Peaches with Bonus Material

  “It’s a thong,” Leeda said tightly.

  Murphy fish-eyed her.

  Finally, frustrated, Leeda made Murphy wait on one side and Birdie on the other to catch her in case she fell. She climbed over, her thong showing itself in all of its baby pink glory, and came down with a soft thud on the other side. They started across the grass, which was short and fine and perfect, sloped here and there to admit a sand trap or a tiny, perfectly shaped pond. The clubhouse up ahead practically gleamed with the whiteness of its walls. A golf cart zoomed past them, carrying an older couple in all white.

  For Leeda, coming to the club had used to feel like a great way to spend the day, but now it was like stepping into a mind-numbing TV show instead of real life. She glanced at Birdie to see how she was dealing.

  “Those trees are so ugly,” Birdie said distastefully, pointing to the skinny Italian pines. Leeda had always thought they were pretty, but now, she realized, her taste had shifted. They didn’t look ugly to her. But they didn’t look right either.

  “I’d like to stick one of those trees up Horatio Balmeade’s butt,” Murphy said casually, and Birdie giggled.

  Leeda had to admit, Murphy knew how to put things into perspective. But she made Leeda nervous. It had taken all of Leeda’s sweetest, eyelash-fluttering persuasion to get Uncle Walter to let Murphy off the orchard for Danay’s party, and she didn’t want her to screw it up. Already Uncle Walter had started to look at Leeda suspiciously, like he was beginning to figure out that she wasn’t quite the good influence on Birdie he had assumed she would be, though he still seemed to mostly lay the blame on Murphy.

  And seeing the way Murphy strode beside Birdie, like she might kick Horatio Balmeade in the shins if he looked at her sideways, was enough to make Leeda wish—half guiltily—that they’d left her in the dorms.

  Inside the clubhouse the blandness of the grounds extended itself and hitched up a notch. Leeda felt a little dizzy from the coolness of the air conditioner, the neatness of every person who passed by, the clean, empty smell of the air after the heady, earthy smell of the orchard, which clung even to the inside of the dorms. Leeda looked for Rex but didn’t see him.

  “You guys stay here,” Birdie said.

  Leeda and Murphy sank onto the leather couch by the door as Birdie crossed the room like a convict approaching the electric chair.

  “I wonder what those papers are,” Murphy said darkly, tapping her feet against the marble of the floor.

  “It can’t be good,” Leeda said, eyeing her meaningfully. “Do you think she knows?”

  Murphy stared across the wide floor as Birdie was reapproaching them. “Yeah, she knows,” she said quietly. “Did you talk to him?” she added brightly as Birdie approached. Birdie’s chest was heaving in tight bursts, and she looked like she might cry.

  “He wasn’t there.”

  “Didn’t he tell you to come at two?”

  Birdie looked back over her shoulder. “Yeah. I just put the papers on his desk.” And then she looked at Murphy and Leeda. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Hey, Birdie, where we going?” Leeda asked.

  Birdie didn’t answer. She didn’t know. She took long strides in a straight line, trying to put the clubhouse as far behind her as possible. Everywhere, the Balmeade Country Club appeared to be thriving financially. There were gardeners out trimming the shrubs to perfection and tons of shiny white golf carts crisscrossing the grass. Beside the new condos on the north side there were even newer condos going up. Here everybody was white, wore white, drove white golf carts. There were SUVs parked in discreet lots beyond the course so nobody would have to walk too far. All the golfers were men.

  “Birdie, are you okay?” Murphy called out from behind her.

  Birdie turned back to Leeda and Murphy and swallowed, trying to talk herself out of all the anger she felt. She took a deep breath. “Those papers were specs. For the orchard. Acreage, tree count, land surveys. I peeked.”

  Leeda and Murphy both stared at her solemnly.

  She crossed her arms and stared around, blinking. She wasn’t surprised, but she was still shocked. “I just…I want to knock everything down.”

  They were standing near a couple of boxwood shrubs, close to the first hole. She was about to kick one of the shrubs when Murphy grabbed her arm and gave her a hard yank. She, Murphy, and Leeda went tumbling behind the bushes.

