Read Online The Garden of Dead Dreams by Abby Quillen - Free Book Online Page B

scallops; salad; five loaves of bread; and two layered cakes that Candy had somehow prepared in the same amount of time, she felt more pride than she’d felt about her writing in a long time. She had an impulse to put her arm around Candy, and the words thank you for letting me help bubbled into her throat. But Candy was smacking her gum and staring at the food with a dullness that made Etta swallow her words.
    As Etta walked down the trail to her cabin, she started to feel giddy at the idea of a party: music, cocktails, and fancy clothes. She’d never liked parties much, but seeing all the food laid out made the idea of people and conversation seem electric.
    Etta stepped into the clearing as a screen door slapped shut. It took her a minute to register that it was the door to her own cabin. Olivia’s voice flooded into the clearing. Etta stood staring at her porch. Her first instinct was to close her eyes and pretend she wasn’t seeing what she was seeing. But there they were, Carl and Olivia, coming out of Etta’s cabin, standing just inches from each other, staring at Etta.
    Silence spread across the clearing. Carl drawled a hello. He’d hardly said her name when she heard her own voice, loud, sharp, and angry: “Where the hell were you guys today?”
    She felt her body twisting. She ran into the trees, her feet somehow finding the trail, and she didn’t stop until she couldn’t take another step. The firs loomed around her, blocking out much of the dusky afternoon light, and the sound of her breath filled her ears, short spasms of air in and out.
    She heard her name. Olivia was jogging toward her, her long hair wet and crushed to the sides of her face. “Etta. Please. Wait.”
    By the time Olivia caught her, Etta was laughing. She leaned over and grabbed her knees with her hands. The laughter wouldn’t stop gurgling up. Etta had written so many scenes just like this. Of course in one of Etta’s books, it would have been Carl who raced up the trail, his shirt wet and clinging to his muscular chest, his drawling voice calling out Etta’s name.
    “Etta, please it’s not how it looked.” Olivia heaved the words out.
    Etta tried to swallow her laughter.
    “I know how it must have looked. But . . .”
    Olivia looked almost gaunt as she folded her arms across her chest; skeletal fingers clutching bone-thin arms.
    “He’s going door to door. Warning everyone to be careful, to walk to the lodge in pairs and all that.” Olivia didn’t make eye contact. Shadows filled the hollows beneath her eyes.
    “Are you okay?”
    “Out of shape. You run fast, girl.” Finally Olivia met Etta’s gaze. “Please say you’re not mad at me.”
    Now it was Etta who couldn’t make eye contact. She dropped her eyes at the hollow spot in Olivia’s neck. Olivia was just so pretty, so flirtatious. When Etta had seen Carl, she’d just assumed . . . But when she met Olivia’s gaze again, she realized she’d been mistaken. “I’m sorry, Liv.” Etta stepped toward Olivia and put her arms around her, surprised at how small and fragile her roommate felt in her embrace. When Etta dropped her arms, she took a step backward. “It’s just, you guys didn’t come today. I had to make all the food . . .”
    “The party.” Olivia’s voice was sharp. She spun around and started down the trail. “The play. We can’t be late.”
    Etta watched Olivia’s form disappearing around the bend.
    The play.
    Olivia’s play.
    Etta had almost forgotten.

Chapter Eight
    Someone had hung Japanese lanterns from the trees, lighting the path to the lodge. But even with the hazy light, the trail was difficult to negotiate in high heels. It didn’t help that Olivia and Poppy were striding toward Roosevelt Lodge at a stallion’s pace or that the umbrella Poppy was supposed to be holding over all three of them kept swaying so that Etta’s cheek got sprayed with the pools of water collecting on top. Etta grabbed the end of her dress. The red satin