ChapterThirteen
Sarah had agreed to come.
This, in and of itself, was miraculous. Alana nearly dropped the phone with surprise, her eyes widening as she explained that Sarah could come by “any time after four, but the dinner wouldn’t be ready until around nine.”
“What kind of feast is this?” Sarah asked.
“It’s a French cassoulet,” Alana explained. “But don’t look it up. Let yourself be surprised. My mother is a stellar cook, and she’s teaching us what she can.”
“With limited results!” Greta howled over the sizzling onions.
“Don’t listen to her. Even after traveling all over the world, I still call my mother the greatest cook I know,” Alana explained, holding her mother’s gaze. Greta’s smile crept toward her eyes, which shimmered with tears.
Sarah said she lived about a ten-minute walk from The Copperfield House and would be happy to head over around five-thirty after she met with a friend.
“I bet she’s bluffing,” Alana confessed, washing her hands again.
“Why would she lie about coming over for cassoulet?” Greta asked.
“To get us off her back,” Alana explained. “I know how the eating disorder brain works. You do anything to save yourself calories, including lie as much as you can, even about the stupidest stuff.”
“Sounds exhausting to live in a world of lies like that,” Greta said.
Alana and Julia eyed one another, sensing the irony here. If their father’s crime was meant to be believed, he’d gone to prison for twenty-five years for weaving an elaborate web of lies.Don’t think of it now.
There was a knock at the front door at ten minutes past five-thirty. Alana, midway through her second glass of wine, cried, “I cannot believe this. Could it really be her?”
“It’s either her or one of the more courageous journalists,” Julia said.
Alana fluffed her curls as she headed for the foyer, simmering with nervous energy. When she opened the door, she discovered Sarah on the second step of the porch with her body pointed toward one of the blonde gossip journalists with the fresh manicure. In her hands, Sarah held a two-liter of Diet Coke, a weapon against real nourishment.
“I don’t know,” Sarah said to the journalist, who shoved a microphone toward her youthful lips.
“Excuse me?” Alana’s voice was sharp. “Nobody said you could enter the property.”
The blonde gossip journalist eyed Alana curiously. “We just want a statement, Alana. Your fans are dying for it.”
“Come on inside, Sarah.” Alana leaped forward and wrapped a hand around Sarah’s elbow, guiding her to the foyer. As she went, a series of flashes came from the sidewalk, catching Alana as she turned back toward The Copperfield House.
“We don’t give up easily, Alana! The women of the United States want to hear what you have to say about your husband’s numerous infidelities! They want to feel the power of your story!” The journalist continued to howl as Alana and Sarah made their way inside.
Alana puffed air into her cheeks. “I’m sorry about that, Sarah.”
Sarah’s smile was infectious yet edged with anxiety. “It’s not every day that I’m chased around by the paparazzi.”
“I can assure you, it’s just a fluke,” Alana told her with a wave of her hand. “My family has been through a lot over the past few months. We’re hoping it’ll all calm down by the middle of summer.”
Sarah lifted the bones of her shoulders toward her ears and pressed the Diet Coke forward. “I brought this.”
“Thanks a lot,” Alana replied, accepting the thick plastic bottle.
There was a strained moment of silence. Sarah’s eyes reflected her discomfort. She was no longer sure she should have come.
“My mother and sister are in the kitchen,” Alana offered brightly, taking confident steps back toward the Bluetooth speaker. “My mother is showing us her favorite albums from the seventies.”
Sarah slunk behind Alana, her limbs hanging loosely on either side of her thin frame. When she entered the kitchen, Greta grimaced for a split second— clearly terrified at just how sick this girl was.
“Hi, honey.” Greta dried her hands on a towel and placed one tenderly on Sarah’s shoulder. “Welcome to The Copperfield House. My name is Greta.”