CHAPTER ELEVEN

I can't remember the last time I smiled. Like, really smiled. Obviously, I can move the corners of my mouth up, but I can't remember the last time an actually joyful smile came to my face for no reason.

Well, not no reason. Obviously, there"s a reason.

I leave that reason"s house at one in the morning. She and I spend the entire time, from when she walks into the shower to right before I leave naked.

I'm not an idiot. I know I'm not in love. I just had very satisfying sex with a very beautiful woman. Even though I'm young, I'm smart enough to know that's all it is. I'm also smart enough to know that whatever is between us is temporary. She's twenty years older than me, and I'm only going to have this job long enough to get out of my current living situation. Realistically, she and I can enjoy each other for the summer. Then we have to move on.

But last night was a good night. A truly good night, unmarred by memories of death, fears for the future or hatred for the present. Good enough that when I get home and my mother gives me shit about being late, I don't feel any anger. She can't touch me right now, and that's a beautiful feeling.

I fall asleep, and my dreams are filled with Vivian. Her soft skin, her cool lips, her warm body, her eyes, her smile, everything. I might not be in love, but whatever I'm feeling has to be the next best thing.

It's not even just the sex that's so wonderful. She seems to actually care about me. Obviously, she knows as well as I do that this is just temporary, and both of us are going to have to move on to our real lives when this is over, but she still truly cares about me. Honestly, the moments we spend lying in bed together and talking are just as good as the moments we spend… um, not talking.

When I leave, I stammer around the question of if I can see her again. She lets me make an idiot of myself for a few seconds, then kisses me just under my ear and whispers that I should come see her tomorrow night.

Needless to say, I am up bright and early the next morning. The heatwave peaks today, one hundred twenty-one degrees, but I bring a change of clothes to take to Vivian's, and if showering at her place is going to be as exciting every day, then I don't mind the heat.

I reach Autumn Downs, and Danny looks me up and down. "What's got into you? Your mom buy you a puppy or something?"

"Something, my man," I reply. "Definitely something."

He gives me a knowing look, then says, "Ah-ha. What's something's name?"

I'm so happy right now that I don't even care that he's being nosy. "Sorry, man. Can't kiss and tell, right?"

He nods conspiratorially. "Right. Well, good for you. Good-looking boy like you oughta have a girl on his arm."

"Thank you, Danny."

I drive away, still smiling, and head to my first client's house. According to the little info sheet Best Pool Cleaners gives me, she's seventy-two and widowed for three years. I feel a touch of empathy at that. I know how hard it is to lose a loved one.

Mrs. Winslow lives on the opposite side of Autumn Downs. The homes here are older, but no less grand for that. Still, their aesthetic is more muted than the bright, ostentatiousness of the newer homes, and I appreciate that.

Mrs. Winslow opens the door, and she is beautiful. Not in a Vivian Chase kind of way, obviously, but in a grandmotherly kind of way. She isn't dolled up with bad plastic surgery and worse makeup like so many of the women here, and she doesn't wear clothing that emphasizes how desperately she's trying to look younger. She looks beautiful the way old women used to look beautiful, with a classic, matronly and dignified appearance.

God, I'm all poetic today. It's amazing what a good night with a good woman will do.

"Good morning, Mrs. Winslow. I'm Nathan Harlow from Best Pool Cleaners."

"Well, good morning, young man! Don't you look handsome! And what a nice smile! Come on in, I've just finished making coffee."

"Oh, that's all right, Mrs. Winslow. I appreciate it, but I have a full schedule today—"

"Nonsense. You can spare ten minutes to keep an old woman company. Besides, I only have a very small pool. I don't really use it. It shouldn't take very long."

She leads me into a house that"s decorated the way a grandmother would decorate her house. There are a lot of pictures, ceramic figurines, and houseplants, both real and fake. The kitchen is full of decorative salt shakers, oven mitts, jars of sugar, flour, pasta, spices—anything you can think of. The living room—which is where she leads me—contains a couch, an upholstered chair, and a coffee table made of hardwood that looks as old as Mrs. Winslow. The couch and chair have throw rugs and throw pillows arranged in perfect symmetry, and the coffee table sits on a rug that is just this side of threadbare. About the only thing in the house that look modern is the tv, which is a seventy-five-inch Sony that probably cost close to five thousand dollars.

