You Deserve to Know

Chapter 14

14

LAST WINTER brEAK

On the third day in Vermont, Lisa woke up to a miserable blue sky. There had been talk of sleet, which everyone had bemoaned—it would scuttle their skiing plans. But Lisa was secretly praying for it. Maybe they could go into town and do a little shopping. Stowe had some great day spas—a manicure and a massage sounded lovely. But no, the conditions for skiing were perfect.

The day before, she had muddled through a day on the slopes, hating every minute of being out in the bracing cold. She was on the green slopes, the bunny slopes, with toddlers speeding past her. She thought she could at least count on Kai for company, but he had taken to snowboarding and by the late morning had graduated to more difficult courses. Marcus had done a few runs with her and then, clearly bored, left her for more challenging terrain. Lisa had pretended to sprain her ankle so she could spend the rest of the afternoon at the lodge in front of the roaring fire, sipping spiked cocoa and scrolling through Instagram, jealous of neighbors who were spending the break in the Caribbean with white sand and azure waters while she was stuck in the icy wind of northern Vermont.

This morning, she exaggerated her limp as she made her way up the stairs into the kitchen for breakfast. She wasn’t going to say anything; she wanted someone to notice. She had learned that from her mother. People were more sympathetic if they were the ones who picked up on your suffering. But no one did. It wasn’t until she got up to refill her coffee, limping across the kitchen, that Aimee took note.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay, Lisa?”

“I’m fine. I think I just sprained it a little.”

“You better wrap that up tight before you go skiing,” Scott said. “I’ve got some tape if you want.”

“Couple of ibuprofen and you’ll be fine,” Marcus said.

Lisa felt her stomach lurch. Were they going to bully her into skiing on a bad ankle? True, she wasn’t really injured, but they didn’t know that. She might be. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t taken a tumble or two yesterday, and she very well could have twisted her ankle. She filled her coffee and turned, lurching back to the table, wincing with each step.

“You’re probably right. I’ll be fine.” She bit her lip hard as she eased into her seat.

“Oh no,” Aimee said. “You’re not skiing on that ankle. You should stay here and rest.”

“Maybe we should drop you off at a clinic?” Gwen’s words dripped with faux concern. Couldn’t anyone else see it besides Lisa? “I mean, what if it’s broken?”

“Those clinics are packed during the holidays,” Anton said. “You might get stuck there for hours.”

“Oh, but better safe than sorry,” Gwen said. “I can run you over after breakfast.”

Gwen would like that, all right. Park Lisa in some clinic in the sticks for the whole day. It took a little finessing, but Lisa managed to thread the needle between too injured to be expected to go skiing, but not injured enough to require a visit to the clinic. Before they left for the slopes, Gwen asked her if she wouldn’t mind just letting Sababa out to pee.

“If it doesn’t hurt too much to move, of course.”

Lisa happily agreed. So what if Gwen was on to her? She knew if Gwen tried to say anything negative about her to Aimee, she would only make herself look bad. Like a vindictive gossip. Aimee didn’t think she was malingering, neither did the guys. Gwen wouldn’t find a sympathetic audience with them. They would think Gwen petty for saying anything. The thought filled her with satisfaction and she found herself half wishing that Gwen might say something nasty about her behind her back, just so they would shut her down.

By the time they left, Lisa was so thoroughly playing the part that she found herself limping through the house on her way upstairs, even though she was alone.

On the third floor, she did a quick scan of the bedrooms, curious about what Gwen and Aimee had brought with them. It was always interesting to peek inside other women’s beauty routines, the items they found indispensable for their trips. She helped herself to some of Gwen’s anti-aging serum, tried on one of her cashmere sweaters, and flipped through her gratitude journal. It was as vanilla and boring as she expected. So grateful for my boys. So thankful for this family vacation.

In the top drawer of her bedside table, Lisa found a prescription bottle of Xanax. Lisa pocketed that. She giggled at the thought of Gwen feeling a panic attack coming on and not being able to locate her meds. She’d feel like such an idiot, so sure she had packed it. Lisa would have to remember to place it somewhere in Gwen’s house when they got back to Bethesda.

In the afternoon Lisa became bored enough to walk Sababa, who had begun to whimper by the back door. The cold wind whipped at her, stinging her face. The sun would set soon, and everyone would be back. Lisa felt a cloak of melancholy settle around her shoulders as she thought of the energy everyone would bring with them. Having spent a day outside, they’d be full of laughter and stories, and their bonds would be knitted tighter, with her even further on the outside.

She walked around the village, passing an occasional person on snowshoes heading back from the woods. When no one was watching, she didn’t have to limp. She had researched minor sprains on the internet, and it seemed that most resolved within twenty-four hours, so by this evening she could drop the act.

Sababa momentarily bounded away from her, pulling the thin leash from her thickly mittened hand. Lisa called his name and he froze. But when she made a move toward him he ran a few feet farther, to the edge of the dark woods. The sun was almost set now, and she had a flash of panic, realizing that if he took off into the trees she might never find him.

