The Best of Friends

“It has only been a day since the funeral. How could she? But it’s probably easier for her to worry about lawyers and things like that when her son, Caleb, is safely tucked in his bed at home tonight, unharmed.”

Lindsey, whose son Jacob was rendered brain-dead in the shooting, feels betrayed by her longtime friend Dani, who has speedily retained the services of a lawyer. The shooting occurred in Dani’s house, and the gun in question belonged to her and her husband. In her anger at Dani’s possible culpability (underscored by her seeking of legal advice), Lindsey ignores the fact that Dani’s son Caleb is far from “unharmed”: Actually, Caleb shows signs of deep psychological trauma and has not spoken a word since the incident. Lindsey also chooses to forget that Dani is fully dominated by her bullying husband, who insisted, against her wishes, on buying the gun and on bringing in the lawyer. The novel’s three narrators, this early passage implies, are not entirely reliable. This quote captures the theme of The Psychological and Emotional Aftermath of Tragedy, as Lindsey’s inability to see beyond her own pain causes her to misread Caleb’s suffering and judge her longtime friend.

“His entire head was wrapped in thick bandages, his eyes swollen shut like they had been the day he was born.”

Lindsey’s son Jacob, who was shot in the head, has been on a ventilator and other life-support measures since the incident, and his injuries render him almost unrecognizable to his mother. However, his “swollen shut” eyes remind Lindsey of when he was a newborn: a recurring motif in the book, in which all three mothers compare their damaged (or deceased) teenage sons to their baby selves. These memories of happiness, innocence, and budding potential exacerbate the tragedy of the shooting, with their heartrending contrasts to the teens’ ruined lives. Infancy as a visual echo of trauma ties directly into the theme of The Psychological and Emotional Aftermath of Tragedy, showing how grief distorts perception and collapses time for bereaved parents.

“‘Please, Caleb, just tell me what happened,’ I whisper. […] It’s been seventeen days, and he still hasn’t spoken. Not one word.”

Caleb, who escaped (physical) harm in the shooting, is the only witness to what occurred that night. However, the shock of the sudden tragedy has rendered him mute, as well as powerless to communicate what happened in any other way, e.g., through writing. Caleb, whose muteness is presented (by his doctors) as a temporary affliction, introduces the novel’s main thread of suspense. His shocking revelation in the book’s penultimate chapter finally resolves the months-long mystery.

“Kendra, Lindsey, and I have been so lucky. We’ve gotten to live the life we whispered about when we were little girls huddled underneath our blankets at sleepovers. We always talked about living in the town we grew up in, marrying amazing men, and raising our children together.”

Ambushed by tragedy, Dani looks back on the “lucky,” privileged life she previously shared with her two friends, which she views unambiguously as a childhood dream-come-true. However, as later events reveal, this nostalgia is largely delusional: Her husband Bryan is not an “amazing” man but a controlling bully, and her son Caleb has repeatedly been disciplined at school for his anger issues and for plagiarism. Her daughter Luna has hardly spoken to her in years, due to her refusal to stand up to Bryan. As for her youthful dreams, they were crushed when she got pregnant in college and felt herself pressured to drop out of school and marry Bryan. At this point in the narrative, Dani’s first-person narration of her domestic situation is markedly unreliable; as the novel unfolds, however, she shares more of her profound unhappiness with the reader.

“However, with all due respect, the forensics taken from the scene paint a different picture. Jacob’s injuries and finger placements on the gun are all consistent with an attempted suicide.”

Detective Locke casts doubt on Lindsey’s pet theory that the shooting was somehow an “accident”: Her son Jacob, he says, likely shot himself in the head with deliberation. Lindsey, however, rejects this verdict, and suggests various farfetched scenarios: that Jacob might have thought the gun was unloaded (even though there were two gunshots, separated by a substantial gap), or that one of the other boys might have shot him and then placed the gun in his hand. As soon becomes apparent, Lindsey—like her two best friends—blinded herself to the troubles in her own house and knew much less about her son’s inner life than she thought. This moment connects to the theme of The Pursuit of Justice and Closure, as Detective Locke’s clinical conclusion forces Lindsey to face the uncomfortable possibility that her son’s injuries were self-inflicted, challenging her belief in his innocence.

“Incident? That’s what he’s calling this? One of Caleb’s best friends is dead, and the other one is in a coma. We step around their imaginary bodies in our living room. […] ‘You’re right,’ I say and plaster the good-wife smile on my face.”

