Chapter 6 Jasmine, the Smart One #3
Hello. I hope this is the right account.
Is that you, Jasmine Malinowski? If so, hi.
It’s Audrey Porter, now Joyce. I found you by searching for Jasmines who graduated from Princeton, and you were the only one from that year.
I don’t know if you got the invitation, but our 25th high school reunion is coming up.
I was hoping you would come for it and stay here, at Bitter Creek Farm, where I live again.
I’ve also invited Beck and Micah. Please let me know.
You can email me at AudreyChevalierPorter@. I hope you’re doing well. Best, Audrey.
Jasmine had to read it a few times before it felt real. She had not received an invitation to the reunion. She had never notified anyone from their class about her name change or marriage. Anyone except Beck, that was.
Over the years, Jasmine had done a little googling, telling herself she was curious about a few classmates, not just the Core Four. She’d had other friends, hadn’t she? So she looked up the names she remembered, having thrown away her yearbook the summer she graduated.
Unlike 99.9 percent of high school athletes, Ché Anderson, their football god, had lived up to his potential.
College football championship, ten years playing for the NFL, two Super Bowl rings, now working for ESPN or NBC Sports as a commentator.
Everyone in their class had always loved him.
His pictures showed a happy, five-star life—his profile picture was him kissing his incredibly beautiful wife on the cheek.
Ava Bianchi, who’d been salutatorian, worked for NASA and posted only pictures of rockets, rocket launches, rocket parts. Unlike Jasmine, she’d put her intellect to good use.
And then Jasmine would check for the other three of the Core Four.
Beck didn’t seem to have a social media presence, but one day, a decade or so ago, Jasmine had been watching a show on Netflix, and there were the words Casting by Rebecca Morrow, CSA.
She had leaped for her laptop, found a website that listed only her credentials and one photo.
It was Beck, all right. No contact me link.
Lola’s Bakery had social media accounts, but they were only pictures of pastries and cakes.
The Town of Stafford VT Facebook account, which Jasmine checked but did not belong to, occasionally mentioned the bakery.
She’d been surprised to learn that Micah had stayed in Stafford.
She’d always wanted to get out of there, and fast.
Audrey’s accounts were private.
Remembering the Core Four only brought on guilt and shame .
. . and loneliness. If Carmen and Michele were what passed as friends, she was screwed.
Once, she’d had the best of friends, and she’d ruined it all.
The driver of the car that killed Dr. Kate.
As many times as she told herself she wasn’t at fault, she never quite believed it.
For the past decade, the only time Jasmine felt worthy was when she was alone with her girls .
. . and now that her oldest child was becoming more aware of status and her middle girl was withdrawing, even that was getting harder.
She hoped Lyra would hold out and stay a mommy’s girl longer than Lydia and Lucy had.
She’d loved having the answers to their little questions, loved when their faces lit up at the sight of her each morning, loved how they’d reached for her hand every time they walked anywhere.
Those were the best moments of her life, and she was so grateful she had Lyra to stretch out that time a little more.
But now Lydia and Lucy were inching away (or striding, in Lydia’s case). Oscar had become bored with her but still expected her to play her part in the Garden Club Mafia. She had to be happy all the time. Delighted to see him. Blessed. Grateful.
Oscar never had to be grateful to her. No. She was essentially his highest-paid employee. She was not the smart one, not special, no longer understood or protected. She’d only had that with the Core Four.
And now . . . a weekend with them?
“What the hell are you doing in here?” boomed Carmen, storming through the door. “Are you dying?”
“Oh my gosh, time got away from me. I . . . Sorry. The girls needed me.”
“Which one?” Carmen asked. Her own daughter, the same age as Lydia, would’ve just called Carmen’s personal assistant.
“Lucy,” Jasmine lied.
“Did we move the meeting to the bathroom?” asked Michele as she, too, came into the lounge.
“Apparently, Jasmine’s child needed her,” Carmen said.
“Sorry for taking so long,” Jasmine said. “Tell me, which weekend is the fundraiser?”
“October ninth,” Carmen said.
An unlikely rope had been thrown into the roiling sea of Greenwich society. “Oh no,” she said. “I’m so sorry, but I have plans that weekend. You’ll have to count me out.”
“What plans?” Carmen demanded, exchanging a knowing glance with Michele.
“I’m going away with some friends from high school,” she said, forcing a smile.
“Must it be that weekend?” Carmen asked. “You’re integral to our success, Jasmine.”
She absolutely was not. “I’m afraid it’s carved in stone,” she said. “They’re my closest friends in the world.”
There was a moment of loaded silence, and Jasmine could feel the chill. “Well, then,” Michele said. “We’ll have to manage without you.”
Jasmine would not be forgiven for this. Oscar would be furious, because one didn’t say no to the Garden Club Mafia.
“I’m sure you’ll do just fine,” she said.