“What? How are you going to get there?” Tahi demanded, scrambling up onto her knees.
Laila walked over to Zara’s purse and reached in. She held up Zara’s car keys. Tahi’s eyes grew to the size of saucers.
“You’re as crazy as Zara is,” Tahi declared. Laila shoved the keys into her own purse. “You don’t seem crazy, though,” Tahi amended. “You seem dead serious. Laila, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just—” Her voice broke. She knew she looked calm on the outside, but inside, she was about to break. “I have to see Asher. I can’t take this anymore.”
“I’m coming with you, then,” Tahi whispered, standing.
“No,” Laila said, gagging. Her mouth filled with saliva. “Oh God.”
“Laila—”
She flew past Tahi and silently opened the screen porch door. She wasn’t sure how she got to the edge of the lake, but suddenly she was retching, and the contents of their huge feast were going into the waves.
A miserable moment later, she realized Tahi was standing next to her, her hand on her back, the surf washing across their ankles.
“Are you sure you’re not pregnant?”
Laila heard the fear in her cousin’s voice. The wave of anxious nausea had passed completely. She felt hollow. Cleansed. Her head had cleared. Everything about the star-filled, sultry summer night seemed sharp and luminous. She turned and hugged her cousin.
“I’m not pregnant. Don’t worry. It’s just this . . . this friction inside me. I feel better now,” she said next to Tahi’s soft hair.
Tahi leaned back. “You’re not used to breaking the rules, that’s the problem. You were always the good one. Are you still going to Asher’s?”
Laila nodded.
“And you’re sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Tahi asked.
“You need to be here to explain that I’m okay, and that I took Zara’s car, in case Zara wakes up, or someone else finds out I’m gone. I don’t want people to worry. Can you do that for me?”
For a few seconds, Tahi didn’t answer. Laila found herself wondering what her cousin saw on her—Laila’s—face. Then Tahi took her hand and urged her out of the surf.
“Let’s go get you cleaned up. There’s some mouthwash in the bathroom off the porch.”
Laila squeezed her hand. “Thanks, Tahi.”
• • •
Eric, Jimmy, Rudy and Asher went over to Chauncy’s at around ten. The local dive was packed. Asher got nauseated from the loud music, the warm beer, the increasingly drunk crowd . . . and listening to Eric talk. He sank lower and lower into a black mood. All he could think about was how Laila was only a few miles away, but she might as well be in a different universe.
They got home around eleven thirty and went out to the pool deck. They’d only been there for two minutes when Eric got a message on his phone and read it. That smug smile Asher despised spread on his mouth. Eric got up and walked inside.
“Who is she?” Asher asked bluntly a half hour later when Eric rejoined them. They had a fire going in the pit. Asher suspected it was his dark mood lending to the effect, but the firelight made his cousin’s face look a little demonic.
Eric started at the question but quickly got hold of himself. He grabbed his glass of Scotch and nonchalantly took a sip. “She who?”
“Whoever you’ve been slinking off to have phone sex with for the past few days.”
“Asher’s right,” Jimmy said. “You’ve been sneaking off to powwow with someone on the phone a hell of a lot. And it’s not Zara, since Zara has been there a few times when you did it.”
“Fuck you. Get your own life, Rothschild.” He shook his head in disgust and noticed Rudy’s glare. “What’s wrong with you tools? What do you think? I’m going to marry Zara Barek, give my mom and dad the priceless gift of a few little African grandkids—”
Asher lunged up from his chair, causing Eric to flinch back and spill Scotch on his shirt.
“What did I tell you, you smug motherfucker—”
Jimmy caught Asher at the shoulders.