1
A Honda Civic was waved into the Big Elk Estates gated community by a young security guard, who looked at the car with interest for two reasons. First, this was a Lexus, Hummer, Rover kind of neighborhood, and the Civic wasn’t just a cheap old car; it was sporting some paint damage and dents. Second, the twentysomething woman driving it was attractive, with bobbed auburn hair, bright red lips, and fun, oversized sunglasses. She waved at him, and he waved back enthusiastically. Every other car that had entered the estate that day had been driven by frowning retirees in sun visors.
Natalie parked in front of the open house along with a dozen other cars. It was a breathtaking, sprawling, contemporary mountain mansion with huge windows and a beautiful rock garden speckled with ochre-and coral-colored stones. She stood on the immense front lawn for a second, just taking in the magnificence while the breeze caused her drop-waisted dress to flutter around her thighs.
She unzipped and removed her ankle boots in the foyer and stood there barefoot for a moment, enjoying the feel of the cool marble floor while looking up at the stained glass window over the front door. The artwork depicted a doe nuzzling a fawn in a field of yellow flowers with a forest in the background. Natalie pulled out her phone and snapped a quick photo. Then she grabbed a pair of the little sock booties that were required to walk around the house, slipped them on, and began to explore.
Upstairs in the master bedroom, a short, curvy brunette with thick, long, dark hair was describing the distinctive antique chandelier to a small group of visitors. Natalie was familiar with the real estate agent, Asha, after showing up at her open houses on and off for a few months. Asha had a son and daughter at Falcon Academy, Oliver and Mia. Oliver had never been in trouble, but Mia was outspoken, opinionated, and confident. She was described by some teachers as “a girl who took no shit” and by others as “a pain in the ass.” Natalie liked Mia.
“Notice the bronze has a patina of copper, gold, green, and ivory,” Asha was saying. “Which coexists so beautifully with the view of the mountains through the floor-to-ceiling French doors.”
Asha had begun rapturously describing the teardrop crystals hanging down above everyone’s heads when she caught sight of Natalie and paused. Midtwenties and dressed more suitably for a concert than a tour of a nine-million-dollar home, Natalie was conspicuous among the well-heeled potential buyers.
A split second later, Asha continued her presentation. The way she moved her hands was so graceful and expressive, it was almost as if she were dancing. She waved hello to an elderly man and woman who were re-entering the master bedroom from the adjoining bath. “Excuse me for a minute,” Asha said to her captive audience. “Please. Explore.” She inhaled with delight, as if to suggest that the aroma of the house alone was enough to make everyone fall in love. “Take it all in.”
Asha steered the elegant, aging couple towards the spectacular view and stood between them, chatting about how blessed they all were to be able to live in the Rockies.
For the next half hour, Natalie took her time meandering about the soon-to-be-sold home of a certain Falcon Academy parental power duo. They were unpleasant people, so Natalie was surprised to find that they had excellent taste in art. The missus had probably hired an interior decorator from one of the coasts. Natalie was somewhat sure that they had been unhappily married, because Yvonne, her friend and coworker in the front office at Falcon, had told her a story about being out for drinks in town and running into the husband. Yvonne said a pleasant hello, and he put a hand against the wall to keep her from advancing to the restroom. “I’ve always had a thing for Asians,” he’d said, and Yvonne had ducked under his arm and walked quickly away.
With a husband like that, it came as no surprise to Natalie that the wife, though having cleaned out most of the bathrooms and closets, had left a few errant Xanax pills scattered at the very back of the bathroom drawer in the guest en suite, along with a wine bottle opener, a lighter, and half a pack of Marlboro Lights.
Natalie pocketed only the pills.
Five minutes later, she sat on the bottom step of the main staircase, tugging the elastic booties off her feet. Asha appeared on the staircase above her and said, “Are you heading out?”
“I am,” Natalie said. “I’ve got some plans.”
“Anything fun?” Asha asked, sinking to a seat on the step beside her. There were hardly any people left. The house was closing in a few minutes.
“I’m going to see my brother and take his dog for a hike.”
“Good weather for it,” Asha said. “I’m going to my daughter’s soccer game.”
“Mia, right?” Natalie asked.
