Regan allowed herself a deep sigh. She’d worked so hard for her big, new home, her big husband, her two delightful daughters. She’d surrendered herself to give her girls the mother she’d always wanted: present, attentive, enthusiastic. But she knew that as soon as she struck the match, her life was going to explode. She was both terrified and so very ready.
Regan parked her minivan in the visitors’ lot at Savannah Country Day. She grabbed her Tory Burch gym bag, used her volunteer badge to enter the school, and changed into track pants and a pink T-shirt in the teachers’ restroom. It was Volleyball Appreciation Week.
In the Pledge-scented gym, Regan stood to the left of Coach Randy (What a name! was a joke Regan had told to no one). She mimed his “ready position,” feigning excitement. Regan’s daughters, nine-year-old Isabella and seven-year-old Flora, smiled at her, lit up by her presence. Regan knew there’d be a day when the girls didn’t want their mom roaming the privileged halls of their school. She read blogs titled “I Forgot to Cherish Every Moment” and “The Last Time My Son Wanted a Hug—If Only I’d Known.” So Regan did her best to cherish the damn moment.
After school, Regan took the girls for ice cream. At home, on She Crab Circle, she made them take a bath and combed out their long blond hair with No More Tangles. She fastened them into sundresses, gave each some bubbles from the dollar bin at Target, and sent them out to play in the backyard. Isabella pretended to think bubbles were babyish, but Regan knew her elder daughter was still darling beneath her eye-rolling and hip-jutting poses. As soon as Flora blew through her bubble wand, Isabella dropped her airs and ran barefoot with her sister.
By six, Matt was not home. Regan’s calls to his cell went unanswered. She fed the girls pasta with butter and let them watch Finding Nemo. When the movie was over and Matt still wasn’t back, Regan put the girls to bed and took the phone and a mug of tea into the backyard.
For a few minutes, Regan hesitated. She tried Matt again but the call went to voicemail.
Get away…to anywhere but here!
Regan knew she should hold off, just console herself with After Eight mints and her mother’s cast-off romance novels. (They lacked the dirty bits, which Charlotte piously ripped out, causing jarring lapses of continuity.) But she was tired of being patient.
Regan gazed at her garden, where she’d considered planting deadly oleander or belladonna. She’d even googled “plants that kill no trace” and then erased her search history. Now, she dialed her oldest friend, Zoë, in Atlanta.
“Hi, stranger!” said Zoë. “To what honor do I owe an evening phone call?”
Regan was careful with her words.
Zoë was silent for a moment, then said, “Hmm. Do you think you should hire a tail?”
“What?” said Regan, biting her thumbnail.
“Believe it or not I know a guy in Savannah,” said Zoë, a police officer.
“I believe it,” said Regan.
“He’s good. Kind of an investigator slash bounty hunter slash sculptor.”
“Okay,” said Regan.
“I’m calling him for you,” said Zoë. “I know you won’t call him yourself.”
“Oh,” said Regan. “Okay, thank you.”
“It might be nothing,” said Zoë.
“Right,” said Regan, pushing against the ground to lift herself into the air. She closed her eyes and imagined everything catching fire: her manicured lawn, her house, every item of clothing in her closets. She would save her girls, and that was all.
FOR THREE DAYS, LEE drove from Los Angeles to Savannah, where she would take refuge with her mother. Her credit cards maxed out and her bank account empty, she drove all day and curled up in the backseat of her leased Prius at night. Like a child. Or a dog. She paid with Charlotte’s ATM card (given to Lee when she went to college to use “in an emergency”) for gas and snacks. She called Charlotte as she filled the tank in Atlanta, four hours from Skidaway Island. When Charlotte answered her landline, Lee said, “Hi, Mom, it’s me.”
“Lee Lee!” cried Charlotte. It warmed Lee that every single time she reached her mother, Charlotte said, “Lee Lee!” as if the call were the greatest thing in the world.
“Mom, I have a surprise,” said Lee, her voice rusty from disuse. How long had it been since she had talked to anyone? A week, maybe ten days?
“Oh, honey, what is it?” said Charlotte. “Is it a big new movie role?”
“Not exactly,” said Lee, looking upward at the wires above the Sunoco station, where hundreds of grackles roosted in a horrifying spectacle of urban proliferation.
“Is it a small new movie role?” ventured Charlotte.
“No,” said Lee. She decided that after this conversation, she’d treat herself to a Twix or a Snickers bar. Maybe both.
“Are you and Jason getting married?”
“Mom…” said Lee. She braced herself. The Perkins family didn’t talk about things, not really. They forged ahead, pretending everything was perfect. Anyone who made note of a problem or insecurity was a troublemaker and/or “dramatic.” Lee had learned long ago to coat her words, no matter how dire, in bulletproof cheer. It was only recently that she was beginning to admit to herself how much it hurt to have to be fine.
Lee was not fine. She hadn’t really slept in a long time, and her mind felt as it had when she’d snorted Adderall in college—buzzy, sped-up, full of brilliant ideas and insightful connections. She didn’t feel depressed—quite the opposite, in fact: she felt euphoric, driven by a weird, fabulous energy. When her La Quinta key card stopped working on the door to her West Hollywood motel room, she’d realized with a sunlit clarity that she needed a road trip. She wanted to see her mom. And so she gathered her mail (old credit card bills, new credit card offers, a bat mitzvah invitation), gassed up her Prius, and headed east.
“I’m coming home,” said Lee.
There was a momentary silence.
“That’s the surprise,” said Lee.
Charlotte regained herself. “Well, that’s the best news ever!” she cried.
“It is,” said Lee. “It sure is.”
“We’re going to have so much fun!” said Charlotte. “Is Jason with you?”
“No,” said Lee. She swallowed, and lied. “He’s busy with work. But sends all his love.”
“By the way,” said Charlotte, “I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I entered a contest and I think I might win. It’s an all-expenses-paid trip to Europe! A nine-day cruise from Athens, Greece, to Barcelona, Spain!”