The Party Read online

  Lisa forced a smile. “You need to get back to school. Get back into your old routine.”

  Ronni turned back to the vampires. “No way. I can’t go back there.”

  “Honey …” Lisa grabbed the remote and paused the show. “Of course you can. You need to learn and be with your friends and have a normal life.”

  “My friends?” Ronni said, and her eyes filled. (Lisa had quickly learned that a glass eye still allowed tear flow.) “I don’t have any friends anymore.”

  Lisa thought about Hannah showing up at the hospital the day after the accident. “I just want to see her, to let her know that I’m here for her,” Hannah had said. She’d been upset, on the verge of tears. But Lisa couldn’t let that friendship stand, not with everything that was going on. She patted her daughter’s leg. “Of course you do… .”

  “I haven’t heard from anyone! I’ve had like one text from Lauren. She’s supposed to be my best friend.”

  “If she was really your best friend, she’d be there for you.”

  “She says her parents don’t want her caught up in all this mess.” She wiped at the tears streaming down her face. “So I’m a mess now.”

  Lisa grabbed Ronni’s hand and kissed the tears off it. “It’s not you, honey. You’re not the mess.”

  “I’m a freak! And a monster!”

  “No, baby. You’re a beautiful girl. Lauren’s dad’s talking about the”—the words were tumbling out before she could stop them—“lawsuit.”

  Ronni pulled her hand away. “What lawsuit?”

  Lisa turned away from her daughter and focused on the clutter on the coffee table: fashion magazines, teacups, used tissues, Ronni’s cell phone and iPad… . She tidied as she talked. “Hannah’s parents should have taken care of you girls. You were in their house, so your safety was their responsibility.”

  Ronni gasped. “Are you suing them?”

  “My insurance didn’t cover all your medical costs.”

  “This wasn’t their fault!”

  “You said you don’t remember anything—how can you be so sure?”

  Ronni threw the blanket off her lap and leaned forward. “I remember that we always got drunk at sleepovers. We always sneaked booze from our parents or got it from a boot. We always had pot or pills or whatever we could steal from home. This could have happened here. It could have happened anywhere… .”

  “But it didn’t happen here. It happened under Kim and Jeff Sanders’s multimillion-dollar roof.”

  Ronni glared at her. “Everyone will hate me. They’ll take Hannah’s side. She’s popular now. She’s going out with Noah Chambers.”

  “No one will hate you. You’re the victim here.”

  “Don’t you remember high school at all?” Ronni’s voice was shrill, angry, nearly hysterical. “No one likes a fucking victim!”

  “Don’t talk like that.”

  “Then don’t do this to me!” Ronni screamed.

  “To you?” Lisa shrieked. “I’m doing this for you!” She loved Ronni more than life, but sometimes her teenaged self-absorption made Lisa want to shake her.

  “This isn’t about me,” Ronni spat. “This is about you.” She sat back on the sofa and fixed her mother with half a hateful stare. “You’ve always been jealous of Kim Sanders.”

  “I’m not a materialistic person, Ronni. You know that. I don’t conform to traditional standards of happiness.” She sounded like one of the speakers at her mindfulness retreat. Had Lisa really drunk the Kool-Aid? Or was she trying to convince her daughter that her motivations were pure?

  “Give me a break,” Ronni scoffed. “You’d love to have Kim Sanders’s perfect house, her perfect marriage, her perfect family… .”

  “They’re not that perfect,” Lisa retorted. “Trust me. I know some things.”

  “They’re a lot better than this”—Ronni gestured around her—“this shitty apartment. Your stupid boyfriend. Me and you.”

  Her daughter was hurting, she was lashing out, she didn’t really mean it… . Still, Lisa felt her face crumple. She had stayed strong, angry, and defiant through this whole nightmare and now, sitting among the clutter of her daughter’s convalescence, a teenaged vampire frozen on the television screen, she was going to lose it. “I love you more than anything,” she managed to croak through the emotion clogging her throat. “I wouldn’t change anything about you or me or our life.”

