The house was unrecognizable, the entire living room taken over, rearranged around them.
The sofa and Dad’s chair had been removed to make way, the table from the kitchen now in here, extended to seat nine, four more dining chairs borrowed from Jeff and Sherry’s house. Grandpa didn’t need one, he came with his own.
Two cameras were set up, to record both sides of the elongated table. Ash was behind one of them, the smaller camera that he was trusted with, fiddling with the tripod legs. Flared jeans and a fluorescent green T-shirt covered in happy apples: happles. James was opposite, cameras strategically placed so they didn’t get each other in the shot. Bel had watched as they worked it out, enjoying when Ash was ordered around, how he carried his shoulders, how he closed one eye to study the viewfinder. They hadn’t had time to say one word to each other, which was fine, because it was hard to be rude to someone with just one word.
Ramsey was hovering around the softbox lights, shifting them by millimeters, seeing what no one else could. Saba was at the back with her headphones and audio equipment: everyone already miked up.
The two caterers were bustling around in the kitchen, heating up the pre-prepared meals in the oven. Rachel watched the chaos and Bel watched
her, movement and chatter everywhere, fifteen people in a house meant for two.
Grandpa was already positioned at the head of the table one side, Yordan crammed in beside, to help him with his food. Grandpa looked just as lost as Bel felt.
She fiddled with the new bracelet on her wrist, the chain cold and strange where it pulled against her bone. Rachel had surprised her with it, before everyone arrived. Said she had a lot of birthdays and Christmases to make up for.
“Hey,” Carter said, finding her way to Bel through the mayhem. “Hey.”
“OK?” Carter nudged her, elbows clashing. “Things feeling more normal yet?”
Absolutely fucking not, things were less normal than ever, and she was even more convinced now that Rachel was a liar. But Bel couldn’t answer that, because she was wearing a live microphone, and Saba was listening in.
“Sure,” she said, which obviously didn’t sound sure enough, because Carter bristled. “Thanks for helping pick out the bracelet.” Bel held it out, gold chain against the pale flesh of her wrist. No skulls on this one, but it was a message of some kind, after Rachel slipped up about Bel’s old bracelet at the mall.
Carter nodded. “Rachel wanted to get you something she knew you’d love. And I know you best. She’s really trying, you know.”
“Oh, I know,” Bel said, because whatever she had to say about Rachel, she couldn’t say she wasn’t trying. You had to try, to get away with a lie like how you disappeared for sixteen years and reappeared again. It wasn’t just a bracelet, was it? It was a countermove, after Bel snooped in her room, stole back that sock. A lock to keep her out, and a bracelet to keep her quiet.
“Starters are ready,” Ramsey called, reemerging from the kitchen. “Everyone please take a seat. Ash, James, let’s get rolling. Rachel, could we get you in the middle, on this side?”
“Sure.” Rachel smiled, dropping down on the chair, bringing her glass of red wine with her.
Bel knew what was going to happen, so she moved faster than Ramsey could, taking a seat on the other side, opposite Rachel. Ramsey caught her with his widened eyes. He came over and bent down to whisper to her.
“I was thinking we’d put you next to your mum,” he said, treading carefully.
“I’ve already sat down.” Bel beamed up at him. It was too late anyway, Rachel’s mom had already taken the seat to Rachel’s left, and Carter on her right, the rest of the family milling toward the table.
Ramsey chewed his lip. “Opposite works better, actually,” he said, low and secretive, trying to take the win away from her. He moved out of Charlie’s way, already on his third beer, labels peeled off for filming.
The chatter settled down, everyone waiting to be told what to do. Jeff was at one end of the table, then Carter, Rachel, Grandma Susan (horsefucker), Yordan and Grandpa on the other end, then Dad, Bel and Sherry.
“It’s nice to see you again, Pat,” Rachel said, breaking the awkward silence, watching Grandpa as she took another sip of her wine.
Grandpa’s eyes darkened. Yordan whispered something in his ear.
“Ray-chul,” Grandpa repeated it, hacking it into two, like it wasn’t a name at all.
The caterers appeared, holding two plates each, working from the middle out, Rachel and Bel first. Goat’s cheese and red onion tart. Bel had suggested this one, didn’t think Rachel would go for it. She glanced up, caught Rachel smiling at her. Bel raised her knife and fork in response.
“Dig in, everyone,” Rachel said, like this was her house and she was the host.
Carter took the first bite. “It’s delicious.”
“Anna picked it,” Rachel said. “Sorry. Bel. Still getting used to that.” “Oh yes.” Sherry turned to Bel beside her. “I forgot you used to be Anna,
it’s been so long.” Back to Rachel. “She was about six when she insisted on Bel instead, headstrong girl. Seems like she’s been Bel forever, honestly.”
