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CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE GOFFMANS

Alice stands in the buffet line, examining the food stuffed in the metal pans over flickering burners. It’s bar cuisine—mini burgers, grilled cheese sandwiches, street tacos—and it looks tasty. Alice is starving, but she waited until nearly everyone else at her table filled their plates to get in line. Only one other parent—Libby Akana’s mom, the judge’s wife—is in front of her. Alice chides herself for not remembering the mother’s name. The book she read stressed the importance of remembering and saying people’s names and even gave tricks to commit names to memory. People love hearing their names.

“This is a lot of food,” Libby’s mom says.

“Yes, my Felix would’ve cleared it out. He has a hollow leg.”

“I’m sorry,” Libby’s mother says, “can you remind me of your name?”

“Alice Goffman,” she says, pleased she’s not the only one bad with names.

“I’m Amy.”

There’s an awkward silence as they move down the line.

“Felix has said great things about Libby,” Alice says.

Amy offers a fleeting smile. Then: “I wonder where on earth she is.”

Alice detects apprehension in her tone. “Where they all are.” She tongs a small amount of salad onto her plate. “I’m getting a little worried.”

It’s been only a couple hours. But Felix knows she gets anxious. It’s completely out of character for him to leave her hanging.

“I’m sorry,” Alice adds. “I’m being one of those parents.” She looks over at the others, who are having a second round of shots, seemingly without a worry in the world.

“The kids will turn up,” Amy says. “They were probably walking over together and got lured away to a party. You remember college.”

Alice didn’t go to college, but she’s worked for SCU long enough to agree. It happens; kids this age do all kinds of crazy things. In her years working in the dean’s office, she’s seen it all. Good kids in disciplinary meetings, reprimanded, expelled. But not her Felix. He’s a good boy.

“I wouldn’t want to be Libby,” Amy Akana says. “My husband is a freak about punctuality.”

Alice smiles. “I saw him on TV. I loved it when he scolded that one lawyer who was late.”

“Yes, his fifteen minutes of fame has been interesting .” Her voice carries an undercurrent of annoyance. Or maybe resentment, Alice isn’t sure. “Don’t worry,” Amy continues. “They’ll show up soon.” She rests her hand on Alice’s arm reassuringly.

“Sorry,” Alice says again. “I work for the university and we just had a student die this week, and it’s obviously gotten to me.”

“I saw the message from the dean. I heard she drowned, right? Tragic. And heartbreaking for her parents.”

Back at the table, Stella’s dad—his name is David, Alice reminds herself—is telling a story. He’s classically handsome, the kind of man used to holding court. She supposes it comes with being a doctor. She tries asking a question but it’s drowned out, leaving her feeling invisible.

She sips her wine, ignoring the tequila shot David put in front of her. She’ll find a way to discreetly pour it somewhere. It’s so darn loud in here, but she thinks she hears the chime of her phone. A wave of relief crashes over her. No one calls her after business hours except Felix.

Fishing the phone from her handbag, Alice smiles when she sees Felix’s photo pop up on the screen. She feels the other parents looking at her. They’re pretending not to be worried, but they must be. How could they not? None of the kids have shown up for this dinner and aren’t answering calls or texts.

“Felix, honey, where are you?”

There’s no answer. She hears movement in the background, but nothing coherent. It’s like he butt-dialed.

“Felix?” she says, louder than she intended.

No reply.

Then the line goes dead, severing the link to her son.