5. Iris Killing Me
Iris Killing Me
I didn’t know what Mom was getting so freaked out about. Sure, yes, Mrs. Dartmouth was annoying. She was always trying to stir something up in town to write about. But she was nice and cute and basically harmless if you asked me. Exactly zero people took her seriously. Plus, I mean, if we were trying to get Dad out of jail, wouldn’t it be nice to have a newspaper reporter on our side?
When we walked into my new room, I was so excited that I couldn’t even care about Mrs. Dartmouth. It wasn’t as nice as my room at home, obviously, but it was really pretty and so cozy and had twin beds so I could have a friend spend the night—if any of my friends’ moms would let them spend the night at the mommune, that is. Which I kind of doubted. I was only a kid, and even I had heard that Julie and Grace were Alice’s murder accomplices, that they’d plotted to kill her husband so they could all live at the big beach house together.
“Darling,” Alice said, “your mom and I grabbed your things from the hotel before we picked you up. Let’s get your clothes in the washing machine—including that uniform you have on. You can borrow something of mine.”
Three days ago, I wouldn’t have had a choice. But, as annoying as staying with my grandparents was, they did get us stocked up on clothes. Well, in a minimal way, at least. I thought of my closet down the street overflowing with beautiful dresses and cute shoes and my favorite jeans, and let out a little sigh. I missed them. But Mom kept reassuring me that we would get them back soon.
I didn’t answer, which Alice must have taken as a yes because she said, “Let’s go to my room and get you two something to put on. I’m about to throw a load in right now.”
“Oh,” Mom stuttered, “no, don’t worry. You don’t have to do our laundry. We can do it.”
Alice patted her hand. “It’s not your week to do laundry.”
A question formed on Mom’s face.
“We’ll get you all up to speed over the next few days.”
There was a tap at the door, and Julie, now in sweats instead of that pool-water-drenched suit, leaned against the doorway. “I just wanted to clear the air,” she said.
“Iris, let’s go get that dress,” Alice said.
Julie shook her head. “No, Iris needs to hear this too.”
Mom crossed her arms.
Julie pointed vaguely toward the front of the house. “Out there, I’m a reporter. In here, we’re friends, co-moms, a weird little family. Anything you say in here about Bill or your life or anything is forgotten.”
Mom looked skeptical.
“I promise you, Charlotte,” Julie said. “You too, Iris. I have a very firm separation between my work and my life.”
Mom looked at Alice, who nodded encouragingly.
Mom bit her lip then said, “Okay. Well, I appreciate your saying that. Because this obviously wouldn’t work if someone writing about my life was living it alongside me.”
Julie nodded. “Obviously not.”
“You can trust her,” Alice said.
“I would like to discuss a few things with you,” Mom said to Julie.
Alice nodded at me, and I grabbed an armful of laundry and took my cue to leave. I could have made some excuse to stay, but really, I wasn’t that interested in whatever old-lady drama was boiling between them.
I followed Alice into her room. “Wow,” I said. It was right on the ocean and bathed in soft blues, pinks, and yellows.
“The palette highlights the water, the sunrise, or the sunset, depending on what time of day it is,” Alice said, opening her drawers. “I love sitting on my little balcony early in the morning, writing in my journal, sipping tea.”
“That does sound nice,” I said. “I mean, I get up at the last possible second in the morning, but theoretically.” I paused, realizing something. “I’ve really missed falling asleep to the sound of the ocean.” Just thinking of that made me so incredibly homesick. “Do you think I’ll ever get to go home?” I sighed.
“I do think so, sweetheart. I really do.” Alice opened her drawer and pulled out a bikini. “Do you need bathing suits?”
“Well, I have one,” I said as she handed it to me.
“You can have this,” she said.
“Seriously? This is so cute. Don’t you want me to borrow, like, an old, dusty one?”
“No,” she said, laughing. “You can keep that. Alas, my bikini days have passed.”
I followed Alice into her closet. “Alice! Your clothes!”
“My clothes will be a little big, but you can borrow anything you’d like until we get you squared away with enough.”
“Why would you do this?” I asked. “Seriously. Why would you just take in total strangers and their random kids?”
She shrugged. “Because it’s the scariest thing in the world to feel like you’ve lost control over your own life. When I saw your mom this morning, I could see that feeling in her face. And I could make it better for her. So I did.”
“Okay, sure. But there have to be, like, a million people who have the same situation as you, and they aren’t letting random kids borrow their dresses.”
“Well, there are also people giving up their cushy lives to volunteer in refugee camps, so I wouldn’t say I’m a candidate for sainthood.”
I smiled. “So are you going to tell me more about your stuff?”
“My stuff, as in my emotional baggage?” she asked, looking amused.
I nodded.
“Maybe one day. But right now, I want to get this stuff in the washing machine.”
“I’ll help,” I said. “I like to do laundry. I like how it makes everything smell fresh and clean. It’s like starting over again.”
“We use natural, fragrance-free detergent, so no smell,” Alice said.
I shook my head. “You’re killing me, Alice. Killing me.”
But as I followed her downstairs to the laundry room, I knew Alice wasn’t killing me—even if she had killed her husbands. Not at all. In fact, I got the feeling that, in more ways than I would ever truly understand, Alice had saved me.