Sherri made her way toward the far end of the lawn. She was shaking, but she also felt really freaking amazing. The tequila had heightened her senses. The lights in the pool, which changed color like disco lights at a club, shone brighter. The music that the DJ was spinning sounded clearer. She felt the way Bobby looked like he felt when he did cocaine. Otherworldly. Invincible.
Don’t worry, Katie-kins, she said in her head, sending her message up into the summer evening sky and back down into their little half-house, where Katie and Alexa and Morgan were all together, safe. Mama’s back, even if only for one night. And everything is going to be okay.
A klatch of husbands stood around the corn hole game, and she headed toward them. She counted in her head while she waited for them to look at her.
One.
Two.
Three.
She’d met these husbands before. Some of them had been on the pontoon. One of them probably owned the pontoon, but she couldn’t be sure. She could tell that to a man they thought they’d never seen her.
She watched them take in her gold dress and her blond hair and her breasts. She smiled.
“Gentlemen,” she said.
“Hey there,” said one of the husbands.
She pretended to wobble (well, she was sort of pretending, the heels were difficult in the grass) and put her hand on one of the husbands’ arms to steady herself—this one was a different husband from the one who had spoken.
“Sorry,” she said, smiling apologetically, demurely. “It’s so hard to walk on this grass in these heels!”
The man’s face took on a panicky look, and he said, “No worries, I’ve got you.”
“Take them off,” suggested another of the husbands. He was beefier than the other men (ex-football player?) but he was drinking one of the dainty cocktails, which made Sherri smile.
“You know what, I think I will,” she said. She crouched down to undo the tiny buckles on the shoes, well aware that she was treating the husbands to a generous view of her cleavage.
She straightened, shoes in hand, and said, “Isn’t anyone going swimming? Where I come from, we used to say that it’s not a party until somebody jumps in the pool.”
Some of the husbands looked nervous. The beefy one said, “Why not?” He put his dainty glass on one of the small tables scattered around the yard and tugged off his shirt, revealing a soft and surprisingly hairless midsection. “Big splash coming,” he said. “Just to warn you.” He nodded once, and ran with an unexpected amount of grace toward the deep end, cannonballing in. The splash was impressive, you could hear it even over the music, and Sherri stepped back to preserve her dress.
“Who’s next?” asked Sherri. The men shifted. The beefy husband’s head emerged from the deep end and he let out an exhilarative whoop. “This water rocks, man,” he said. “It’s like eighty degrees in here. You guys need to try it.”
“Who’s next?” Sherri cried, more sharply, and they all turned to look at her. That’s more like it, she thought.