Every Last Secret - A.R. Torre Page 0,1

kids. Such a cruel thing to say to a fertility-challenged woman. Besides, it was pure crap. No child in Atherton wanted to be normal. Children in Atherton wanted Instagram videos jumping off yachts in taggable locations like the Greek isles. Our heated pools and chilly San Francisco gloom didn’t impress their classmates when they stepped from chauffeured sedans and returned to Menlo School in the fall.

I had smiled at Perla and wondered if she knew that her seventeen-year-old son was screwing our maid. “I know,” I’d said. “When we have kids, maybe we’ll join you.”

William and I would be “suffering” through the chilly summer with our heated tile floors, indoor and outdoor saunas, hot tubs, and six fireplaces. We’d be fighting off the gloom with day trips to Beverly Hills and weekends in our Hawaii home. And honestly, it was kind of nice to have a break from my friends and their always-present collection of children.

“I’m telling you,” Johanna drawled, eyeing a passing waiter with a look of longing. “Puerto Rico is where we’re buying next. A four percent tax rate? Think of how much we’d save.”

“Have you been to Puerto Rico?” I asked, following my husband’s path as he moved through the entrance hall, his head bent toward the older man beside him. “For an island, the views suck. If I’m moving that far away, I need a beach and a view.”

She shrugged. “We could buy an island off one year’s tax savings. That’s worth dealing with a subpar view. Plus, think of the cultural impact on Stewie and Jane. They could learn the language. Interact with the locals. See how struggling families live.”

Jane had received a boob job for her sixteenth birthday. The last time I saw her, she was sagging under the weight of a dozen shopping bags with a cell phone stuck to her ear, climbing into the passenger seat of an exotic car. I hadn’t seen Stewie in over a year but had heard of his expulsion from Menlo and rumors of an exclusive drug-rehab center that Johanna was touting as a study abroad.

“Forget Puerto Rico,” Mallory chimed in, one of her diamond chandelier earrings caught in her hair. “The home next to us in Cabo is going up for sale. One of you needs to buy it.” Her chin swung to me, and she raised a delicate, dark brow. “Cat? Come on. You could use a summer away.”

There was a general murmur of agreement among the women, and I laughed, carefully reaching forward and untangling her earring. “Not going to happen. I love my pasty-white skin. Plus, William can’t leave the office for a week, much less three months.”

Kelly tossed her arm around my neck. “You guys forget. Cat’s got Eskimo blood. Anyway, do you blame the woman? William’s keeping her warm.”

The conversation turned to my husband, their tones quieting as they criticized his work ethic while groaning over his good looks.

I leaned my head against Kelly’s shoulder and sighed. “You know you’re the only one I’ll miss,” I whispered, and it was true. Kelly—though she had the requisite +2 children Atherton admired—was the only one who displayed any sensitivity to my fertility woes. As an added bonus, she had been the only wife to welcome me to Atherton, sans snobby judgment. It had been a kindness I had never forgotten.

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” she said out of the corner of her bright-red mouth.

I smiled and straightened, half-heartedly participating in the conversation as I looked out over the party. It was the normal mix of familiar faces atop glittery gowns, the men’s tuxedos evenly mixed in with the colors. While I hadn’t personally met every guest, it was a small town, and we women had formed our own exclusive circle, one that centered around the Menlo country club and branched out.

A waiter bent to deliver a drink, and I watched as a monogrammed napkin fluttered from his tray to the dark wood floor. Excusing myself from the group, I moved toward the fallen item, checking on details as I went. Caviar buffet, stocked. The band was halfway through their set, the soft blues pairing well with the clink of champagne flutes and laughter. I was pleased to see that the great room wasn’t crowded, guests evenly dispersed between our home’s indoor and outdoor spaces.

“Cat!” A statuesque older woman approached, her gold gown brushing the floor as she reached out with both hands and fiercely gripped my shoulders. “I never