My friends Jane and Karen. The lack of identifier before Kim’s name stung, because she and Debs were friends, weren’t they? At least they had been. Maybe they weren’t deep confidantes, but they had gone for coffee, and they had shared gossip and anecdotes about marriage and raising teenagers. That’s what friends did. What they didn’t do was ignore each other just because one of them was involved in something unpleasant. But perhaps Kim was being too sensitive. Damn hormones . . .
Kim turned toward Debs’s friends. “Hi,” she said cheerfully. Jane and Karen gave Kim cool, almost dismissive nods. Who were these women, and why were they being so bitchy? She tried to ignore the elevation of her heart rate: fight or flight. She politely asked, “Do you have boys on the team?”
“My son’s number eight,” Jane offered.
Karen, the familiar, angular one said, “Mine’s number twenty-two.”
“Mine’s number five,” Kim offered. “The tall, awkward one.”
Nothing. Not a comment about the typical thirteen-year-old lack of dexterity, or sons growing taller than their moms, or any of the usual parental banter. Just icy silence. “I’ve got to send some work e-mails,” Kim said lamely. “Debs, good to see you.” To the others: “Nice to meet you both.”
“Actually, we’ve met before,” Karen said, eyes narrowed, tone truculent. “At the Literacy Foundation’s fund-raiser in January. I was with my friend Ana Pinto.”
Shit. Ana Pinto, Marta’s mom . . . Kim’s mind skipped back to the Italian coffee shop where Ana had turned Kim’s simple request for support into an admission of guilt, a plot to take down Lisa, a lack of empathy for Ronni. The pieces fell into place then. Ana had poisoned this Karen person against Kim, and in turn, Karen was spewing Ana’s story to the others in the mom network. She could see it in their eyes, in the judgmental set of their chins and the tense distance they kept between them and her. Kim was guilty. Despite the police clearance, these women had made up their minds.
There were so many things Kim could have said to defend herself, but their resolve was evident. They wanted to blame her; they wanted to hate her. . . . She could see how much they were enjoying it. Their schadenfreude was palpable.
“I remember,” she managed to say. “How is Ana?”
“She’s fine. . . . Trying to support Marta with all she’s been through. It was very traumatic for her.”
“For everyone,” Kim said softly. “It’s a tragedy.”
“It sure is,” Debs added smugly. The other women made affirmative snorting noises and turned their eyes toward the field.
Without a word, Kim turned and headed for her car. Tears were already obscuring her vision, but she would not hurry, she would not give those bitches the satisfaction of knowing they had broken her. A whistle blew on the field and Kim glanced over through the scrim of her tears. The coach was calling the boys in for a last-minute pep talk. Aidan was jogging across the field, all his attention focused on the impending game. He didn’t notice his mother, shunned and holding back tears, on the sideline. He had probably forgotten she was even there.
Kim got into the driver’s seat and slammed the door behind her. In the stuffy warmth of the Audi wagon, she let her composure go. Tears poured down her cheeks and ragged sobs shuddered through her chest. She felt so alone, so ostracized, so bullied. Bullied like Ronni. Oh God, Ronni . . . Kim thought about the website, about the ugliness and cruelty of adolescents. There was only one thing as mean as teenagers: soccer moms. She cried even harder.
They would sweeten their offer to Lisa. They would make sure Ronni never wanted for anything. Her life would actually be better now than it was before the accident. Ronni may have lost her eye, but she would gain financial independence. She wouldn’t have to rely on a mother who surfed all day and thought Reiki healing was a legitimate career choice. Jeff and Kim would ensure Ronni had the financial support to create her own future. The girl just had to survive high school. . . .
Kim dug in her purse for a tissue and felt the familiar rectangle of her phone. She withdrew it with a handful of crumpled Kleenexes and dropped it in her lap. As she blew her nose, Hannah’s earlier words replayed in her mind: “I want to be there for Ronni, but I’m not allowed!” Not allowed? The girl was sixteen, for Christ’s sake! She hadn’t asked permission to drink alcohol or to have a secret boyfriend, but somehow, she needed permission to support a friend?
Kim wiped the greasy touch screen on her pants, then tapped to compose a text to her daughter.
I’m sorry about before. Do what you think is right.
She took a breath and hit send.
jeff
FIFTY-TWO DAYS AFTER
“Did you read the RFP I sent?” Graham was standing in Jeff’s office doorway, filling it with his Australian bulk. “I need your notes ASAP.”
Jeff looked up from his computer screen. “I’m about halfway through,” he lied. He had meant to read the document last night, but lately, he was so damned tired. “I’ll finish it tonight and get you notes for the morning.”
“Thanks.” Graham hovered for a beat. “How are things going at home?”
“Fine. Good.” Jeff gave Graham a dismissive smile and returned his focus to the e-mail he’d been composing. He didn’t want to get into it with Graham, or with anyone. Jeff wanted to keep his mind on work, and on his training.
But Graham never could take a hint. He entered Jeff’s roomy office and pulled up a guest chair. “What’s going on with the lawsuit?”
Jeff swiveled his chair to face his colleague. “We made a generous offer to settle and she refused,” he grouched. “That’s what’s going on with the lawsuit.”
Graham leaned back and stretched his long legs. “So what comes next? Will you make her a better offer?” Graham wasn’t thick, but he seemed to lack a certain emotional intelligence that other people had. Like how other people would have realized this was a touchy subject. Maybe it was an Aussie thing.
“I don’t know,” Jeff said. “Kim wants to go to trial.”
“You can’t do that, mate. A trial would be brutal.”
“I know. But Kim’s pissed. She wants to take down Lisa. She wants to prove we’re not guilty.”
“That would be awful for the kids. Don’t put them through that.”
“I know.”
Graham crossed a leg over his knee, getting comfortable. “So what’s she like? The bitch who’s after you . . .”
“I always thought she was a New Age, hippy-dippy weirdo.”
“She can’t be that enlightened if she’s trying to fuck you and Kim in the ass.”
“I don’t know if Lisa’s trying to ‘fuck us in the ass,’ exactly,” Jeff explained. “Kim thinks the lawsuit is some personal vendetta. But Lisa’s daughter lost her eye. She probably feels like some monetary compensation will ease the pain.”
“My dad’s best mate only had one eye. It didn’t seem to hold him back any.”
“But Ronni’s just a kid. Kids are cruel . . . and it’s different for girls. They’re already so insecure about their looks. I can’t imagine how Hannah would deal with being disfigured.”
Graham winced at the word. “Have you seen it? The eye?”
“No . . . but Aidan said it’s pretty nasty.”
“Poor girl.” Graham uncrossed his legs. “If I were you, I’d write the mother a big fat check. I’d sell a car, divest some stocks, whatever it takes to make it go away.”