Pretty Guilty Women

by Gina LaManna

  “Oh, well, it’s been a long time since we’ve gotten together.” Sydney shot Emily an apologetic smile before turning back to the woman. “Aunt Janice, this is Emily. She’s—”

  “Is the baby yours?” Aunt Janice leaned closer, squinted her eyes, and ran a finger down the baby’s soft-looking cheek. “She’s a sweetie. She must have your husband’s eyes, though. How long have you been married? I assume you are married?”

  Emily felt uncomfortable watching the somewhat invasive line of questioning that could only come from an out-of-touch family member. She busied herself by leaning back in the chair and averting her gaze toward the bar. With a sigh of relief, Emily saw that Lulu had returned from her journey upstairs and was easing into the seat next to her husband, who was speaking to her with a frown on his lips.

  Turning her attention back to the conversation at hand, Emily noted Aunt Janice to be somewhere in her late fifties. She dressed with the flair of a much younger woman, rings glinting from more fingers than not, her bright makeup accented by a light pink cardigan and topped with a floral scarf tied neatly around her neck.

  On her feet were flip-flops adorned with golden straps that looked somewhat gladiator in nature, and tying the ensemble together was a gauzy black dress that swung around her knees and matched the designer bag slung over her arm.

  “I would have sent a wedding gift.” Aunt Janice tsked with embarrassment at herself. “And a baby gift. I know how hard those early days can be. I remember when I had my little Jackie. She’s the most wonderful daughter now, but as a baby, part of me wanted to hand her off to the nanny for good!” Janice paused for a cackle. “Anyway, I’m sure Whitney and Arthur will be pleased you brought the little one with you for the ceremony. Is your husband with you? What are you doing these days for work?”

  “I actually gave up working when we had Lydia,” Sydney said, her cheeks blushing. “My, er, husband was insistent on it, actually. Wanted my full attention on our daughter.”

  Aunt Janice nodded approvingly. “And who is this mystery man?”

  Sydney glanced at Emily, bit her lip in a gesture that to Emily seemed to be pleading in nature. Emily looked at her feet and found a scuff mark on her heel that suddenly needed tending to. She reached down, rubbed her thumb against the white skid mark, and pretended she couldn’t hear the conversation happening before her.

  “We met in college. Well, not at school, but when I was in college,” she said. “It really was a whirlwind. We got engaged a few months after we met and began dating, and the wedding followed shortly after. It was a small, private ceremony.”

  “Well, I must say, I’m impressed.” Aunt Janice frowned, offsetting her compliment. “When did you graduate college? I don’t remember sending a card. If I missed that too—”

  “Didn’t you say you were headed to put Lydia to bed?” Emily asked. “If you want me to take her for you, I wouldn’t mind. That way you can keep chatting with your aunt. It seems like it’s been a while since the two of you saw each other.”

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t ask you to do that.” Sydney gave Emily a fleeting look of relief as she made a show of shuffling Lydia to one arm. With the other, she reached for the diaper bag and hiked it onto her shoulder. “Aunt Janice, maybe we could grab coffee tomorrow and continue our chat?”

  “That sounds lovely.” Aunt Janice shot Emily a somewhat annoyed glance, but it passed quickly as she turned back to the baby. “Sweet dreams, precious angel.”

  Emily watched Sydney hold her breath until Aunt Janice disappeared into the elevator and the doors slid firmly shut behind her. Finally, she turned back to Emily and gave a sigh that turned into a self-conscious giggle.

  “I’m so sorry about that,” she gushed. “I haven’t seen my aunt in years. And the nerve of her, confronting me like that. Especially after the way she treated my parents.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My last name might be Banks, but I’m not one of them. My parents were estranged from the family and had almost no contact with them when I was young. We weren’t rich. We were a normal, working-class family…until they died.” Sydney shook her head. “Did you hear the way Janice talked to me? No wonder my parents stayed away from them. I’m still amazed I got an invite to the wedding at all, but Arthur’s mom really was a godsend after my parents died, helping out financially with funeral arrangements, that sort of thing. Probably out of guilt.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Sydney shook her head, blew out another breath of frustration. “Janice has one daughter named Jackie—she’s a little older than me—and she works at the local grocery store. It’s not like her offspring have gone on to do great and wonderful things, yet she feels the need to critique me?”