"Have a seat anywhere you like," she says. "I'll be right back with the coffee. How do you take it?"

"Black is fine, thank you."

"Very manly of you. That's good."

That seems like an odd thing to say, but considering everything else that's happened in this neighborhood, it actually ranks as one of the more normal things people have done.

When she leaves, I look nervously out the window at the pool. I do have a full schedule, so aside from the fact that I want to get to Vivian as fast as I possibly can, I really can't spend a lot of time socializing.

Fortunately, the pool is indeed very small. It looks out of place in this house, let alone a neighborhood like Autumn Downs. It"s the old-fashioned peanut shape, maybe fifteen feet long and eight to ten feet wide. Shallow too. It"s filled with leaves, but the vacuum can get that taken care of quickly. I can finish it in twenty to thirty minutes.

Mrs. Winslow returns with the coffee. Mine is served in a brown and tan mug shaped like a honeypot. It's cute. I decide I like Mrs. Winslow.

"So you've been here for three days now?" she asks.

"Today is my fourth day."

"Ah. How do you like it so far?"

I weigh my answer carefully. "It's… interesting."

She laughs. "That's certainly one way to put it. Tell me, who of our lovely cast of characters have you met so far?"

"Um… quite a few. I think I've had about thirty clients. By the end of the week, I'll be up to ninety."

"Well, that's wonderful! You must be earning a lot of money. Are you going to school?"

"Yes, I am."

"Where?"

"Cal State Long Beach."

"Wonderful! That's an excellent school. My husband used to teach there. They have a wonderful transfer program with UCLA. You should keep that in mind if you consider a graduate degree." She looks over her glasses at me. "And you should. You seem a smart boy."

"I'm thinking about it," I say.

It's not exactly a lie. I haven't ruled out the idea of a graduate school. I just don't know exactly what I want to do yet."

"Have you declared your major yet?"

"Oh, um… I'm still kind of looking at things."

"I see. You're a sophomore this coming fall, yes?"

"Yes."

"Well, you'll need to declare your major by spring. Don't waste too much time. You can always start with a business degree and transition to another field later. It's always a good idea to know how to manage your finances."

"Good advice," I say noncommittally. I remind myself that she's old and probably has no one to talk to, so she's taking advantage of the chance to talk to me.

"So you've heard about the Kensington girl."

I blink, shocked by the sudden change of subject. "Um… yes. Tragic."

She looks at me, and her expression is shrewd and almost cunning. I've seen that exact expression on too many faces in this neighborhood already. It's a little unsettling. Hell, it's a lot unsettling.

"Well," I say, "I should get—"

"It's horrible what Julian and Clara did to that poor girl."

A chill runs through me. "Do you… do you think…"

"I make it my business not to jump to conclusions, dear," Mrs. Winslow replies, "but I find it interesting that Lila's death occurred so soon after the tabloids leaked her eating disorder. You know Julian is running for a city council position. I shouldn't really ask such questions, but when I think of who might stand to benefit from Lila's death, I wonder if perhaps the sympathy of losing a child might outweigh the scandal of having a child with such a malady."

She sips her coffee, her expression one of practiced nonchalance now. I decide I don't like her nearly as much as I thought I did before.

Still, what she says makes an odd… sense? I don't follow politics much. The way I see it is that if politicians wanted to make a difference, we'd see it, but they only want to make differences that benefit them. Poor people aren't going to do anything for politicians, so why would they give a shit if we suffer?

But I know that image matters a lot and scandals truly do ruin careers. I don't know why having a daughter who's sick would ruin someone's career, but after hearing the story Vivian tells me about Mrs. Cho and Mrs. Fletcher, I have an idea of how the minds of wealthy people work.

I stand and say again, "I should get going on the pool, Mrs. Winslow. Thank you for the coffee."

She smiles at me. "Of course, dear. Thank you for keeping an old woman company."

I smile, and it occurs to me that the genuine one I wear earlier is gone. I'm back to faking it.

I head out the door and hear, "Be careful with that Chase woman, Nathan. She's not what she seems to be."

I stop dead in my tracks. How does she know about that? How could she know about that? She lives on the other side of the neighborhood.

I turn back to her, but she's looking away from me now, sipping her coffee. I open my mouth to say something, but I can't think of anything to say, so I just head to the backyard and begin working.

Yeah, I definitely don't like Mrs. Winslow.