Nicole was Sherri’s first victim. Sherri turned to her and in no uncertain terms (there’s some dispute about exactly what she said, which is why we are merely summarizing for you now) told her what a shitty thing it was to leave Katie and Morgan out of Riley’s Boda Borg birthday party.
Nicole has that fair skin that hides neither shame nor alcohol, and almost immediately she reddened. She looked to some of us for backup, but nobody came to her defense. The next day some of us regretted that. But at the time, we were all too shocked. Seriously, Sherri Griffin had never been anything but unassuming and pleasant. Meek, you would have called her. Milquetoast, if you were being fancy, but we weren’t typically that fancy.
After she had dispensed with Nicole, Sherri turned her attention to Dawn, and let loose on her for her telling everyone she’d been crawling around on the Laundromat floor at the beginning of the summer. How Sherri heard about that we do not know. That story had been told to just a few of us, in private.
After the evisceration of Dawn, Sherri set her teeth into Tammy. Not literally. But it felt like it. Her beef with Tammy had to do with an Instagram photo Tammy’s daughter, Casey, had posted at a sleepover, when she’d tagged Katie even though she wasn’t there—she hadn’t been invited.
“Terrible,” we all agreed later, hoping our daughters hadn’t been guilty of the same shortcoming. “Real mean-girl stuff.” We made mental notes to go home later and check Instagram accounts. And if we’re being completely honest, Tammy doesn’t always have the best judgment with that sort of thing herself. Sometimes, like mother like daughter.
When that was done, some of us slunk into the shadows, where the lights didn’t reach, lest we were next. As it turned out, no single person was next. Sherri Griffin was addressing the whole group. She tossed her blond hair (definitely Shanti, we decided, probably that new stylist who had been brought in to do only color) and said, “Here’s what we’re going to do, ladies.”
Even the bartender was listening.
“We’re going to have a fresh start come fall. We’re all going to be a little more accepting of newcomers.” We nodded. “And I swear, if Katie comes home from school on the first day and tells me she didn’t have anywhere to sit at lunch, or nobody shared a locker with her, or she didn’t have a partner for the first group project, you’re going to have to answer to me. And also?” She lowered her voice and we all leaned in. It was weird, how seductive she suddenly seemed. “I’d love to get in on that next trip to Nantucket. Whenever you guys are going. If one more isn’t too much trouble.” And she smiled, and she sauntered off.
Obviously Sherri Griffin did not bring a gun to Brooke’s end-of-summer party. (Did she? No, of course not. Don’t be stupid.) But there was something about the way she held herself that made us all feel like she had some sort of weapon—some power over us. It’s hard to explain. It seems sort of embarrassing to talk about it now, especially considering what happened later. But at the time, well. We all took Sherri Griffin very seriously.
What did we do after that, you ask? Well, Gina saw Rebecca and her Mystery Man enter the party. She made a little noise of surprise and started off toward them.
But for a more long-term plan? What do you think we did? We told our daughters to make sure that Katie Griffin had the best first day of school in the history of first days of school. We had our girls fighting over who was going to sit next to her in the cafeteria. We had our daughters buying extra locker decorations so that whoever ended up with Katie Griffin as a locker partner would have the prettiest locker in the whole sixth grade. And when we planned the next trip to Nantucket, which, by the way, didn’t take place for a while because of everything else that happened, you can bet your right index finger that Sherri Griffin was added to that text.
72.
Rebecca
The party was clearly in full swing. Cars were lined all the way down the driveway. Music and laughter floated into the street beyond.
As soon as she saw all of this, second thoughts started marching through Rebecca’s head.
“Maybe we should skip it,” Rebecca said to Daniel. “Go to a movie?” Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to sink into one of the cushy seats at the new theater in Methuen and rest her face in a vat of popcorn. She’d see anything—even an action movie, or an animated movie, or science fiction. Anything.
