to think how many milestones their father is missing.”
Though the comment was directed at Kate, it was easily overheard by those nearby. Neve shut her book with an audible thump and glared in Celeste’s direction.
Kate felt like glaring herself but wouldn’t give Celeste the satisfaction. “Well, it’s been nice catching up with you ladies….” Now go away.
Celeste smiled. “We should do this more often. Of course, you’ve always had such a hectic schedule. And now that your circumstances have changed, we know how busy you must be.”
When Kate had moved into the neighborhood, she’d quickly realized that she was in the minority of full-time working women. Some of the wives, Celeste included, were home most days and had formed tight cliques. Though they smiled at Kate and chatted with her at cocktail parties, she’d never truly felt as if she belonged. Now the feeling multiplied tenfold.
She shouldn’t care; she didn’t even like Celeste Parker. But she’d endured smugness in her youth, from the kids who could afford better clothes and, as she got older, from the boys in her class who’d heard rumors about how “easy” her mother was. It had been freely speculated at her high school that Kate had landed some of her local modeling jobs by bestowing sexual favors on casting directors.
She’d deflected snide remarks and knowing glances her whole life, but she was successful now. She’d worked hard, married well. Dammit, she should be at home catching up on work or watching an old movie with Paul, not baking beside an overchlorinated pool with no idea what to say to her stepchildren and letting Celeste frigging Parker make her feel as though she were in sixth grade again.
As Celeste offered a saccharine “toodles” more appropriate to a nineteen-year-old sorority pledge than a noted attorney’s wife, Kate turned her attention to PJ.
The boy frowned. “Are you okay?”
“Just fine, buddy.”
No sense ruining his outing by explaining that sometimes people stung more viciously and deliberately than jellyfish.
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