  “I really do understand,” Emily said. “It’s family. They can be—”

  “I’m so embarrassed.” Sydney rocked Lydia without seeming to realize she was doing it, the bounces becoming more energetic by the second. “I’m sorry she interrupted us. Where were we?”

  “Oh, we were just talking about the baby.” It was like a path had opened before Emily, a red carpet laid bare, and she had no choice but to follow it. A red carpet that led hungrily, greedily straight to the baby. What would it be like to touch her? To hold her? To sing to her? To imagine that baby might belong to Emily? “How difficult it is to be a single mother, to have to navigate this entire parenthood thing on your own.”

  “Oh, right. Well, you’re an angel for sticking around and listening to me and my babbling family,” Sydney said. “It feels as if it’s been weeks since I talked to another adult. I hope you know how much I appreciate you coming over here. I would love to say I’m not desperate, but…” She gave a smile that said she’d be lying if she did.

  Emily inhaled a sharp breath and felt a sudden burst of guilt. She hadn’t come over here to coddle Sydney; she’d been intrigued by the baby. Selfishly, she’d wanted to see what sort of feelings bubbled up inside when she laid eyes on the squirming little bundle in the blanket. She hadn’t been this close to a baby in quite some time, and she had needed to see if she could do it. If she could see it, smell it, hold it, touch it…without the walls closing in on her.

  “Tell me more about yourself,” Emily said, striving for something, anything, to keep the conversation moving. She wanted Sydney distracted. Wanted time to ignore Sydney and watch the pink bundle and analyze her own emotions in peace. “Are you close with your family?”

  “Not exactly, in case Aunt Janice didn’t already give that away.” Sydney gave a dry, self-deprecating laugh. “I probably shouldn’t be here, actually. I can’t exactly afford it. I mean, I can, but I’m stretching the budget,” Sydney said quickly, as if striving to prove to Emily that she was a capable, responsible mother. “But it’s my cousin’s wedding. I know he doesn’t care all that much that I’m here, but his mother does, and she offered to help cover some travel fees. I tried to refuse, but…” She waved a hand as if to say Here we are.

  “You’re cousins with Arthur Banks?” Emily wrinkled her nose. “I think they can afford to pay your room bill.”

  “You might be right, but I really hate owing people favors.”

  “Most people do,” Emily said. “But don’t look at it like charity. They’re family, and they want you to be here.”

  “I suppose. I mean, I’m not great pals with Arthur or anything, but I’ve always adored his mother. When my parents passed away, she was sort of a second mom. We, er, grew apart after, as I got older, but we keep in touch now and again.”

  “I’m sorry about your parents,” Emily said, thinking Sydney really needed to shut up and let her stare unabashedly at the baby. “That’s awful.”

  “It’s fine,” Sydney said, waving her hand. “It was a long time ago.”

  “Well, your mother would sure love Lydia. Your daughter is gorgeous. May I?” Emily reached out a hand and offered it to
the baby, pausing to wait for Sydney’s nod of approval.

  “Gosh, yes,” Sydney said. “Please go on. I’d let you hold her, but I’m afraid she’d break your eardrums.”

  “You—you’d let me hold her?” Emily felt herself stuttering, felt the heat rising unnaturally in her cheeks. Her neck would be turning splotchy red by this point, her chest a mottled mess from the wave of emotions forming a vortex inside her. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’ve had a few glasses of champagne.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Sydney said. “It’s not as if you’re drunk or something. Would you like to? Here, have a moment with her.”

  “I, er—” Fingers of fear gripped at every nerve ending, drawing Emily’s vision into a spiral of stars. Oxygen turned into an elusive resource, something Emily couldn’t get enough of no matter how deeply she breathed. “I’m sure Lydia doesn’t want me to hold her.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Sydney said. “You probably have someplace to get to, and I’m here holding you up. Get going back to your party, why don’t you! You’ve already been so nice to come over and say hello.”

