A Scandal at Eastwick Read online

Her old friend stood on the nearby sidewalk with her arms crossed. “What are you doing?”

  Lia blushed. “I’m trying to talk to Julia.”

  Katie frowned at her, as if this were the most suspicious declaration in the world. Perhaps it was. “I don’t know if she’s in.”

  “Her car is here.”

  “Fine. She’s probably in, but if she’s not answering, she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

  A thought occurred to Lia. “Wait—are you her roommate?”

  Katie scowled. “No. Neighbor. I’m just walking to the market.” She hesitated. “You should probably join me. Leave Julia alone.”

  “No, thanks. I need to talk to her.”

  Katie sighed and strolled closer, until she too had ascended the two stairs up to the porch and stood on the welcome mat outside Julia’s baby-blue-painted door. “Look, if she’s not answering, she doesn’t want to talk to you, okay? Why don’t you just come take a walk with me, and I’ll answer any questions you have.”

  Lia shook her head. How could Katie tell her whatever Atul thought that Julia believed Lia should know? Her head started to spin. But Julia wasn’t answering, and this offer was the best that she had for now. Lia nodded and motioned for Katie to lead the way.

  They strolled in silence for some minutes along the tree-lined streets, Lia pulling her coat closer over her neck and ears, Katie occasionally shuddering in the cool morning light. “I like walking,” Katie said finally. “It’s only a few blocks, and even in winter, it’s nice to get the exercise. And the sunshine.”

  “I understand.”

  Silence took over again. Lia took a few long breaths. Finally she asked, “How long have you and Julia been neighbors?”

  “Long enough. Since we were twenty-four, twenty-five? She bought six months before me. Bella’s nearby, too. Atul is closer to town.”

  “That’s nice for you guys. So you see each other pretty often, I guess?”

  For some reason, Katie looked embarrassed at this. She shrugged. “Not as often as we should, probably,” she said, her breath curling in small white spirals above her. She hesitated. “That’s probably why I felt so bad about Julia.”

  Lia waited, keeping her steps measured to Katie’s. Her heart skipped a beat.

  Katie sighed. “I just—we all kind of went our own way after high school, you know? We went to different colleges, some closer than others—I mean, Julia and I were only an hour apart from each other, but we only visited each other once during four years.”

  “Really?” Lia blurted out. She had always had the idea that if one of them had been in Los Angeles, even as large and sprawling as that city was, she would have made an effort to see them every week, maybe more.

  “Really. You always have something else that you have to do. And so it was just…not as simple, when we all came back. And I got busy with my career, and Julia was busy with hers, and Atul and Bella and…well, we tried to get together sometimes, but it never worked out. Not with all of us. I think we sort of gave up on it as some point.”

  Gave up! Lia wanted to cry. When you all lived in the same city? When it must have been so easy for you? Then again, it should have been easy for her, too: she had had the internet, and her phone, and sometimes enough money in her bank account to take a trip back home. But the others had failed just as much as Lia had. She didn’t know if it made her feel better, or worse.

  “And then,” Katie continued, “Julia had her problem.” She cut an inquisitive look sideways at Lia.

  “I know. I heard about it. I wish—I wish I had been there for her.”

  Katie nodded emphatically. “Yup. I do, too. She didn’t tell any of us—well, I later learned she told Atul, who told Harry. But Bella and I were none the wiser about it.”

  “I think she tried to tell me,” Lia said, cringing at the memory. “But I didn’t pick up the phone.”

  Katie didn’t respond to this; she seemed too deep in her own reverie. “So Julia spent some time recovering. I spotted her out a few months after, and she looked so—so broken. I tried to talk to her, but she blew me off. Only Atul told me that Julia had been sick, when I cornered him a few weeks later at a bar. Even then, I didn’t find out the whole truth until about a year later, when a girl I knew had been at the hospital the same time as Julia. I know,” Katie said, seeing Lia’s expression. “But she told me—I didn’t ask. Not my fault if she violates confidentiality.”

