Lovely Girls(7)
“Have fun,” Genevieve said, before turning toward her daughter with undisguised impatience. “Come on, Daphne, time to go.”
Alex and I followed the crowd leaving the gym and heading into the auditorium next door. The size of the crowd was overwhelming. If this was just the incoming freshman class, Shoreham High School was at least twice the size of Alex’s old school in Buffalo. I could sense Alex tensing, recoiling at the sea of strangers.
“What did that girl mean when she called you a spy?” I murmured.
“Nothing. It was a joke.”
“It didn’t sound like a joke.”
Alex let out an annoyed huff. “Just forget it. Who was that guy?”
“What guy?”
“The one you were flirting with?” Alex’s tone was accusatory. I glanced around, hoping Joe wasn’t nearby. I’d be mortified if he’d overheard. And I hadn’t been flirting. Had I? I wouldn’t even know how to flirt after so many years of marriage.
“Kate, over here!” a voice called out.
I saw Lita Gruen waving to me from a row of seats near the front of the auditorium. Lita lived next door to our new house and had stopped by the previous day with a basket of homemade muffins to welcome us to the neighborhood. I knew from our short chat that her son Aiden, the eldest of her three boys, was going into his freshman year at Shoreham High.
Alex and I headed over and took the two open seats next to Lita; a pleasant-looking man she introduced as her husband, Eric; and their gawky teenage son.
“I was looking for you earlier,” Lita said once I’d taken the seat beside her. “But I saw you talking to Genevieve Hudson, so I steered clear.”
“Why’s that?”
Lita’s eyes narrowed. “Genevieve is the worst person I’ve ever met.”
“She seemed nice. Very friendly.”
Lita snorted. “I’ve heard Genevieve Hudson called many things, but nice isn’t one. She’s a monster.”
“Lita,” Eric said mildly. “That’s a little harsh.”
“What? You know it’s true. She’s like the mean girl from high school who never grew up. And I’ve heard her daughter is just as bad. She and her friends have terrorized the school for years. I can’t imagine how much worse they’ll be now that they’re seniors.”
“Why don’t we get started.” A middle-aged Black woman wearing a royal-blue skirt suit was standing behind the microphone set up on the stage. “I’m Principal Thelma Hopkins, and I’d like to welcome you all to Shoreham High School.”
Lita leaned over closer, too close, her breath hot and slightly sour in my ear. I had to fight the impulse to shy away from her. “I’m just telling you. You should really keep your distance from Genevieve Hudson. She’s not a good person. In fact, she’s an absolute nightmare.”
CHAPTER FOUR
* * *
KATE
I heard the front door open and slam shut. A moment later, Alex appeared in the kitchen, sweaty and red faced. Her damp tank top clung to her.
“How was your run?” I asked, looking back over my shoulder while I stirred a sausage-and-marinara sauce that was simmering in a dutch oven.
“Fine.” Alex poured herself a glass of water. She tipped her chin up and drank it all at once, then poured another.
“Why don’t you run in the morning, when it’s cooler out?”
“The whole point is to train when it’s hot so I can acclimate to the heat. If I make the team, my tennis matches will be in the midafternoon,” Alex said.
“I’m just concerned that you’re going to push yourself too hard and get sick.”
“Dad always said that strong people push themselves and weak people make excuses,” Alex said.
It sounded like something Ed would say. He was forever lecturing Alex that she needed to work harder, train harder. He once forced her to practice side-to-side drills when she had a sprained ankle. When I found out, after they returned from the tennis courts, I was so incandescent with rage that the emotion frightened me. I had to go for a walk to calm myself and ended up staying out until the sun set. As I walked, I had fantasized about how much better off Alex and I would be if Ed died. I imagined all the ways it could happen. A sudden illness. A heart attack. A fall in the shower.
A car accident.
Had Alex forgotten how difficult her father could be and how unreasonably hard he’d pushed her? I wondered. Like the time she lost her match in an under-fourteen tournament and Ed made her go straight out to the practice court without a rest break. Or when he woke her up in the middle of the night to watch an Australian Open match live so he could lecture her on how to hit a swinging volley like Serena Williams. Or how he discouraged her from spending time with friends or on schoolwork because it distracted her from tennis.
Maybe it was too painful for her to remember. But I did. I remembered every moment when his coaching crossed the line from zealous to abusive. Even now, I hated him for it.
“I’m making baked ziti for dinner,” I said brightly. “And garlic bread. How does that sound?”
I was not above bribing my daughter. And the old Alex would have been delighted at the carb fest, especially the garlic bread, which had always been her favorite. But this new closed-off Alex just shrugged.