“No way,” said Daniel. “I have my party shirt on.” Rebecca had been too agitated to notice his shirt; she looked more carefully now and saw that he was wearing a polo shirt in pale blue, rather than the navys and olives he typically wore.
“Fancy,” she said. And then, because he really did look proud, she squeezed his hand and said, “You look very nice.”
“I think it’s funny that you’re nervous,” said Daniel.
“I’m not nervous,” she lied. She was so nervous! This was the first time she was putting their relationship on display, and what a public forum in which to do so.
“Hey,” said Daniel, before they walked into the backyard. “Come here, gorgeous.” He pulled Rebecca toward him and kissed her lightly, so lightly that her lipstick stayed in place. “Thank you, Rebecca,” he said formally. “For letting me into your life.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” she said. She took his hand and led him through the gate. “First let’s see if you make it out alive.”
Naturally, the Mom Squad was clustered around the bar. As a unit, their heads swiveled when she and Daniel walked into the yard. Before they could get to the bar, Gina came toward them.
“I know you,” she said. “Hey, Daniel.”
“Gina.” Daniel bobbed his head cordially.
“Are you guys dating?” Her head swiveled from Rebecca to Daniel and back to Rebecca again. Rebecca watched the understanding sinking in. She imagined she could see the whole history of Daniel’s once-happy marriage, and Gina’s friendship with Veronica the Cheater, the things Rebecca would never know or understand, and never should know or understand, because each friendship and relationship deserves its own private moments and secret backstory.
“We are,” said Rebecca.
“Seriously dating?”
Rebecca glanced at Daniel again; he nodded. “It’s pretty serious actually,” Rebecca said.
“Is this where you’ve been all summer, Rebecca?” She couldn’t tell if Gina was challenging Rebecca or if she was merely interested.
“All summer and for part of the winter too,” said Rebecca. She found Daniel’s hand and gripped it. A long moment passed.
“You should have told me,” Gina said, half sad and half accusing.
“I wasn’t ready to tell anyone yet,” said Rebecca. “You know how this town is. You tell one person and it’s the same as telling twenty.”
“Oh, I know.”
“I know you know,” said Rebecca pointedly. Gina’s eyes flicked from Rebecca to Daniel and back again. Gina didn’t say sleeping bag and she didn’t say sorry and Rebecca didn’t say distance or Morgan or holiday house committee, but she thought that maybe in a few days, when they weren’t at a party, when Daniel wasn’t there, they’d sit down and talk it out.
“Well. I think that’s great,” said Gina finally. “You guys are two of my favorite people.”
She opened her arms, offering a hug, and Rebecca hesitated only briefly before hugging her back. “We’re all in high school for the rest of our lives,” Rebecca had told Alexa earlier in the summer. Tragically true. But even high school sometimes offered redemption and second chances. Right? That was only fair.
“Okay, by the way,” said Gina, “you are not going to believe what happened right before you got here.” She pointed, and Gina turned. She saw a woman she didn’t recognize walking away from the bar in a gold dress. And then she did recognize her. It was Sherri, with a new hair color, looking knock-your-socks-off gorgeous, disappearing into the shadows.
73.
Alexa
Alexa forgot to be scared for a little while, she was so busy compli
menting Sherri on her dress and her shoes and even her earrings and her hair. Her hair was blond! Like the Sherri from the newspaper photograph. But done in a really tasteful way. Shanti, Alexa could tell.
After Sherri left for the party, Katie and Morgan headed right for the TV and started watching Pitch Perfect 3. Alexa wondered if she should encourage them to choose a more age-appropriate movie, maybe Paddington, but she was still feeling jittery and she didn’t have the energy for a battle. She paced back and forth in the tiny kitchen and kept checking her phone—for what? she wondered. Because the bad man was going to text or send a Snap before he came over?
“You girls want to go somewhere?” she said, when she could stand the feeling of being trapped not a second longer.