Inwardly, Dani rages at her husband Bryan for callously disregarding the significance of the deadly shooting that occurred in their home. At his insistence, the family continues to live there, though they can still see, in their heads, where the bodies fell. Outwardly, however, she keeps on playing the role of the “good” (obedient) wife, smilingly agreeing to his every decision, which includes rigorously “coaching” Luna and Caleb on how to answer the detectives’ questions. Dani makes it clear that this is a pattern she fell into long ago, and which has come to define her marriage.

“‘Sawyer, talk to me,’ I whisper to his phone. I hold his world in my hand. There’s got to be a clue in it, and I won’t stop until I find it. I just wish I knew what to look for.”

Kendra, determined to learn the truth about her son’s fatal shooting, believes his cell phone (“his world”) holds the key to the mystery. Ironically, as she learns later, this phone contains only his public face—which she should have guessed, since teenagers rarely put anything very intimate on phones for which their mothers have the passcodes. Sawyer’s sexual life and feelings were reserved for his secret “burner” phone, which has been in his bedroom closet all the time, just a few steps from where Kendra spends most of her nights. Kendra’s determination, however, hints that her search for secrets will be rewarded—foreshadowing the revelations to come.

“Bryan increases the pressure on my skin, twisting slightly. The first time he pinched me flashes through my mind, like it does every time he hurts me. I didn’t stop him that night, and that’s what you’re supposed to do when your husband hurts you on purpose.”

Like many practiced abusers, Bryan has always stopped short of overt physical violence: He has never hit Dani, which might drive her to finally leave him or get him into trouble with the law. Instead, he exerts a subtle, but no less effective, cruelty, with sharp pinches, twists, and painful squeezes. This type of abuse, while not legally provable, has the gradual effect of traumatizing the sensitive Dani and making her fall into line, even in public. Having not stood up for herself—drawn a “line in the sand”—the first time he did it, Dani has allowed Bryan to normalize this abuse, to the point that he can claim her objections to it are abnormal, even irrational.

“Bryan’s grip tightens on my knee. […] ‘Of course.’ I nod my head and force myself to maintain eye contact with him. ‘It was just boys being boys.’ Disgust churns my insides at what I’ve said. It’s no wonder Luna hates me.”

Over 50 pages, Dani’s narration has become more outspoken and frank, and no longer does she profess to an ideal marriage with an “amazing man.” She now shares with the reader the inner turmoil that she has long wrestled with and carefully concealed, at the cost of her daughter’s respect. In the presence of his lawyer friend, Bryan uses his subtle violence to extort a claim from her that the three teens were just “goofing around” like any boys might, and that the shooting was just a freak accident. Forced again to contradict her own feelings and instincts, Dani confronts the fact that she has long betrayed her own children, in order to keep a semblance of peace with her husband and to maintain the façade of a successful marriage.

“It’s one of those weird moments when the fact that Lindsey and Kendra were best friends first comes into play, creating all kinds of weird tension and jealousy—their weddings, my wedding, birthdays, special vacations when we were kids. It’s so silly that fourth-grade drama would follow us into middle age, but it’s here, rearing its ugly head.”

Within this trio of longtime friends, Dani has often felt like the third wheel, lacking the special closeness of Lindsey and Kendra’s relationship. Whenever the other two are together without her, Dani worries that she’s the subject of their gossip. This rift has only worsened in adulthood, since she feels that Lindsey and Kendra look down on her for not leaving the abusive Bryan. Now, the fact that the shooting happened in her house and with her family’s gun, followed by Bryan’s retention of a lawyer, has exacerbated the old tensions even more. At the same time, there are hints that her two friends harbor the same insecurities. Later in the novel, Kendra grouses to herself that “Lindsey will tell [Dani] things that she won’t tell me” (156). This passage illustrates the theme of The Dynamics of Trust and Betrayal Among Close Friends, as childhood tensions and insecurities resurface under the pressure of shared grief.

“I went back to the party and tried repairing the damage they’d done. That was my biggest concern, and I’ll regret it forever. I should have stayed with them.”

Dani’s daughter Luna, despite feeling scorn for her overly acquiescent mother, follows her pattern of avoiding conflict with aggressive males. On the night of the shooting, she took the easiest course of action and left the three boys alone with each other; and now, like Dani, she tortures herself with guilt over her failure to stand up to them.

“I’ll never forget the sound of the smack when his hand connected with her face or the horror in Luna’s eyes when she realized what he’d done.”

