“The vandal,” Harriet said, “is Katie Neff.”
“Janine’s Katie?”
“She did all of it! She just cornered Tabitha Donaldson to apologize for the snowman.”
“Oh my, but why—”
“Everyone, back on the floor. Back on the floor!” DJ Lightning chanted. “It’s time to do the Hose!”
“The Hose?” Harriet said. “Is that an actual dance?”
She did not stick around for an answer but beelined to the table closest to them. “Did you hear,” Lena heard her announce, “the vandal is Katie Neff! Janine’s girl.”
The Hose was an actual dance, Lena decided, and a popular one, based on the way the kids streamed to the dance floor. Laurel Perley walked toward the DJ booth, perhaps to request something else?
It occurred to Lena that she’d barely seen Laurel all night.
Rachel’s sister.
It was impossible now not to see Rachel in Laurel’s long strides across the lawn. When they hurried, their torsos tilted forward in the exact same way.
Where was Laurel off to? Not the DJ booth. With a furtive glance over her shoulder, she passed it, headed straight toward the back gate.
Had it just been this morning that Lena had seen Laurel jog up the hill and slink away?
A girl with a secret.
* * *
Jen walked quickly up the dark street to Lena’s house. The flounce of her dress kept catching in her slippery kitten heels, tripping her. Impatiently, she yanked up the front.
“Clap your hands,” shouted a DJ’s amplified voice over the music. “Wiggle like a hose. Now slide back. Do the hose.”
When she reached the path to the party, Jen hesitated. It really did look lovely.
The dance floor was full, and illuminated by rows of twinkly lights. There was a giant tent with tables of food and an insanely over-the-top lounge area with stuffed couches and poufs and Moroccan rugs and Jen was about to barrel into all of it like a grenade.
There was Annie, in the lounge area with Janine. Jen took a breath and stepped onto the lawn. A caterer immediately shoved a cake plate in Jen’s hand and chirped, “Homemade caramel filling.”
“No thank you.”
Harriet appeared to her right, linked an elbow through Jen’s arm. “Did you hear? Katie Neff is the vandal.”
“Really?” Jen stopped.
“Janine found photos, selfies of Katie in the vandalism act, can you believe it, like trophies? I really did not see this coming and I hope she gets help. That’s quite the dress, dear. Va-voom! Oh! Excuse me, Athena doesn’t know yet.”
So the vandal wasn’t Abe.
Jen’s knees buckled. She steadied herself against the back of a chair, and then straightened up.
It had never been Abe.
She wished she had never asked him. How must that feel, to have your own mother doubting you, assuming the worst?
Still, she felt lighter as she walked toward Annie’s table, until she got there and everyone stopped talking.
（Because there was still the matter of Abe’s video.）
（And worse than that, the note.）
Annie turned toward Jen. She was dressed in full-on glamour, in a floor-length flowy silk thing with a geometric pattern. Her face was pale and unmade.
It was awful, the dismissive look Annie flicked at Jen.
“Jen,” Janine said. “Katie has an apology for you too after she finishes Mrs. Perley’s.”
Katie looked down at the paper in front of her.
“It was my problem,” she read. “It had nothing to do with you.” She glanced up at Annie. “It did a little. I was jealous of Laurel. Why does she get a party? She’s not even related to Mrs. Meeker.”
“Stick to the script,” Janine said.
“But I know now,” Katie read, “that it was an unhealthy way to express my anger. Although—”
Katie put down the note again, blinked behind her glasses. “It felt great to break things.”
“It did not,” Janine said with a sense of outrage.
“You didn’t hurt anyone, Katie,” Annie said with a resigned shrug. Pointedly, she said, “It’s not like you stabbed anyone.”
“Who stabbed someone?” Katie said, and from her tone, it was clear the idea intrigued her.
“Annie.” Jen held out the note card. “This is from Abe.”
“An apology note?” Annie said. She clasped her hands to her chest. “What a well-mannered community we all are. What wonderfully raised children. My daughter was going through something this year, and your son saw that and took advantage and you gave no warning, Jen. No warning that he might hurt our children, just for sport.”