Page 33 of The Party Plot

The ballroom had gotten oddly silent, even the white-noise buzz of the air conditioner seeming muted. Denise’s lips were pressed together, her nostrils flared. Her usually-warm brown eyes were flat and hard. “I have been trying for years to get the people here to take me seriously, and nothing is ever good enough and Lavinia Bonard has taken all of the best holidays for herself. Halloween is the only one left, and by God, I am going to makeit an event to remember.”

Laurel sighed. “Mom—”

“This is not your business.” Her voice was getting louder, more piercing. Casey cringed. “Don’t you have anything better to do? Why don’t you go cause trouble with that friend of yours?”

“Why don’t you listen to your party planner, instead of trying to change everything last-minute? He’s been working really hard on this, you know.”

Casey’s heart thudded, and he had the urge to hunch his shoulders, make himself smaller. He really wanted to stay out of this, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about Laurel defending him for the second time that day. Jeanette caught his eye, making a sympathetic grimace. She was clutching her tablet like she might need to hide behind it.

“This ismyevent,” Denise hissed, neck stretched long and taut like an angry swan. One manicured nail tapped on the table. “You don’t live here, Laurel. You don’t hear how people talk.”

“It’s literally just a party—”

“It’s mymoment. Maybe you don’t care what people think, Laurel, but I do. And I amnotgoing to let you just waltz into town and ruin this for me, like you’ve ruined everything else. You’d think you would have some sense of—of loyalty, or at least guilt, that you would let me have this, after the divorce and the singing lessons and all the money I spent on that stupid horse of yours—you’d think that if I can’t have an engagement and a white wedding and some grandchildren then atleastI can throw a Halloween ball—”

The scrape of Laurel’s chair against the floor as he pushed back from the table was so loud that Casey bit back a gasp. He realized that he had been holding his breath.

“I—” Laurel shook his head. His face was red and blotchy, his mouth a trembling line. He stood, darting at glance at Jeanette. “I’m sorry. Everything was excellent. I have to go.” Tossing his napkin onto the table, he turned and hurried out of the room.

*

Jamie:So I haven’t heard from you in awhile.

That either means everything is good, or everything is really bad.

Casey groaned, leaning his forehead against the steering wheel. He needed to write Jamie back. The texts had been sitting on his phone for a week, the knowledge of them itching at the back of his mind. But he wasn’t sure what to say. Not the truth. God, no. It was too complicated, and Casey himself didn’t really know how to sort through it.

I’m depressed, he typed, before he could think better of it.Party is turning into a shitshow. Send raccoon pics.

Sighing, he put the phone down. Three little dots on the screen indicated that Jamie was typing. Casey looked at the keys in the ignition, thought about starting the car, backing out of the parking lot, getting onto I-95 and driving until he hit Jacksonville, or Palm Beach, or until he dropped off the edge of the United States entirely and into the ocean.

Casey had never felt fake, despite the fact that he lied for a living. He’d always believed that he kept some core, valuable part of him uncompromised, no matter who he pretended to be on the outside. So why did he have a bad taste in the back of his mouth? Why was the scene from that morning still knocking around in his head, the way he hadn’t gotten up when Laurel had rushed out, the soulless smile he’d plastered on after Denise had sighed dramatically at Laurel’s retreating back and said, “I just don’t know what to do with that boy sometimes. I swear he has no consideration for others.”

He was getting paid to agree with her. That was part of the arrangement. But at that moment, Casey had wanted to shove his plate of untouched seafood into Denise’s lap and run after her son.

Casey’s stomach felt cold and slimy. He was paralyzed, couldn’t seem to move, sitting here in Laurel’s parking lot, dreading seeing him and wanting to make sure he was okay.

He should just leave him alone. He was probably the last person Laurel wanted to see right now, and Casey could handle the next appointment just fine on his own. But Laurel had looked so miserable—

His phone dinged. It was a picture of a raccoon double-fisting what looked like an Oreo cookie and a slice of ham, and it did admittedly make him feel better.

Jamie:why shitshow? What’s happening?

Casey sighed.She’s just super demanding, he typed.And horrible to her son, he thought about adding, but didn’t. He wondered if Laurel liked raccoon pictures. Not that it mattered.

Jamie:so maybe time to cut your losses? How long are you going to milk this thing?

Casey:idk

Casey:…

Ugh, he couldn’t come up with anything to say, not without getting into the Laurel of it all. His head felt heavy, the air pressure getting to him even in the cab of the car. The barometer had been climbing steadily all day, echoing the tension in his body.Not much longer, he wrote finally.It’s a lot of money tho. worth it, I think.

Jamie:hope so

He could feel the weight behind the statement, as if his phone had suddenly turned to lead. As Jamie had told him many times, scamming people wasn’t a very solid or sustainable business model. Eventually, he would get in trouble.

Like he wasn’t already.

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