Page 81 of Good Girls Lie

“Yes, we heard. Howard is on a flight home from Turkey now. He feels it should be looked at by someone closer to the family. He will be in touch with the sheriff to have Camille brought here, to DC, where we can keep an eye on things. I don’t want to be going through an intermediary. You understand.”

We don’t want your local idiots to fuck it up, Ford hears clearly, though the line is silent.

“And of course, if there is a wrongful death suit, we need to be sure everything has been handled properly.”

“Did you just threaten to sue me?”

“You are in charge there, Ford. I’m not saying it’s a sure thing, but don’t be surprised to be served. We thought you’d turned a corner with Goode, revamped all that your mother tore down. I suppose we were too quick to judgment.”

Christ, she’s cold as ice.

“That is your prerogative. But, Deirdre, I can assure you, Ash had nothing to do with this. She’s a grieving sixteen-year-old who has been keeping her hurts to herself. I was up with her most of the night. She’s terribly traumatized by Camille’s death, as are we all. I know she’ll want to attend the funeral. You can meet her yourself, and you’ll see. She’s just a young girl in a lot of pain.”

“And I am a middle-aged woman in a lot of pain. My daughter is dead.I’mthe one who’s suffered the loss here, not some girl who’s only known my daughter for a few weeks. No. She is not invited. There will be no students whom we don’t approve. Camille’s friends Piper and Vanessa may come, but no one else. Not even you, Dean.”

Hurt, dismayed, frustrated, Ford realizes it’s time to end the call. “I think you’re in shock, Deirdre. We’ll talk again soon. I am so sorry for your loss. For our loss.”

“Thank you, Ford. I appreciate the sentiment. I’ll be in touch.”

The line goes dead, leaving Ford to wonder what, exactly, just happened.

A condolence call that ended up with a lawsuit threat. Intimations against Ash.

Who is this girl she’s brought into her school?

And on cue, a knock on Ford’s door. Jude Westhaven, draped in cashmere and pearls, perfectly power-bobbed and highlighted, stands in her doorway.

“Well. Isn’t this quite a mess?” she says.

“Mother. What are you doing here?”

Her mother’s face is unreadable, but her words are not. “My goodness, darling, I’m here to comfort you. I am so, so sorry. There is nothing worse than losing a student. I came because I know how you feel. I came because I’d like to offer my help getting things back on track. I came because I thought you might need me. And perhaps, you’d let me help.”

Ford lets the words wash over her like a benediction.

“It wasn’t my fault, Mom.” And then she collapses into tears, and her mother’s arms are around her.

48

THE BITTERSWEET

Glee. It’s such a funny word.

So many meanings. The thesaurus is full of synonyms, all implying something beyond happiness.Delight. Joviality. Mirth. Merriment.

A song written for men in three or more parts. That’s highly misogynistic, don’t you think? Let’s give it a fix, shall we?

A song written for women in three or more parts.

There. That’s better. And it’s more appropriate. We are at an all-girls school, aren’t we?

Perhaps this story should have been calledglee.

Then again, there’s nothing about lying in these synonyms. Or is there? How much happiness really exists in a person? We’re capable of great emotional swings, yes, but they shuttle between two normatives: happy and sad. It is only when we wish to impress or impart that the sliding scale of nouns goes into overdrive.

If we’re trying to rouse someone with our vocabulary, we can find hundreds of words to use in place of these base terms. For example, I would hardly write an essay and sayI am happyto be accepted to The Goode School. No, no, no. My essay would be littered with extremes:ecstaticto be accepted,thrilledto be joining you,elatedto make the move to America.

You, reading my words, would smile, pleased with yourself (happy? Yes, of course, there’s another, but the more sedatepleasedis so genteel) at howenthusiasticI seem to be.