Chapter 12
DEBBIE
I’m running a few minutes late for my book club.
I decided to dash home to shower and change clothes, and it all took just a little bit longer than I expected.
On top of that, Harley is meeting me at my house, because she felt uncomfortable showing up alone at a book club where she didn’t know anyone.
So when I get out of my house, a tray of sandwiches balanced in one hand and a paperback copy of Velvet Moon in my other hand, I find Harley leaning against her blue Ford.
“Can I help you carry anything?” Harley regards my tinfoil-wrapped tray. “It looks like you’re doing a balancing act.”
I smile gratefully, handing her my book. “Here, take this.”
Harley takes the paperback so I’m able to hold the tray with both hands, significantly decreasing the chances that it will fly out of them, landing face down on the sidewalk.
We’re already running late, so I don’t want to dawdle.
I start in the direction of Rochelle’s house, but Harley—frustratingly—is lagging behind.
“Gosh, Debbie,” she says, “your house is gorgeous.”
“Thank you.”
It’s a compliment I don’t hear very often.
My house is nice enough—another old house that’s been renovated on the inside so that we have electricity and running water.
The outside is sorely in need of a paint job, but we’ve been putting it off until Cooper gets that promotion.
The front cement steps always crumble during the winter snowstorms, and Cooper has to repair them every summer.
Eventually, I’d love to hire someone to fix them in a way that they won’t need to be redone every year.
Compared to some of the other houses in Hingham, it’s particularly modest. A lot of the houses here are over the top.
It’s a wealthy town, and the reason we chose to live here—even though it’s a bit out of our price range—was because of the excellent public schools.
Being in a good school district was a top priority when we were buying.
She looks around appreciatively. “A house must’ve cost a fortune in a neighborhood like this.”
“It did,” I admit. “More than we can afford, honestly.”
“You should see the dump where I live.” She sighs. “Titan pays crap. It must be nice having a man to take care of you.”
I don’t comment on that. I had never wanted to be in a position where I had to rely on a man to support me.
That’s why I worked so hard in school and went to a top college.
But she’s exactly right—Cooper is the breadwinner in our family.
Unfortunately, Cooper’s income is nothing to brag about.
Money has always been tight in our family, although I strongly suspect that will change in the very near future.
“Anyway, we better get going,” I say. “Rochelle hates it when people are late.”
That’s an understatement. I can one hundred percent guarantee there will be a comment from Rochelle on our arrival time when we show up at her door.
We cross the street and walk down the block to Rochelle’s house.
If Harley thought mine was impressive, Rochelle’s must look like a castle.
I don’t think I’ve ever been over to her house without her feeling the need to point out that she has twice as many bedrooms and bathrooms as I have.
You wouldn’t think she could work it into the conversation so easily, but somehow she manages. Every time.
“Whoa,” Harley comments when we make our way up the walkway to Rochelle’s front door. “Now this chick is really rich.”
“She sure is.”
Rochelle’s husband is some sort of soulless corporate lawyer.
Obviously, she doesn’t need to work. Not even as a lowly advice columnist. She spends her days doing charity and PTA work.
I suppose that’s admirable in theory, but in practice, it’s horrible to be bossed around by Rochelle during a school bake sale.
No, Rochelle and her friends are not my favorite people in the world. But I love to read, and I’ve been desperate to discuss the books I’ve read with other real-life adults. So when Rochelle extended the invitation to join her book club, I jumped at the chance.
And every month, I consider quitting.
Rochelle opens the front door for us, wearing a sleek pantsuit that’s nicer than anything I have in my closet. Certainly nicer than my bloodstained dress, which I was smart enough to change out of. Her black hair is so shiny that I can almost see my reflection in it.
“Debbie.” She beams at me, and then we do the hug and cheek-touching thing. “So good of you to come.”
“This must be…Harlow?”
“Harley,” Harley corrects her with a wry smile.
Rochelle raises an eyebrow at me, probably a reaction to Harley’s pink hair.
“And I love your dress, Debbie.” Her gaze rakes over the yellow dress I put on to replace the bloody one.
“It makes you look older.” When she notices the look on my face, she quickly adds, “But in a good way.” While I’m trying to work out in my brain how telling a middle-aged woman she looks older could ever be construed as a compliment (spoiler: it can’t), her eyes fall on the tray in my hands.
“Oh, and you brought sandwiches! How cute.”
Rochelle leads us into her house, down the endless foyer into her living room.
Harley’s jaw looks like it’s about to unhinge.
Rochelle takes us into her newly renovated living room, where every piece of furniture is made out of the most expensive Italian leather (including the television, I think).
The two other members of our book club, Tabitha and Sloane, are both already on the sofa.
“I told you that Debbie would be here eventually,” Rochelle announces to the other two women.
Tabitha giggles. “We took bets on what time you would finally show up, Debbie.”
Harley looks at me in confusion, because we’re only two minutes late. Somehow, my lateness has become a running joke, even though I’m usually quite prompt.
“Please excuse the mess,” Rochelle says to me and Harley, even though her house is spotless except for the row of champagne bottles lined neatly on a side table in the living room.
“We’re preparing for an incredibly important party tonight.
Did I mention to you that Gerard is going to announce his candidacy for the state senate seat tonight? ”
“Yes, I believe you did,” I murmur.
“Anyway, tonight is going to be so crucial,” she says. “Even the mayor is going to be making an appearance to endorse him.”
“The mayor?” Harley repeats in amazement.
Rochelle nods solemnly. “It’s going to be quite the event. Esmerelda came this morning to clean the entire house, and it took forever.” She gives me a knowing look. “You’re so lucky you have so few bedrooms, Debbie. A house like mine takes forever to clean. But it has to be perfect.”
“Don’t worry, Rochelle,” Sloane says. “Tabby and I will be right at your side to support you tonight.”
Of course, I won’t be at Rochelle’s side, because I have not been invited to the party. There was a brief explanation from Rochelle about the guest list being “limited.” Not that I want to go to her stupid mayor party anyway.
But it would have been nice to be invited.
I set my tray down on Rochelle’s antique coffee table and remove the tinfoil from on top of the sandwiches. As soon as I take the foil off, Tabitha and Sloane both simultaneously dissolve into giggles.
“Did you make the sandwiches yourself?” Rochelle asks me, stifling a giggle of her own.
“I did.” I’m trying to keep the defensive edge out of my voice, but it’s hard when I’m talking to Rochelle. “It’s turkey and avocado with a sun-dried tomato spread.”
“How cute!” Sloane exclaims.
Harley frowns at me. “Debbie, didn’t I mention that I’m allergic to avocados?”
I clasp a hand over my mouth. “Oh my God, you did. I can’t believe I forgot. I am so sorry, Harley.”
“Debbie is the most forgetful person I know,” Rochelle comments, even though I can’t recall ever forgetting anything in the past. “But don’t worry, Harley. Our cook threw together a charcuterie board.”
It is quite the elaborate charcuterie board. There isn’t one piece of meat on it that hasn’t been formed into the shape of a flower. And I can count no less than eight types of cheese.
“I hope you’ll try my sandwiches though,” I say to Rochelle.
“Of course I will!” Rochelle picks up a triangular slice of one of the sandwiches that I painstakingly put together after I got back from the gym. “Like I said, they’re adorable. You can just tell that they’re homemade.”
She nibbles on the edge, which encourages the other women to take a piece too. I’m so pleased they’re trying my sandwiches. I certainly wouldn’t want all that hard work to go to waste.