Whereas most teenage girls would roll their eyes at being paraded around like this, Abby seems genuinely polite, even nervous.

“Pleased to meet you,” Abby says, with a deferential dip of her head. I want to take her in my arms, lead her out of this dysfunctional mess, tell her she can do better than Brad, who is barely masking his greedy stares at Margot.

Brad’s parked in the corner of the pool, his long, ropy arms supporting him while he kicks at the water. “Mom, the pool is still cold, what the hell?” I’m taken aback that he still calls Jill Mom. It jolts me to think about the fact that this hunky young man is still just a teenager.

He catches me staring, shoots me a sly smile as if to say I’m in on his dirty little secret with Margot, who’s so far taken no notice of him.

Jill disappears inside the house, calling out over her shoulder that she’s off to mix more margaritas.

* * *

—

JAMIE LEANS AGAINST the wooden railing. The sun is just beginning to set behind him, turning his copper hair even more golden.

His eyes are locked on Abby, and as soon as Jill unlatches herself from her, Abby walks to the edge of the pool, dips a toe in the water.

“It’s freezing!” she says, her voice high and girlish.

Jamie sneaks up behind her and grabs her around the waist, lifting her up before they both tumble into the pool together.

Abby breaks the surface, water beading on her face and eyelashes. “Jamie!” she squeals. He’s facing her with a devilish grin, and she splashes water in his face.

“Admit it, you would’ve never gotten in otherwise,” Jamie says, pleased with himself.

Brad eyes them. But outwardly, he doesn’t seem bothered by their banter.

Abby bounces in the water, clearly trying to warm up. Jamie watches her and begins treading water, his shoulder muscles flexing with each stroke.

After a moment, Brad sinks into the pool and swims over to Abby. She wraps her arms around his neck and he moves her over to the wall of the pool, where there’s an underwater ledge to sit on.

He pulls her into his lap, grabs the sides of her face with his hands, and starts kissing her, marking his territory.

Abby pulls back, blushing, clearly not wanting to make out in front of all of us.

Jamie swims to the edge of the pool and turns his back to them. He parks his elbows on the deck and rests his chin on top of his folded hands.

He’s right in front of my chaise longue and he looks up at me, his eyes tracing my body. His liquid green eyes make my stomach drop, and I’m praying that no one notices him. I give him a quick smile but then lean back in the chair and stare up at the salmon-colored sky.

I turn my head to the side and watch Margot. She’s now flipped on her stomach, probably so she doesn’t have to see Brad and Abby together, leg-locked in the pool.

Another squeal escapes Abby and she swats at Brad, who’s tickling her. I forgot just how noisy, and grating, teenage girls’ voices can be.

Not to be outdone, Margot tugs on the bikini strap around her neck. She’s still on her stomach, her legs slightly parted, but she raises herself up on her elbows, and when she does, her top slithers down. I’m sitting perpendicular to her, and I can see the outline of her perfect breasts and the dark pink circle of her nipple, which is hard.

I see Brad notice, too, and watch as he immediately looks to Jamie as if to see if Jamie is watching Margot.

He is.

Brad’s face hardens. He watches Jamie for a second longer and then moves Abby off him. He climbs out of the pool and towels off, water dripping from his moppy hair. Abby clambers out after him, seemingly oblivious to what is happening.

And as if Margot can sense Brad behind her, she rolls over on her back. Her breasts are now fully exposed and she runs a hand nonchalantly through her hair, like being topless in front of everyone is the most natural thing in the world.

Jamie’s eyes are locked onto her, as are Tina’s and Brad’s. Abby puts her hand over her mouth when she notices Margot, and tilts Brad’s head away from the sight with her hands. From where she’s sitting, Callie’s milk-dud eyes betray nothing.

“C’mon, Jamie, we’re leaving,” Brad orders, and tugs on his faded jeans. “Abby’s gotta get home.”

Jamie breaks his gaze and pushes himself up out of the water.

“Bye, ladies,” Jamie says, slinging a towel around his neck and following Brad and Abby into the house.

