Page 56 of Genuine Fraud
“I’m off,” said Brooke.
“Right now?”
“I don’t need the drama. I’m going home to La Jolla. My parents will be like,Brooke, you should get an internship! Volunteer! Go back to school!So it’ll be extremely annoying, but you know, I’m kind of homesick, actually.” Brooke turned abruptly and walked into the kitchen. She yanked open the pantry door and took two boxes of cookies and a bag of tortilla chips, shoving them into her shoulder bag. “The food on the ferry is trash,” she said. “Bye.”
—
In the evening, Imogen returned. She came out to see Jule on the deck.
“Where’s Forrest?” Jule asked.
“He went up to his study.” Immie sat down and took off her sandals. “There’s a memorial service for Scott next weekend.”
“Brooke left.”
“I know. She texted me.”
“She took all the cookies with her.”
“Brooke.”
“She said you wouldn’t care.”
“I wasn’t saving them.” Imogen stood and walked over to the switch that flipped the pool lights on. The water lit up. “I think we should go away. Without Forrest.”
Yes.
Would it really be this easy? To have Immie for herself?
“I think we should leave in the morning,” Imogen continued.
“Okay.” Jule made herself sound nonchalant.
“I’ll get us a flight. You understand. I need to get out of here, have some girl time.”
“I don’t need to be here,” said Jule, glowing. “I don’t need to be anywhere.”
“I have an idea,” said Imogen conspiratorially. She stretched back out on the lounge. “This island called Culebra. It’s off Puerto Rico.” Immie reached out and touched Jule’s arm. “And don’t worry about the money. Tickets, hotel, spa treatments—on me.”
“I’m all yours,” said Jule.
FIRST WEEK OF SEPTEMBER, 2016
MENEMSHA, MARTHA’S VINEYARD, MASSACHUSETTS
Two days before he died, Scott was cleaning the pool when Jule came back from her morning run. He had his shirt off. His jeans were low on his hips. He was trailing a leaf skimmer along the edges of the water.
He said good morning brightly as Jule passed him. Immie and Forrest weren’t up yet. Brooke’s rental car wasn’t in the driveway. Jule grabbed a pile of clothes she’d laid out earlier and hung them up on the hook next to the outdoor shower. Then she went in.
She washed, shaved her legs, and thought about Scott. He was very, very pretty. She wondered about his lat workouts and his all-cash payments. How had he become a guy who was willing to bleach other people’s toilets and mow their yards? He looked and sounded like the great white hetero action hero you saw in movie after movie. He could probably have most things he wanted in this world without too much effort. Nothing was pushing him down, but here he was. Cleaning.
Maybe he liked it that way. But maybe he didn’t.
When she turned off the water, Scott and Imogen were talking on the deck.
“You have to help me,” he said, his voice low.
“No, I don’t, actually.”