  Ronni stared at her, one eye full of hate, the other blank and blind. “I would,” she said calmly. “I’d change everything.” She turned away from her tearful mother, and hit the play button on the remote.

  kim

  SEVENTEEN DAYS AFTER

  Kim sat across a tiny round table from Dr. Ana Pinto. The Eighteenth Street café was Italian, the tiny table matching the tiny cups of espresso they were drinking. It was quaint, but it meant she and Ana were awkwardly close, their elbows almost touching as they drank their strong, bitter drinks. Kim liked Ana, admired her even. Ana was a pediatric oncologist who had emigrated from Brazil fifteen years ago. “I wanted Marta to have a better life,” she’d stated. “So we left.” Ana had put her only child before her career, her extended family, and her friendships. It was the same choice Kim would have made, that’s why she respected Ana … that, and for saving all those kids with cancer.

  “It’s still hard to believe that Ronni was so seriously injured,” Kim said, endeavoring to bring her cup to her mouth without jostling Ana’s elbow.

  Ana replied, in perfect but accented English, “It’s a tragedy.”

  “A terrible accident.” Kim sipped her coffee, swallowed. “And Lisa’s reaction has made it all so much worse… . You heard she’s suing us?”

  “I did.”

  “It’s natural to want someone to blame, but Jeff and I are not at fault. The police cleared us… . But I guess Lisa wants her pound of flesh.”

  Ana pursed her lips and gave a slight nod, not overt agreement with Kim’s statement, but it was enough for Kim to forge ahead.

  “We’ve had to hire a lawyer. She says we need to gather some witnesses—just for discovery, she’s sure we won’t have to go to trial.” Kim took a breath. “We were hoping we could count on Marta.”

  “To be a witness?”

  “She’s known our family for years. She knows we’re not negligent—we’re not partyers… . And I’m sure she told you that I was very clear about our house rules.”

  “Yes …” Kim waited for it. “But …” There it was. “I asked Marta if you and Jeff checked on them that night. She said you didn’t.”

  “They’re sixteen, not four!” Kim’s voice was too sharp, too defensive. She softened. “We thought we could trust them. Hannah and Marta and Caitlin have always been such good girls … but Ronni and Lauren are different.”

  “So this is Ronni’s fault?”

  “I’m not laying blame here,” Kim retorted. “Lisa’s the one doing that. I’m just saying that Ronni has a history of rebellious behavior. It’s no wonder— She has no relationship with her father. And Lisa’s had more than a few boyfriends… .”

  There was a glimmer of interest in Ana’s eye. Kim continued, forcing a sympathetic tone. “Lisa’s had a hard life: abusive relationships, drugs, drinking… . I know she loves her daughter, I know she tries her best, but … she has a lot of issues.”

  Ana’s expression was inscrutable. “I don’t think Lisa’s issues are relevant to this situation, are they?”

  “They go to character, don’t they? Kim spluttered. “And … who knows if Lisa has fallen back into bad habits? Maybe Ronni has seen things she shouldn’t have? She might have access to substances… .”

  Ana checked her watch. “I should go.”

  Kim spoke quickly. “Can we count on Marta’s support?”

  Ana’s accented voice was cold and clipped. “If Marta is called as a witness, she’ll tell the truth.” She stood. “Thank you for the coffee, Kim.” She strode out of the café.

  KIM FELT SLIGHTLY
sick as she flew down the 101. The meeting with Ana had not gone as she’d hoped. The woman acted like Kim had offered Marta a bribe—a new laptop or a spa day—in exchange for her testimony. Kim only wanted Marta to tell the truth. And the truth was that Kim and Jeff weren’t culpable. All Kim had wanted from the meeting was for Ana to pat her hand and tell her it was going to be okay, that she understood. This could have happened in Ana’s home, or any home. Kim and Jeff were good parents. Ana was a pediatrician for Christ’s sake. Where was her empathy?

  But Kim couldn’t dwell on this now as she exited the freeway onto Oyster Point Boulevard. Her hands on the wheel were sweaty, her stomach churning with anticipation and anxiety. She was on her way to meet Tony. He had rented them a room in a secluded inn near the marina. They had planned it that afternoon in his car when they’d first kissed. It had been so intense, so passionate that they’d nearly had sex right there in the backseat of his Volkswagen. But Kim couldn’t risk it. What if they’d been caught? Kim would be branded a public fornicator as well as a neglectful parent.

