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CHAPTER SIX

THE MALDONADOS

Stella sits in the back seat of the rental car, eyeing her parents. They’re acting even stranger than usual. The last few times she spoke with him, her father wouldn’t shut up about flying to Parents Weekend in a private jet. Yet he’s barely said a word since he ran up to Stella, yanking Mom by the hand, and rushed them both off campus.

And Mom, she’s acting cuckoo. Usually she’s the yoga/Zen one.

“What’s up with you two?” Stella finally asks.

“Nothing. Just tired from the flight,” her dad says.

“Private jet didn’t live up to the hype?” Stella jabs him. Stella likes to jab him. “Where’s this hotel? We’ve been driving forever.” Most of the hotels are only a few minutes from campus. They’re on 92 West, miles from Santa Clara.

Her mom looks at the GPS. “Looks like fifteen more minutes.”

“What? Where did you guys book?”

“Half Moon Bay,” her father says.

“Why would you—”

“It’s the only place nearby with a Ritz.”

Of course. Her parents both grew up poor, so they have chips on their shoulders. Like they have something to prove and can’t possibly stay at the Embassy Suites like ordinary parents.

Stella’s annoyed, but she says nothing. That’s the approach she’s learned works best, the one that gets under their skin. Under Dad’s skin, anyway. Mom doesn’t deserve the silent treatment. Actually, Stella reconsiders, she does for letting him get away with everything. Her parents think she’s an idiot. That she doesn’t know about it all. But she’s not stupid.

Her mom does a strange juddering movement like she’s forcing herself to focus. Shaking off whatever fight they’re in. Forcing herself to be present , as she always says to Stella.

Be present. Give me a fucking break.

Stella has enough going on in her life without their bullshit. Her phone’s dead, but she puts in her earbuds anyway to signal she’s done talking.

The road twists like a corkscrew and Stella’s ears pop as the rental Audi heads up the coastal range. She’s been to Half Moon Bay only once, with a group of friends from SCU. The boys all planned to go “chasing mavericks” at a famous surf spot but chickened out when they saw the giant waves.

At last, they stop at the guard shack on the narrow road that leads to the Ritz. The area is surrounded by a massive golf course where men with white hair and loud pants putter around in carts. The guard waves them through without checking ID. He can tell they’re the type to stay at the five-star hotel. Profiling isn’t always wrong. Under the covered front entrance, men in crisp white shirts and dark slacks jump to attention. They unload the bags. Cup the bills Dad palms them.

At the check-in desk, everyone clicks their heels at the rich people arriving. Stella studies her mom again. What’s up with her today? She seems so not present.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Stella asks her mom as her father chats with the young woman checking them in.

“Why don’t we go for a walk while Dad gets the room situated?”

“I need to charge my phone,” Stella says.

Her mother doesn’t reply and floats through the lobby. Stella shakes her head and follows her across the marble floor, arriving at an outside terrace perched atop cliffs that plummet down to the beach. Couples sit on Adirondack chairs, sipping cocktails and gazing at the ocean.

Stella catches up to her mom. They’re quiet as they walk along a path, following the arrows on small signs planted in the grass that say BEACH ACCESS . Her mom holds the railing, looking a little unsteady, as they descend the steep concrete stairs.

Her mother slides off her flats and walks toward the water. Stella leaves on her sneakers and trudges through the sand after her.

No one else is on the tiny strip of beach, which is shaded by the cliffs.

“Mom, what’s going on? You’re both acting so—”

“We’re fine. Dad and I… we just had a tiff.”

As they stroll, her mom tells her about the repulsive couple on the jet. Asks how things are going. Does Stella like her classes? How are her professors? Has she given more thought to a major?

Stella lies, says everything is peachy.

Her mother turns to her, looks her in the eyes. Stella notices her mom’s eyes are spider-webbed with red. Like she’s been crying. Or maybe she had one too many glasses of wine on the flight. “How are you doing, Stella?”

I’m not fucking good, Mom , she wants to say. But “fine” is all that escapes Stella’s lips.

“Fine.” Her mom repeats the word so it’s loaded with sadness.

Stella feels a pang of sadness herself wondering when this gulf between them emerged.

“Are you coming to the dinner tonight?” Stella asks, throwing Mom a bone. She seems like she needs one. Maybe they both do.

“We’re looking forward to it.”

Stella says nothing.

Her mom stares out at the ocean. “Stella…”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know a student named Cody Carpenter?”

Stella blinks in confusion. What’s this about? “I don’t think so. Why?”

“Oh, he’s just the son of someone we know. We thought we saw him on campus when we picked you up.”

Stella shakes her head.

“Probably just someone who looks like him,” her mom adds.

“Yeah, the boys with their dumb shaggy haircuts and attempts at facial hair make them all look alike,” Stella says.

Her mom smiles. A weak smile. One that says some shit is going on.

They make their way back up to the resort and find the room. It’s a nice suite, lots of space. Elegant furniture. Her father is on the balcony, talking on the phone.

Stella spies a socket on the desk and plugs in her phone.

Mom sits in a wing chair, a faraway look in her eyes. Stella finds a bottle of water in the minifridge and hands it to her mother.

“Thank you.”

It’s strange. Her mother used to take care of her whenever Stella was sick, bringing Gatorade or soup or Nyquil. It’s the first time Stella has ever looked after her mom.

Stella’s phone starts to ping over and over, downloading a barrage of messages. Her heart seizes as she skims them.

Natasha died

Natasha’s body was found

Omg natasha drowned

Tributes from people who didn’t know Natasha are filling her Insta feed. The university’s president has sent an email blast to all parents:

Dear Santa Clara University Parents,

With profound sadness, I share the news that third-year student Natasha Belov, 21, has died. We join with Natasha’s parents, Ivan and Iza Belov, in their grief and remember the gift of Natasha’s young life…

Another text pings, one from Libby Akana:

We need to talk now

Stella takes a deep, steadying breath.

Her mother is slumped in the chair across the room, dozing. On the balcony, her father is still talking intensely into the phone.

Stella texts back:

no, you need to STFU