Copycat. Alex Lake

Чтение книги онлайн.

       12

      Sunday was forecast to be hot, up in the high eighties and humid with it. It turned out to be even hotter, and in town it felt worse: claustrophobic and suffocating. Along with the rest of the population of Barrow, Sarah and Ben headed to the beach.

      It was a thirty-minute drive up the Phippsburg peninsula and by this point in the summer they had the trip down, as Ben would say in one of his incomprehensible British expressions, to a tee. Shovels, kids’ wetsuits, beach chairs, umbrella: all their beach stuff was put in the car in June and remained there until September. The only thing they had to add was dry towels, a cooler full of snacks and drinks and the kids themselves. Which was good, because on a day like this the beach filled up. Anyone who arrived there after around 10 a.m. would be facing a full car park and a return trip to the heat of town.

      They pulled up alongside Jean’s battered minivan, the sandy gravel crunching under the tires.

      ‘I don’t know how she does it,’ Ben said. ‘I mean, wrangling our kids is hard enough with the two of us. She’s alone. It’s amazing, frankly.’

      ‘She’s super-organized,’ Sarah said. ‘She has to be. The laundry alone – it’s frightening. She showed me her system for getting it done: each kid has a basket which they put their dirty clothes into. They fold up any that can be worn again and put them away. Immediately after bedtime she puts a load in the washing machine, then puts them on the drying rack before she goes to bed.’

      ‘There’s the difference,’ Ben said. ‘Her kids don’t throw everything all over the place. She has some discipline. I wish I knew her secret.’

      ‘I don’t think there’s a secret,’ Sarah said. ‘She’s always busy. Washing clothes or making lunches for the next day or preparing her schoolwork.’

      ‘It’s impressive.’

      ‘It’s funny. In high school she was a hot mess. Not that we said “hot mess” back then.’

      ‘In what way?’

      ‘Oh, you know. She didn’t have her shit together.’

      That was a bit of an understatement. In their senior year Sarah had a car – a Toyota Corolla – and used to pick up Jean, as well as two other friends, Katie and Emily, on her way to school. Jean was never ready, and, when she did appear, she had invariably forgotten her purse or books or homework, so they’d have to go back for whatever was missing, and then it would be a mad scramble to get to school before the tardy bell made official their lateness. And lateness wasn’t all; she studied for the wrong exams, showed up at the wrong time or not at all for her summer jobs, and lost her purse or bag or ID almost every time they went out.

      Her parents didn’t help. They were very strict and very private; whereas Sarah and Katie and Emily’s parents used to chat to the girls or drive them places, Jean’s never did. Often they refused to let her join her friends after school or on the weekends – on one occasion, Jean more or less disappeared for three weeks – but when they asked Jean why she’d been grounded, she shrugged and said her parents thought she was letting them down with her poor performance and she needed to focus more. Jean claimed it didn’t bother her, but Sarah could tell she was putting a brave face on what must have been a deep hurt.

      And then she had met Jack. He already had kids; Jean could not have her own – which was another tragic story she managed to cope with – and she always said it was a blessing she met Jack and got a husband and family all at the same time. She didn’t say it, but Sarah was pretty sure she wanted a family so she could put right some of the wrongs of her own childhood.

      And Sarah suspected there were plenty more of those than Jean had shared.

      She may have told Katie more. Katie and Jean had been friends since they were born – their moms met on the maternity ward – and they had a special bond. Like lots of groups of friends, the friendships weren’t equal; for them, it had been more like two groups of two. Jean and Katie, Sarah and Emily.

      Sarah missed Emily. She had moved to the Pacific Northwest – Oregon, somewhere – and they kept in touch via Skype, but it wasn’t the same. As for Katie, no one knew where she was. She’d gone traveling in her early twenties, and they’d lost contact with her.

      So, even though they had not been the closest of the friends in their group, Sarah and Jean were the only ones left, and Sarah was glad to have her in her life. Her college friends were great – in some ways she preferred them – and they had shared some wonderful times, but there was a special quality to her friendship with Jean. It went back so far, and they knew each other so well. With her college friends, she had taken care to present her best self. She was almost an adult when she met them, and she knew who she was and who she wanted to be. She had a self-image, and she wanted to make sure others shared it. Jean and Katie and Emily, on the other hand, had seen her at her worst: screaming at her mom, stealing another girl’s boyfriend, and on one occasion – Sarah still felt guilty about this – bullying a girl she didn’t like until the girl’s parents called the school. Jean was more like a sibling than a friend. However close she got to other people, they would never know her like Jean did.

      ‘Well,’ Ben said. ‘With those kids, she has to have her shit together now. No choice.’ He opened the car door. ‘Let’s get on the beach.’