  “What?” Birdie hissed, looking for whatever it was that Murphy had seen. Her eyes lit on Horatio Balmeade, strolling across the grass with another man about fifty yards away.

  “Why are we hiding?” she whispered to Murphy. Murphy didn’t answer. Her green eyes narrowed for a moment, and then she seemed to remember something, and she reached her hand into her pocket, pulling out a very ripe, half-eaten peach.

  “Here.” Murphy held the peach out, a few drops of juice landing on Birdie’s knuckles. “When he comes by, you should nail him with this.”

  Birdie looked at her, wide-eyed. “No!”

  “Murphy,” Leeda said, low and tense.

  “Come on.” Murphy shoved the peach into her hand, grinning. It squished against Birdie’s fingers. “You know you want to.”

  Birdie looked at Leeda, who shook her head. “We’ll get busted,” Leeda hissed. Birdie felt the texture of the pit in her hands, buried in the thickness of the meat of the peach.

  “Trust me, you’ll feel much better,” Murphy said.

  The men continued to approach. She could see the gleaming white of Horatio’s outfit through the holes in the bushes. Birdie gripped the peach in her fist. She felt a giddy nervousness that made it almost impossible to keep from laughing out her anger, especially when she looked at Murphy’s expectant, gleeful face. “The pool will be Olympic standard,” Horatio was saying.

  “Birdie, don’t,” Leeda whispered.

  Birdie acted fast. She stood up, lobbed the pit over the bush toward Horatio’s back, and ducked.

  “Eugh!”

  Murphy snorted and clapped her hand over her mouth, then clutched the branches as they stared through the spaces in the bushes.

  Horatio had his hand on the back of his head and was leaning forward slightly. He clasped the back of his head, then looked up toward the sky, then around at the bushes, then down at the ground. He smiled at his friend and laughed fakely, and it came out so awkward that Birdie cringed for him. He picked up the peach and looked over toward the bush again, then the paltry patches of shrubbery and small trees in the opposite direction, his face going fire-engine red. He shook his shoulders, straightened them, and walked over to a caddy who was on his way across the grass. He started pointing around the area.

  Murphy burst away from the bushes, keeping low to the ground. Birdie and Leeda followed, stumbling over themselves, moving on inertia.

  They sprinted across the grass, breaking through the small patches of trees, and though they veered behind the clubhouse and out of Balmeade’s sight, they didn’t stop till they’d reached the road that ran along the back of the resort. It wasn’t until they got there that Birdie realized she had peed her pants. And then it was only because Murphy fell on the ground, laughing hysterically and pointing, while Leeda hovered over her, panting and strained, looking like she wanted to step on Murphy’s head.

  On February 14, 1988, Lucretia Cawley-Smith and her huband, both drunk on too many sloe gin fizzes, accepted her cousin Cynthia’s offer to stay the night at Darlington Orchard. A few weeks later, Lucretia, who wanted only one child and was more than satisfied with the one she had, reacted to her first wave of morning sickness in the same way she met most of life’s surprises—with a raised eyebrow and a feeling of discontent that fate hadn’t checked with her first.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Leeda checked herself one last time in the bathroom mirror, smoothing out the lines of her silver dress and running a few curls around her fingers to make them curvier. Out in the hall Murphy and Birdie were leaning against a wall, waiting for her—Birdi
e in a typically understated loose cotton dress and Murphy in one that was typically juicy, skimming her thighs in tiny pleats. They both looked beautiful.

  Of course, at the moment it pissed Leeda off that Murphy looked beautiful. Leeda had been giving her the freeze-out since the peach incident, but by all appearances, Murphy couldn’t care less. She’d given up teasing Leeda about it. At first Murphy had called her a priss, pointing out several times that they hadn’t gotten caught. But Leeda almost wished they had, just so Murphy would be wrong.

  “You look nice, Bird,” Leeda said, shooting Murphy a cool glance. Murphy seemed unfazed.

  Outside, the workers were still gathered around the barbecue. As the girls stepped outside, everybody turned to look at them. Several people let out wolf whistles. The women all smiled. Leeda shifted awkwardly, but she was pleased and touched. Just by the smiles on their faces, she could tell Birdie and Murphy were too.

