Monarch Beach by Anita Hughes Read Free Book Online Page B

when he came home late, and to listen to his stories about La Petite Maison. As my mother had predicted, he was talented, charismatic, and charming, and the restaurant established a loyal following.
    What my mother had not predicted was that he would screw the chef, and that kind of put a damper on my happiness. As I jogged down the path to Stephanie’s, I wondered if he had screwed the waitress, the hostess, the wine stewardess, and all the other women he employed in the last ten years. Was it the constant parade of young flesh that kept him singing at the restaurant every day? I was so angry I broke into a sprint and arrived at Stephanie’s flushed and furious.
    I rang the doorbell and waited. Stephanie’s house was so big it always took a full three minutes for Gisella, her au pair, to answer the door. I had come to realize Stephanie had gone to Penn and married reliable, wealthy Glenn because she was actually very intelligent. She didn’t employ a Swedish au pair with legs longer than a racehorse and white-blond hair that touched her bottom. She hired a short Portuguese woman with a mustache and ankles like boulders.
    “Gisella, is Mrs. Chambers at home?” Stephanie liked to keep things formal in her house: to keep the separation between the help and the family evident. I had a lot to learn. When I thought of the welcome dinner I had given Ursula—I had baked bread and tossed a Caesar salad for her—I wanted to throw up.
    “Mrs. Chambers is in the garden with the children,” Gisella replied. When she talked she displayed a row of gold teeth.
    “Thank you, Gisella.”
    Stephanie had two gorgeous children: Zoe was a few months younger than Max and had a head of blond curls and big blue eyes. She looked and acted like an angel. Graham was a stout two-year-old with permanently red cheeks. He followed his mother and sister around as if they were deities. Stephanie was a very good mother. When she was with her children she shined her light on them as if no one else existed. She didn’t boast about their accomplishments like so many other mothers, she just made them feel tremendously loved.
    Stephanie was sitting in the sandbox with Graham. Pregnancy and child-rearing had blurred her perfect features. Her breasts were still big, but now they pointed slightly downward. Her thighs were a little wider than when we were teenagers—she complained she couldn’t resist finishing the kids’ peanut butter sandwiches and chicken tenders.
    She wore her hair short, barely touching her shoulders. She did keep it very blond and she still wore bright red lipstick, even at home in the garden, but she didn’t scream “sex siren” when you saw her. Today she wore denim shorts, a lace top, and white Keds.
    “I thought you did yoga on Tuesdays,” Stephanie said.
    “I did yoga this morning.”
    “You don’t look very zen.”
    I glanced down at my clothes. My tights had a rip down the side and my shoes were caked in dirt.
    “I went for a run after yoga.”
    “You gave up running four years ago when you pulled your Achilles tendon.”
    “I knew I forgot something,” I said. I sank into the sandbox next to Graham.
    “I’m making Mommy lunch. Want some?” Zoe was in the playhouse making sand pizza.
    “How come Zoe isn’t at school?” I asked Stephanie.
    “Orthodontist appointment.”
    “A first grader doesn’t need braces,” I said, shaking my head.
    “I agree. But tell that to Zoe. Four girls in her class already have them. She feels left out.” Stephanie poured sand into Graham’s bucket.
    I thought of Andre and his slightly crooked smile. I burst into tears.
    “Zoe, take your brother and ask Gisella to make lunch,” Stephanie instructed her daughter.
    “But I’m making sand pizza,” Zoe complained. “You asked for sand pizza.”
    “I’ll have my lunch when you come back. I need to talk to Mrs. Blick for a few minutes.”
    We waited till Zoe and Graham disappeared into the kitchen. I tried to stop my