“Oh, you know her?”
“Of course I do. She’s the soccer star.”
“That’s very kind of you to say.” Asha nodded in a humble way. “Yes, Mia’s quite good. No thanks to me. I can barely walk and chew gum at the same time. But my husband was sporty. When he was younger.”
“I thought the school soccer season was in the fall.”
“It is,” Asha said. “But some of the girls play year-round. Indoor in winter and club teams in the spring.”
“You have a son as well, don’t you?” Natalie asked. “Oliver? In sixth grade? Plays the trombone?”
“Yes, I do,” Asha answered. She regarded Natalie with a puzzled tilt of her heart-shaped face. “You’ve been to several of my open houses now.”
“Six total.” Natalie checked her phone for notifications. “And I’ve been to a few of your competitors’ too. Yours are way better usually. You do a really good job.”
“Thank you for that.” Asha paused. “May I ask you something?”
“Ask away.”
Asha fiddled with the back of one of her earrings hesitantly. Natalie expected the question to be, Why, exactly, are you here?But after a second, she said, “You like art, don’t you?”
“I do,” Natalie answered, putting her phone away in her purse and hoisting the strap up on her shoulder, indicating she was ready to leave.
“I’ve noticed you spend a lot of time in front of the paintings.”
“Sometimes I just like to be around beautiful things.” And take stuff. And pretend for a minute that this is my life too. Natalie stood and walked towards the door to retrieve her shoes.
“Who doesn’t like beautiful things?” Asha asked, in a rhetorical way. Rumored around the school to be related to some long-dead maharaja, Asha came from money and worked only for pleasure. “Did you like this house?”
What a dumb question. No, every inch of the luxurious ten thousand square feet is offensively uninhabitable. “I did,” Natalie answered. “But you know what? I like them all. They’re more fun to look at than the four walls of my studio, that’s for sure.”
“Oh. Well,” Asha said in a tone that lacked her earlier warmth. “With some luck, you’ll find the right one eventually. Fingers crossed.”
Natalie paused, sensing that there was an insinuation, however nicely veiled. Dropping her sunglasses over her eyes, she said, “I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you too.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your daughter’s soccer game.” Natalie punched the air. “Go Falcons.”
“Oh. Right. Of course.” Asha made a face and then swiftly covered her mouth with her fist.
“Everything all right?” Natalie paused to ask.
“Yes, thank you. My stomach. Probably just nerves about the game. After all these years, I’ve still never gotten quite used to how stressful this sports stuff can be.”
“Umm-hmm,” Natalie said, unconvinced. As she walked out of the house, backlit by the bright sun, she called over her shoulder, “It will be fine. I’m sure you’ll win big. Seems like you always do.”
2
“Beautiful,” Brooke Elliman said under her breath as she watched her daughter, Sloane, maneuvering down the soccer field, faking this way then that, dribbling around the other team’s players with a speed and agility that were truly rare.
Brooke was filming her daughter’s performance through her new Panasonic high-definition camcorder, and the quality was amazing. She could zoom in on Sloane to see the concentration on her face and the muscle definition in her strong legs. The camera captured everything from the leaves rustling in the trees on the far side of the field to the flecks of sweat staining Sloane’s jersey.
Sloane had a breakaway. Brooke’s hand shook a little with excitement and nerves while she filmed, and she leaped to her feet, careful to avoid the REI luxury pop-up canopy she was seated underneath. “It’s all you, Sloane! You’ve got this!”
Sloane crossed the ball to a teammate in the center who took the shot. The ball went over the goal, and the two girls backpedaled away to wait for the opposing team’s goal kick. Brooke stopped recording. She irritably spun her wedding band around in circles on her right ring finger, where she’d moved it after Gabe had left. Her engagement diamond was at home in the safe.
Standing on the sideline was Nicholas Maguire, who, in a somewhat unorthodox but dedicated role, coached soccer not only for the Falcon Academy varsity team but also for several local club teams. He was clapping his hands and shouting, “Nice pass! Good work! Almost!” He darted a look in Brooke’s direction and gave her a quick wave, which she quickly returned. She began mentally composing a text to send to him after the game.
