“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Natasha growled impatiently. “It’s just that everyone is so Pollyannaish about Poppy. She wasn’t perfect. She was human. Look at what James said—she was cheating. Maybe she was lying about other things too.”
Corinne bristled. Natasha was only there because of Poppy. “What did you have against her?” she asked. “She was so nice to you, although I don’t really know why.”
Natasha straightened her spine. “I’m just trying to get you people to take off your blinders. You’re all like sheep. You go where you’re supposed to go. You think what you’re supposed to think. But you know what? Sometimes things aren’t what they seem.”
Rowan slapped her arms to her sides. “What the hell happened, Natasha? Why do you hate us so much? We used to be close, and as far as I can see, none of us did anything to you. Maybe you can enlighten me, because I’m pretty confused right now.”
Natasha blinked. Her mouth hung open for a long beat. Then she lowered her eyes.
“There isn’t anything, is there?” Aster demanded. “Did you cut yourself off for attention? Was this just your way of getting more press for yourself? You never could stand being out of the limelight.”
A fierce look flashed in Natasha’s eyes. All at once, Corinne couldn’t handle it anymore. “We’re ending this conversation right now!” she said loudly.
Aster and Rowan stopped and stared at her. “We are?”
“Yes,” Corinne said shakily, feeling tears come to her eyes. All these horrible confessions . . . it was just too much. “And we’re not saying anything to anyone,” she added. “Not until we know something real.”
Natasha sighed. “All right,” she mumbled, trudging back to the center of the room and yanking her wineglass from the coffee table. “But I think you’re making a big mistake.”
Outside, seagulls screeched. Corinne tried to think of a way to change the subject, but what was there to talk about now? They’d already said too much. All at once, she couldn’t believe what she’d admitted to them. She couldn’t believe they knew about Will now. In two weeks, they would stand behind her at the altar, and they would know she was a fake. I can’t believe she’s going through with this, they’d think. Poor Dixon. Already she could feel their judging eyes on her back. She stood and gathered all the empty wineglasses. “You know what? I don’t think this is the right weekend for a bachelorette party at all.”
“What do you mean?” Aster asked.
“I mean I want to leave.” Corinne marched to the kitchen and placed the wineglasses in the sink. Then she walked into the foyer and picked up the old worn monogrammed tote she always brought to Meriweather. “I think we should all leave.”
“Corinne.” Aster followed her to the door. “We just got here.”
But Corinne was resolute. “We’re going,” she said, grabbing the keys and opening the door. “This is not how I want to celebrate my wedding.”
She stepped out on the porch, sucking in the warm, humid air. A storm was rolling in, and the trees cut dark shapes against the cloudy sky. Branches scraped across the bricks, as high-pitched as wails. For a split second, Corinne thought she saw a shadow.
But then the door opened again, and her sister, Rowan, and Natasha walked onto the porch too. By the time Corinne glanced to that section of trees again, the branches had gone still. Or maybe they’d never been moving at all.
14
Aster hefted her bag on her shoulder and followed her sister down the freshly combed gravel path. Corinne walked with purpose toward the Navigator they kept on the island. “Corinne, please,” Aster called out. “We should stay. We can still have a good time.”
Corinne turned to look at her with red-rimmed, downturned eyes. “I just want to go,” she said, her voice small.
Aster felt like Alice when she’d stepped through the looking glass and the world was suddenly upside down and backward. Poppy might be a killer, Rowan was sleeping with Poppy’s husband, and perfect Corinne had cheated on Dixon. Aster couldn’t imagine how hard that must have been for her sister to admit aloud. Not long ago, she would’ve felt satisfied that Corinne had finally cracked. Now she just felt bad for her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, knowing the words were not enough.
“It’s not your fault.” Corinne paused to straighten out her roller bag, which she was pulling behind her.
“No. I’m sorry about . . . me. I haven’t been there for you very much.”
Corinne stopped and looked at Aster, a surprised smile on her face. She opened her mouth a few times, but no words came out. “Thank you,” she finally said. “But I still want to get out of here.”
“Okay,” Aster said. “But the minute we get back to the city, we’re getting disco fries.” When they were little, Mason used to buy the two girls greasy diner fries, smothered in gravy and four kinds of cheese.