“Look out!” someone shouts, and at that very moment a Roman candle pops and emits a ball of fire only a few feet away from where I’m walking. I jump into the grass and back away, watching the firework until the final burst of light sputters out and the pipe on the cement is left smoking.
“Sorry about that!” A teenage boy laughs. He’s young; I don’t recognize him. “Enter at your own risk.”
He has no idea.
The wooden gate that leads to the Pattersons’ yard has been propped open, and I duck inside as another knot of laughing people slips out. I can smell the alcohol on them, a sour-sweet scent that reminds me of pickling spices and sweat. Ashley’s dad always taps a couple of kegs for the Fourth of July party, and the polished cement bar on the far end of the patio houses a vast collection of liquor bottles so that guests can mix their own drinks if beer isn’t their thing. In fact, admission to the party is a hot and cold dish to share, and a contribution to the outdoor wet bar. It’s teeming with glass bottles of expensive whiskey and cheap rum, fine wine and Boone’s Farm. Law isn’t the party type, but my parents always come to the Pattersons’ Independence Day soiree, and I’m convinced it’s because of the bounty of alcohol.
Even though it’s getting late and people will soon head to the fairgrounds to lay out their blankets for the city fireworks show, the yard is still crowded. A group of girls in bikinis lingers in the pool, laughing at some private joke and preening for any appreciative onlookers. And I can’t even see the bar for the circle of people around it.
I don’t know where to begin. The grassy expanse beyond the in-ground pool is filled with lawn chairs and crisscrossed with strings of festive lanterns and Christmas lights, but it’s not bright enough for me to make out individual faces. I want to find Jonathan, but would rather not run into Ashley, and the thought of Sullivan leaves me conflicted. I stand frozen just inside the gate and wonder if I should leave. What do I think I’m doing here, anyway?
As I’m about to turn on my heel and go, I catch sight of something unexpected: my mom. Reb is leaning against one of the high tables that have been scattered around the pool deck. She’s holding a drink with an umbrella in it, and she’s smiling. Grinning, actually, and now laughing at something that Peter Knapper, the local dentist, is saying.
Mom looks relaxed, pretty. She’s wearing a pair of dark jeans and a white T-shirt that sets off the sweep of her long, loose hair and accentuates her classic beauty. I can’t look away from her. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her so luminous and happy. It’s an innocent conversation—I know that. Dr. Knapper is a devoted husband and father, but his friendly attention makes people blossom somehow. And yet, I feel like I’m spying on my mother. Witnessing something I was never meant to see.
I can feel a full-body blush coming on, and I’m about to disappear out the gate when Law comes up behind Mom. As I watch, he puts one arm around her waist and roughly grabs her upper arm with his other hand, causing her to spill her drink. Dr. Knapper leans forward to help, but he stops short when he catches sight of the look on Law’s face. Even from a distance I can feel the ire in that glare. It’s a cold fury, the kind that burns. I just can’t tell if it’s directed at the dentist or my mother. Maybe both.
Without a single word, Law begins to steer Mom to the gate where I’m still trying to decide whether to stay or go. There are people in between us, but Law seems unsteady on his feet, and completely focused on Reb anyway. Still, I turn my back on them and hurry in the opposite direction, weaving through the crowd of people as I go. I don’t want them to see me. I can’t explain why, but the need to fade into the background is so strong I don’t stop until I’m on the far side of the enormous yard.
There’s a wrought-iron gazebo back here, but it’s too far from the pool and the bustle of the picnic tables and speakers blaring country music to draw much attention, and I have it to myself. I sink to a bench gratefully because my legs feel as if they won’t support me much longer. What did I just see? I can’t quite get my head around it. I’ve never caught Law looking at Reb like that before, and I’m not sure I fully understand the implications. He wasn’t just angry, there was disappointment and betrayal and resignation in his face. He looked as if what Mom had done—talking to a neighbor—was unforgivable.
I want to go home. No, not home, because I’m sure Law and Reb are headed there. I want to be somewhere that I don’t have to worry about the Murphys or Jonathan or Ashley or my parents. If I’m honest with myself, I want Sullivan, and the ache of it nearly brings me to tears. My phone is in my pocket with the ringer turned all the way up, so I know I haven’t missed any calls or texts from him, and my heart deflates. I’ve been such an idiot.