  As they started across the lawn, two faces loomed out at Leeda. One was Rex, who hadn’t even showered yet. He was driving separately because Leeda had insisted it would look suspicious for them to arrive together since she was coming from the orchard and the last thing she needed was for her parents to make the connection that Rex worked at the orchard. And though he’d said she was paranoid, he’d gone along. Leeda had been pushing her family’s buttons by inviting him in the first place. When they met eyes, she communicated with hers that he should get his butt ready to go.

  The other face was Enrico. He was staring at Birdie as if she were a ball of light, his face illuminated, his mouth hanging slightly open.

  “Hey, Birdie,” Leeda whispered, leaning forward and pinching Birdie’s butt. “Your boyfriend’s catching flies.”

  Birdie snaked a hand out stealthily, smacking her low and hard on the upper thigh.

  “Ow.” Leeda shot her hand to her skin, surprised at how much it hurt.

  Walking across the grass all dressed up felt strange—but special. It felt like being dressed up at the orchard, you glowed extra bright. The car arrived to pick them up exactly on time.

  The Grand Ballroom of the Bridgewater Plantation View hotel was festooned with wine-colored candles that matched Danay’s lipstick. Leeda’s mom and dad stood by the big white doors proudly, greeting guests as they came in. Leeda drifted up to them with Murphy and Birdie at either side. Her mom kissed her like she was one of the guests.

  “Hi, honey. Hi, Birdie.”

  She kissed Birdie lightly too.

  “And who’s this?” she asked Murphy’s cleavage.

  “That’s…Murphy, Mom.”

  “Hi, Murphy,” Mrs. Cawley-Smith said fakely. Her mom could be so embarrassing sometimes. “Do you work at the orchard?”

  Murphy crossed her arms over her chest defensively. But she managed to answer very politely. “Yep.”

  “Can you find your sister and send her over?” Lucretia asked, turning to Leeda. “I need to ask her something.”

  Leeda’s special feeling from back at the orchard immediately disintegrated. She’d barely seen her mom all summer. “Yeah,” Leeda said, “I’ll find her.”

  The party was in full swing half an hour later, with a twelve-piece Zydeco band that Danay had requested after hearing them at Jazz Club in New Orleans. Rex arrived around that time, saying hi to the girls and then dragging Leeda out onto the dance floor. Rex didn’t dance like some guys, showing off, or like others, who danced like spazzes. Rex danced nicely, solidly, dashingly, but without so much dash that he came across as less than the guy guy he was. Leeda was proud of him.

  “Your sister’s a good dancer,” he said, nodding to where Danay and Brighton were keeping perfect rhythm.

  “I know. I hate it,” Leeda said, knowing she sounded bratty. Rex rubbed her back at the waist, where his hand was holding her.

  “The audacity.” He smiled. Leeda did too. Good old Rex.

  He swung Leeda around a few times. They brushed past Horatio Balmeade, who was dancing with his much-younger wife but who eyed Leeda all the same as they crossed paths. Murphy was also not far away, dancing with one of the waiters.

  Birdie stood on the sidelines, sipping champagne in fast little spurts and looking like if she kept going at the pace she was, she was headed for the night of her life.

  After giving the cute waiter her number, Murphy drifted up to the bar and ordered a Manhattan, disbelieving that it could actually be free. “You look a little young to be drinking,” the bartender said, still handing her the drink but doubtfully.

  “Thanks,” Murphy said, flashing a seductive smile and sipping on her way to join Leeda, Rex, Birdie, Danay, and Leeda’s mom. Mrs. Cawley-Smith was in the middle of listening to herself talk about the migrant workers at the orchard. Murphy immediately wanted to turn around and hightail it elsewhere. But even though she was annoyed with Leeda for being so nitpicky about Birdie’s beautiful peach pit attack, she didn’t want to embarrass her by being rude. In fact, she’d never managed to act this mannerly for this long in her entire life.

  Leeda stood listening, looking small. Murphy had never seen her tuck her shoulders or look so unsure of herself.

  “It is really sad,” Danay said. “They don’t have any rights. No way to get around. It’s total exploitation. No offense, Birdie.”

