On this particular day Sherri was not on the schedule at Derma-You so she was able to drop Katie at theater camp herself. After Katie hopped out of the car without so much as a by-your-leave, Sherri saw Rebecca’s white Acura—a mirror of her own—three cars behind her in line. As she was pulling out of the turnaround, a text came into her phone. Pull over when you leave. Sherri did as she was told, and Rebecca drove up alongside her and lowered her window. Sherri pressed the button to lower the window on the passenger side, and Rebecca said, “Let’s have lunch later.”
Sherri hesitated. She’d been spending so much money lately. Katie’s summer camps, rent, groceries. Gobs and gobs of ice cream. She hadn’t sat down and made herself a real budget. She still had to find a pediatrician for Katie, and a dentist. Possibly dance classes, if she could afford them.
“My treat,” said Rebecca.
“Oh no,” said Sherri, embarrassed that her thoughts might be transparent. “That’s really not necessary. I was just trying to figure out if I had time.”
“I insist. You’re new to town and you haven’t seen all the good places yet. Consider me an ambassador of Newburyport. And anyway, it would be a favor to me. I could use someone to talk to. We’ll go to Michael’s Harborside. Have you been to Michael’s yet?” No, Sherri had not been to Michael’s. “I’ll pick you up at noon. No, eleven-thirty. We’ll have a better chance of snagging a table on the deck that way.”
They got the last open seat on the deck, which overlooked the Merrimack River; across the river, they could see the town of Salisbury, and the deck of another restaurant (which was actually called the Deck). There were boats everywhere: boats docked just below them, boats docked across the river, boats docked to the left and to the right, boats moving and boats tied up. Sherri had never seen so many boats in her life. She thought of the pontoon ride and cringed.
When the waitress—an adorable college-aged girl with a messy bun and a really good tan—came to take their drinks order, Sherri asked for an iced tea.
“Two,” said Rebecca. Then: “Actually. You know what? Plot twist. I’ll have a sangrita.” Sherri looked at the menu; the sangrita was sangria mixed with tequila. “She’ll have one too,” added Rebecca, pointing at Sherri. “Forget the iced teas.”
By the time their food arrived—a lobster roll for Sherri, fish and chips for Rebecca—their drinks were half gone. Sherri’s lobster roll was delectable; it was served on a grilled hot dog bun, in what Sherri understood was the New England way, without too much mayo. Rebecca popped a fry into her mouth and when she was done chewing she said, “So here’s the thing. I’ve been seeing someone.”
“You have?” said Sherri. “That’s—exciting?”
“Confusing,” said Rebecca. “But also exciting.” She took another slug of her sangrita. Already she was faintly flushed. “I’m telling you because—well, because I want to tell someone. And so far I haven’t told anyone, not a single soul. I’ve had to keep it very much under wraps. Very much.”
“None of your friends?” said Sherri, feeling flattered. “Not Melanie or Brooke or Gina or anyone?”
“No. Especially not Gina.” Rebecca leaned over her fish and chips platter. She looked furtively around her. “Daniel and I just had a fight about this. Our first real fight! He’s tired of sneaking around, acting like we’re doing something wrong. But obviously, I can’t tell Gina.”
This wasn’t obvious to Sherri. “Why not?”
“Because,” said Rebecca. “Because it turns out that Gina’s husband Steve’s sister, Veronica, used to be married to Daniel! A long time ago. She cheated on him, and then she left him. She was not good to him. Veronica the Cheater.” She sat back, took a bite of her fish and looked at Sherri expectantly.
“It seems convoluted,” said Sherri. The sangrita had diluted some of her politeness. “Why does that mean you can’t tell anyone?”
“It’s not that convoluted. Gina is still close to Veronica the Cheater. I used to be really close with Gina. Then came the sleeping bag incident that I told you about at the beach.”
“Oh, right. I remember.”
“I’m still mad about it!”
“I don’t blame you.”
“Morgan is still figuring things out, you know, and I don’t want to pull the Mom Squad into everything.” Rebecca leaned forward again, her voice settling into something approaching a stage whisper. “And now I’m sleeping with basically a Mom Squad relative! Daniel could easily say something to Steve. He’s still close to Steve, even though Gina took Veronica the Cheater’s side.”
“And . . . ?”
“And,” said Rebecca. “And, Gina has the biggest mouth north of Boston. She would immediately tell, oh I don’t know, probably Georgia, who’d tell Esther, and then all of Plum Island would know, and then it would take about forty-five seconds before one of the kids overheard and it got back to Morgan!”
“And?”
“Well, and! And, then Morgan would know. That I’m seeing someone. And. It would crush her, after losing Peter. She’s not ready for that. Alexa, maybe, almost. But not Morgan! I mean, I know our situations are different, but you must see what I mean? Wouldn’t Katie have a hard time if you started dating right away?”
Sherri thought about that. There were so many times when she wasn’t sure what was going on behind Katie’s whitewashed, cheery exterior. She knew she’d been upset about the Boda Borg party. What if she was upset about other things?
“If I started dating right away, yes. But this isn’t really right away, is it?”
Around her she heard snippets of conversation: Patriots preseason and couldn’t get a plumber in and boarding school and up to Ogunquit.
Rebecca looked troubled. “I think I thought you were going to be on my side. Tell me I was right.”
“I am on your side,” said Sherri. “I am, I promise. But I think Daniel might be right about this one. I don’t think you need to hide him.”
She watched a wide range of emotions travel their way across Rebecca’s face: confusion, defensiveness, maybe even a little fear. A small helping of hope.
“Just consider it,” said Sherri. It felt really good to step outside of her own problems and into somebody else’s for a moment, or an afternoon; it felt more than good to consider the possibility that she might be helpful. “Think about it,” she continued. “And if you need to talk more about it, you know I’m here.” She picked up her sangrita and went to town on it.
“Two more,” she told the pretty, tan waitress. “One for me, and one for my friend here.”