  “Is that why Julia isn’t answering?” Lia blurted. “Because she’s upset that I—that I wasn’t there?”

  Katie gave Lia an amused look. “It’s been years. Pretty sure she’s moved on from that. Julia doesn’t see a lot of people these days, so I wouldn’t take offense to it.”

  “Who does she see?”

  “Atul. Harry, sometimes. Her fiancé; she keeps him so well hidden that I’ve never seen him in my life. And at this point, I’m not sure I will—I’m not really banking on an invite to the wedding.”

  “Harry,” Lia repeated. “What does Harry have to do with any of this?”

  Katie shrugged. “I guess Atul called him. He was great, apparently; he visited Julia every week, my friend said. Sent her gifts and things. He’s a good guy, Harry.”

  Lia couldn’t help hearing the implicit accusation in the statement: you let a good one go, dimwit. Happy now?

  “He is,” Lia agreed stiffly.

  “I tried to reach back out to Julia,” Katie continued. The grocery store was now in sight, a beige brick building with a neon sign hung out front. “But she wanted nothing to do with me. Honestly, I don’t really blame her. I hadn’t been there for her in the ways that she needed me to be for the past few months. She just kind of…withdrew. And there was nothing I could do about it.”

  “I get it,” Lia said quietly. “Really, I do. More than you know.”

  “I’m sure you know. And if you understand, you’ll also get that I needed to find a way to salvage something. It just wasn’t right—all of us going our separate ways, never talking to each other again, never fulfilling any of the promises we made to each other when we were younger about what we would do and who we would be and what kind of person we would evolve into.”

  Lia nodded.

  “It was too late with Julia,” Katie said, blushing. “What I mean is—it was too late to make a difference with her. Because Julia never answered any of my calls and had never expressed any excitement about just meeting up again for a drink. Atul was busy with Julia at the time, so I thought…well, the next best thing I could do was to try to be there for Bella.”

  “Right,” Lia said. “Bella.” Bella, who had always been the class clown, the comic relief, of the group. No doubt she was already the most successful out of all five of them, because she had a boundless confidence and drive, the kind of student teachers would simultaneously dread and adore. “Bella’s doing well, isn’t she?”

  Katie gave her a hard look, so much so that a chill went through Lia. “She’s doing fine,” Katie said.

  “Is she?”

  “Are any of us? We’re going along. We have jobs and places to live and we’re responsible adults, so yeah, things are going well.”

  “Is she happy?”

  Katie shrugged. “As much as any of us are, I guess.”

  Lia felt a pang in her heart at the answer. Why weren’t they all happy? Why hadn’t they all remained close, even if they had gone their separate ways during college? What combination of pride, apathy, and ignorance had destroyed their friendships?

  “Look, it’s not about Bella,” Katie said, as they slowed near the entrance to the grocery store. “I’m not happy, not really. So many things are just wrong—like we got off track and can’t fix it. I’m just trying to do the best I can, which means right now, being a good friend to Bella, who will still talk to me.”

  “Will you talk to me, too?”

  Katie half-smiled. “If you want me to.”

  They stood in silence for a few more seconds. Lia wondered if th
ere was anything she could say to bridge the distance: she felt as though it were her fault. If she hadn’t left St. Clair, things might be different. They might all still be friends. Julia would never have had her breakdown, a giant rift would never have divided them. Was it too late to salvage that? Was it naïve to think that, by returning, Lia could somehow repair what was rent? Or did St. Clair intend to somehow continue punishing them for Lia’s departure? No, she wouldn’t think it of the town—the town that, beautiful and terrible as it was, had always been her home. She just had to focus on making things right, own up to her own mistakes.

  “What happened to Julia?” Lia asked. “Why did she…why was she depressed?”

  “I think the kindest thing you can do for Julia is not to ask her that question,” Katie said. “That’s just a guess—I don’t know myself, at least, not for sure.” She turned and opened the door to the grocery store. “You’re trying to figure out who blackmailed Harry’s mom, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. She thinks it was me.”