Glancing towards the sidewalk, Brooke saw that Asha Wilson had finally arrived. Asha’s daughter, Mia, had been playing club soccer with Sloane since they were first graders, and they were the only two freshmen to have been selected for the varsity team. Asha and Brooke weren’t close friends, but they had spent many enjoyable hours seated next to each other over the years, cheering on the girls. They often commiserated about the many injuries their daughters had incurred and had spent a dozen or so weekends together in random hotels across the Midwest for travel tournaments. On several such occasions, they’d met in the bar and had a few drinks. Brooke had once told Asha that she wished they could get to know each other better. Brooke didn’t have any good female friends.
She had tried to nudge the friendship with Asha along by inviting her and her husband, Phil, to dinner, but the well-intentioned invitation had backfired. Asha had not been happy that Brooke kept refilling Phil’s wineglass until he was slurring about the stock market and investment opportunities in Telluride. Neither was Asha happy when she found the two of them sharing a joint on the back patio by the pool after Phil had excused himself to use the bathroom.
It had been back to soccer-mom-only friends ever since.
Brooke waved Asha over and patted the empty chair.
“Hello!” Asha said, sinking into the seat with a slight groan and her hand on her stomach. She scanned the field. “Where’s Mia?”
“She’s on the bench right now.”
Asha looked concerned. “Really? Why?” Even though they were the youngest players on the team, Mia and Sloane were already the best.
“Not sure,” Brooke said. “But it looked like maybe she was limping a little.”
Asha slapped the arm of her chair. “It must be the shin splints.”
“That doesn’t sound too serious.” Brooke appraised Asha’s outfit. “You’re awfully dressed up.” She herself was attired in the color-coordinated mesh athletic ensemble that she’d worn earlier to her advanced cardio kickboxing class. “You look great. I can’t be bothered anymore to put on makeup for soccer.” This was less than truthful. Brooke did care about looking good for games, because the two men she cared about most were in attendance: her husband, Gabe, and Coach Nick. Her keratin-treated hair hung down over her torso in a sleek Demi Moore curtain. Though she did appear to be free of makeup, she had eyelash extensions and filler-plumped lips and still looked stunning.
“I usually can’t be bothered either,” Asha responded. “But I just came straight from a showing.”
The referee blew the whistle. “Halftime,” Brooke said, reaching down to the ground to retrieve a clear plastic tumbler of iced green tea.
Asha suddenly sat up and pointed down at the ground by Brooke’s feet. “That’s a nice video camera.”
“It is. I’m loving it. Have a look.” She handed it to Asha, who held it up to her eye. “I got it so I can start filming for Sloane’s highlight reel. Coach Nick told me most parents just use iPhones, but I wanted to make sure the quality was top-notch.”
After sitting quietly for a while, Asha asked, “I guess you’re talking about the videos you send to college coaches for the whole recruiting process? Isn’t it early to be thinking about that?”
“No, actually. Coach Nick told me that most of the Division I colleges have filled their rosters by the end of the girls’ sophomore years, so I’ve got to get busy sending emails and planning visits soon.”
Asha made a funny noise, similar to the groan that had escaped as she’d sat down in the camp chair.
“Are you all right?” Brooke asked.
Asha didn’t answer.
Brooke put a hand on her arm. “Do you want to talk about it? I’ll drop it if that’s what you prefer. But you can tell me anything.”
Asha thought about it for a second and then whispered, “I’ve got the weirdest feeling I might be pregnant.”
Brooke had not expected this. “Oh my,” she responded, bewildered.
“Yeah,” Asha said. “‘Oh my’ wasn’t my first reaction. Mine was more like, ‘Oh my God, what the hell is going on with me?’”
After a second, Brooke grinned. “Well, congratulations then!”
“But...” Back to rubbing her stomach, Asha said softly, “Phil and I are having some issues.”
“No, not you two. I’m so sorry.” Brooke waited, but Asha just chewed on her lip and didn’t speak. “Whatever it is, it can’t be worse than what’s going on in my life, right?” Brooke laughed. “Look over there. See Gabe with his little Broncos sun umbrella and aviator sunglasses? He’s sitting on the other side of the field so he doesn’t have to talk to me. Your husband hasn’t moved out and started sleeping with his Spin instructor, has he?”