“Ice cream!” Katie and Morgan said together, and Alexa said, “Sure, why not? Why don’t we go to Haley’s?” Haley’s wasn’t in the center of town so she felt a little safer with that choice.
They all left the house and piled into the Jeep and then Alexa thought, The Jeep! She couldn’t drive the Jeep around town while the bad men chased her down. “We just need to make a quick stop,” she told the girls. She swung down Olive Street and turned left on Merrimac, not too far from Brooke’s house. She parked the Jeep.
“Change in plans,” she announced. “Everybody out. We’re switching cars with my mom.”
“What’s wrong with this car?” asked Morgan.
“It’s running funny,” said Alexa. “I don’t want to take any chances with you two.”
She didn’t have keys to her mom’s Acura on her key ring, but she banked on the possibility that whatever horrendous Marshalls outfit her mom bought wouldn’t have big pockets (please, she prayed to the gods of fashion, don’t let her be wearing something with big pockets) and that she would have left the keys in the center console, the way she sometimes did. Alexa would take the car, then she’d text her mom later and have her get a ride home with one of her friends. In the morning, if Alexa was still alive, she’d walk down here and pick up the Jeep. It would be a longish walk, but she’d try to appreciate the beauty of not being murdered.
Bingo! The keys were in the center console. It took some wrangling to get the Acura out of the driveway—this party was hopping, and there were cars parked every which way!—but Alexa had always been good at three-point turns. Peter, who could three-point turn out of a mason jar, had taught her well.
74.
Sherri
Sherri made her way toward the far end of the lawn. She was shaking, but she also felt really freaking amazing. The tequila had heightened her senses. The lights in the pool, which changed color like disco lights at a club, shone brighter. The music that the DJ was spinning sounded clearer. She felt the way Bobby looked like he felt when he did cocaine. Otherworldly. Invincible.
Don’t worry, Katie-kins, she said in her head, sending her message up into the summer evening sky and back down into their little half-house, where Katie and Alexa and Morgan were all together, safe. Mama’s back, even if only for one night. And everything is going to be okay.
A klatch of husbands stood around the corn hole game, and she headed toward them. She counted in her head while she waited for them to look at her.
One.
Two.
Three.
She’d met these husbands before. Some of them had been on the pontoon. One of them probably owned the pontoon, but she couldn’t be sure. She could tell that to a man they thought they’d never seen her.
She watched them take in her gold dress and her blond hair and her breasts. She smiled.
“Gentlemen,” she said.
“Hey there,” said one of the husbands.
She pretended to wobble (well, she was sort of pretending, the heels were difficult in the grass) and put her hand on one of the husbands’ arms to steady herself—this one was a different husband from the one who had spoken.
“Sorry,” she said, smiling apologetically, demurely. “It’s so hard to walk on this grass in these heels!”
The man’s face took on a panicky look, and he said, “No worries, I’ve got you.”
“Take them off,” suggested another of the husbands. He was beefier than the other men (ex-football player?) but he was drinking one of the dainty cocktails, which made Sherri smile.
“You know what, I think I will,” she said. She crouched down to undo the tiny buckles on the shoes, well aware that she was treating the husbands to a generous view of her cleavage.
She straightened, shoes in hand, and said, “Isn’t anyone going swimming? Where I come from, we used to say that it’s not a party until somebody jumps in the pool.”
Some of the husbands looked nervous. The beefy one said, “Why not?” He put his dainty glass on one of the small tables scattered around the yard and tugged off his shirt, revealing a soft and surprisingly hairless midsection. “Big splash coming,” he said. “Just to warn you.” He nodded once, and ran with an unexpected amount of grace toward the deep end, cannonballing in. The splash was impressive, you could hear it even over the music, and Sherri stepped back to preserve her dress.
“Who’s next?” asked Sherri. The men shifted. The beefy husband’s head emerged from the deep end and he let out an exhilarative whoop. “This water rocks, man,” he said. “It’s like eighty degrees in here. You guys need to try it.”
