“Good morning, Momma. I need coffee!” he whined, stretching out the “eeeeee” in “need” to pad his plea. Eliza smiled. She realized that he must be fixing his own coffee at school, but she didn’t mind. She loved being needed. From his eyes she could see he was suffering from more than exhaustion.
“Don’t tell me, you kids went out last night after Dad and I went to sleep.”
“Yup. We went to the Buckboard.”
The Buckboard was the local watering hole where the high school kids hung out and drank. Some parents were against them going there—there had even been a huge back-and-forth on the bulletin board about it years ago—but in contrast to her usual m.o. as a helicopter parent, Eliza never cared. She felt that it was safer for her kids to buy a drink or two at a bar in town with their fake IDs than to binge-drink ten in someone’s basement. Plus, the advent of Uber had nearly eliminated her concerns about their driving under the influence.
Eliza handed Kevin two cups of coffee.
“Bring one up to your sister and tell her to get down here ASAP.”
She was happy to delegate, as waking Kayla was Eliza’s least favorite parenting responsibility. Plus, even at nineteen, Kevin was delighted to have permission to annoy his sister, evident in his devilish smile as he left the room.
“I forgot to tell you, I invited the new neighbors,” Luke said, nonchalantly.
Eliza turned ashen. He noticed.
“Uh-oh. Did I goof?”
“No, no, it’s fine,” she lied, realizing for the first time that she hadn’t mentioned any of what she had seen or done to Luke. Which made her realize that the whole thing was really not all right. Luke had a true moral compass, and if it was kosher she would have told him for sure.
Luke helped her carry more muffins to the table when the doorbell rang. As if on cue, it was the neighbors. Well, half of them at least. Mr. Smith.
“Hi, I’m Joe Smith, from next door,” he declared with an outstretched arm, a bottle of rosé, and an excuse regarding his wife. “I’m afraid Ashley can’t make it. When I left, she was in a dark room nursing a migraine.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Luke commiserated. “Eliza has developed migraines too lately. Sometimes she can’t leave the house because of them, right, honey?”
It took Eliza a second to remember that, on multiple occasions, she had used a migraine as an excuse to stay home. She looked at her husband’s face. It showed genuine concern for her suffering. Eliza felt awful.
“Yes, I have. They’re no fun. Hopefully we will meet another time.”
She crossed her fingers as she said it. She was relieved Mrs. Smith hadn’t come. She was worried that she’d like her and feel even guiltier, or that Ashley Smith would somehow read on her face what she’d done. Eliza brought his neighborly offering to the kitchen just as her old friend Marjorie Tobin arrived and suggested they open it. Eliza looked at the clock, 11:00 a.m. Too early? she thought.
Marjorie had a different agenda. “Where’s your corkscrew?”
Eliza smiled and handed it to her. It was a party after all.
After Eliza took a sip, Marjorie tested her to see if she’d heard the news.
“So, when’s the last time you spoke to Mandy?”
“I don’t remember. You?”
“I guess you don’t know then?”
“Know what?”
“Come upstairs,” Marjorie ordered. Eliza followed her as Marjorie went right to Eliza’s desk. Marjorie had gone to high school with Eliza and her across-the-street neighbor, and best friend, Amanda, or Mandy as they had always called her. They all knew their way around her house as if it were their own. The three of them were once very close, though as was often the case with odd numbers, one person felt left out—that person was usually Marjorie. Except on Halloween. On Halloween they would always trick-or-treat as a threesome: the sun, the moon, and the stars; Snap, Crackle, and Pop; Marsha, Jan, and Cindy. One year Eliza’s mother suggested they be the Three Musketeers. They put their own spin on it and dressed as three Three Musketeers chocolate bars. It infuriated her mother—which Eliza knew it would. Birdie didn’t care for candy, actual or costumed replicas, and would try to bribe Eliza every year to skip trick-or-treating. It never worked. Eliza would stockpile that candy under her bed, giving her sweet sustenance until at least Christmas.
“Google Amanda’s husband,” Marjorie instructed Eliza. Marjorie was a bit of a gossip—it was probably the