  “But,” Leeda ventured tentatively, “everybody’s fine with it. You should meet some of the workers. They work hard, but they have a good time. And they can make enough in one summer to live on in Mexico for two or three years.”

  Murphy watched the exchange, keeping quiet for once. Birdie, who knew more about the subject than anybody, was twirling an olive around and around in her martini, looking dazed. Occasionally she exchanged a look with Murphy and rolled her eyes. The only person Murphy didn’t observe was Rex. She was careful to keep her eyes off him.

  Time and again when Leeda spoke, Mrs. Cawley-Smith’s eyes glazed over. It was really unbelievable. It started to irritate Murphy, the way she would start looking around as if she had somewhere to be or glance over at Rex like he was some kind of pest that had made its way into her party by mistake.

  Leeda was in the middle of saying something about how hard the work at the orchard was when her mother looked at Rex coolly and drawled, “You know my Leeda, Rex, she’s never really worked a day in her life.” She said it as if she was bestowing Rex with a gift by saying something so chummy.

  “Actually, that’s not true.”

  Everybody in the circle turned to Murphy.

  “Have you been to the orchard to visit her?” Murphy went on.

  Mrs. Cawley-Smith tugged on her solitaire necklace. “I haven’t been to the orchard in years, actually. I’m not much into nature.” She smiled dryly.

  “Are you much into Leeda? Because you could have come to visit. I mean, if you had, you’d see how hard she’s been working.”

  Murphy looked at Leeda, who mouthed at her to be quiet. But once Murphy got started, it was hard for her to stop.

  “It’s like you’ve typecast your own daughter.”

  Mrs. Cawley-Smith’s mouth had straightened into a thin, perfectly lipsticked line. “Excuse me?”

  “Murphy.” Rex had sidled up to her and was tugging at her elbow now. Murphy yanked it away.

  “You and Danay are standing here, laughing about how Leeda is this and Leeda is that and you don’t even know her.” Murphy spat the words. She didn’t know why she was suddenly so pissed off, but she couldn’t control it.

  “Murphy…”

  Suddenly Rex was physically dragging her away from the group. Murphy caught Leeda’s eyes as she was pulled across the dance floor. Rex didn’t stop until he’d dragged her through a pair of white double doors out onto the huge, red-tiled balcony of the hotel.

  When they got to the wall, he turned her around to look at him. “Stay here,” he said sternly.

  “But I don’t…”

  “Stay.” Rex pushed her back against the wall gently but firmly. Murphy stayed, shocking ev
en herself.

  He disappeared inside, and a minute later he emerged with a bottle of Voss. It figured the Cawley-Smiths would only serve designer water.

  “Drink.”

  Murphy did, looking up at his stern gaze and glowering.

  “I was just sticking up for her. It wasn’t fair.”

  “You weren’t thinking about Leeda. You were thinking how pissed you are at the world. You were thinking about Murphy, as usual.”

  “But Leeda…” Murphy faltered.

  “Look, I know her mom is crappy. But she needs to figure it out on her own. Embarrassing her isn’t going to change anything.”

  Murphy crossed her arms over herself, thinking. She could see his point.

  “But she looks at you like you’re a bug. Doesn’t that piss you off?”

  Rex shrugged. “It’s not about me. I just want Leeda to be happy. And if that means swallowing my pride every once in a while, fine.”

  Murphy sank back against the wall.

  “She’s a good girl.” Rex’s features had softened, and he looked at Murphy intently.

  “I know.” Murphy felt like she knew her more after an hour with her family than she had the whole time they’d spent at the orchard. It was like putting a piece of Leeda where it belonged in a bigger picture. Murphy had assumed that Leeda’s perfectionism was as natural-born to her as her pinky finger, just part of her perfect life. It was funny how it only took seeing another part of the picture to realize it was the opposite.

  Leeda was a good girl.

  But it made her heart throb painfully to hear Rex saying it. She tried to look as casual as possible, crossing her arms over her stomach. That seemed to make her cleavage poke out too much, and she didn’t want Rex to think she wanted him to look at her cleavage, so she uncrossed them again.

  “Leeda will figure it out. She just doesn’t fit with them. She tries.”