  “We can’t,” Kim had whispered, pulling on Tony’s hair to lift his head from its location between her breasts.

  “Why not?” He kissed her neck, his breath hard and hot in her ear.

  “Not here,” she said. “It’s too risky.”

  “That’s what makes it so hot,” he mumbled, his hand finding its way between her legs. Her body wanted to rock against the pressure of his fingers, to build friction and find release, but her mind prevailed. They were in a public park, in broad daylight, for God’s sake.

  “Stop. Please …” But he didn’t. He could feel her body responding, feel how close she was. “We’re married. We’re parents,” she managed to say. “We have to be discreet.”

  This got through to him and he pulled away. He looked at her, his eyes glazed, his chest heaving. He appeared confused and disoriented. Then he ran his fingers through his hair and let a word slip through his lips. “Fuck …”

  Kim was flattered. He wanted her so much it seemed almost painful for him. It was hard for Kim, too. She wanted to be with Tony, to share that incredible intimacy with him. He had been a comfort and an escape during this nightmare. She felt a gratitude and fondness toward him that was surely bordering on love. And so, she and Tony had hatched their plan.

  KIM SPOTTED THE sign—MARINA SIDE INN—and pulled her car into the parking lot. It was quaint (despite its proximity to the airport), and not at all indicative of the debauchery that was about to take place inside in the middle of the afternoon. She grabbed her purse and hurried toward room 108—a cottage. Tony had texted her the number so she wouldn’t have to go to the front desk. As she walked across the hot pavement, she felt queasy. She wasn’t sure if it was from excitement or guilt.

  She had thought that Ronni’s accident, followed so closely by Lisa’s litigation, might have brought her and Jeff closer together. They were both being wrongfully accused, both being blamed. It would be normal for them to unite in the face of adversity, to support and comfort each other. But it seemed Jeff had pulled even further away—swimming, cycling, and running harder, faster, longer… . How far could you run before you dropped dead? He’d been drinking, too, she was sure of it. That Aussie friend of his was always pressuring him to go out for beers. Jeff came home later and later, heading straight for the shower and chewing gum like a guilty teenager. Like Hannah.

  The cottage was a few steps away, and she took a deep breath. There was no backing out now. She reached out and knocked, her heart thudding in her chest. But when Tony opened the door, she instantly relaxed. His presence had that effect on her. “You made it,” he said, stepping back to usher her inside.

  “Traffic,” she said, moving into the tiny bungalow. The charm of the exterior hadn’t quite translated inside. A plethora of throw rugs, doilies, and tchotchkes attempted to mask the cheap linoleum floors and chipped Formica countertops. “Cute place.” But it sounded insincere.

  Tony chuckled. “It’ll do,” he said, moving toward her and kissing her. So this is how it would work: no jokes about the octogenarian interior decorator, no awkward chitchat about the lost art of crochet, just straight down to business. Tony’s kisses were already passionate and urgent, his hands were already roaming her body. “Let’s go,” he mumbled, leading her toward a bedroom that she correctly predicted would be full of frills.

  He lay Kim down on the floral bedspread and went to work on her, unbuttoning her blouse and unclasping her bra. He took her nipple in his mouth and it felt good, she was aroused, but Kim couldn’t stop thinking about the bedspread. They should pull it back and have sex on the sheets. Hotel sheets were regularly washed but not the bedspreads. Had Tony never seen a TV exposé on hotel cleanliness? Had he never seen the blue light revealing the buckets of semen deposited on the typical hotel counterpane? Tony seemed more focused on adding to the collection than worrying about hygiene.

  Tony pulled off his own shirt, revealing his narrow, hairy chest. Kim felt a mild surge of lust at his nakedness and the look of hunger in his dark eyes. She just needed to focus on the matter at hand. He unceremoniously yanked up her skirt and dove between her legs. She closed her eyes and tried to go with it. But it was then, with her lover’s head snuffling around in her crotch, that Kim felt a powerful surge of guilt, remorse, and shame sweep over her. No, it was more than that; it was self-loathing. What was she doing here? A girl had been maimed in her home and her response was to cheat on her husband? She could lose her savings, her home, her reputation … and now she was risking her marriage. Ana’s judgmental expression replayed in Kim’s mind. The woman had looked at Kim like she was dirt. She propped herself up on her elbows. “Stop.”

