The Party

Darren says, Darren says, Darren says . . .

“I’m not interested in mediation,” Lisa said. “The Sanderses are used to getting what they want. They’re used to everything being easy and working out for them. But they’re going to take responsibility for what they did to my daughter.”

The intensity of Lisa’s words seemed to make Carla uncomfortable. “I hope it works out,” she said, eyes darting to her watch.

There was an awkward silence that neither of the women knew how to fill, so Lisa said, “I should go. I don’t like leaving Ronni alone for too long.”

“Right,” Carla said with obvious relief. She slid her chair back. “I’ll try to talk to Lauren, but she won’t listen.”

Lisa managed a smile as she stood. “Probably not. But thanks for trying.”





jeff


THIRTY-SEVEN DAYS AFTER


The conference room table was made of some pale hardwood polished to a gleaming sheen. Jeff could see Kim’s reflection in it as she sat stiffly beside him. He couldn’t quite make out her expression but he didn’t need to see it to know that it was grim, tense, and hostile. Next to Kim sat their plain, competent attorney, Candace Sugarman. Across the table sat the enemy, looking young and waiflike in her bohemian clothes. Despite her fragile appearance, there was something fierce in Lisa’s eyes—either rage or hatred, Jeff wasn’t sure. Lisa was flanked by her attorney, Paul Wilcox, a pudgy thirty-five-year-old man in an expensive suit.

At the end of the table, impossibly young and perfect and pretty, was Lauren Ross. Beside her sat her mother, Monique. Perhaps it was the elder woman’s haggard appearance juxtaposed with her daughter’s youth that made Lauren appear so ethereal. Jeff knew what Kim would think: Lauren was too made up, too overtly sexual for her age, like some pedophile’s fantasy. And Kim was right. But there was no denying that the girl was beautiful. Every time Jeff looked at her, which was rarely, he felt sick to his stomach.

“I know I could have done a written witness statement, but I just felt like I had to be here. . . .”

Of course she did. Lauren wouldn’t miss a chance to insert herself into this mess.

“Thank you, Lauren.” It was Candace’s practiced voice. “Now, tell us what happened that night.”

Lauren glanced at Jeff and then over to Lisa before addressing the attorney. “It was the same as any sleepover: we all stole a bit of booze from home, a few pills from our medicine cabinets, and then we got wasted.”

Kim made some noise at the back of her throat and Lauren’s mom rolled her eyes and shook her head. But Candace was encouraging. “You’re doing great, Lauren. How much alcohol did each girl bring?”

“I don’t recall.”

“Do you recall who brought what substances to Hannah’s birthday party?”

“Not really . . .”

“Not really, or no?” Candace pressed. Jeff’s eyes were fixed on the table. He didn’t dare look at Lauren, and he hoped she was smart enough not to look at him.

“No,” Lauren said. “I just remember that everyone brought something, so we can’t really blame one person.”

“Thank you,” Candace said, “I know this wasn’t easy for you.”

“It was the right thing to do.”

Monique, Lauren’s mother, pushed her chair back. “Are we done here?” Her voice was raspy; she was clearly a smoker.

Candace looked to the other lawyer, Paul, who nodded assent. “Yes, thank you.”

Lauren and her mother moved toward the door, and Jeff felt his shoulders collapse with relief. He hadn’t even realized that his traps were in a vise until Lauren got up to leave. The tension was understandable. If anyone in that room knew what had been going on between him and the girl, he’d be crucified.

They were almost gone when Lauren turned back. “I just have to say one thing. . . .” Jeff felt his stomach drop, but Lauren’s gaze was fixed on Lisa. “I think what you’re doing to Jeff and Kim is really bad. It’s not their fault that Ronni lost her eye. She wanted to get wasted, we all did. . . .” Monique gripped her daughter’s upper arm and tried to hustle her out the door, but Lauren wasn’t finished. “This lawsuit is making it harder for Ronni at school. No one wants to hang out with her because of all the crap going on around her. I think you should drop the lawsuit and focus on your daughter getting better.”

Lisa stood. “You don’t care about Ronni,” she said, her voice dripping with contempt. “You’ve barely talked to her since the accident.”

“That’s because of all this.” Lauren indicated the room. “My dad said to stay out of it.”

Monique snorted. “So that’s why you manipulated me into bringing you here.”

Lauren said, “I just want this all to be over for everyone. For Ronni . . .”

Lisa leaned forward, placed both hands on the table. “Don’t pretend you care about Ronni, you phony, superficial little bitch.”

“Hey! Fuck you!” Monique said, revealing unexpected maternal protectiveness. Jeff glanced over at the court reporter, a blank-faced woman who was transcribing the proceedings. She appeared to be transcribing this comment, too.

Candace stood, tried to regain order. “Please, everyone just calm down. Lauren and Monique, we appreciate your time, but we need to get back on task.”

“Get out of here, Lauren,” Lisa spat. “Go home and do your hair.”

That’s when Lauren looked at Jeff. Their eyes locked for the briefest of moments and a chill ran through him. Lauren’s expression was almost pleading. I tried, her eyes said, I did this for you. Surely, everyone in the room could sense their connection. It had to be obvious what had transpired between them; that Lauren was far more than just a friend of his daughter’s. . . .

If only he could go back in time to that day when Lauren showed up at the gym. He should have sent her away. Her threat to tell the police about the champagne was bluster and he could have shut her down. But instead, he’d taken her for ice cream, like an idiot. And then her late-night call for help had come in, and like some stupid, obedient Saint Bernard, he had gone to her rescue. It was the wrong choice, he knew it then and he knew it now. Still, when Jeff dropped Lauren off at her mom’s apartment that night, he’d hoped it was over. It wasn’t.

The texts were innocuous at first:

So board. What’s new

Did you suck at science as much as I do

I hate school. Wish we could go for lunch.

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