Page 38 of The Vacancy In Room 10

“It’s a long story. But I sent in a formal RSVP with all our names. Shit, shit. What do I tell them? I can say I’m sick. Shit.” I hear them knock again.

“Get the lead out, Cass.”

“You have to go,” he says, shaking his head and squeezing the balls of his hands against his eyes for a moment. “You’re the one who said the way we act right now is gonna be remembered if this is traced back to The Sycamores. You already look...sort of terrible, and they’re gonna wonder what’s up with you,” he says with a sigh.

“What about this?” I gesture wildly around the room in no particular direction.

“When you come back,” he says, taking an exaggerated deep breath and shaking his head.

“My keys are there,” I say, nodding to the desk. “To my car. My car is a few feet from the back door. When everyone is gone, and it’s dark, you should...” I don’t finish my sentence. I swallow hard and point my chin toward the closet Eddie is in. “You know.” We’d already discussed using my car because of the trunk, not like his SUV hatch with windows on all sides, and there are already paint tarps in the trunk, so I don’t say the rest of the words. He understands. Eddie isn’t a huge guy, so Callum can move him on his own while it’s quiet here.

“And when I’m back, I’ll make it a point to pass your window. I’ll pretend to check the sprinklers or something...so you know,” I say, and I hear Crystal knocking again.

“For Christ’s sake, Cass. Come on!”

“Fine. Go,” Callum says, then he carefully opens the back door and disappears, and I open the front door where I’m first hit with Crystal’s dress. It sparkles to a blinding level, and her pregnant belly stretches it to its limit. A long line of cleavage and bare thighs are all you see. Jackie is in an equally inappropriate getup. Her minidress is black leather and laced up the sides, like a goth Halloween costume she found at Hot Topic. And Rosa, bless her, wears a navy lace knee-length dress that looks like she’s the mother of a bride at a wedding or headed to Mass.

Fuck me, I can’t do this. What was I thinking? I got caught up in a moment wanting to go to this thing, not considering this is what I was bringing along and how it will make me look. There’s gotta be a way out.

“What are you wearing?” Jackie asks in disgust, and I can’t believe that she, of all people, is asking me that. Until I realize that I’m in shorts and a dirty T-shirt, with a nest of matted hair piled on my head and bags under my eyes.

“I...”

“Bitch, you forgot!” Jackie says. “Uh-uh! Well, we’re going! I got a buncha minis and some Bloody Mary mix in my bra, and I’m ready to party. Come on. Let’s get you dressed,” she says, pulling me out the door.

Then I see Barry pull up in Crystal’s minivan.

“We have a chauffeur,” Rosa says with a giggle. He honks and nods. “We’ll be a few minutes, Bare. Stay there.”

By the time I’ve dressed and the girls have picked through my closet full of Versace and Dolce and Oscar de la Renta dresses and questioned again why the fuck I’m here and called me “rich bitch” seventy-five times, we’re finally on the way. Barry has a playlist for the occasion and plays the role of chauffeur with enthusiasm, and Crystal has the back set up like a party bus with an ice-cream bucket of ice chilling peach wine coolers and some disco ball setting on her phone that’s spinning red and pink lights across the roof. It reminds me of the roller rink I went to as a kid, and it’s still as nauseating. Jackie starts yelling, “Shots, shots, shots-shots-sha-shots,” and Barry gives a fist bump from the front seat. I look at Rosa, smiling in her church dress and shyly lifting her wine cooler to cheers Jackie, and I’m so filled with shame and regret I can barely keep a neutral face, let alone the smiling party face they all want from me.

My first mistake of the night is taking the tequila shot from Jackie. I decide I need to get through this without thinking about Eddie and what awaits me when I get back to The Sycamores. I need to make this night about an alibi—a happy-go-lucky Cass who would never hang out with the wife of the man she murdered, because she’s not a psychopath. Everything is normal. Everything will be fine.

Inside the Eldorado Hotel ballroom, a crystal chandelier and oversize vases of white daffodils greet us at the entry. A long table full of tiny crème brûlées and cucumber sandwiches, caprese and bruschetta, and chocolate-covered strawberries are all arranged in neat rows on white linen tablecloths. There’s an enormous tiered cake in the center and a rum punch station.

“Holy fucking shit,” Crystal says with her mouth gaping open.

“There’s a chocolate fountain.” Rosa giggles, jabbing Jackie with one elbow.

“They have bacon-wrapped shrimp. I love bacon-wrapped shrimp,” Jackie says, a look of bewilderment across her face.

“Don’t worry. I brought my big purse,” Crystal says, and I find that my reaction to this, my visceral oh my God, what have I done? Kill me please reaction to standing next to them in this environment, has become such a common feeling over the last seven months, I’m almost numb instead.

My eyes scan the room for Reid and Kimmy. I don’t see them, but I do see Andrea and Becca. At one time they were my closest friends, but I became invisible once Reid moved on. I don’t know if it was actually loyalty to their husbands who were close with him, or just because I didn’t have money anymore and was no longer valuable to them. I like to think they were just confused about the sudden break and that time would pass and we’d reconnect. I mean, that has to be it. They’re still my friends.

I pull Barry over to me. He’s the only one of the group who isn’t a complete embarrassment, even though his pants are a little too short. I wave to Andrea, whose eyes widen in surprise at seeing me. She pauses before giving a little wave back and then turning around and whispering something to Becca, who turns to see me and then quickly turns back around herself without acknowledging me at all.

Holy shit. Are you kidding me?

I see the girls at the food table filling their plates sky-high while Crystal shoves some shrimp into her purse.

“I want to introduce you to my friends,” I say to Barry, who puts down the coffee cake he’s eating and brushes his hands on his pants.

“Oh, great. Okay,” he says.

When I walk over to them, I keep a close eye on their body language. Becca stiffens, and Andrea takes a gulp of wine. It’s like they’re afraid of me. I’m not the one who cheated and left. What the hell? Is it considered “taking sides” to simply be cordial to me? Are they that fragile? I just can’t believe how everyone has turned into someone I don’t know at all. But I suppose I have, too. I don’t even know who I am anymore, either.

“Cassidy, my goodness,” Becca says. She’s perfectly polished with her long dark curls in a French twist with tiny flowers around the edges. Andrea’s manicured nails clutch her wineglass, and both women are shiny and glossy and perfect, with no bags under their eyes or grease under their nails.

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