It surprised Lisa how much she wanted to have this conversation about Lauren. Lisa’s parenting style had always been noninterference. She didn’t want to decide who Ronni’s friends were, control what Ronni did for fun, or supervise how she spent every waking minute. Unlike some control-freak mothers she could name, Lisa wasn’t going to dictate who her daughter became. Of course, Lisa had met Lauren on several occasions. She seemed polite enough, with a touch of attitude. The same could have been said for Lisa’s own child, before the accident. So if Ronni had chosen Lauren for a best friend, then Lisa would respect her daughter’s opinion. But it now appeared that Ronni could have used some guidance in that department.
“Ronni’s first week back at school was really hard,” Lisa said, removing her hands from the mug and gripping the handle. It was an understatement. Ronni had begged not to go, sobbing and clutching at her mother like a frightened toddler. “It’ll be fine,” Lisa had assuaged her. But it wasn’t fine. When Ronni returned from her first day at Hillcrest, she’d gone into her lilac bedroom and slammed the door. Lisa heard banging and thumping, drawers opening and closing, objects being thrown around the room. She’d hurried to see the source of the commotion.
“You can get rid of all this crap,” Ronni cried, indicating a pile of designer clothes, stylish jewelry, and expensive makeup in the middle of her bedroom floor. “I don’t need any of it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“No one looks at me anymore!” she screamed. “Or when they do, they whisper, or snicker, or look away really fast. Even my so-called friends are hiding from me because I’m so fucking ugly!”
“You’re not ugly! Don’t say that!” But Lisa’s words were drowned out by Ronni’s sobs as she dropped to the floor, tearing at her clothes, smashing makeup cases, destroying treasured necklaces and earrings.
Lisa took a sip of her nearly flavorless tea. “She feels abandoned. And isolated.”
“That makes me so sad,” Carla said, her eyes shiny with emotion under her impeccable makeup. How old was she? Thirty? Thirty-five at the most? How old was Lauren’s father? Probably in his fifties . . . Carla had trophy wife written all over her, but she could still be a caring soul.
Carla continued, “My husband is a good man, but his work is his life. He travels all the time. He’s not the hands-on parent that Lauren needs. And her mom is so bitter and angry. I shouldn’t say anything, but she drinks. . . .”
Lisa shook her head, sympathetic.
“Lauren’s hated me since the day we met,” Carla continued, her chin crinkling with the emotion of her words. “Her mom poisoned her against me. Darren and I met when he was still married. Nothing really happened, but there were feelings there.”
“I understand,” Lisa said, because she did. There had been some married men in her past. Sometimes there was a connection that went beyond all impediments. She wouldn’t judge.
“I’ve tried to bond with her,” Carla continued, “but she seems so cold and heartless. Then her dad comes home and she turns on the charm.”
“Divorce is hard on kids,” Lisa offered, bringing her cup to her lips, but it felt like an excuse. Lauren’s cruelty toward Ronni bordered on sociopathic. Obviously, Lisa wasn’t qualified to make a diagnosis, but she had once dated a complete and utter asshole whom her friend Hilary had tagged a sociopath. Lisa had researched the term and it seemed to fit Lauren to a tee. The girl was charming, she was a leader, and she obviously had a total lack of empathy. Lisa’s maternal protectiveness could be coloring her judgment, but the diagnosis fit.
“Half of all kids today come from broken homes,” Carla said. “I think she just needs boundaries. Her mom will ground her for doing drugs, but then she never follows through. Darren’s not home enough to punish her, and if I try to set any limits, I’m the Wicked Witch of the West.”
“Being a stepparent is a tough job.”
Carla was on the verge of tears now. “I love Darren; I love our life together. But honestly, if I’d known his daughter was going to be so hateful, I’m not sure I would have married him.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Darren doesn’t want any more children. He says he’s too old. I agreed when we first got married, but that’s when I thought I’d be a part of Lauren’s life. I didn’t think she would hate me so much.”
Lisa suddenly saw this meeting for what it really was: a counseling session for a distraught stepmom. Carla wasn’t an ally who was going to make Lauren see what a shitty friend she was being to Ronni. Carla just wanted Lisa to affirm that Lauren was a cruel little bitch and that all the discord in their stepparent-stepchild relationship was the girl’s fault. Lisa looked at Carla: her flawless makeup, her manicured nails, her yoga-toned body, and her pretty hazel eyes filled with tears. The poor thing. Carla had chosen to marry a wealthy older man and she hadn’t factored in all the baggage that came with him.
Lisa could have easily said the words Carla wanted to hear, could have given her the sympathy she so clearly coveted. But Lisa didn’t have the energy to support someone else right now. Her focus was on helping Ronni. Only Ronni. She changed the subject. “Has anyone talked to Lauren about Ronni? About how alone she feels?”
“I’ve tried, I really have, but she doesn’t listen to me. I doubt her mom has,” Carla snorted. “Monique is completely useless as a mother. . . . Darren thinks Lauren should stay away from Ronni until you settle your lawsuit.” She took a sip of tea. “How’s that going?”
Lisa leaned back in her chair. “The Sanderses have refused to accept any responsibility, but I’m not backing down.”
“Darren thinks you should settle. He says that the police found the Sanderses not criminally responsible, so you don’t have a leg to stand on.”
Lisa felt affronted. Darren knew nothing about what happened that night. And, frankly, he should spend less time judging people and more time parenting his nasty daughter. But she pasted on a patient smile. “We have our examination for discovery on Monday. When the Sanderses see the case we have against them, they’ll come to the table. There’s a lot more going on beneath Jeff and Kim’s perfect facade than people realize.”
Carla cocked her head. “Really? They seem pretty squeaky clean.”
Lisa reached for her mug but noticed her hands were shaking. She folded them in her lap. “Well . . . they’re not.”
“Jeff Sanders is such a health nut. He does triathlons, doesn’t he? He’s quite attractive. Kim, too . . . in her conservative way.”
Lisa gave an ambiguous nod. Kim was classically pretty, well preserved, always put together . . . but she had no warmth, no sex appeal that Lisa could see. And Jeff was fit and boyish, but when she’d met him, all those years ago, she’d picked up his subtle air of condescension. Jeff was a privileged pretty boy with no depth, no character, no complexity. . . .
“They may look like the perfect couple,” Lisa said, “but there’s a lot of shit going on in that multimillion-dollar house.”
Carla leaned forward conspiratorially. “Like what?”
Lisa wasn’t about to jeopardize her legal position by disclosing dirt to a virtual stranger. “I really can’t talk about it,” she said, “but if this goes to trial, you’ll know more than you ever wanted to about the Sanderses.”
The younger woman looked positively gleeful at the prospect. “Do you think there’ll be a trial? Darren says these cases usually get settled through mediation.”