  As Emily felt the first fingers of a faint clawing at the edges of her consciousness, something miraculous happened. Something beautiful and wonderful and impossibly horrible. Lydia reached out, her tiny, chubby little hand clenching around Emily’s frozen pointer finger. The baby latched on, holding onto Emily as if she were her lifeboat. And miraculously, Lydia stopped crying.

  “Oh, look at that,” Sydney whispered fondly, her shoulders curved with relief. “She likes you.”

  Emily’s heart burst. It exploded into teensy little crumbs of fireworks, sparks shattering through her like bits of fiery, vicious love. For one moment, Emily forgot that Lydia didn’t belong to her. She forgot that Lydia was a symbol of the ghosts in her past. A mere remnant, dragging out feelings that were unfair and hurtful, even vengeful. She felt a burst of fury at this innocent little bundle and wondered why she’d survived while others hadn’t.

  Nothing you could do… The doctor’s voice repeated over and over again in her head. There’s nothing you could have done differently, Emily. You couldn’t have saved her.

  “I want to hold her,” Emily demanded. Her voice came out harsh, sharp, and she realized it a second too late. “Please. If I may.”

  “Sure,” Sydney said. “You are so good with her. Did you see how she stopped crying when she looked at you?”

  The little girl is probably terrified of me, Emily thought. She thirsted to hold the baby, to drink in that newborn smell, the bubble bath clinging to her, the baby powder drifting lazily over smooth skin. Emily wondered if babies could smell fear, like dogs. Emily reeked of fear and greed and anger. And somewhere beyond the anger, there was a wound so deep, it could never possibly heal.

  “Put your arm out on that pillow there,” Sydney instructed. “It’ll cushion her head, and you’ve got nothing to worry about. Babies aren’t as breakable as you think.”

  Yes, they are! Emily shouted internally to Sydney. A hint of disdain tipped her poisoned thoughts, and Emily found herself glaring upward, frustrated by the way Sydney treated her as if she were a first-time baby holder, a clueless bystander. A non-mother.

  Fortunately, Sydney was already setting Lydia in Emily’s arms, and the warmth of Lydia’s small body was somehow soothing. Before she knew it, Emily was holding a baby.

  A baby. What would Sharleen think? Emily had the urge to call Sharleen back and fill her in on the development. Tonight was a night of many milestones. She waited for the feelings to fill her chest.

  They came, slowly. Like an IV dripped through her veins, filling her with a clash, a tug-of-war that threatened to rip her body in half. She basked in the familiarity that came with all babies: the universal sweet scent and comforting weight of their bottoms against her belly. Followed by the rash unfairness of it all, the very life this baby had that Emily’s own had lost.

  The doctors had said it was SIDS. A nifty little acronym for a long string of words that meant Emily’s child had died in her sleep. But Emily knew better. It had been her fault. Her penance for not leaving him sooner—and one hell of a penance she’d had to pay. She’d rather have paid with her life, if it meant her baby could have lived.

  The black thoughts plagued Emily. If only… If only she had left him the first time it happened. If only she had trusted the cops. If only Emily hadn’t been unconscious when it happened, when her child slipped away, alone. If only Emily had been awake, able to stop it—to call 911—to do something, anything to save her child’s life. But she hadn’t.

  No, Emily thought, stroking Lydia’s cheek. I did nothing.

  It had been Emily’s fault her own daughter had died.

  At that moment, a family of five burst through the doors of the resort lobby, interrupting that tornado of poison threatening to suck Emily back. The gangling group poured toward the front desk, a perfectly formed family.

  There was a mother, a father, and three children—a teenage girl currently struggling to understand eyeshadow, a boy with his face glued to a tablet, and the most adorable little girl with no less than nine ponytails protruding from her head like spokes on a wheel. She wore tall rain boots, despite this being the middle of the desert, and she had a perpetual smile on her face as she studied the lobby like it might be some wonderful, fascinating museum.

  “Look at that gorgeous family,” Sydney said softly. “You know, I thought I’d have that myself someday, but…”

  Emily couldn’t speak.

  “It’s not going to happen for me.” Sydney sighed. “But it’s okay. Lydia is enough.”

  “Why have you and your husband decided to part ways?”

