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

kind of a one-size-fits-all mentality to the punishment, where a guy who hits on a subordinate is treated the exact same way a violent rapist is treated?” Hal continued doggedly. “Yes. Do I think there should be some way for men to make amends and rejoin polite society? Yes. And on the whole…” He looked around the table, his gaze touching on each woman’s face, first Judy’s, then Evelyn’s, then his daughter’s, then his wife’s, before his gaze found its way to Diana. “I think this country is long overdue for a reckoning.”

“I agree,” said Daisy, getting quickly to her feet. “Now, who’s ready for dessert?”

Diana watched, and waited, hoping there’d be an opening, a moment where Hal was alone. She waited until Vernon and Evelyn departed, and Danny and Jesse were saying that they should be going home, too; that Danny had the early shift at the soup kitchen in the morning. Now or never, she thought.

“Hal, can I ask you a question?”

He looked at her. “Of course,” he said, his voice cool and polite. His shirt still looked perfectly pressed, not a hair on his head disarranged.

“And Danny, you too.” Danny’s eyes were very wide, and his sweater had come untucked. “It’s a question about Emlen. You’re both Emlen men, right?”

Diana led the men as far away from the group as she could, to the very edge of the room. She could hear Daisy in the kitchen, the small, domestic sounds of running water, the clink of silverware and the clatter of dishes. Lester the basset hound was standing with his front paws on the dishwasher’s open door, gazing adoringly at his mistress as she scrubbed and rinsed, pausing only to swipe his tongue over each dish placed into the machine. Diana thought about how men made messes and women cleaned them up; how this was the way of the world.

“What can we do for you?” asked Hal, and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Well,” said Diana. “For starters, you can tell me if you remember me.”

Danny gave a small, pained noise. Hal just stared.

“It was a long time ago, right after you’d finished high school. Do you remember a party on the beach? A bonfire?” she asked. She saw Hal’s shoulders stiffen as his eyes narrowed to a squint.

In a low, impressively level voice, he said, “You need to leave.” His hands were steady, but she saw the way he’d gone white around his lips.

Diana arched her eyebrow. “You don’t want me in your house? It’s a terrible feeling, isn’t it, having someone where you don’t want them? Acting like your wishes don’t matter?”

“I’m sorry,” Danny whispered. And then Jesse was there, as if drawn by his husband’s distress, glaring at Diana.

“Danny?” he said. “Is everything all right here?”

“Everything’s fine,” said Diana, and smiled, showing her teeth. “Turns out, Danny and Hal and I all knew each other, a long time ago. We were just getting reacquainted.” She could read Hal’s thoughts, evident in the lines of his body, his tensed shoulders and narrowed eyes: I will hurt you. And she smiled even more widely, knowing that he couldn’t. For once, finally, she was the one with the power, the knowledge, the upper hand. His life was an oyster, dropped from a great height onto a rocky shore. Now his shell had been cracked open and the soft, defenseless meat had been exposed. Hal couldn’t protect himself. Not from this. The only question left was how much damage she would do.

“To be continued. Good night, for now,” she said very softly. “Thank you for having me.” And she leaned forward to gently press a kiss on Hal’s cheek.

27 Beatrice

That night, after the party, the line of light beneath her parents’ door stayed lit for hours. Beatrice could hear their voices in their bedroom, rising and falling in a way that suggested an argument. She lingered in the hallway, hoping to hear what they were saying, but all she could make out once was the sound of her name.

On Sunday morning, she decided to start a new project. Her dad had left early for his office, saying something about a deposition he needed to review, and her mom had decided to clean out the pantry, which, Beatrice knew, was a task she reserved for moments of greatest unease. Neither one of them seemed to have any inclination to spend time with her, or ask her opinion of Saturday night’s festivities. That was fine with her.

She began by retrieving one of her frozen mice from way back behind the quarts of chicken and beef stock, where she’d stashed her latest haul. By then, eviscerating a frozen mouse was a matter of minutes, a few quick steps. She picked up her scalpel and sliced down the spine, from the mouse’s shoulder to hips, slipping in her fingertip and gradually, gently, separating the pelt from the flesh. When it was free, she stuffed the skin with the cotton and wire form she’d made, sewed the skin shut, and used straight pins to keep the feet and mouth in place. She snipped the gold clasp off an eight-by-twelve envelope and bent it into a cuff, and used a bit of red silk for a cape. She adjusted her pins to give the mouse’s head an arrogant tilt, and worked at the wires to pose it, just so. Maybe Diana needed an intern, or a housesitter. Maybe she would just take Beatrice under her wing and introduce her to her famous, stylish friends, and teach Beatrice all her secrets, so that Beatrice could grow up and be just like her, glamorous and confident and unbothered and brave.

She left her art to dry overnight and turned to her homework: a problem set for math class, two chapters of history to read, and an English essay to rewrite. For dinner, her mother served leftover chicken, with a fresh loaf of sourdough bread. Her father was still