“Well,” Rachel said, “I didn’t get the memo.”
“No, course not.” Sherry smiled. “Lots of new things to get used to. The world too, very different now. Honestly, you can’t say anything these days without upsetting somebody.” Sherry’s fork paused on the way to her mouth. “That’s a nice outfit, Rachel.” A peace offering of some sort.
Rachel’s eyes darted down to her top. “Thanks. Anna—fuck—Bel chose it for me.” One of her hands balled into a fist, knuckles pushing out like hilltops.
Grandma flinched at the fuck. Oh come on, her daughter had supposedly been kept in a basement for sixteen years, and the part she found unpalatable was that four-letter word?
“No, you look really great, Rachel,” Sherry continued. “So skinny. I guess sixteen years of captivity is the best diet there is.”
Someone dropped a fork.
Carter’s face fell open. “Mom,” she hissed, eyes wounded, staring across the table at her. “You can’t say that!”
Sherry looked at the camera for a moment, then pushed out a laugh. “Oh, don’t be silly,” she said. “Rachel knows I’m only joking, don’t you?”
Rachel grinned back, something sharp about it, Bel felt it, even though it was aimed at Sherry. Seemed the Price family had more land mines lying around, live and ticking even after sixteen years. They hadn’t even finished their starters and one had already blown up. What happened to those happy tears and hugs of a few days ago?
“Anyone for any more wine?” Rachel grasped the neck of the bottle. “Jeff? Yordan? Nice to meet you, by the way, Yordan. Is it Bulgaria you’re from?”
“Can I drink?” Bel said, throwing out a bomb herself. “Um, I…,” Rachel began, just as Dad huffed, “No.” “Maybe another time,” Rachel added.
“I said no,” Charlie hardened his voice, stabbing his last piece of tart, avoiding Rachel’s eyes.
Bel remembered that thing Dad told Ramsey, about Rachel lighting up rooms for him. Well, she didn’t light them up anymore, in fact, he mostly left the room whenever she walked in. But now they were trapped together
by the whole family and two cameras, sitting on opposite sides of the table. Bel had chosen her side.
“So, Susan,” Charlie said, a glare in his eyes from the closest light box. “I wondered if you had anything to say to me and the rest of my family, now that Rachel has returned, un-murdered.”
Grandma put her fork down delicately. “That I’m very happy, very grateful my daughter is alive and well. My only regret is that Edward didn’t live to see Rachel come home.” Her eyes misted, patting Rachel’s shoulder.
“Is that it?” Charlie doubled down, an incredulous smile. “No apologies?”
“Don’t bother, Dad,” Bel said quietly.
“What’s going on?” Rachel put her wine down, gaze flicking between the two sides of her family.
“You can tell her, Susan,” Charlie said.
“Nothing, sweetie.” Grandma gripped Rachel’s arm. “This is meant to be a happy evening, a celebration.”
“You can’t do it, can you?” Charlie laughed. “Too much pride to say sorry even now. I didn’t kill Rachel, did I? She’s sitting right there next to you.”
“Mom?” Rachel looked at her.
Grandma fiddled with her lace scarf. “I was so sure he’d killed you. There were no other answers. It just had to be him.” She wiped a tear that Bel couldn’t see.
“It’s OK,” Rachel said gently.
“It’s not OK,” Bel stepped in, less gently.
Grandpa’s eyes followed the conversation, a loaded fork hovering by this mouth, Yordan distracted too.
“I’m sorry, Charlie, OK?” Grandma dabbed her face with the scarf. “You would understand if something ever happened to Annabel, if she vanished into thin air.”
“I wish,” muttered Bel, and right now she did. She’d thought this meal would be a cease-fire, everyone on their best behavior, but course one of
three and look where they were already. Ramsey hovered by the kitchen door, watching intently; he must have been thrilled.
“It’s OK, Mom. Charlie would never hurt me,” Rachel said, no, she announced, like he wasn’t right here. Dad tensed; Bel could feel it in the air around her. That was confusing: Rachel defending Dad. That had always been Bel’s job. Always.
“Now everyone thinks I’m the bad guy.” Grandma blew her nose into the napkin.
“No, they don’t.” Rachel rubbed her mom’s back. “It must have been very hard for you all these years, to be around him, if that’s what you thought happened. I understand.”
“Well, that wasn’t much of a problem,” Charlie said, finally drawing Rachel’s eyes.
“What do you mean?”
“We hardly ever saw your parents.”
A shadow crossed Rachel’s face; a hurt Bel didn’t understand. “Mom?” Rachel said, voice rough at the edges. “You never visited them? Not even for birthdays? Not even once a year?”