“Who’s next?” Sherri cried, more sharply, and they all turned to look at her. That’s more like it, she thought.
75.
The Squad
And just like that, Sherri was gone. We thought we saw her gold back disappearing into the crowd, toward the pool. The sun was beginning to set, and the sky had taken on that lavender late-summer hue that seems particular to New England. It was that in-between light where your eyes can play tricks on you. The deep end of the pool was difficult to make out.
Most of us thought Rebecca’s mystery guest was very good-looking, sort of George Clooney-esque. He had kind eyes. It was always the kind ones who got cheated on, wasn’t it? According to what Gina said later, Veronica the Cheater had always been difficult anyway. We thought Gina was close with Veronica. But that was Gina for you: one thing to your face, another behind your back.
It must have been a little while after we all met the mystery man that the argument between Melanie and her husband heated up at the far end of the lawn. There was shouting. Names were called. Somebody said a drink was thrown in a face, but that was never 100 percent verified.
We didn’t know what had brought the argument on. Later there was talk that the argument had something to do with the summer nanny, who was from Argentina and had an accent that could make even the word hemorrhoids sound sexy, not that we’d ever heard her say that.
The cocktails were quite strong, and we’d seen Melanie’s husband help himself to seconds and maybe even thirds within the first half hour. So anything could have happened. Aperol, we learned that night, is no joke on its own, but especially when mixed with tequila.
We were all standing around the bar, still somewhat in shock, partly in awe, over what had just transpired with Sherri, when Melanie crossed the lawn and joined our group. “I need to get out of here,” said Melanie in a quavering voice. “But my car’s blocked in.” She had definitely been crying.
“Oh, sweetie,” we said. “We’re so sorry—tell us what happened.” But we were phoning it in. We were still thinking about Sherri. (Melanie does this sort of thing a lot.)
“Take my car,” said Rebecca. Rebecca always had more patience with Melanie’s drama than the rest of us did. “You know which one it is, Melanie. White Acura. Keys are in the console. If you’re okay to drive.”
“I only had three sips of my drink!” cried Melanie. “I’m okay to drive, I promise.” She swiped at her eyes and muttered, “I cannot believe this.”
Melanie ran out to the driveway.
No, she didn’t run. She was in strappy sandals with heels. She walked quickly.
The DJ ramped up the music. Th
e bartender shook more cocktails. Then came the first cannonball. One of the husbands, obviously. We’d all worked too hard on our hair, or paid someone else to work hard, to ruin it at the beginning of the party. We couldn’t see which husband from where we were standing. It was a fairly big splash, so most likely Dawn’s or Jessica’s. (They had played football together at UNH long ago; Dawn’s husband had been a linebacker.)
You know what they say: the party doesn’t start until somebody jumps into the pool.
76.
Alexa
The frenzied end-of-summer feeling had invaded Haley’s too, and the place was buzzing like a beehive. Alexa and the girls had to wait in line. Alexa left Katie and Morgan perusing the menu and turned to scan the crowd, looking for unfamiliar men, scary men. When she turned back, Morgan and Katie were digging in their pockets for quarters for the gumball machine. Alexa gave them all the quarters she could muster from her wallet and told them to stay in line for a minute while she took a stroll by the booths to keep an eye on the comings and goings in the parking lot. Haley’s was decorated like a 1950s diner with a floor made of black-and-white checkerboard tiles and retro chairs and booths. The booths were all full of regular, non-scary combinations of parents and kids or clots of preteens and younger teens.
She paid for the girls’ ice cream, forgetting to order something for herself, and wondered if they’d be safer in here, where the lights were bright and unforgiving, or outside at the picnic tables, where the light was fading but the mosquitos were unforgiving. Outside, she decided, and she stationed them at a table while she continued to patrol the parking lot. There was a lot of traffic going by on Route 1 and any minute a black SUV could pull in.
Two Truths and a Lie Page 28
