost fifty people—Alma and all of her relatives, a few locals from Tim’s side, plus whatever strays he’d dragged along.
And then suddenly there had been no one.
During Rachel’s angry years, Lena had forced herself to fly east for meals at hotel restaurants that never felt right. Once, Lena had arrived to find that she was being punished and Rachel had made other plans, so she’d ordered room service and eaten Thanksgiving dinner alone on her bed.
“Not the big family meals,” Rachel said, “how we used to go to the Bahamas. Just you and me.”
But that had only happened twice—a slippery attempt at a tradition in the years before Tim died, when it was still the two of them against the world. Lena opened her mouth, about to correct the memory before stopping herself.
There had been a time that Rachel had trusted Lena more than anyone or anything. Lena wondered if every parent had that window at some point, and if they all, inevitably, exploited it.
“I made a friend at book club,” Lena ventured. “Annie Perley. She’s older than you, but she said she’d been to our house for a swim-team dinner.”
“Annie Perley,” Rachel repeated. “Does she have brown hair?”
“Light chestnut,” Lena said. “Chin length. She’s pretty. Her face has very delicate bone structure.”
“Maybe I’m thinking of someone else.”
“I bet your paths didn’t really cross. Her husband owns a restaurant downtown and they’ve got these two kids—”
“Was she there the year we had paella? Or the year there was the big thunderstorm?”
“That wasn’t the same year?”
The skies had turned ocean gray, the wind tipped over the outdoor umbrella, melamine plates with food were rushed inside, and kids had grouped around the window to watch lightning flash over the mountains.