Morning came early—and by morning, I meant John David. I awoke to him cannonballing onto the bed Lily and I were sharing. I ended up with what I was fairly certain would turn into a pretty impressive bruise, and Lily ended up on the floor.
John David, on all fours on the bed, made no apologies. “Golf cart,” he declared emphatically. “Parade.”
Due to what he’d termed a “sparkler deficit,” John David had opted for themed decorations. The theme he’d decided on was “Star Wars Spangled Banner.”
“Does the cart look enough like the Death Star?” John David asked, eyeing his work critically. “Except also like the American flag?”
I thought there was some questionable and assuredly unintentional symbolism at play there for a holiday that was supposed to be patriotic, but who was I to argue with genius?
“It looks exactly like the Death Star,” I told him. “And also the American flag.”
“Good.” John David narrowed his eyes at Lily and me. “Listen up, soldiers. We only have ninety minutes to finish these lightsabers and droids.”
It turned out that when it came to arts and crafts, John David was an even stricter taskmaster than his mother. With five minutes to go on our ninety-minute deadline and all three of us sopping wet from sweat, he stepped back to appraise our work.
“Perfect,” he declared. “Now all we need is to get William Faulkner into her costume.”
Putting pants on a dog was not what one would call “easy.” Putting pants on a purebred, hundred-pound Bernese mountain dog who was fairly certain she did not want to wear pants could have substituted for one of the twelve labors of Hercules.
But with enough cajoling and the right bribes, we did it.
“Bless William Faulkner’s little doggy heart,” Lily said as John David proudly drove past us in the Death Star, dressed like a Jedi, with a canine companion costumed as Uncle Sam.
Including the hat.
There were easily fifteen or twenty carts in the parade, plus bicycles, strollers, and at least a half-dozen other costumed dogs.
“How much do you think he understands?” I asked Lily as John David’s cart disappeared from sight, and the two of us melted back into the crowd. “About everything that’s happened?”
Lily’s blond hair caught in the wind. For once, she didn’t try to tame it. “More than he lets on.”
Thanks to being drafted as John David’s assistants, the two of us had managed to avoid Aunt Olivia this morning. My mom, as far as I knew, was still asleep.
“About last night,” I said, but before I could say more or Lily could interject, her phone buzzed—three times. I was close enough to see her screen.
The first text was a rose. The second was a snake. And the third started with the words YOUR CHALLENGE, SHOULD YOU CHOOSE TO ACCEPT IT . . .
“Why,” Lily said for the fifth time, “do they want me to enter the pie-eating contest?”
“Not enter,” I clarified helpfully, taking a bite of the snow cone I’d just acquired. “Win.”
Lily didn’t respond to the teasing tone in my voice the way she might have, pre-Ana. She didn’t respond at all. The thumb on her left hand prodded the bruised and battered knuckles on her right.
I thought about her second secret. Sometimes, my body feels like it belongs to someone else.
“Lily?” I said.
She blinked. “Headache.” Before she could return to the topic of the pie-eating contest—or why she cared about meeting the White Gloves’ challenge—her posture changed abruptly. She grabbed the snow cone out of my hand.
“Wouldn’t advise eating that if you want room for pie.” I realized a second later that she had no intention of eating anything. She just wanted something to look at. Something to hold. An excuse to pretend she didn’t see Walker and Campbell Ames across the way.
“Do you think she told him?” I asked so Lily wouldn’t have to. On the other side of the sprawling lawn, where a group of men was just starting to set up a half-dozen grills, Campbell and Walker were approached by Victoria.
And her father.
“Maybe Walker should date Victoria,” Lily said, tightening her death grip on the snow cone. “Dance with her. Talk to her. Kiss her and tell her she’s the one.”
I had the distinct feeling that Lily saying that was no different than her pressing on bruised knuckles to see if it hurt.
“Before you have your boyfriend and Victoria hypothetically married off and having babies,” I interjected, “I’d like to remind you that you’re the one who’s not sure, and they only danced together once.”
“I’m the one with doubts now,” Lily replied. “Walker was the one who wasn’t sure before.” She shifted the snow cone to her left hand, and the bruised fingers on her right curled and uncurled at her side. “Walker likes to be needed. He likes to ride in on a white horse and save the day, and he spent the last year thinking he’d never get to be that kind of guy again.”
“And you don’t want that kind of guy?” I asked.
“I don’t know what I want,” Lily reiterated as Walker and Campbell spotted us through the crowd. “I thought my mama and daddy had the perfect marriage. I thought they were the perfect couple. I was wrong. I wanted what they had. What does that say about me?”
Walker started making his way toward us, Campbell two steps behind.
“Are you hoping she didn’t tell him?” I asked Lily. “Or that she did?”
No reply.
“Happy Fourth of July.” Walker greeted her with a quick kiss to the lips. “Care for a stroll?”
He held out an arm, and she took it.
Once they were out of earshot, Campbell turned to me. “I didn’t tell him. Obviously.”
That was unusually altruistic of her. “What did Victoria and her father want?” I asked.
“To say hello,” Campbell replied. “Supposedly.” She didn’t dwell on that—or allow me to. “Get any texts this morning?”
“No,” I said. “But Lily did.” Maybe that meant I’d been cut. As fond as I was of patriarchy smashing, that was an outcome I could live with.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what my challenge is?” Campbell prompted.
I obliged.
“That’s for me to know,” came the reply, “and you to provide an alibi for me in regards to later.”
“That almost makes me nostalgic,” I said.
“Must be in the air,” Campbell replied. “Mama informed me this morning that she’s been feeling nostalgic, too.”
I scanned the sprawling lawn and caught sight of Charlotte Ames, on the far side of the basketball and tennis courts—and right next to Aunt Olivia.
She’s probably enjoying the fact that someone else is the scandal du jour. No sooner had that thought crossed my mind than I saw my mother standing underneath a large blue tent, all of three feet away from Greer Waters.
Depending on where my mom fell on the scale from hungover to really hungover, this had the potential to get ugly.
“I have to go,” I told Campbell.
She caught my arm as I walked past. “If anyone asks tonight after the fireworks, I was with you all morning and afternoon.” She smiled. “And, Sawyer? You’ll know my challenge when you see it.”