Of course, she would be blamed. She could imagine Gwen’s face turning a mottled pink as she cried over little lost Sababa. Lisa knew the sympathy would be entirely with Gwen, everyone would turn against her. As much as she’d like Gwen to suffer, she couldn’t do that to the dog. He was innocent. She took a step, gingerly, and Sababa cocked his head as if realizing his error. With satisfaction, she put her foot down on his leash so he couldn’t run off again.

No, she wasn’t going to hurt Sababa to get to Gwen. It was the kind of impulsive mistake she might have made when she was younger. Once, at an office party when she was in her twenties, she had stolen the wallet of a coworker she despised and tossed it in the bathroom trash. Her cubicle was adjacent to this woman, and she enjoyed ripples of satisfaction for days as she listened to the woman’s laments about the inconvenience of replacing all her credit cards and her driver’s license. But other times her impulsivity had backfired—like when she spotted an ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend’s car at the gym and used her house key to make a deep scratch down the driver’s side door. She hadn’t known there were security cameras in the gym parking lot. The police questioned her. The new girlfriend decided not to press charges, but it had been embarrassing.

That night, after everyone had returned and showered, they all went out to dinner in Stowe. The restaurant was packed with people just like them—upper-middle-class families from Boston, New York, and Washington. The kids got their own table right next to the adults, all six of whom were crammed into a wooden booth. Lisa was squished between Anton and Marcus, while across from her Scott was sandwiched between Aimee and Gwen.

At some point in the evening, after the appetizers but before the main course arrived, when people were on their way to being drunk, Anton asked her about her ankle.

Lisa turned her body away from Marcus, who was regaling everyone with a story about his first run on the black diamond slopes, and focused her full attention on Anton. Feeling the alcohol unhook her inhibitions, Lisa described how the ankle sprain activated an old injury from college when she ran track competitively. He seemed impressed. She saw herself becoming a more interesting person in his eyes. Her telling borrowed details from a movie she once saw about a star athlete who twisted her ankle during a race and had to sit out the track season, and learned some valuable life lessons in the process. As she told this story to Anton as her own, it became real. So real that tears sprang to her eyes, which she wiped away.

“It was a really tough time for me,” she said. “But it made me grow up. I needed to move beyond the external validation that being a track star had brought me.”

“That’s an incredible story. I had no idea you were a competitive athlete.”

Panic seized her. What had she done? She knew this was the kind of lie that could easily be checked. She had run track in high school for two seasons, but was hardly a star. She had quit at the beginning of her senior year, bored with the whole thing. “I don’t like to talk about it.” She lowered her head and looked at him from the corner of her eyes. No one was listening to them. No one had noticed she and Anton had started their own side conversation. “I guess it’s something I’ve tried to put in the past. But the alcohol, and you’re so easy to talk to. You’re a Sagittarius, right?”

He nodded.

“I remember your birthday was at the beginning of December. That’s why we get along so well. I’m an Aquarius. There’s this whole poem about us. The Aquarius woman is gentle yet tough, sociable but also a loner. Predictable in her unpredictability.”

“Wow. Sounds complicated.”

“I’m like an orchid. Beautiful and wild and I need just the right growing conditions.” She placed her hand on Anton’s and looked him in the eye. “But once you know what I need, I’ll bloom for you over and over and over again.”

It was a gamble. He could pull his hand away, make a joke, change the subject. But he didn’t move his hand. He nodded. “I didn’t realize you were so creative. Gwen, Scott, everyone teases me about how long it’s taking to finish my second book. They have no idea how hard it is to create something.”

“I do. I admire you so much. I loved your first book. I never told you that before because I don’t feel qualified to talk about literature.” She flashed a coy smile. “But your prose, your images, your language. The book is beautiful.” She had bought the book with every intention of reading it when the Khourys first moved onto Nassau Court. It was fun to leave on the coffee table and point out to guests that the author was a good friend. But in truth she had found the writing impenetrable, the language confusing. She wasn’t much of a reader.

“Thank you for saying that.” Anton smiled. “If a book speaks to you, that makes you qualified. Art is for everyone. Anyone can read a book.” His face seemed to open now in a way Lisa hadn’t seen before. He really was a very attractive man, in a brooding, serious way. “And I’m glad you told me your story. It’s okay to admit you’ve been hurt. It’s okay to be vulnerable.” He shot a quick glance at Gwen, who was laughing uproariously at something Scott said. “Some people try to act like superheroes. Never let anyone see that they’re human.” He took a swig of his drink. “But that just pushes people away.”

There was no misunderstanding his meaning. He may have been drunk, but he was insulting his wife. Lisa loved it. Her belly fluttered. Gwen and Anton were not an unbreakable duo.

When he pushed his leg against hers and said sorry , she smiled. “Don’t apologize,” she said, pushing her leg back.

Forget ski accidents, or lost wallets, or missing dogs.

Here’s something she could take from Gwen, something she would relish taking.

Anton.