“No. No, but...” Asha shook her head. “Lately he’s working a lot more than he used to, and when he’s home, he just wants to go to bed. I mean—and not with me. Just by himself. Go down to the basement bedroom where it’s quiet, turn off the lights and get under the covers and sleep. And when he’s awake, he’s in a terrible mood. I’ve tried everything. Talk more. Talk less. Touch him. Leave him alone. Cook him something he likes. Don’t cook anything because he’s not hungry.” Asha buried her face in her hands.
“Oh no, that’s got to be hard,” Brooke said. “But, you know, if you’ve got a baby on board, something must still be working between you two.” Brooke gave her a mischievous side-eye. “Unless...”
Asha sat up, dabbing at one eye. “I wasn’t with anyone else. I wouldn’t. But the last time with Phil was like two months ago.”
At a loss for what to say, Brooke was saved by the referee, who took to the field and blew his whistle, summoning the teams. “Oh!” she said, obviously relieved. “Look. Halftime is over. Here we go.”
“Let’s go, girls!” Asha yelled, sounding more exhausted than excited. “God, I could use about a hundred naps. I’m sick to my stomach, tired, and so forgetful lately. I lost my favorite bracelet today.”
“Was the bracelet insured?” Brooke herself didn’t own a single item of jewelry that wasn’t worthy of its own policy.
“No.”
“That’s too bad.” Brooke clapped lightly as the girls began to take the field. “Where did you lose it?”
“At the open house.”
“Someone stole it,” Brooke said in an end-of-story way. “That’s what happened. When Gabe and I sold our second home, someone who came to see it took a very rare and valuable old book off the shelf in the library. The thief was only caught when he tried to sell it.”
“I guess it’s possible,” Asha said. “I went to the Sherwoods’ house last night to finish staging it for today. I took the bracelet off and put it in this little decorative dish on the kitchen counter and then forgot about it. I remembered it this afternoon when I was about to close up, and it wasn’t there.” Asha looked sadly at her wrist. The missing bracelet was her favorite. After a second she said, “Do you think it’s strange that the front desk girl comes to a lot of my open houses?”
“What girl?”
“The front desk girl from the school. The headmaster’s assistant.”
Brooke frowned. “The Korean girl with the stud in the side of her nose?”
“No. The other one. There’s two. They sit side by side.”
“Oh,” Brooke said. “I know who you mean. The redhead with the Bettie Page bangs who always looks like she has somewhere better to be.”
“Her name is Miss Bellman. Natalie Bellman.”
“Why should she be looking at multimillion-dollar houses? She’s probably the one who stole your bracelet. Oh look. Go time. And Mia’s back in.” Brooke hooked her fingers into the sides of her mouth and whistled. “Come on, ladies!” She switched on her camcorder and started to film.
The two girls wore their hair the same way for games and had done so for years. It was parted in the middle in French braids, with the pigtails hanging down their backs. They were playing right wing and left wing, and after kickoff, Mia took the ball and ran with it. Sloane was sprinting down the opposite side, and the girl playing in the center was yelling, “You’ve got time, you’ve got time!”
Mia reached the corner, maneuvered around a defensive player, and crossed the ball. Sloane jumped up and used her forehead to drive the ball towards the upper right corner of the goal. It was perfect.
Brooke recorded a few seconds of applause and then pressed Stop on her camera. She dropped it behind her into the chair and screamed, “Good job, girls!” On the other side of the field, Coach Nick was looking in her direction. Brooke placed both of her hands against her mouth and blew a big congratulatory kiss. She fell into her seat, happy. And then she had a thought that sent an icy shudder down the back of her neck. It was just a casual gesture, that kiss, not open to interpretation. No one in the crowd could find anything wrong with a simple gesture like that...except Gabe. Had Gabe seen?
Brooke looked across to where her husband was seated by himself. His aviator sunglasses still covered his eyes, and one ankle was still crossed casually over the opposite knee, as if he hadn’t reacted at all to their daughter’s goal.
“Brooke? Brooke?”
“Sorry. What?”
“Did you get that?” Asha asked. She was beaming. “Tell me you got that great play!”
