Influenced by Eva Robinson (best free ebook reader TXT) 📗

for a moment. “Well, we’re all just trying to do what’s best for our kids, right? I just want to look out for them. I mean, sometimes I wonder if I’m doing the right thing. I often feel guilty for stuff, you know?”

Hannah nodded. “Mom guilt. It’s a powerful drug.”

“But then I think—we just do our best. We look out for our family, and we do our best, right?” Stella raised a wine glass, smiling. “To single moms who are keeping it all together.”

Hannah grinned. “To us.”

Rowan lifted her glass. “I’m not part of this, so I’ll just toast to the both of you and your nightmarish offspring who won’t let you sleep.”

Stella sipped her drink, then sidled up to Hannah. “So we’ve only just met, and now I’m wondering how much you’d judge me for gossiping.”

Warmth bloomed in Hannah’s chest. She was starting to feel like she belonged here, like she was already included in their circle. “Not even a little bit.”

Stella leaned in even closer, her eyes shifting from one side to the other. “We have a friend named Melody. Plays the French horn in the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Father is a famous conductor; husband’s a scientist. She’s super uptight, or so I used to think. But then she was pregnant. And you know… no one’s going to judge a little bit of wine here and there, but once when she was here, and she was pregnant, it was more than a sip or two. I’m talking a bottle of wine.”

This was definitely scandalous. Hannah found herself leaning in closer.

“So she had the kid, then another. And she’d be breastfeeding and just—one bottle of wine after another. Does alcohol go through breastmilk? I have no idea. But I do know it’s frowned upon to be completely trashed when you’re looking after babies. I think she used the breastfeeding to keep the weight off from all the wine calories. Anyway, I wasn’t sure if I should report it, or just keep my mouth shut, because what do I know? I was agonizing over it. Well, in the end, I didn’t have to make the decision.”

Rowan’s mouth opened. “So what happened?”

“Her husband left her, and the neighbors called the police on her. She got totally hammered at home, went out to scream at the moon or something, then passed out on the front lawn. They found the two-year-old wandering down the sidewalk in the middle of the night. She had escaped, walking out the front door of her house, and she showed up at the neighbors crying and looking for her mom.”

With a jolt of panic, Hannah pictured Nora toddling down the sidewalk at night. She felt a sharp instinct to call Luke to make sure he hadn’t endured a sudden personality change that left him passed out on the front lawn. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to pick Nora up and hold her close. She reached into her purse for her phone, then realized she’d left the purse upstairs. But she needed to trust Luke, didn’t she? He’d be fine.

“That is shocking,” said Rowan. “So what did the police do?”

“She was arrested, and she lost custody of the kids completely. She can’t even see them now unless it’s under supervision.”

Hannah shuddered. What a nightmare.

“God, that’s terrible.” Then Rowan whispered, “Okay, and I have something to tell you. But maybe don’t mention it to anyone. Do you remember that friend I brought to one of your parties? The grad student who poured a martini on her husband?”

Stella’s pale skin looked silver in the moonlight. “Arabella. I saw it in the papers. I didn’t want to bring it up. But you weren’t close, were you?”

“Not really. And I don’t know what happened. But the police are involved.”

Stella’s jaw was hanging open. “Why? What do you think it was?” Then she mouthed, “Suicide? Or murder?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think anyone knows. But she wasn’t sick as far as I knew. Maybe a bit of an eating disorder, but not that bad. It’s really shocking, and she was only twenty-six. She was so talented. Why do the wrong people always die? I mean, there’s a man who stands near Mass Avenue drinking straight vodka—he’s always got one hand in his sweatpants, and whenever I pass him, he asks me if he can either lick my armpits or shave my legs. Those are my two options. Why is he still alive and Arabella’s dead? It’s all backwards.”

Stella stared at her. “You should never give a eulogy. I mean, I get the sentiment, but I’m not sure if you have the right sort of poetry for the occasion.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Rowan smiled at Hannah. “You’d be happy for me to give your eulogy, wouldn’t you?”

Hannah forced a smile. She knew it was a joke, and yet a sliver of dread danced up her spine anyway. “Well, let’s hope I don’t die anytime soon.”

Twenty-One

For reasons she didn’t understand, Hannah’s legs were shaking. Maybe her nerves were getting the better of her.

Every now and then, it was like she had a voice was screaming in the hollows of her brain: Someone is out to get you.

But she had no idea what it was about. It was irrational.

Rowan rested her head on her shoulder. “Sorry, I just totally brought the mood down again, didn’t I? Let’s forget death for now. We have champagne punch, and pastries, and this… extremely mournful guitar music, courtesy of Peter. Thank you for the dirge, Peter.”

She turned to the man strumming his guitar, and it was only then that Hannah realized it was a slow Radiohead song.

“Peter!” Rowan called out. “Please play something more upbeat. There’s enough misery in the world as it is.”

Peter smiled, the light shining off his glasses. He slid the guitar out of his lap and stood. “I only know three songs, and that’s one of them.”

“I’m learning the harmonica,” said Rowan. “You and I can form a terrible blues band together.