Read Online Social Lives by Wendy Walker - Free Book Online Page B

can’t possibly go!” Her voice was deadly serious, as though Cait had done something unthinkable.
    Inside, Cait felt like dying. “Who’s gonna be there?”
    â€œOnly a few of us. And now Kyle’s expecting
you
.” She raised an eyebrow, as if Cait couldn’t connect the dots on her own. As if she didn’t knowthat if she failed to finish what she’d started, he would find someone who would. The thought of it made her nauseated.
    â€œMaybe I can get out in the middle of the party. Can I get a ride?”
    Amanda gave this serious thought as she rubbed her chin. “I guess. I can ask my brother.”
    â€œReally?” Cait said, her voice replete with desperation.
    And though it was completely contrary to her own self-interest, Amanda found herself making the promise. “Really. Text me when you get to the end of your driveway.”
    Relief set in as Cait muttered the words, “I will!”
    Suddenly, life became about one thing—getting to the end of that driveway Saturday night. As she got up from the table with her empty can of soda, her back to the small group of friends from her recent past, she felt lifted by the emergence of this new purpose, and the rescue of hope it afforded her.

 
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EIGHT

APPLES FROM A TREE
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    N INE FIFTEEN . A SSUMING NO traffic, which was assuming a lot, Jacks was still counting on an hour’s drive. Sitting behind a school bus trying to make a left-hand turn on the most traveled street in Wilshire, she could feel the steady flow of adrenaline like a perfectly calibrated IV drip. She wasn’t panicked—not yet. But the blood was flowing. The bus turned and she sped past it, along South Avenue to the Parkway ramp. The cars were moving.
Thank God.
She pressed her foot to the floor and felt her Mercedes take flight.
    The night had been long, restless, maybe even entirely sleepless, though she couldn’t recall one way or another. She had been in the bed, heart pounding, mind racing, and there had certainly been moments of delusion. None of this mattered. She’d copied everything she could think of. The mortgage papers, the 401(k) reports, credit card bills, bank statements. She’d downloaded their budget and investment schedule from the Excel file on the family computer, then printed it out. For hours, she’d gone over it all—the financial landscape of the Halstead family—and the numbers were still playing before her eyes.
    As she passed the last exit for Wilshire, the stream of traffic thinned, leaving only those on the road who were heading north toward the grayerparts of Connecticut. With her Starbucks cup in one hand and her eyes glued to the road, she put the pedal to the metal again.
    Where had it all gone? David had told her the equity in the house was down because of the money they’d spent on the addition. He’d complained about the drop in the housing market, and Jacks had bought it. What did she know about these things? Now, nothing he’d told her made sense. They had borrowed nearly two million dollars with the home equity loan, yet the contractor’s bills Jacks dug up totaled less than one million. They were covering that loan with a mortgage payment that had jumped from $50,000 a year to $170,000. And the checkbook for the account was missing. It was the same everywhere she looked. The 401(k) had been divested in large chunks over the past several months, their private equity investments sold, all at a loss.
    She had their budget down cold in her head, partly because it had shocked her, and mostly because she was moving that much closer to believing the life they had was ending. They would never make it with what was left. Home maintenance, yard, pool—that alone topped fifty thousand. The maid was another fifty. The nanny was seventy. Car payments, sixty. Private clubs, another sixty. Private school for three girls, eighty-five. Donations to the same