  Katie shrugged, as if that was obvious. “You want a hint? Talk to Alyssa’s friend. The one in town. I don’t know if you watched her at the party, but something weird was going on with her.”

  “Weird like what?”

  Katie shrugged again. “She was crying. Acting awkward around Harry and his mom. That doesn’t mean anything, but…”

  “No, that’s good to know. Thank you, Katie.”

  “I’m not sure you should be thanking me.” Katie hesitated, another patron pushing out past her into the cold winter air. “Hey. If you are staying a little longer, text me. After this whole thing blows over. We can get coffee.”

  Lia grinned. “That would be nice.”

  Chapter 32

  Paulette drove to the lakeside park with her latte in hand and parked in one of the spots near the barren water. The lake stretched out in silver and white before her, cold and unwelcoming. It was one of those clear winter days that her husband used to refer to as horizon-less, where if you looked out across the water you couldn’t see where the sky ended and the water began.

  She trembled as she raised the coffee cup to her lips. This was the spot that she had come to ever since she had moved to St. Clair, all those years ago. She had driven out here when she had been thirty-one, with two small boys and a mind that was going crazy. She had driven out here when she had been forty-five, when her sons’ teenage years were transforming them into something alien and distant, when she felt like the only love that she experienced in that house was slowly drying up. She had driven out here when she had been forty-eight, when her husband had left his financial firm in a fury of self-righteous indignation that covered up only God knew what.

  She had weathered the storm each time, because it had seemed like that was all there was to do. Paulette knew she had more than her portion of happiness: she grew up in a nice home, went to a great college, had a wonderful job, and married a successful man. She had two healthy children. Why should she complain if the marriage was loveless, if her husband’s interest in her waned and dissipated over the years? Wasn’t that like all marriages, anyway? What right had she to dream for romance, for excitement, for passion?

  And it would have all gone on all right. She would have weathered the storm longer, let her heart grow colder in its emptiness after her husband’s passing. She would have joined book clubs and bridge clubs and volunteered at stupid little charities that were more interested in her donations than her time, and clawed her way into friendships with other widows who would at least help her pass the time.

  But Arthur! Oh, Arthur had ruined it all. He had made a move after her husband passed and had promised her such wondrous changes. He had taken her to Italy. He had brought her downtown, to the city, where they had paella at a rooftop bar and went to an orchestra concert. He had opened doors for her, had guided her lightly by the small of her back as they sat down to dinner, had picked up the bill and smiled at her with those gray eyes, so like and unlike his brother’s, laughing with her, bantering with her, promising her that in this next season of her life she did not have to resign herself to withering away alone. He had given her hope.

  And now? Now he was distant, as if the mere fact of Paulette’s blackmail had opened his eyes to some deeper truth. Or as if he was taking the opportunity to distance himself, to put space between him and whatever drama was absorbing Paulette’s life. It tore at her; she had thought him one of those men who would stand by her, who would promise to take the pain away, to solve the problem. Of course he couldn’t—men were no better at solving problems—but the intention, the desire, was all that she wanted.

  But it was not there.

  Paulette wiped the tears trickling down her face. She had to be strong. She couldn’t let him know how deeply his actions were affecting her—it would only scare him away more. Once she had said something sappy to him, to the effect of, If I hadn’t met you, I would have remained a widow the rest of my life.

  But you had met me already, Arthur had said, frowning. And that’s not true at all. You would just have started up with someone else.

  The cold pragmatism of the statement had hurt her then, as she felt her romantic statement reduced to nothing. Arthur was a gentleman, through and through, but he was not romantic. Not like that.

  So why did she feel he was the love of her life? Why did her heart ache every time she felt him grow distant from her? Was she just a pathetic, old, lonely woman who had grabbed onto the first bit of attention she had been given?