Grandma pulled back from her daughter, sensing the shift, the danger. “It would have been too difficult, to see his face, when we thought he—”
“What about Annabel?” Rachel snapped. Grandma flinched, but Rachel wasn’t finished.
“I can’t believe this. Annabel was so young; she needed you. You should have been there for her when I couldn’t.”
“We thought he was a killer,” Grandma protested.
“Well, he’s not!” Rachel spat. “But that means you chose to leave my daughter alone with the man you were sure had killed me, doesn’t it?”
“I’m sorry. I did think about suing for custody, but…” Grandma’s head dropped, breaking eyeline. A disconnect between them, greater than sixteen years.
Bit rich of Rachel, to be mad at everyone else for abandoning Bel.
“Is everyone done?” Jeff piped up, awkwardly rubbing his elbow. “Food, I mean.”
The caterers came in to carry the plates away, the table breaking into small, tentative side conversations, Dad checking that Grandpa didn’t need to go home already. Any excuse to leave, to get away. Sherry was talking to Jeff, so Bel had no one to turn to. She unclipped the microphone from her collar, raised it to her mouth.
“I think the meal’s going really well so far,” she whispered into it. “Happy families.”
At the back corner, she saw Saba react. Ash too, hands cupped around his headphones behind camera B. He coughed, stifling a laugh, which was good, because she’d said it for him.
Carter was on her own too, Rachel and Grandma Susan still exchanging hissed words. She looked upset; Carter didn’t like confrontation, even when she wasn’t in it. Bel kicked her under the table, praying it was her leg and not Rachel’s. Carter jerked, looking across at her. Her frown became a smile, but it didn’t fix the look in her eyes.
Two huge silver platters arrived, loaded with paella, serving spoons to help themselves.
Charlie picked up one spoon and dropped a load on his plate, staring down at it.
“I did tell her,” Bel said, under her breath.
“It’s OK, kiddo. I can pick out the shrimp.” He smiled sadly. “Don’t have much of an appetite anyway.”
Opposite, Rachel passed the platter to Carter first. Carter smiled politely, spooning two piles into a mound on her plate, rockfalls of rice and peas.
“Not too much, honey,” Sherry said across the table. “Rehearsals this weekend. Don’t want to give Ms. Dunn an excuse not to put you front row.”
Carter said nothing as she passed the platter back to Rachel. Rachel returned her polite smile, an exchange, but hers seemed more forced, struggling at the corners.
“Dancing this, dancing that,” Jeff said, waiting for one of the platters to circle around to him.
“It’s important to her, Jeff,” Sherry said sharply. “You could give it more attention.”
“I give it plenty of attention,” he sniffed. “Just let her spend two hundred bucks on my credit card a couple days ago for something dancing. What was it, Car, new leotards or something?”
Carter stared at her plate, nodding her chin up and down in a tiny movement.
“Look, you’re putting her on the spot now and embarrassing her, Jeff.” Sherry snatched the platter out of Bel’s hands. “It’s an investment in her future.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Jeff said, laughing uncomfortably. “Just that if I’d known how expensive all this dancing stuff would be, I’d have become a criminal mastermind on the dark web instead of working at the Sport Center. My friend Bob from Vermont, he makes…oh wait, cameras are on. Never mind.”
Sherry sighed, sound like a sprung snake, turning her shoulders to abandon Uncle Jeff on the corner. No part of the table was safe from outbreaks and flare-ups, clearly. They were everywhere since Rachel returned, her fault though Bel didn’t quite know how yet, tension simmering just below the surface. Why were they doing this dinner, again?
Bel looked across the table; Rachel was hiding her eyes, making tracks through her paella with the underside of her fork. Good, at least she wasn’t having a good time either.
No one was really eating, except for Grandpa, slow, steady forkfuls, in his own world, unaware of the explosions going on around him. Carter was eating too, on her last mouthfuls already, maybe so she didn’t have to talk and get drawn into anything.
Rachel followed Bel’s eyes to Carter and, without a word, she reached over for the serving spoon and tipped another load of paella onto Carter’s plate.
Sherry flinched, raising her finger, trying to swallow her mouthful. But she retracted the finger, didn’t say anything, just another sigh, sharper this time, two coiled snakes.
“Thank you,” Carter said to Rachel quietly, a twitch by her mouth as she dug into her food.
“No problem, Carter.” Rachel’s voice echoed as she lowered her face into her glass of wine.
Sherry took a large gulp of her own.
“Is anyone else getting hot?” Jeff fiddled with the seam around his neck. “Should I open a window?”
Ramsey was wide-eyed, entranced. He must have been loving this: didn’t have to direct or nudge at all, the dinner party was on a downward spiral all on its own.
