“Oh my God,” Bunny says, the iPhone in her hand tilting as she loses focus and watches in real time.
“Oh God, stop it, you guys!” Mackenzie yells.
Stan drops the bottle on the floor, a stream of champagne spilling out.
“He’s drowning!” Marty yells. Snot and champagne spill out of Billy’s nose as they pull off the handkerchief and bandanna, his eyes watering.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Chase unties his body, limp now. Billy rolls off of the snowboard and onto the floor; spread out on his stomach, he vomits a combination of yellow snot and champagne.
“Jesus Christ,” Bunny says, watching him… the phone still recording, but dangling by her side.
Marty gets on his knees with Chase, Stan following suit. “Billy, man, are you okay?” Marty puts his hand on his back.
“Fuck,” Stan says. “You okay, buddy? We’re right here.…” The entire room is still and scared, everyone staring at Billy groaning and gasping for air. The guys pull him up so he’s sitting and leaning against the wall, his hair wet with sweat and bubbles, the front of his shirt soaked in yellow bile. He comes to, opening and closing his mouth—squeezing his swelling eyes as they sting with alcohol, his cheeks flushed, his facial muscles so constrained it looks like the veins in his forehead might explode.
“Fuck, man.” Billy breathes heavily, a little more normal now. Trying not to look scared. “That was fucking epic!” he says.
Everyone looks to each other in a moment of silence—before they bend over laughing, laughing so hard they can hardly breathe, their faces burning bright red.
Chase points to Billy in between guffaws. “If we ever go to war, dude, and they reinstate the draft, I’m going with you, man.”
“Me too,” Stan says, swiping his hair out of his eyes.
“Shut up, fucker, you’re Russian! We’ll be dropping MOAB bombs on your ass.” Chase takes a swig.
“What we should do is drop a MOAB bomb on North Korea, extinguish them once and for all from planet earth!” Billy grabs the jeroboam sitting within arm’s reach, takes a swig, then slams it back on the floor while making an explosion noise with his mouth, the kind that little boys make when they’re playing GI Joes.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Church bells echo across Northwest Washington. Gothic towers of the National Cathedral reign outside in the fall chill. The grotesque gargoyles are perched, mouths wide, claws hooked below the stained glass windows and a holy cross as black limousines, town cars, and news crews line up outside the semicircular driveway. Three black hearses and several security details wait with the engines running while rubberneckers creep down Wisconsin Avenue.
Inside, a draft kicks crumpled leaves around the grand aisle, swept in by careless footwork. Guests shuffle in rows before three closed caskets covered in white lilies, center stage. The void instead of a fourth casket: the housekeeper, her family unable to afford participation in the National Cathedral service, the church unwilling to provide a big enough discount, and yet no one seems to notice.
Betsy enters the cathedral wearing a lime-green trench coat, tugging on the arms of Mackenzie and Haley, who have no idea why they’re at a stranger’s funeral, the dead girl from their new school resting below ancient stained glass windows and cold walls. Betsy smiles for a moment before she remembers it’s a goddamned funeral, pinching her mouth closed as they approach the Bartholomews.
Chuck turns around to see Senator Doug Wallace and Betsy walking toward him.
“Mr. Senator,” Chuck says, patting him on the back, a friendly reminder that Doug’s got his balls wrapped in Chuck’s donation dollars.
“Chuck, wonderful to see you. I’m so sorry for your loss. I know David was an old friend of yours from those Hasty Pudding days.”
“Ah yes, it’s a very sad day,” Chuck says.
Meredith approaches with Bunny. She wears a black Chanel suit with pearls and diamond studs, a simple eternity band on her ring finger.
“Mer, sweetheart, you remember Senator Wallace.”
“Hello.” Meredith delivers a polite but phony smile, then pulls Bunny into the pew beside them, avoiding Betsy Wallace at all costs, passing pockets of Bibles and heading for Phyllis Van Buren and her husband, John, their heads buried in the program as an organ sounds.
“Why is that woman wearing lime green to a funeral?” Bunny whispers to her mother, in reference to Betsy’s coat.
Without moving her head, Meredith slides her eyes like lasers to the side, then back again. “She’s a commoner.…” She opens her Bible.
“Mom!” Bunny, shocked at her mother’s use of the word commoner, wonders if this is the first time she’s ever heard her say it… or perhaps she thinks Bunny is now old enough to hear it.
“I’m sorry, but it’s true, she grew up in a trailer park in North Carolina. There’s only one reason your father likes them. Now, pick up your Bible, don’t be rude.” Bunny rolls her eyes, pulls the Bible out of the back pocket of the pew, places it on her lap over her navy J.Crew dress.
Mackenzie waves at Bunny from across the aisle as her mother pulls her into the opposite pew. Bunny sends her a Mona Lisa smile, then realizes that the woman she and her mother were gossiping about is Mackenzie’s mother. Bunny studies them. She watches Mackenzie fumble with the extension clip at the back of her head, something she noticed at school too, sensing her deep need to fit in, reminding Bunny of all the times she tried to impress Audrey at the end of middle school after she had pulled away from Bunny—like the iridescent Miu Miu jacket she begged her mom to buy her like all the popular girls. An irrational boil of rage emerges toward Audrey, and now that Audrey is dead, Bunny fears she’ll never be allowed to feel it. She feels disgust for that jacket now. Doug takes his seat on the aisle, blocking Bunny’s view.
As the
