her mother. God! How could her father be such an asshole? She hated him . . . except seeing him wobbly and silent and staring at a strange woman’s boob made her both want to curl into a ball and sob or kick him and also have him just die already and let her mother be free.
“Barb, this asparagus is wonderful,” said the event planner. Gillian.
“It is,” Oliver agreed. “You’re a smashing cook, Mum.”
The nicest man in the world was her husband. Time for a little seduction. She slid off her shoe (blessed relief) and reached her foot out to slide up his pant leg. Nothing . . . nothing . . . Could a foot grope? If so, her foot was groping into emptiness. There.
She hooked her toe in his pants and slid it up.
Mickey jumped. Oliver didn’t. Shit. Wrong leg. Mickey gave her a reproachful look over her baby’s head.
“Sorry,” Juliet murmured. “I thought you were my husband.”
“That’s what they all say.”
Okay, so no foot sex or whatever that move was called. More wine was a good idea.
Caro and Ted seemed to be fighting in whispers. Gillian looked wretched. “My mom says you’re amazing at what you do, Gillian,” Juliet said. “How did you get started?”
“Oh, funny story,” Gillian said. “So, it was my mom and dad’s thirty-fifth anniversary, and I thought, why not throw them a big party? And I got the bug! I just love organizing.”
Juliet waited for the funny part, but apparently Gillian was done.
“That is funny. Ha. Ha ha.” Yes. She was a little drunk. Dad was looking at Gillian now. Maybe he was interested in her in his foggy, befuddled state. Like the woman he’d been kissing, Gillian had dark hair.
How many women wished their fathers were dead after seeing them cheating on their moms? CNN should do a poll.
A knock came on the kitchen door.
“Who could that be?” Barb asked, getting up to answer it.
“Elijah the prophet?” Oliver suggested. It was his go-to joke when someone interrupted dinner, and it always made her laugh. No one else got it, apparently, and her laugh sounded too loud in the vacuum.
“Can I help you?” Barb said. “Oh! Hello there!”
It was Janet, the woman from Gaylord whose brother had been down the hall from Dad. She’d been really nice, Juliet remembered, if fashion challenged. Her hair was in two long, gray braids, and she wore overalls over a flannel shirt. “Oh, shit,” she said. “You’re having a party. I’m so sorry. I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d drop in.”
“No, no, come in. Please. Girls, do you remember Janet? How’s your brother, Janet? Have a seat. Would you like some wine?”
“No, thanks. I don’t drink. Hey, Juliet. Sadie. Everyone else.” Her eyes stopped on Dad’s face. “Hey, John. How’s it going, buddy?”
Dad’s mouth hung open for a second, then he burst into a big smile. “You!” he said. “You.”
There was a moment of silence.
“That’s right, Dad,” said Sadie, her voice breathless. “You know her!”
“You sure do,” Janet said, going closer. “How’s my old pal?”
Dad grabbed her hand and kissed it. Jesus. How nice for Mom. Had he slept with Janet while at Gaylord? Probably not, but still. Cheating asshole.
“You,” he repeated.
His first word since the stroke, and it wasn’t even directed at a family member, the bastard. Why put family first when he’d had his tongue down some other woman’s throat? When he didn’t even have the decency to divorce Mom before cheating on her? That slut should be the one stuck with him now.
Forty-three years old, and feeling like Brianna, sullen and judgmental and wishing she could kick a sick old man. Not a proud moment. She poured herself more wine and drank it, grateful that tomorrow was the weekend.
* * *
— —
An hour later, Sadie was still happily snuffling her tears of joy. Mom had called LeVon, who said this was a very good sign, and Caro had gotten Janet a plate and heated it up in the microwave. Janet was talking about her brother’s progress at Rose Hill, a care facility north of Stoningham. Noah was holding his sleeping baby, Mickey was in the bathroom, Gillian was subtly texting someone for help, no doubt, and Juliet was drunk.
That was when the vacuous waste of space known as her sister’s boyfriend walked in.
“Our yacht salesman is here! The man of the people has arrived!” Juliet announced.
“Hon,” Oliver said in a low voice, “I think you should tone it down a little.”
“Why? He’s