Chapter 111
Susan
One year later
July rolls around again, and it’s the week of the Oakpark summer party.
Celeste isn’t going, she tells me over a glass of wine in Conways.
She’ll be collecting Nika from Clonakilty, leaving very early Friday morning.
Nika’s been staying with Celeste’s cousin in West Cork since last September and completed sixth year in a small school hundreds of miles away from Rathwood Park, while awaiting her next court appearance.
The judge had adjourned her case after receiving her probation report, to see how she behaves.
According to Celeste, he’d said he was taking the charge very seriously and considering a custodial sentence, but their barrister had told them that in light of Nika’s age, her guilty plea, the fact that it was her first offense, the compensation the Gearys paid, and Nika’s remorse, there was a good chance she’d avoid detention.
Nika’s changed, Celeste says, and I listen and nod encouragingly as she says it, though I’m not entirely convinced anyone can change that much. The jury’s out, no pun intended.
Cody’s changed too, Celeste says. Less sullen, less time in his room. He and Celeste watch Stranger Things together—his fourth time, her first, so that’s what she’ll do tomorrow night instead of going to the party.
I’m not so sure Cody’s the one who’s changed; I think maybe he was always in there.
A little lost, a little different, struggling to navigate, lacking attention.
He hasn’t changed so much as emerged and become himself.
Celeste is the one who’s different; softer at the edges now that she’s no longer trying to keep up a pretense of perfection. Broken but somehow fixed.
“Anyway, Warren might go to the summer party with his new girlfriend,” Celeste says, raising her glass to clink against mine. “So there’s a good reason to stay home.”
“I’m so sorry, Celeste, if I hadn’t sent—”
She cuts me off with a raised index finger.
“It’s one small silver lining in all this, Susan. We should have broken up long before. Life is better now, without the pretense.”
One tiny silver lining. The rest…Well, I’m still struggling to get past what happened—the repercussions of my message. A minor slip with terrible consequences, my sisters tell me over and over; you couldn’t have known, you have to forgive yourself and move on. Easier said than done.
Warren and Celeste aren’t the only ones to split—Jon and I have separated too.
We keep things amicable, and Bella is thriving with two besotted parents in two happy homes.
Jon buys a house in Blackrock and, to my surprise, I decide to stay in 26 Oakpark.
People, it turns out, have short memories.
There are new open-the-popcorn moments in the Oakpark WhatsApp group, and people get on with real life too.
Nobody, I finally realize, is judging me. Nobody except me.
I’m still seeing my counselor, trying to come to terms with what my message did. Felipe’s death has hit me hardest. On TV, the bad people get comeuppance; the innocent are saved. But in real life, sometimes the good guys die too.
“You are not the only one who made a mistake in all this,” my therapist reminds me.
“Jon had an affair. Warren and Venetia cheated on their spouses. Felipe sent the screenshot to Rory. And ultimately, Rory killed Aimee—he’s the only person who can be held responsible for her murder.
Guilt can eat you up—it’s time to forgive yourself. ”
It’s true that guilt can eat you up, but sometimes, you have to let it take those bites.
And we all feel bad about something—Leesa berates herself for making Maeve babysit that night, no matter how often I remind her it was Nika behind the wheel.
Jon hates that he took a sledgehammer to our marriage the day he asked Savannah out.
Celeste will never stop blaming herself for all those red flags she missed.
Warren—well, I don’t know—maybe he just feels bad that he got caught.
The only person not mired in self-flagellation is Greta, but that’s very her.
Resilient, self-assured, not an ounce of neurosis.
Also, I remind myself, thinking of Nika and the brownies, the needle in my kitchen, the car accident—Greta is the one person in the story who spent all her time trying to help other people and didn’t do anything wrong.
· · ·
We still don’t know who put the ground almonds on the brownie, though this is one topic Celeste and I don’t cover during our glass of wine in Conways.
I’m certain neither Maeve nor Greta did it, and I’m sure Celeste thinks one of them did, but there’s nothing to be gained by raking over it now.
Instead, we finish our wine and stroll back to Oakpark, enjoying the warm July evening.
At the entrance to my driveway, we stand for another minute talking, and on a whim, I invite Celeste in for one more glass of wine.
She smiles a yes, and in the glow of the streetlight, her eyes seem to glisten.
Aoife’s in the sitting room, watching Outer Banks, and she pauses it when I peek in the door.
“All OK with Bella?” I whisper.
“Yep, fast asleep. I went up to check on her a few minutes ago.”
“Thanks, Aoife.” For better or for worse, I got rid of the video monitor.
“I’ll message Mum to pick me up,” she says, standing and pulling on a purple beanie, though it’s a balmy summer night.
“Nice hat,” I say, with a grin.
“Stop teasing,” she grins back. “And don’t tell Maeve. She goes mad that I keep taking it without asking.”
“I’m not teasing! It’s lovely and bright—it stands out.” I step into the sitting room, and Celeste follows me. “Nice to see a bit of color in a world of neutrals.”
Aoife’s eyes flick to Celeste and, for a moment, she looks stunned. Her grin disappears. She yanks off the hat.
“It’s a bit much, too bright.” She stuffs it in her bag. Again her eyes go to Celeste, and her expression’s unreadable. Maybe this is the first time she’s seen her, since what happened to Maeve.
“Right,” I say. “I’ll grab a bottle from the fridge.”
“How is Maeve?” Celeste asks Aoife as I walk through to the kitchen.
I don’t hear Aoife’s answer, but Maeve is great, by all accounts. School is easier without Nika, though I don’t say that to Celeste. A bit like the brownies, some things are better left unsaid.
Leesa collects Aoife and, after a glass of rosé, Celeste leaves too, keen to get home to see Cody.
Bella wakes when I check on her, and I bring her downstairs to let her sleep in my arms while I finish the last of my wine and read a few pages of my book.
I’m distracted though, thinking over the evening with Celeste and all that’s happened.
I won’t go to the summer party either, I decide.
Not because I’m embarrassed any more—it just doesn’t feel right, after what happened last year.
But that’s OK. I’ll hang out at home with Bella, and Greta and Leesa might call in.
Someone else who hasn’t forgotten what happened last year is Juliette Sullivan…I’m just finishing my wine, contemplating transferring Bella upstairs to her cot, when the message arrives in the Oakpark WhatsApp group.
Final reminder, the annual Oakpark Summer Party takes place tomorrow night at 8 sharp on the big green. Let’s have a big turnout, please, and here’s hoping it will be lit by just fireworks this year, not ambulance lights ;)
Livid, I take a screenshot and type a message to Greta and Leesa.
Have you seen this? How can she be so insensitive? Felipe died that night, that’s why the ambulance was there. And you nearly died, Greta. She’s such a
I stop. Close my eyes. Take a deep breath. Then I carefully delete the message and delete the screenshot. I put down my phone, kiss Bella’s head and pick up my book.