“I sure did,” Brooke answered, trying to forget the stupid blown kiss. “The whole awesome thing.”
“Is there any way you could send it to me?”
“Of course, I’d be happy to. I have your email.”
“Great. Thanks. I guess I need to get to work on Mia’s highlight reel.”
“Wait,” Brooke said, swiveling in her chair to face Asha. “Are you looking at Division I now? I thought you said you wanted to keep Mia close to home.”
“I did. I still do. But she’s got other ideas. She changes her mind every other day. One second it’s a private liberal arts college and a psychology degree. The next it’s finding a program that offers a semester at sea because she’s going to be a marine biologist. Recently, she’s been talking about bigger schools with good film programs. In California. I can’t keep up.”
“In California?” Brooke echoed. She didn’t look happy.
“Yes. Why is it that so many kids have their hearts set on California?”
“Because it’s amazing, beautiful, and exciting.”
Asha laughed. “I forgot. You went to college in California, didn’t you?”
“UCLA,” Brooke answered. “I’m a Bruin.”
“That’s the school Mia keeps talking about the most.”
“If so, that would be because she’s heard Sloane talking about it.”
Brooke’s aggressive tone was lost on Asha, who answered, “Probably. Anyway, I appreciate you sending me the clip. I’ll get my own video recorder this week.”
Brooke nodded. “Right. Sure. Absolutely.”
Asha’s phone rang, and she stood up, mouthing, “Offer!” She walked away to take the call. When she came back, the game was almost over. The two women didn’t speak again until they said their goodbyes.
“See you soon, Brooke,” Asha called. “Take care!”
“You too,” Brooke answered coldly, without looking up from an agitated struggle to fold up her camp chair and shove it into its bag.
Sloane seemed like she was in a bad mood when Brooke walked across the field to give her a post-game hug. “Great job, sweets,” Brooke said.
“Thank you.”
“Where’s your dad?” His chair was gone. She shaded her eyes and looked around. Gabe should have been waiting on the sidewalk.
“He left.”
“What? He was supposed to be taking you out to dinner.”
“I asked him if he minded if we did a rain check. I’m not really in the mood.”
“Okay,” Brooke said. “No worries. Should I go ahead and make us a reservation at Café Provence? You can bring a friend. Ask Mia.”
“I don’t want to ask Mia.” Sloane was looking off into the distance and waved at a tall, broad-shouldered boy with tousled bangs slouching against the goalpost. “Can I just go hang out with Reade?”
Reade was an older boy Sloane had been talking about for months. They had recently started to seem like they were a couple. Brooke said, “You know what, why don’t I take you and Reade to dinner? I can get to know him a bit better. That would be fun.”
“What?” Sloane shook her head. “No. Ugh. I’d rather go on my own if that’s okay. Reade’s waiting. Please, Mom?”
“But it would be so nice if—”
“Mom! No, it wouldn’t.” The look on Sloane’s face was the clincher. She was not going to come around.
“All right then,” Brooke said. “Go ahead.”
Sloane turned to leave, and Brooke glanced about self-consciously to see if anyone had heard their conversation.
No one was listening, so Brooke called and waved with a pleasant look on her face. “Great game! Okay then. See you later! You two have fun.”
Brooke watched her daughter join Reade, and there was something she didn’t like about the way the boy grabbed her around the waist and pulled her into his body so they could walk hip to hip. Reade was two grades above Sloane. A couple of years earlier, Brooke had taken a yoga workshop with his “free-spirited” mom, Linda. The two women had tea once together, after class, and exchanged numbers. Still, for all intents and purposes, Brooke was letting her daughter walk off with a stranger. A distant memory tugged at her. Linda, at that yoga class, crying, telling the instructor about the unexpected death of one of Reade’s friends. Brooke hadn’t been able to hear much of the conversation and had continued to stretch on her own in the corner. She didn’t really know Reade’s mom all that well, and Linda stopped going to yoga after that. In fact, she’d gone off the local radar almost completely.
As Brooke lost sight of her daughter over the top of the hill, she hoped that Reade was doing okay. It would be hard, she thought, to move on after the unexpected death of a classmate.
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