I excuse myself to use the bathroom upstairs. I rinse off my face and wash my hands, taking deep breaths. I fumble the Valium bottle out of the medicine cabinet and swallow one. I can’t hide here for much longer or I’ll be missed. A soft knock on the door gets my attention. I open it, hoping Regina is on the other side.

It’s Kris.

I jump back so quickly that I bash my elbow on the sink. “What are you doing here?”

Kris is smiling, but it’s a lopsided grin. He’s ingested more than wine tonight. He reaches behind him and pulls a postcard out of his back jeans pocket. It features a palm tree against the most glorious sunset I’ve ever seen, tangerines and lemons fading to lavender, a larger version of the matchbook he used at Tuck’s Cafe. “Siesta Key, Florida,” is written across the top.

“Leave with me,” he’s saying. “Tonight. Before it’s too late.”

I throw up my hands. Stop. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Yes, what’s wrong with you, son?”

The growl of a voice nearly loosens my bowels. I hadn’t noticed Amory in the hallway. He has Kris in a headlock before I can register what’s happening, yanking so hard that he drags Kris off his feet, the rug bunching beneath him as he hauls Kris out the door.

I fall against the wall. A commotion erupts downstairs, and then the front door slams. Regina appears in the bathroom doorway, her face flushed.

“You okay?”

She helps me toward the closed toilet, but I push her off. “I have to get downstairs. We must pretend like everything is normal, or it’ll get worse.”

“All right,” she says, glancing over her shoulder. “But what just happened?”

Rather than respond, I lead the way downstairs. I understand that how I play this has very real consequences, even if I don’t yet know what they are. I step onto the main floor. Everyone is still, quiet, the whole room of guests watching me. Then, like robots who’ve been plugged in, they start moving again, laughing and drinking and acting like this is normal.

My bones turn to jelly.

I pivot so I’m facing Regina, who’s behind me on the stairs. I smile and nod as if I’m telling her a joke but pitch my voice so only she can hear it. “I shouldn’t ever have asked you to come. I’m so sorry.”

Regina is pale. “What are you talking about?”

“You need to go,” I say, the lightness in my voice and the way I’m holding myself belying my words, I hope. “I’ve invited you into the lion’s den. Please, just act like everything is normal.”

She steps ahead of me. She threads her way through the crowd. I follow. At the door, I hug her. In the reflection of the front window, I catch Amory staring at me with such naked hate it feels like a punch, but when I turn, he’s wiped the expression off so completely that I wonder if I imagined it.

But I know I didn’t.

I am in way over my head.

CHAPTER 37

“You’ll want to join us on June 1,” Catherine says. It’s a foregone conclusion.

“What?” I ask.

Regina left forty-five minutes ago. The table is cleared, the dishes are done, and the kitchen is clean. One of the women—I’m not sure which—has even thought to make little tinfoil packages of leftovers for everyone to take home, a delicious pocket of ham and potatoes. The guests are filing toward the door. The evening is almost over.

Soon, I can lie down and close my eyes.

But then the women turned on me. Almost as if they had it planned.

“Join you for what?”

“Mothers’ initiation,” Dorothy says, hand going to her bare neck before she catches herself. “I mentioned it while we were preparing dinner.”

I am positive she did not. And I want to destroy that damn necklace now.

“We hold it the first of every month,” Mildred says. “It’s been a while since we had anybody to initiate, though.” She looks to the other women for confirmation. They ignore her. I am struck by how very much like a high school clique these Mothers are. Mildred is the hanger-on, Dorothy the leader, Barbara the heart, sharp-faced Catherine the enforcer, and Rue the brain.

“That’s a very kind offer,” I say. I don’t feel strong enough to turn them down.

Clan Brody nearly crashes into our ladies’ circle. I put out Regina’s wine with dinner. He drank that like water and then pulled out a bottle of his own whiskey. The sour smell rolls off him in waves. It mixes with his sweat and creates something oversweet. I swallow a surge of bile.

Clan holds his arms out toward me. The green grip of nausea tightens.

“Thank you for having us,” he says, his words slurring.

I think he meant to whisper in my ear, but he’s too loud.

I step back. “You’re welcome.”

The women are shifting, fluttering, birds again, not sure how to handle this interloper in their nest.

Clan glances at my stomach, the gesture exaggerated, like his head is perched on ball bearings. “The town can’t wait for that little one.”

Catherine grips his arm, her fingers sinking deep into his flesh. “Yes.” Her bright-chip eyes lock on mine. “We’re all so excited.”

She starts pulling Clan toward the door. It seems she’ll get him home without a further scene, but at the last minute, he swivels and lurches back to plant himself in front of me. Where are the other men?

“You look like your mother, you know,” he says, his voice blurry.

I hold myself as still as stone. “My mother’s not from around here.”

“A Mother,” Catherine says, her words like a punch, but whether directed at Clan or me, I cannot tell. “He said you look like a Mother, and we couldn’t agree more. That’s why we want you to join us on June 1. Make it official.”

Clan is swaying, and all the women are smiling and nodding at me. I have the sudden sensation of falling. Light reflects off the glass of Mountain Red Mildred is clutching. The smell of the wine, though, the red liquid shimmering thick and salty like blood, pushes me over the edge. I do not even have time to excuse myself. I barely cross the threshold of the main-floor bathroom before I drop to my knees and vomit into the toilet.

I throw up with such force that I worry I’ll eject the baby. I flush and vomit some more. When I’m completely empty, shuddering, I push myself to my feet and wipe down the toilet. I check for the necklace, which is taped safely behind the tank. Knowing it’s there grounds me. I won’t destroy it. I’ll use it like a talisman.

I don’t have a toothbrush in this bathroom, so I can only rinse my mouth with water. I catch my expression in the mirror. I look like a haunted-house version of myself, too-short hair tufted around my ears.

When I step out, everyone has left except for Ronald and Barbara. Barbara pats me on the shoulder. “Are you all right, honey?”

I nod.

“Don’t worry about Clan,” Ronald says. “He has a drinking problem. We’ll talk to him.”

I nod again. Did they stay around to tell me that?

When they leave, Deck brings me a Valium and a glass of water.

I swallow them both and let him lead me to bed.

I slip into sleep, no longer worried about getting my story.