That Summer by Jennifer Weiner (read more books .txt) 📕

voice was warm and pleased, not at all furtive or guilty. “Thank you again for Saturday night. I had a wonderful time, and I’m sorry I had to leave in such a hurry. I’ve been meaning to call you. What’s up?”

“I was in town, running errands, and I thought I’d bring you some leftover chicken.”

There was the tiniest pause. “That’s so nice of you. Unfortunately, I’m a little snowed under right now. Maybe we can—”

“I went to your apartment building,” Daisy said.

The next pause was longer. “Oh,” Diana finally said. Still not furtive, still not guilty. Just calm, and patient. Waiting.

“They told me that 1402 is the model apartment. And that no one’s living there, and no one ever does. And no one at Quaker Pharmaceutical’s ever heard of you.”

She waited for excuses, for an I can explain. When Diana didn’t say anything, Daisy said, “What’s going on? Is this some kind of…” Game? Joke? Trick?

“Where are you?” Diana finally asked.

“Rittenhouse Square.”

“Can you meet me at Ants Pants on South Street in ten minutes?”

Daisy found herself absurdly relieved, thinking, At least she’s actually in Philadelphia At least she didn’t lie to me about that. “Fine.”

“Okay. Thanks. I’ll see you there.”

Daisy didn’t even realize she’d left the chicken on a park bench until she was a block away from the restaurant. Her heart was booming like a bass drum, her brain serving up a buffet of awful possibilities, each one worse than the last. She’s a scammer. She’s trying to steal my identity. She’s having an affair with Hal, Daisy thought. Maybe the dinner party had been a kind of audition, with Hal watching to see how the other Diana, Diana 2.0, did with his daughter and his dad. Maybe the two of them wanted to rub her nose in it. Maybe they’d been laughing at how gullible she was, how stupid, how they’d probably have to have sex right on her kitchen’s island for her to notice, and how, if they did, she’d probably just want to make sure they didn’t damage the countertops.

Diana had beaten her to the restaurant. Instead of one of her sleek dresses or her high-tech, fitted athleisurewear, she wore jeans, sneakers, and a fleece pullover. Her hair was up in a ponytail; her face was makeup-free. Daisy saw lines, age spots, a few freckles on her cheeks and nose. Her expression was anxious; her eyes wary.

“Let’s sit down,” Diana said, and held the door so that Daisy could precede her inside.

They found a table for two in the back. The restaurant was empty except for them, and a table of four moms with toddlers, whose strollers were lined up against the wall. A waiter handed them menus.

“Anything to drink?”

“Just water for now,” said Daisy. Then she changed her mind. “Actually, can I get an egg cream?” If her marriage was ending and her life going down in flames, if she was seconds away from being replaced as a wife and a mother and exposed as the biggest dope on the entire Main Line, chocolate would help.

Diana said, “That sounds good. One for me, too.”

When the waiter departed, Daisy looked across the table, bracing herself. Diana sighed.

“I don’t know where to start.”

Daisy just stared. Diana pulled a paper napkin out of the dispenser, smoothed it on the table, and said, “My name really is Diana. It’s Diana Scalzi Carmody. And I really am living in Philadelphia, just not at 15 Rittenhouse Place. I’ve got a very nice Airbnb on South Twentieth Street.” She sighed. “The boyfriend I told you about is actually my husband. His name is Michael. And I’m not a consultant. I work at a restaurant on Cape Cod.”

Daisy shook her head, which felt muddy, and her tongue felt thick. “I don’t understand,” she said.

Diana started to talk, then closed her mouth as the waiter approached and set their drinks in front of them. She tore the paper off her straw, then wrapped it around her index finger. “I started to tell you about it, that day we went for a walk.”

For a few seconds, Daisy couldn’t think of what Diana meant. “About being raped?”

Diana nodded. “The summer I was fifteen, I was working as a mother’s helper on Cape Cod, in Truro. At the end of the summer, I went to a party on the beach. That was where it happened.”

Daisy felt her skin go cold. She heard the words tolling like bells: “Truro” and “fifteen” and “raped.”

Diana kept talking. “That summer, there were a lot of boys in town. They had just graduated from prep school, and they were celebrating before they all went off to college.” She looked Daisy in the eye. “They had all gone to the same place. The Emlen Academy.”

Daisy couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. She wanted to get up from the table, to walk out of the restaurant, to leave without looking back, but she couldn’t make her legs listen to her brain. Every part of her felt frozen—her lips, her tongue, her hands, her heart. Meanwhile, Diana was looking at her steadily, her words coming, relentlessly, hammering against Daisy like hail. “It was dark, and I’d been drinking. I went off into the dunes, to lie down. I must have passed out, and when I opened my eyes there was one boy on top of me, and one boy holding me down, and another boy watching.”

Daisy found that she was shaking her head, back and forth, back and forth, like that gesture could somehow undo what had happened, or, barring that, make Diana stop talking. “Oh, no.”

“I thought the boys had only been there for the summer. That’s why I was able to go back, and get a job, and make a life there. I never thought I’d see any of them ever again. I had no idea that Hal spent his summers there, that his family had a place, but my husband’s a caretaker…”

A piece of the puzzle clicked into place. “Carmody. Your name—your husband’s Michael