Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
California
It had been more than a week since Janie Whitmore checked her three children into the hotel in Venice Beach.
She’d opted for Venice Beach because it felt like another planet, yet it was still in the greater Los Angeles area with a long stretch of beach.
Eager for comfort, she’d sprung for a four-bedroom suite so they each had their own bedroom, plus a living room with a television and a balcony that overlooked the ocean.
But because it was still so much smaller than their place in Malibu, it sometimes felt as though the four of them were living on top of one another and perpetually in one another’s business.
Plus, she was constantly worried that one of the kids might head to Malibu and accidentally run into their father, ruining their whole “running away” plan.
She tried to instill in them that their father wasn’t available right now and that they had to live the next couple of weeks at the hotel without him.
But she could tell they were confused and anxious.
Surely, they’d read all about what their father was accused of online.
She couldn’t take away their phones and computers, no matter how much she wanted to. At their age, they’d grown up with that stuff, so much so that it probably felt like an extension of their bodies.
Perhaps because they wanted to protect their mothers’ feelings, they didn’t ask Janie about what they’d heard about their father.
This made Janie feel slightly pathetic. Her children were fourteen, fifteen, and seventeen, and already far too conscious of their mother’s feelings.
She still remembered so completely when she’d been responsible for their menus and their bathing and sleeping schedules.
She hadn’t guessed that the tables would turn so swiftly.
It was nearing the beginning of August, though, which meant that the kids were already discussing their first day of school.
It was to be Xander’s senior year, Gwen’s sophomore year, and Conor’s freshman year.
All three of her babies would be in high school together.
How was that possible? It brought to mind how often she’d felt pregnant back then.
One baby after another, or so it had seemed.
When she’d given birth to Conor, she’d told Alexander, “No more! I’m done!
” But she’d mourned the fact that she wouldn’t be pregnant again. It was an intimacy she’d adored.
Alexander had kissed her forehead. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Our family is complete.”
It pained her to remember how sweet Alexander had been with her back then: cooking all her favorite foods, cleaning the house, and taking weeks off his pilot schedule to make sure she felt all right.
It pained her even more to remember that that version of Alexander had probably been carrying secrets about the White Oak Lodge—secrets he hadn’t been willing to share with her, yet were destroying the family they’d built out West. It had taken ages for those secrets to catch up to them, but now, here they were.
What about all the promises they’d made? Didn’t they matter?
That afternoon, Xander and Conor planned to go surfing.
Gwen and Janie changed into their swimsuits and sundresses and walked over to watch them, sitting on towels and drinking sparkling water.
Janie eyed her daughter from the side, trying to fathom what it meant to be fifteen and long and slender and beautiful.
She had her entire life ahead of her. Had she had her first kiss yet?
Did Janie irritate her as much as Janie’s own mother had irritated her when she’d been fifteen?
Suddenly, Gwen flinched and got to her feet.
“I want to go surfing, too,” she announced, surprising Janie.
Gwen had never seemed interested in surfing, and Janie was nervous that Gwen would fall repeatedly and be disappointed in herself.
But Janie handed over a stack of cash and said, “Go get ’em, girl,” and watched as Gwen hurried off to rent a board.
Soon, Xander carried his board out of the water to help Gwen get situated.
He stretched his arm out, pointing at a wave coming closer, closer, as he explained what to look for in a wave and when to know which one to take.
Conor remained in the water, his legs on either side of his board as he rode the supple waves after they died, still waiting for the perfect one.
The sunlight was a gorgeous orange across the waves. Janie adjusted her sun hat and felt a crush of emotion. It was a perfect beach day, save for what they’d lost. Alexander should have been with them.
Eventually, Janie went back to the hotel, too exhausted from the sun to keep watching. There were numerous lifeguards on the sand, and her children were tireless, throwing themselves into the waves again and again.
When she entered the cool shadows of the lobby, she spotted a woman leaning on the wall near the pool outside. She was a little bit older than Janie, wearing dark sunglasses and a bright orange dress. Janie’s heart leaped into her throat.
“Chloe?” she cried, hurrying over.
Chloe swept her arms around Janie and cradled her close.
Janie hadn’t imagined Chloe would see them.
They’d been phone-call-only friends for what felt like ages at this point.
Seeing her in the flesh, feeling her arms around her, and smelling her hair filled Janie with a sense of sorrow for all the time they’d lost.
“I tried to call,” Chloe said.
Janie batted at the air. “I usually keep my phone off.”
“To avoid him?”
Janie nodded and lowered her eyes. “I know I have to face him eventually.”
“Do you?” Chloe smiled and tugged at Janie’s elbow, guiding her to the turquoise pool, where they sat on sunbeds and removed their dresses.
It was like old times: letting the sun drench them and tan their skin.
Back in the old days, they hadn’t cared about wrinkles, about UV protection, about anything that might hurt them. Janie willed those days to return.
But Chloe was just as beautiful as she’d been when Janie met her all those years ago.
“Tell me,” Chloe said. “Are you all right?”
Janie winced and scrunched her face. This wasn’t a question anyone had asked her straight-on like this, and it almost felt too nosy, too aggressive, too emotional.
Chloe reached for her hand. “It’s going to be okay, you know?”
“But,” Janie whispered, her heart racing, “there’s still so much I don’t understand.
What if Alexander has been this, like, monster the whole time?
What if his name is smeared through mud, and his children, our children, have to carry what he did?
What if he never gets his job back and we have to sell the house?
And where is he hiding? All these questions are eating me up inside. It’s too much.”
Chloe bowed her head. “Let it out, honey. Say whatever you want to say.”
Janie inhaled sharply. “I can’t stop thinking about the summer I got involved with him.
I mean, you were there. You must remember it.
” She wet her lips, which were beginning to feel sharp and cracked.
Then, before she chickened out, she asked the question that had been on her mind for months, if not years.
She asked Chloe, “Why didn’t you tell me about them? ”
Chloe smarted and withdrew her hand. Janie’s cheeks were hot. She hated that she’d just accused Chloe of being a bad friend, of not telling her everything. But she felt that way. And wasn’t honesty the best course? Sometimes?
Chloe stretched both of her hands across the flat of her stomach and looked toward the sky.
“I have so many questions about those long-ago summers,” Chloe whispered.
“I ask myself over and over why I let myself get in so deep. I ask myself why I let them do to me what they did. I ask myself why I put up with it and why I went back.” She reached under her sunglasses and wiped a tear from beneath her eye.
“I’ve been consumed by guilt since then. It haunts me, you know?”
Janie sat up and put her feet on the hot concrete.
Chloe had never been so candid about her own past with the Whitmores, and it startled her.
She felt guilty for bringing it up. But she considered that Chloe might have come to LA for such discussions.
That, and she’d wanted to support Janie and her children. It touched Janie’s heart.
“Listen to me,” Chloe whispered, “blubbering on. I’ll probably feel guilty about making you listen to me when you’re going through so much yourself.
But suffice it to say, the Whitmores changed both of our lives—maybe for the better, maybe for the worse.
We can’t undo what’s been done. We have to survive the repercussions. Somehow.”