The Girl Who Stopped Swimming - By Joshilyn Jackson Page 0,77

him with your finger.”

Thalia prowled forward until she’d taken Laurel’s place in the center of the small room.

Mother said, “Shelby, honey, come upstairs.”

Shelby’s cheeks flushed hot pink. “Why is Molly’s mom here?” she asked.

Mother put one arm around Shelby, herding her toward Thalia and the keeping room, but that path brought them closer to Laurel. Laurel moved fast, backing around the pecan table, putting it between her and Mother. She stopped by the built-ins where the antique china gleamed, framed in rich wood.

Mother paused with Shelby still huddled underneath her arm. She stared as Laurel stumbled backward. David loomed behind Mother. Thalia stood nearest the keeping room, all four of them neatly framed for Laurel in the archway.

“Close the front door, Bet,” Mother said.

Laurel couldn’t see Bet anymore, but she called, “Yes, close the door, Bet. If no one sees it, then it isn’t happening.”

Laurel heard the door swing shut and catch, but Bet stayed by it, out of Laurel’s view.

“This isn’t like you,” David said to Laurel.

“Maybe you don’t know her very well,” Thalia returned.

“It’s like you,” David said to her.

“Shelby. Upstairs. Now,” Mother said in a voice that brooked no argument.

“What’s happening?” Shelby said, her voice high-pitched and close to hysterical. She was staring at Barb Dufresne. “Why is she here? Is she mad at me?”

Part of Laurel longed to go to her daughter, but Shelby was sheltered under Mother’s arm, and Laurel’s body balked. She could not make her feet take even one step toward her mother.

“Enough,” David said. His color was high, but he sounded cool and decided. “Shelby, Mrs. Dufresne is going home now. You can talk to her tomorrow. Go upstairs with your grandmother.”

Shelby said, “Does she know I’m sorry?” Her voice was pitiful and small.

David turned to her and said, “I’m sure she does, honey. Okay? Go upstairs now.”

Shelby shook her head in an emphatic no, her widened eyes glossy with gathered tears, but she let Mother lead her around Thalia. They passed out of Laurel’s sight, and every step Mother took, every inch of distance put between them, was precious to Laurel.

David stepped into the archway, standing across the table from Laurel, Thalia at his left shoulder like the very devil. Bet Clemmens, silent and unseen by the front door to his right, was all the angel he was going to get.

“You. Get Barbara up and take her home.” He used the same firm tone that had just worked on Shelby, only louder and much angrier. It was clear he was speaking to Thalia, even though he’d turned away from her.

“Don’t yell at her,” Laurel said. “Lord, I need another drink.”

David said, “That’s the last thing you need,” at the same time that Thalia said, “You definitely double damn do not.”

“You don’t get to yell at me, either,” Laurel said to David. “I get to yell at you. You’re the one who’s cheating.”

David did a double take, eyes wide. “I’m whatting?”

“Cheating,” Laurel said. “With Kaitlyn Reese.”

David blinked. “What put that in your—” He stopped and turned, slowly and with great deliberation, toward Thalia.

“Don’t look at her,” Laurel said. “Look at me. I saw you. If you aren’t sleeping with her yet, you’re working up to it. You’re— I don’t know what to call it. You’re talking on me with her.”

“What does that mean?” To Thalia he repeated, “Take Barb Dufresne home. Then come back here and pack, because you are getting the hell out of my house.”

“It’s not your house,” Laurel said.

“Then I want her out of our house,” he said, loud and angry. “She’s a poisonous . . .” He couldn’t find the word. Finally, after wagging his lower jaw up and down, seeking it, he gave up and spat out, “Poison thing.”

“If you keep yours,” Laurel said. “I’m keeping mine.”

“Keeping my what?”

“Your other woman,” Laurel said. “Your talking buddy. Kaitlyn.”

“I do not have another woman,” David yelled. His hands were up by his face now, open but curled toward each other, as if the truth were an invisible ball he was trying to hold up for Laurel to see.

“Keep talking,” Laurel said. “You will.”

David took in a long pull of air, and when he spoke, his voice was deliberately quiet. “Baby, you’re drunk,” he said.

“Were you happy here at all?” she said. “That’s what I should have asked the Ouija. Were you happy, or were you only ever here because of Shelby?”

He went pale, a spot of color in each cheek, as if Laurel had slapped him twice. “You’re saying