Page 34 of The Debutantes
The men laugh. I rush outside, resisting the urge to flip them the bird as I shut the door behind me.
Outside, the cool air is welcome on my face. Milford has made his way over to the pool, standing next to a magnolia tree. He reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. A joint, I realize, as he sticks it between his teeth. Smoking weed anywhere near Piper’s mom feels like a death wish, but Milford doesn’t strike me as the type who cares. He pulls out a lighter next, big and silver. Almost like…
Recognition seizes me, digging its fingers into my skin.
I reach for my camera. No time to think about it. Milford is cupping the lighter close to the joint between his lips, and I haveto know. I press the shutter, instantly regretting using my camera instead of my phone. It was instinct, but now, I can’t be sure if I got it clearly. I start to reach for my phone, thinking maybe—
“Uh, did you just take a picture of me?”
Shit.Shit.
Milford is squinting directly at me through the dark, and I should have leapt out the Johnsons’ window when I had the chance. But no. I have to step up and do this. How hard is it to be a functioning social being for five minutes?
Do it for Margot,I think.
“Your lighter,” I force out. “It’s cool.”
To my surprise, Milford laughs, high and whiny. He lifts it up, examining it in the light, and stumbles slightly, like the change in perspective was too much for his brain to keep up with.
“You smoke, June?”
“April,” I correct him, almost inaudibly. He literally escorted me around a ballroom twenty-four hours ago. How does he not remember which month I’m named after? “And I don’t really—”
I stop myself. I don’t smoke, not since the time I tried it with Margot and spent an hour convinced the statues in her backyard were watching me. But if I get Milford talking…
“Yeah,” I say. “Sometimes.”
I walk over to him, surprised at how calm I suddenly feel. For once, I feel like I have the upper hand.
Milford takes an overly indulgent hit before handing it over. “Another fucking party, am I right?”
I have only the vaguest idea of what Milford means by this, but I nod anyway. It’s an opening. “I guess it’s weird to be here,” I say. “You know. With the Lily stuff.”
Milford goes quiet, staring at the pool. Then he nods, likehe’s found enlightenment in the rippling surface. “Y’know, she might be smarter than all of us. Just saying screw it. Getting away from all this bullshit.”
“You think she ran away?”
Milford shrugs, reaching for the joint again. I hand it back without taking a hit. He brings it to his lips, apparently uninterested in continuing this conversation, but I have to keep trying.
“Can I see the lighter?” I ask.
Milford snickers. “You a pyro, or something?”
I don’t laugh. My heart is pounding too wildly. He digs into his pocket and pulls it out anyway, opening his palm for me to see. Some part of me already knew, but still, it’s like everything falls away except for that engraving.
The sad clown. It’s the same picture that was on the Jester’s invitation—on Margot’s lighter. I’d seen it a hundred times. In her pocket. On the levee.
In her hand on the last night of her life.
“Where did you get that?” I breathe.
Milford flicks the lighter open and sparks it, the flame dancing in the dark.
“Top secret,” he says with a slimy smile.
I reach for it, and he snaps it closed. “That’s hers,” I say. “That’s Margot’s.”
“What?” Milford looks genuinely confused, even through the daze of weed and alcohol. He takes an unsteady step back, toward the pool. “Margot Landry?”
