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.