* * *

—

JILL PASSES THEM on their way inside. She’s carrying a freshly made pitcher of margaritas, and her expression twists into confusion at the sight of them leaving.

“But you just got here,” she calls out before setting the drinks down and noticing Margot.

“Margoooot?” she huffs, the second half of Margot’s name rising up in a high-pitched reprimand. “What the hell?”

At this, Margot sits up. My eyes haven’t left her chest since she flopped on her back, and electricity courses through me at the sight of her half-naked.

“What?” Margot asks, annoyed.

Little, whiny sounds snake out of Jill, whose face is beet red with obvious anger. She can’t seem to form words, so instead, she fans her hands around her breasts. “This . . . this—”

“Oh, for god’s sake, don’t be such a prude,” Margot says, exhaling upward into her bangs.

“Seriously, what did you think you were doing?” Jill seethes.

“What do you mean? And I can promise you, your precious Brad’s seen a lot worse. I’m sure he’s privy to Mommy and Daddy’s sex games,” Margot says with a snort.

“I don’t prance around in front of him topless!” Jill shrieks.

“I wasn’t prancing! I was on my stomach the whole time until a few seconds ago when I turned over to take a drink.”

Jill falters, as if wavering between anger and something else. Regret, it looks like.

“But you know what?” Margot says, refastening her top around her neck. “I’m out!”

Margot rises from her chair, slides her feet into her black flip-flops, and pads to the back door. She yanks it open and slams it so hard behind her that the glass shudders.

“Way to go, Jill,” Callie says, pulling her sunglasses on and swiping her keys off a side table. “She just told us she’s going through a lot and then you lay this shit on her.” Callie shakes her head.

Jill stammers around for a comeback and, instead, settles on an apology. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin our ladies’ day, I just, it was weird, it was . . . I guess I overreacted. Do you think I should follow her out?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Callie says, an air of disdain on her face.

Callie wrenches open the back door, vanishes inside the house. I look over to Tina. Her expression is stunned, her mouth hanging open.

I, too, want to follow Margot out, even though I know she knew exactly what she was doing, so I stand and take a deep breath, exhale, and head inside.

The house is empty, so I walk to the front door and pull it open. Margot is sitting in her black Mercedes with the engine running. Her face is stone, her sunglasses shielding her eyes.

Callie is leaning into the driver’s side window, talking softly to Margot.

They haven’t noticed me, so I stand there and watch. Margot stares down into her lap. Callie leans in further, smooths a hand over Margot’s hair. Margot seems to melt. She leans back in the driver’s seat and her mouth forms an O, exhaling.

I want to go over to her, to be the one who’s consoling her. But she’s not mine to console; she’s Callie’s.

Callie bends further at the waist so she’s now eye level with Margot. She presses her lips to Margot’s cheek, runs a hand along Margot’s face. But Margot removes Callie’s hand and shakes her head.

Before they can see me, I dissolve back into the house and shut the door.

30

Friday, April 13, 2018

I’M DRIVING OUT to Margot’s lake house, heading there a little early. I want to arrive before everyone else; I want to see if she’ll open up to me. I didn’t hear from her all week after the scene at Jill’s, so I sent a text, checking on her. But she never responded.

She only sent a group text just yesterday, short and clipped.

We’re back on for tomorrow night. I expect to see everyone there.

Jill was the first to respond with an overzealous:

Great! Can’t wait!

Then Tina:

Woo-hoo!

Then Callie, with just a thumbs-up emoji. I texted that I was excited, followed by a rifle emoji.

* * *

—

BEFORE I LEFT the house tonight, I kissed Jack on the top of his shampoo-scented head and wrapped my hands around Graham’s neck, promising to be home no later than midnight.

“Go get ’em, shooter,” he drawled in his mock Southern accent before nibbling on my ear and pulling me into him.

We hugged for a long minute before he released me. “But seriously,” he said, suddenly stone-faced and solemn, “don’t pull an all-nighter.”

“That’s not happening, I promise. There’s no way I’m doing that,” I said, my eyes never leaving his face.

* * *