expression chilly. “Well, thank you for the input, Marta. I’ll make a note of your suggestion, and maybe if there’s enough interest from other parents, we can discuss it at a future meeting.” She draws a breath. “Now, back to the issue of auction funds.”
One of the women clutching a watermelon cosmo raises her hand. “I can understand giving the Lakes PTA a tiny portion of last year’s auction income, but won’t that set a precedent for this year?”
There’s a loud murmur of agreement, and the discussion moves on.
The meeting drags on for another hour but is eventually brought to a close when one of the women—a mother to an apparently athletic, popular son—glances at her watch and sees the time.
“The picnic!” she exclaims, gathering her purse and notebook. “I promised Eric I’d have him there early. The guys are going to be swimming.”
Another mother rises, and so do I. I’ve been waiting for this moment since I arrived, and I can’t collect Eva fast enough. The girls upstairs barely look at her when she says good-bye.
We’re outside, heading to the truck, when Eva suddenly lets out a shout. “My watch!”
I stop and drag a hand through my long hair, combing it off my neck. I left it loose today, and it’s too hot and heavy for such a warm day. “You took it off?”
“I was just showing them.”
I stifle an irritated sigh. “Go get it. I’ll wait here.”
“You won’t come up with me?”
“No. But I’ll wait here. Just go in, grab it, and come back.”
Eva knocks timidly on the door before going in, shutting the door carefully behind her.
I stand on the porch, inspecting the glossy white veranda running the length of the house. There are a cluster of big wicker chairs and hanging baskets of ferns and colorful impatiens. One would almost think we were in the Deep South instead of Greater Seattle.
The living room windows are open, and as I wait for Eva to return, I hear voices spill out from the living room. The moms aren’t in any hurry to leave. Most are enjoying a second cocktail or a refill on their wine.
“Who is that?” I hear one of the women ask just after the front door closes behind Eva. “The little girl with the long dark hair? I see her at the pool sometimes with her mother.”
“The girl who just came through?” Taylor’s laughter tinkles. “That’s Eva Zinsser, Jemma’s little shadow. Her mother was the one who just left. Marta’s her name. Different, aren’t they?”
There’s a giggle from the living room. “Did you see what Marta was wearing? Those pants? That ratty-looking T-shirt? Certainly didn’t seem like she took any pride in her appearance.”
“A bit too bohemian for my taste,” another replied.
“I don’t think they have a lot of money.” It’s Taylor again. I recognize her voice. “Apparently they’ve moved from the East Coast, and I can imagine their sticker shock at the price of homes. Nathan says you can get a lot more for your money there.”
“So is she married? Divorced? Haven’t seen a Mr. Zinsser,” someone said.
“I don’t know if there is one,” Taylor added, her voice dropping slightly. “And that could explain why the little girl’s a bit clingy. Eva seems very sweet, but she really needs to make some friends of her own. Poor Jemma’s beginning to find Eva’s hero worship claustrophobic.”
The women all laugh, but I don’t. I stand there in the overhang of the doorstep, shielded by the soft leafy shade of an enormous Japanese maple, with a furious lump filling up my throat.
I don’t care if they talk about me, but how dare they talk about Eva like that? How dare they discuss my child? Who the hell do they think they are?
My legs shake, and I’m trembling with rage. I will show them. I will teach them. I will—
The front door opens suddenly and Eva tumbles out, her cheeks a mottled rose against white. Her expression is stricken, and her wide eyes hold mine. It’s obvious she’s
One of the women clutching a watermelon cosmo raises her hand. “I can understand giving the Lakes PTA a tiny portion of last year’s auction income, but won’t that set a precedent for this year?”
There’s a loud murmur of agreement, and the discussion moves on.
The meeting drags on for another hour but is eventually brought to a close when one of the women—a mother to an apparently athletic, popular son—glances at her watch and sees the time.
“The picnic!” she exclaims, gathering her purse and notebook. “I promised Eric I’d have him there early. The guys are going to be swimming.”
Another mother rises, and so do I. I’ve been waiting for this moment since I arrived, and I can’t collect Eva fast enough. The girls upstairs barely look at her when she says good-bye.
We’re outside, heading to the truck, when Eva suddenly lets out a shout. “My watch!”
I stop and drag a hand through my long hair, combing it off my neck. I left it loose today, and it’s too hot and heavy for such a warm day. “You took it off?”
“I was just showing them.”
I stifle an irritated sigh. “Go get it. I’ll wait here.”
“You won’t come up with me?”
“No. But I’ll wait here. Just go in, grab it, and come back.”
Eva knocks timidly on the door before going in, shutting the door carefully behind her.
I stand on the porch, inspecting the glossy white veranda running the length of the house. There are a cluster of big wicker chairs and hanging baskets of ferns and colorful impatiens. One would almost think we were in the Deep South instead of Greater Seattle.
The living room windows are open, and as I wait for Eva to return, I hear voices spill out from the living room. The moms aren’t in any hurry to leave. Most are enjoying a second cocktail or a refill on their wine.
“Who is that?” I hear one of the women ask just after the front door closes behind Eva. “The little girl with the long dark hair? I see her at the pool sometimes with her mother.”
“The girl who just came through?” Taylor’s laughter tinkles. “That’s Eva Zinsser, Jemma’s little shadow. Her mother was the one who just left. Marta’s her name. Different, aren’t they?”
There’s a giggle from the living room. “Did you see what Marta was wearing? Those pants? That ratty-looking T-shirt? Certainly didn’t seem like she took any pride in her appearance.”
“A bit too bohemian for my taste,” another replied.
“I don’t think they have a lot of money.” It’s Taylor again. I recognize her voice. “Apparently they’ve moved from the East Coast, and I can imagine their sticker shock at the price of homes. Nathan says you can get a lot more for your money there.”
“So is she married? Divorced? Haven’t seen a Mr. Zinsser,” someone said.
“I don’t know if there is one,” Taylor added, her voice dropping slightly. “And that could explain why the little girl’s a bit clingy. Eva seems very sweet, but she really needs to make some friends of her own. Poor Jemma’s beginning to find Eva’s hero worship claustrophobic.”
The women all laugh, but I don’t. I stand there in the overhang of the doorstep, shielded by the soft leafy shade of an enormous Japanese maple, with a furious lump filling up my throat.
I don’t care if they talk about me, but how dare they talk about Eva like that? How dare they discuss my child? Who the hell do they think they are?
My legs shake, and I’m trembling with rage. I will show them. I will teach them. I will—
The front door opens suddenly and Eva tumbles out, her cheeks a mottled rose against white. Her expression is stricken, and her wide eyes hold mine. It’s obvious she’s
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