  But Tony didn’t. Maybe he hadn’t heard her. Maybe he didn’t think she meant it. Suddenly, the pressure of his face between her thighs made her feel disproportionately angry. She wanted to hit him, to kick him hard in the face. She shoved his head away. “I said STOP!” She scrambled away from him on the bed, yanking her skirt down as she did. “This was a mistake.”

  “You just need to relax,” Tony said. “I brought some wine. Let’s have a drink.”

  “I don’t want a drink. I want to go home.”

  Tony gave a mirthless laugh. “Are you kidding me?”

  “I’m sorry … but with everything going on, I’m just not into it.”

  “You’re just not into it?” He shook his head in disbelief. “I paid three hundred bucks for this room. In cash.”

  Kim was already getting up. Where had she left her shoes? “I’d be happy to reimburse you.”

  “You’d be happy to reimburse me?” Was he going to repeat everything she said like some angry parrot? She felt Tony’s eyes on her as she searched the room, but he said nothing. Finally, he spoke: “You fucking tease.”

  Kim turned toward him and saw his face curled into a mask of hatred.

  “You’ve been leading me on for months.” He angrily pulled on his shirt. “I have a wife. I have a family. I was willing to jeopardize everything for you.”

  Kim suddenly felt like dissolving into tears of self-pity. “So was I … but it was a bad idea.”

  “I’ll say it was a bad fucking idea.”

  “It’s just … with the accident and the lawsuit …” Her voice cracked.

  “Poor Kim,” he said, his voice mocking. “Some kids got wasted at your house. They fucked up, like kids do. But all you care about is your reputation. And your bank account.”

  “A girl lost her eye.” Tears streamed down Kim’s cheeks. “Her mother is suing us. We could lose everything.”

  Tony’s expression was pure disgust, like the fact that he’d ever considered her a sexual being turned his stomach. And it felt apt. She would have looked at her own reflection the same way. She was selfish and superficial, disloyal and adulterous: a contemporary Madame Bovary.

  “Good luck dealing with all your shit,” Tony said, stalking from the room. Kim heard him grab his car keys off the
table and the door bang closed behind him. She fell on the semen-stained bedspread and wept.

  jeff

  EIGHTEEN DAYS AFTER

  Jeff was sleeping, fitfully, when he heard it. The ding was muffled by his jeans—he’d left his phone in his pants pocket after the pool—but still, it woke him. Usually, he turned his ringer off before bed, but he’d been so exhausted after his swim that he must have forgotten. He was sleeping in the spare room—Kim said his breathing disturbed her—so he wouldn’t wake her … although, since Lisa’s complaint against them, his wife had been on a strict evening diet of white wine and sleeping pills. Neither his breathing nor the muted alert would have roused her.

  He crawled out of bed and stumbled toward his pants balled up on the bedroom floor. The clock radio on the nightstand gleamed 2:17 A.M. Who the hell could be texting him at this hour? It had to be Graham. His friend had been known to tie one on and then suggest Jeff join him at whatever Aussie bar he was frequenting. Jeff always texted back his excuses: I’m sleeping… . I have an early meeting… . I already had a few beers with dinner, so I can’t drive… . Jeff never admitted he wasn’t allowed to go out.

  The number on the screen was unfamiliar, but the message instantly provided clarity.

  It’s Lauren I need help

  Jesus Christ. How did the girl get his number? She must have found it on Hannah’s phone. And why would she ask him, of all people, for help? But only a monster could ignore a missive like that. He texted back:

  What’s wrong?

  Through typos and grammatical errors, Jeff was able to discern that Lauren was drunk or high (fucked up, she’d texted), and at a party at some guy’s apartment. She’d gone with her older sister, but her sister had ditched her when Lauren went to the bathroom. Now she was alone, and wasted, and she didn’t know how to get home.