“Don’t be silly,” Annie said. “But we need to be welcoming, and this is technically a thank-you dinner for her help with Dad’s restaurant, you know, getting that good review in the paper and—”
Laurel rolled her eyes. Annie wasn’t certain at which part.
“So,” Annie tried again, “I heard that Se?ora Bemis is tough.” Laurel’s eyes registered confusion for a moment.
“Right,” she said slowly. “People are upset about her.”
“She hit Josh with a pencil?”
Laurel shrugged.
“I can’t believe it,” Annie said. “It’s so wrong.”
Poor Se?ora Bemis, whom Annie had met once at a potluck. She’d seemed like a lovely person and probably did not deserve to be fodder for whatever this phony attempt at connection was.
“I need to finish this,” Laurel bowed her head over the book.
“One more thing,” Annie said. “Grandma P. is scheduled for a hip operation your graduation week.”
“So?”
“Would you be hurt if they missed the ceremony?”
Almost imperceptibly, Laurel’s shoulders hiked a centimeter. Annie felt a connection fuse. The running had started on Christmas Eve, when their house had been overrun by Perleys.
I have to get away from these people, Laurel had said.
Her in-laws were active in their church, founders of an orphanage in Haiti, and all you had to do was spend ten minutes with Mike to know he’d grown up loved and adored. It seemed unimaginable that they could hurt Laurel somehow.
But how many well-meaning parents had made assumptions just like that and unwittingly betrayed their children?
“Laurel.” Annie crouched down, ignored the doorknob in her back. “Did something happen with Grandma and Grandpa P.?”
Laurel looked up, startled. She swallowed, stared at a spot just over Annie’s shoulder.
“Over Christmas,” she said.
“What?” Annie’s heart thumped.
“I don’t want to—”
“You can tell me anything, Laurel.”
With one finger, Laurel traced a crooked line in the linoleum. “They burned the gingerbread men,” she said in a rising voice. “Like twenty of them, god, it was so sad. Families were torn apart.”
When she looked up, Laurel’s sly smile was an almost exact replica of Sierra’s: Crazy Annie Perley. Annie felt like slapping it off her face.
“It’s only eighth-grade graduation,” Laurel said in her most insufferable voice, “I don’t give two shits about it.”
A spark of defiance had flared in Laurel’s eyes as she’d cursed. Reprimand me. I dare you.
“Fine,” Annie said. “I’m giving our extra ticket to Mrs. Meeker.”
“Fine,” Laurel said.
The bell rang.
“Fine,” Annie repeated. “We can invite her right now.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Lena stood on the steps of the Perleys’ tiny red brick ranch. She clutched the handle of a cake carrier in her right hand. In the crook of her left arm was a bouquet of peonies and a bottle of wine.
“Let me help,” Annie said.
“This,” Lena said, handing over the wine, “should go with the steaks, which smell divine even from here. I also made an ice cream cake, which will thaw during dinner.”
Annie pursed her lips in disapproval. “Can we take a rain check?”
“On the dinner?”
“Gosh, no. The wine.”
Lena tried not to frown. Annie clearly did not understand how special the bottle, a 2000 Chateau Pétrus, was. “Why don’t you and Mike hold on to it for later?”
“Honestly?” Annie clutched at her throat with her free hand. “I don’t even want it in the house.”
“Because of Laurel?” Lena said. She’d sounded too judgmental. Spots of color had appeared on Annie’s cheeks.
“You think I’m going overboard,” she said.
“No,” Lena said quickly. But Annie was.
That night, Lena had been drinking mojitos, and whenever she thought of the drink—even if someone mentioned it in a movie—Lena would taste in the back of her throat that once-refreshing mint sweetness and feel a wave of nausea strong enough to knock her off-balance.
She would love to be able to blame what she’d done on the mojitos, but alcohol was just an easy scapegoat.
“Rain check,” Lena said with what she hoped was an understanding nod. “I’ll run the bottle back out to my car.”