Alice said that it did. Then she took one last look at Tommy, his arm wrapped protectively around his mom now, his head bent forward so he could more easily hear what she was saying, and turned around to follow Charlie and Cybill. As she did, she saw something that stopped her cold: it was Richard and her mom, Maggie, standing with the Devlins, Richard in conversation with her, Maggie in conversation with him. What surprised Alice wasn’t the sight of her mom talking to a Republican politician. Alice would have expected her to seek him out, demand that he justify himself, explain why he’d supported the governor cutting funding for inner-city schools, or why the needle-exchange program in their neighborhood had been shut down last month. No, what surprised Alice was the sight of her mom talking to a Republican politician and enjoying herself. And yet that’s exactly what she appeared to be doing, laughing, touching his arm, smiling up at him, showing every tooth in her mouth. Maybe, Alice thought uncomfortably, she didn’t want to embarrass Richard on his first night back, make a scene. Not making a scene was one thing, but acting so, so . . . kiss-assy was another.

Alice looked over at Charlie to see if Charlie was noticing the same thing she was. But Charlie’s attention was on Cybill. Then she turned to Alice. “You coming?” she said, impatiently.

Alice nodded. She couldn’t resist a final backward glance, though. Mr. Devlin was now helping her mom remove the toothpick from the watermelon and prosciutto appetizer on her plate, inserting the toothpick in his own mouth, stripping it of stray shreds of meat with teeth that were very white and very sharp, then dropping it on a passing waiter’s tray. Trying to shake the disturbing image, Alice followed Charlie and Cybill over to the bar. The image, though, wouldn’t shake.

Chapter Four

Chapter

• FOUR •

It looked like a summer party back home, Alice thought, except it was around a bonfire at the beach, instead of around a cooler in a parking lot or around a keg on someone’s parents’ bird-shit-covered rooftop: people were laughing and talking, boys were eyeing girls, girls were eyeing boys, joints were being passed around, music was being cranked. Even the drink of choice was the same, vodka and Red Bull, though in Cambridge it was Seagram’s and regular Red Bull; here it was Ketel One and sugar-free.