Bertrand Court Read Online Free Page B

Hannah and two other women, swaddled in a rainbow assortment of Becca’s Pashmina shawls, were settled into Adirondack chairs around the pit. Hannah was talking quietly with her sister-in-law Robin. On her other side sat Maggie, their brother Eric’s wife. They all were drinking wine out of mason jars while their husbands were home getting the children ready for bed.
    Becca leaned down and picked up a pebble. “Adam collected many of these from the Dead Sea.”
    â€œVery nice,” Amy said neutrally, trying not to invite Becca to opine about West Bank settlements or related topics, or really any topic. The sooner they played the game, the sooner she could go home, or to Leon’s. She’d told him that she was going to sleep in her own bed tonight, but now she didn’t want to, and she didn’t have to. He’d just given her a key to his house, a grown-up abode a few ’burbs over, with a garage and a washer and dryer.
    â€œCome sit.” Robin patted the chair next to her with her delicate hygienist’s hand. Robin was her favorite member of the Bertrand Court posse. Amy didn’t have dental insurance, and every six months, Robin cleaned her teeth for free after her boss left for the evening.
    Amy wrapped herself in the soft red shawl Becca handed her, sat down, and hugged her knees to her chest, her silver rings, one on each stubby finger, glinting in the firelight.
    Hannah thrust a bottle of tequila across Maggie’s chair toward Amy. “Look, it’s even got the worm. Becca bought it just for you.”
    Amy accepted the bottle and put it on the ground. “No thanks.”
    â€œWhat’s got into you? Our Amy would put a dent in the bottle,” Becca said.
    â€œAnd get so snockered that I’d have to drive her home, but first . . .” Hannah waved her index finger in the air. “She’d make me drop her off at a hipster bar to meet up with her hipster friends.”
    â€œMaybe I’m not the Amy you know,” Amy said quietly.
    â€œSince when?” Hannah demanded.
    â€œSince I’m the one driving your drunk butt home tonight.” Maggie and Robin lived on Bertrand Court, but Hannah lived one suburb over.
    â€œWell okay, then.” Robin changed the subject. “What’s this game of yours, Bec?”
    â€œIt’s called Two Truths and a Lie. You have to tell three things about yourself, and two of them have to be true, but one is a lie, and we have to guess which.”
    â€œWe play this at our retreats all the time.” Maggie squared her shoulders, channelling her diversity-trainer affectation. “It’s a highly effective way to force a vulnerability that creates community.”
    Amy reminded herself that Maggie only acted like an ass when she was nervous, her episodic sanctimoniousness making her an easy mark for the family gossipers. It didn’t help that she was abnormally pretty.
    â€œHow true do these truths have to be?” Robin asked. “True true or embarrassing true?”
    Amy wanted out of this forced fun. The light from the flames flattered the women, who sat with their hands in their laps as if they were meditating or praying. They gazed into the fire, perhaps scouring their pasts for truths and lies. Dating Leon had made Amy realize that she was exhausted from the truths of her life. Exhausted from making booty calls to hot, noncommittal men and working sixty-hour weeks. Exhausted from the adrenaline highs that fueled her, followed by the crashes, during which she’d escape to Hannah’s for a warm meal and movie night with Goldie and Jane, whom she adored. Hannah would send Amy home with Tupperware containers of hearty stews. But now Leon cooked for Amy, and last Sunday, after a long morning in bed, she made him a quiche. She burned the frozen crust she’d bought at the Safeway, but it was a start.
    â€œOkay, you begin, Becca.” Hannah took an enormous swig of