  “Irreconcilable differences,” Sydney said, shutting the subject down as a cement wall descended over her face. “Anyway, I should actually get Lydia to bed. You’ve been a doll to hold her for as long as you have. Oh, shit—er, shoot. There, I’ve done it and woken Lydia after you lulled her to sleep.”

  Emily glanced down, startled to find the baby’s eyes open. Instead of screaming, however, Lydia’s lips turned into the sweetest of smiles. Her bright eyes stared directly into Emily’s as her dimpled cheeks squished with unbridled joy. And then she giggled, and Emily’s heart shriveled with the sheer amount of life in the child.

  “Oh, look at that tiny baby!” The mother from the family of five glanced over from the front desk, whispering loudly, as if the sound wouldn’t travel. Then, to Emily’s surprise, the woman began wandering over while her husband completed check-in.

  It wasn’t until she got nearer that Emily recognized her. She’d been so obsessed, so taken with Lydia, that she’d been single-mindedly focused on the baby. But as she glanced up and met her old best friend’s gaze, she felt her heart flutter in a surprising twist of anger.

  “Emily,” Ginger said in a flat voice. “Is that your baby?”

  Emily ignored her ex-roommate. She focused on the child, on her shaking hands, on controlling the rage that had burst inside her at the arrival of Ginger. Emily had expected to feel many things at the sight of her old friend—shame, remorse, loss. But not this fiery disdain that had settled in her gut. As if this were all Ginger’s fault. In a way, though, Emily wondered, wasn’t it partially Ginger’s fault?

  “Er,” Sydney said awkwardly, “do the two of you know each other? I’m Sydney.”

  “Ginger,” Emily’s old friend said, extending her hand toward Sydney. “Yes, we both went to school with the bride.”

  “Oh, lovely,” Sydney said, but it was in an awkward, limp sort of voice.

  “It was,” Ginger said, emphasizing the past tense of her statement. “We lost touch a bit after school.”

  “That’s unfortunate,” Sydney said. “Though it happens all too often. Life gets busy, kids, husbands…I understand.”

  Ginger looked as if she wan
ted to disagree, but before she could, she was interrupted by a voice from the reception area.

  “Oy, Ginger,” the man at the counter—it must be Frank—called exuberantly across the lobby, oblivious, as he always had been, even in college. Emily couldn’t bring herself to look up at him without her neck reddening in shame. “Ginger, honey, do you have my wallet? Can’t seem to find that bad boy. Hope it’s not on the plane!”

  “Well,” Ginger said with a faded smile. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Sydney. Emily, I suppose—well, we’ll see you around.”

  * * *

  Detective Ramone: Ms. Brown, when did you meet Sydney Banks?

  Emily Brown: The first night at the resort. We chatted for a bit, and I held Lydia. Her baby.

  Detective Ramone: You hadn’t known either of them before that night?

  Emily Brown: Never seen her before that. At least, I don’t think so.

  Detective Ramone: And now, what would you say your relationship is with her?

  Emily Brown: None of your business.

  Detective Ramone: Well, then, would it surprise you to know there’s no Sydney Banks registered at the resort? Who did you talk to, Emily?

  Nine

  Kate wasn’t stupid.

  She knew exactly what was happening.

  “Are you breaking up with me?” she asked Max once they’d been carefully seated in first class. Kate had declined her customary glass of champagne because she didn’t feel the slightest bit like celebrating. Max, however, had readily accepted his.

  “No. What makes you think that?”

  “You stormed out of my house last night, and you’ve barely spoken a word to me since we reached the airport.”

  “I said no,” Max repeated. “You’re reading too much into everything.”

  I should have seen it coming, Kate thought. The second Max had accepted the champagne on the flight, she should have known. He was celebrating, she was wallowing.

  Kate climbed out of the SUV and waited for the driver to unload her bags at the resort. She’d arranged for private transport from the airport to the spa, but one look at the impressive front doors of the sprawling resort, and Kate was ready to have him turn around and head back. A brilliant red carpet trumpeted the main entrance and propelled guests into a weeklong buffet of wedding festivities, the very last place Kate wanted to be when it felt her relationship was crumbling from the inside out.