  No, Paulette thought, wiping one last tear away. No. We have something special. We do. She had never met someone with whom she shared so much of her life’s perspective and outlook. Arthur would have to see that. Who else would commiserate with him about his lazy students? Who else would understand when he talked about the pedantic committees, full of younger professors who lacked the ability to respect experience and grace? Who else would rub his shoulders and sympathize when he related the latest run-in with the administration, full of self-righteous good-for-nothings who thought a prestigious position meant they had the right to tell him how to do his job? The world was full of pompous upstarts—Paulette knew that, and Arthur did too. Let him try to find that kind of support in another woman!

  And yet and yet and yet, the horrible voice whispered inside Paulette’s head, what if I lose him?

  She broke into sobs.

  Chapter 33

  Lia called Lucas again but received no answer. Embarrassed, she pulled open her laptop in the Eastwick house kitchen and began searching for the best way to contact Clarissa, trying to push thoughts of Lucas from her mind. It was the second missed call of the day—perhaps he was out, but then, why hadn’t he told her so? Perhaps he was embarrassed about the night before, thinking he had led Lia on, spiraling about encouraging her to stay in St. Clair. Well, he had nothing to worry about there, if that were the case. Lia’s decisions on where to live next would have nothing to do with him.

  Lia found one of Clarissa’s online profiles but hesitated over the message button. It was just as likely as not that Clarissa would only screenshot the message and send it to Harry’s girlfriend Alyssa, and then where would she be?

  Lia bit her lip. The two of them were just visiting for the holidays, weren’t they? And since St. Clair was devoid of proper hotels (the nearest were in the city, or in the suburbs north), wasn’t it just as likely that Harry had put them up in his favorite short-term rental?

  It was worth a try, certainly. Lia snapped her laptop shut and rose, heart beating within her.

  She arrived at the white-stoned condo complex a little after two in the afternoon. The pale winter light glittered over the abundant windows, and wind fluttered through the ivy growing up the east-facing side of the building. Lia parked on the street and walked up the stone path, shivering in the chilly January air.

  The brass knocker thumped imperiously when Lia dropped it. To her surprise, the door swung open seconds later, and Lia found herself
face-to-face with Clarissa.

  The girl looked like a wreck—there was no other way to describe it. Her short sandy hair was pulled back into a low bun, and her freckled face was blotchy and pale, eyes rimmed in red. She wore a plain t-shirt and long pajama bottoms and was holding a mug that smelled too strongly to just be coffee.

  “What do you want?” Clarissa snapped. “Alyssa’s not in.”

  “Actually, I wanted to talk to you.”

  Fear and then suspicion ran across Clarissa’s face. She hesitated, and Lia saw her contemplating shutting the door.

  “Please don’t,” Lia said, stepping forward. “I just want to keep everything between us.”

  Whatever this meant to Clarissa, it did the trick. Clarissa’s face slammed shut, but she moved aside, grumbling that Lia could not stay long.

  Inside, the house was manicured and impersonal, the way many such rentals were: mirrors and landscapes for decorations, neutral accent colors, a paint shade that was almost certainly “agreeable gray.” The furniture was simple and traditional, long sectional flanked by two wooden coffee tables. It was here that Clarissa led her, motioning to one end of the couch as she took the other, tucking her legs beneath her and dragging a blanket over her lap.

  “You’re Harry’s ex-girlfriend,” Clarissa said, simultaneously with disdain and relish, as if Lia was therefore beneath her.

  “I am.”

  “Trying to get him back, are you?”

  “No, actually. Not in the least.”

  Clarissa shrugged. “Then what did you want to tell me? That needs to stay between us?”

  “The night at that party on Saturday. You were crying.”

  Clarissa shrugged again but did not deny it.

  “What was wrong?” Lia pressed.

  “Nothing. Is that all you wanted to ask me? It’s none of your business, you know,” Clarissa said scathingly.

  “I just thought it was odd,” Lia said. “Because Alyssa seemed so happy.”