“So, Charlie.” Rachel speared a piece of chorizo. “Carter tells me you had a girlfriend for two years, you haven’t mentioned her yet. Even moved her into our house for a few months?” The words dipped up like a question, needling him on purpose. Why would Carter tell Rachel anything like that? Whose side was she on?
Charlie took a sharp swig of his beer. “I hadn’t found the right time to bring it up yet, in private.” He leaned into the word. “Happened a very long time ago. Bel was ten.”
“Eleven,” Bel stepped in, eyes on Rachel, locking her elbows to put a shield up around both her and Dad, readying her acid tongue.
“Apparently this woman was the head juror at your trial for my murder,” Rachel said, chuckling to herself, a shrimp pirouetting on her fork.
Charlie put down his empty beer. “Just a coincidence. Ellen and I bumped into each other years later. She recognized me.”
Ellen was nice; Bel liked Ellen. And that was the problem, because she knew she would leave eventually, everyone always did. So Bel pushed her first, told her she didn’t need or want a new mom. Kids could be cruel, and Bel could be the cruelest. Ellen packed her bags the next day.
“Must have looked pretty strange, though,” Rachel said, crunching down on the shrimp. “Dating the woman who found you innocent of your wife’s murder.”
“Least he waited until after you were gone,” Sherry muttered under her breath, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. No one else at the table heard, waiting for Charlie’s response, but Bel had heard, sitting right next to her. She turned and studied her aunt, lips pressed in a tense line. What had she
meant by that? That Rachel had been with someone else before she disappeared? There’d been no mention of a relationship in any of the media coverage. Wouldn’t that have been huge news? A viable suspect? What had Sherry meant? Bel tucked that away, inside the knot in her gut, let it feed on her near-empty stomach.
“I was lonely,” Charlie said, keeping his voice measured and even. “I’d grieved you for years. Everyone kept saying I had to move on. It was hard and it didn’t last, so I’m not sure why you need to bring it up now.”
“Just making conversation.” Rachel let her fork dangle, scrape the plate. “That’s what you do at dinner. You’ve hardly been in the house since I returned, so we haven’t had many opportunities to talk in private.” She leaned on the word the same way he had.
Dad’s hands dropped into his lap, tightening into fists, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
Bel didn’t know what to say, how to defend him, because Rachel was right, Dad was avoiding the house, but whose fault did she think that was?
“Maybe we should call it a day,” he said, looking over at Grandpa. “Dessert’s just coming out,” Ramsey interrupted for the first time,
surprising the caterers, keeping Dad in his place.
He set his jaw, like he could make it through dessert, which meant Bel could too, as uneasy as she felt. That ball of tension spinning in her gut, gorging itself on all the unsaid and half-said things. What had Sherry meant?
Her plate was cleared away and another put down in front of her, apple pie with a thick dollop of cream. Another thing she’d suggested. What was Rachel’s game?
“So, Pat.” Rachel turned back to Grandpa. “You turn eighty-five in a couple of weeks. I can’t believe it, where has all the time gone?”
Yes, where exactly did all that time go, Rachel? Grandpa stared blankly ahead, like he hadn’t even heard.
“Please stop asking him questions,” Charlie said. “He can’t remember. It will distress him.”
“I only asked about his birthday.”
“Someone wants the yard, don’t they? The Realtor…,” Grandpa croaked. “Carter,” Sherry hissed quietly.
Carter hesitated, put down her spoon.
“It’s good with the cream,” Rachel said to her. “Sherry?” Jeff said.
The knot in Bel’s gut grew, pulling tighter, the opposite of an explosion, like she might crumble and collapse around it.
“Where’s Maria?” Grandpa said, a switch, eyes hard and mean. “Dad.” Charlie rested his hand on Grandpa’s arm. “Mom isn’t—” “Carter,” Sherry hissed again, or the snake inside her.
“She’s just having her dessert, Sherry,” Rachel said. “Rachel, I think…,” began Grandma Susan. “Maria?”
“Dad, it’s OK.”
Bel couldn’t take it anymore.
“Hey!” she shouted over the noise, bringing all eyes to her. “Hey. How about a toast, everyone?” She stood, chair scraping against the floor, picking up her half-drunk glass of lemonade.
“An excellent idea, well done, Bel,” Sherry said, using her name as some kind of weapon, aiming it at Rachel.
Rachel ignored her, picking up her wineglass, smiling up at Bel.
Bel waited for them all to join in, holding their glasses, except Grandpa, who was still looking for Maria. She looked around at everyone, even those behind the cameras, and raised her glass up high, squeezing too hard.
She cleared her throat.
“To the most fucked-up family in America. Cheers!”
