“I’m sure you and Dad can come,” Leo said.
“Of course we’ll come!” Amy said.
Amy had never been invited to Vivi’s new house (named Money Pit for the obvious reasons). She had mixed feelings about going, but JP double-checked with Vivi and confirmed it was fine, they were more than welcome. Amy promised herself she would act like a normal human being and not like a sociopath who stuffed the coats in the trash. Amy wore a new dress, black with white polka dots, and she bought Leo a graduation card and stuck one of her own hard-earned hundred-dollar bills inside. At the party, Amy tried to match Vivi’s graciousness, even though Amy was uncomfortable and overdressed (Vivi wore white jeans and a University of Colorado T-shirt). She praised Vivi’s hot bacon-and-blue-cheese dip (it was delicious); she offered to take a picture of JP, Vivi, and Leo together; she chatted with the few people who didn’t turn their backs or drift away when they saw Amy coming.
I am finally fitting in! she telegraphed to JP. I’ve gotten the hang of it. Marry me!
She might be imagining it, but it seems the more headway she makes with the kids, the more distant JP becomes. Amy feels him pulling away; she’s been tempted to check his phone. JP has a lot of young women working for him at the Cone, some of whom wear cutoffs even though the Cone is kept at a brisk sixty-five degrees.
Another fear she has is that she and JP will get engaged but they will never get married because if they did, the money from Vivi would dry up. Vivi’s money is like a noose placed lovingly around Amy’s neck. There are times when Amy’s jealousy of the woman gets so bad that she wishes Vivi would just disappear—move off-island or spontaneously combust. Then all of Amy’s problems would be solved.
The good thing about Saturdays in June is that everyone is out of the salon by four o’clock. Amy finishes her last bride at quarter to four—the wedding is at six at the Sconset Chapel—and a hush comes over the place, which is nice, though Amy feels a little bit like Cinderella after the stepsisters leave for the ball. Her clients are off to pose for endless pictures, drink cocktails, eat hors d’oeuvres, listen to toasts, cut into beef Wellington, drink more cocktails, do the Electric Slide, and shamelessly hook up with the groom’s third cousin or the bride’s college roommate.
Amy takes a paper cup from the watercooler and fills it with the dregs of a bottle of champagne that is sitting in a bucket of melting ice near her chair. Amy hasn’t had a thing to eat all day (which feels good) and the champagne goes straight to her head (which feels even better). Her top drawer is overflowing with manila tip envelopes.
Lorna comes over as soon as her last client leaves and says, “How are you holding up?”
“Great, but that was a hell of a day.”
An incredulous expression washes over Lorna’s face. “You didn’t ring JP, did you?”
“No,” Amy says. “I didn’t have a second.”
Lorna sighs. “Come outside, let’s have a cig.”
They step out onto the deck facing the back parking lot and light up. There’s a table and chairs; Amy eats her lunch out here when the weather is nice and she has time. The first drag of her cigarette is a balm. She throws back what’s left of the champagne and crumples the cup in her hand. “Should I sit down?”
“Yes.” Lorna is so serious that Amy thinks for the first time that maybe she should be afraid.
“Is everything okay?” Amy says. She wonders if Willa miscarried again or if something happened to JP’s mother, Lucinda. A stroke or a broken hip.
“Well.” Lorna eyes Amy and blows smoke out of the side of her mouth. “No, not really. But jeezy, Pigeon, I’m not sure how you’re going to take it.”
“Take what?” Amy says. Her stomach squelches.
“Vivi was hit by a car this morning at the end of her road.” Lorna pauses. “Pigeon, she’s dead.”
Amy opens her mouth. She knows Lorna isn’t kidding and might not even be wrong, but sorry, hold on a second. Vivi is dead? Vivi is dead. Vivi was hit by a car, and she’s dead. Vivi is dead.
Amy sits for a minute in complete stillness. She feels…she feels…her stomach…a horror…yes, she feels a thick, black, tar-like horror filling her insides. She wants to scream. Vivi is dead. JP called…hours ago. Said it was urgent. Because his ex-wife is dead.
The kids. The poor kids.
Lorna is watching her.
“I’m not going to sing out ‘Ding-dong, the witch is dead,’ if that’s what you’re thinking,” Amy says. Her eyes fill with tears.
Lorna reaches out a hand. “I know you’re not, honey. This must be…confusing for you?”
“A woman is dead. There’s nothing confusing about that. It’s tragic.”
Lorna squeezes her hand.
“And, yes, confusing.” Amy has to get her phone. She heads into the air-conditioned cool of the salon, but it’s as if the salon has completely changed. Vivi is dead.
Her phone is clogged with texts from JP.
Call me ASAP
Urgent!!!
Amy, call me
Something terrible has happened
They won’t put me through at the salon
There are also sixteen missed calls. Then more texts.
I’m at the house with the kids. Please come.
Don’t come. I’ll meet you at home.
Would you cancel our reservations at the Straight Wharf, please? I’ll be home later. I can’t leave the kids right now.
Text me when you get these messages but don’t come to Vivi’s. I’ll meet you at home.
It’s the last three texts that cut razor-thin lines into Amy’s heart. JP doesn’t want her at Vivi’s. He’s with his kids; the four of them are mourning together. Amy would be an interloper. She’s self-aware enough to realize this.
Amy climbs into her car and closes her eyes. For ten years, Amy has told herself that what happened between JP and Vivi had nothing to do with her, but the stark truth is that Amy could have said no to JP, and by turning him down, she might have propelled him back to his family. She feels a monstrous guilt about her ungenerous thoughts and all the catty and awful comments she made to JP, to Lorna, and, on a few ill-advised occasions, to Vivi’s own kids.
I’m sorry, Vivi, she thinks. I was jealous. Insecure. You cast a long shadow. Your only flaw was that I couldn’t compete. You were pretty and fun-loving and hardworking and magnetic, and I was jealous of you. I ate that jealousy (and a lot of doughnuts) for breakfast each day.
But you should know I admired you, though I was never confident enough to say it.
Amy turns the key in the ignition. She’ll call Straight Wharf in a minute. First, she’s going to Hatch’s for a bottle of wine, or maybe tequila, maybe the Casa Dragones that was Vivi’s favorite. She will go home alone and drink with her demons.
Leo
Leo can’t eat; he may never eat again. When Carson says she has a pill, an Ativan, he asks her for two and she brings them with a glass of his mother’s fresh-brewed iced tea with mint. A little while later, the world slows down and grows softer at the edges.