Perhaps owing to her guilt for leaving the boys alone, Luna directly challenges her father for the first time, flaunting her disobedience of him in visiting Kendra. In response, Bryan finally crosses the “line,” smacking her and drawing blood. After this, Dani can no longer bottle up her outrage behind excuses and a complaisant smile; she finally summons the courage to leave her husband.

“This is why I’ve been too scared to leave. No one talks about the logistics of leaving, like getting out of an abusive relationship is simply working up the courage to go.”

One of the reasons some women (and men) remain, sometimes for life, with an abusive partner is because they lack the funds or earning power to leave. Dani, for instance, has no college degree or job, and Bryan has always controlled the family’s purse strings. As such, the “logistics” of leaving her suburban home are particularly daunting for her, and Dani finally resorts to moving back into her childhood home with her mother.

“A chill runs down my neck. It’s not the images in the video that disturb me—it’s the desire. Sawyer’s throat is laced with it when he says Jacob’s name, and Jacob’s eyes return the fire.”

Kendra, in her search for clues, takes a closer look at some of the (seemingly innocuous) videos on Sawyer’s phone. For the first time, she notices disturbingly erotic overtones in Sawyer’s images of Jacob, casting a completely new light on the tragedy. The phrase “return the fire,” with its associations with gunplay, hints strongly that this “desire” may be connected with the shooting.

“I created a profile on an online site for married people who are looking for companionship.”

Andrew, Lindsey’s husband, confesses to her that he has felt lonely in their marriage for years, and has consequently become very close to a woman he met online, whose real name he doesn’t know. He’s quick to reassure her that the site is not for dating and that their conversations are not sexual in nature, but Lindsey takes little solace from this, feeling devastated that he has deceived her and “fallen in love” with another woman.

“‘I’m your best friend. I’m always here for you.’ I plant a kiss on her cheek. ‘No matter what.’ Even if Jacob killed Sawyer, because he’s stuck in purgatory, which seems like a fitting punishment for gutting me and destroying my family.”

Kendra’s narration reveals her two-faced nature, offering love and solace to Lindsey—who has been crumpling under the stress of caring for her comatose son—while secretly gloating over Jacob’s fate. Repeatedly in The Best of Friends, the soothing words the three women say to each other often fail to match their inner thoughts, which can be petty and vindictive. This quote highlights the theme of The Dynamics of Trust and Betrayal Among Close Friends, exposing the layers of rivalry and resentment that complicate the women’s friendships even in their most supportive moments.

“She’s been nonstop texting me about him, and I need to get home before she tries to play matchmaker and arrange a secret meeting with the two of us to work things out. She’s pulled that one before, since he’s had her wrapped around his finger from day one and he can do no wrong in her eyes.”

Dani’s widowed mother has, over the years, become close to Bryan, who has always charmed her by playing the role of the sensitive, concerned husband. Dani, meanwhile, has always been too ashamed to tell her the truth about Bryan’s abusive, controlling behavior. This lack of candor now complicates her efforts to seek shelter with her mother.

“The food looks perfect, though. I ordered it from Cecconi’s and put it in my best serving bowls. I smile at my secret as I bring in the last dish: salmon carpaccio. Delicious. This one always gets compliments.”

Kendra, who takes pride in her reputation as a superb hostess, plasters a “charming housewife smile” on her face as she serves Detective Locke “delicious” food that she has secretly purchased from a fancy restaurant. (199) Her winking aside about the “compliments” signifies that this is not the first time she has done this—but the gravity of this occasion (Locke’s investigation into her son’s death) makes her vanity seem all the more neurotic. Kendra, however, feels that Locke has been slippery in his dealings with her, so feels fully justified in using her own cunning to try to get an edge on him.

“‘You’ve been giving Reese Adderall?’ […] I nod. […] ‘For an entire year, and you didn’t tell me?’”

Kendra becomes the third of the book’s narrators to have a blow-up with her husband, partly as a consequence of the shooting. Having learned that her 14-year-old son Reese has been selling the ADHD drug Adderall to his classmates, and may be taking it himself, Kendra finally tells Paul that she has been sneaking Adderall into Reese’s daily vitamins, to treat his ADHD. Paul has very passionate views about psychotropic drugs, due to his own family history, and Kendra’s underhanded dismissal of his concerns enrages him. Stunned by her breach of trust, he accuses her of drugging Reese purely to “get him into some yuppie private school” (225) and to make him more “popular.” His angry words hint at a long-simmering contention between them; her values, he suggests, have not progressed much since high school.

“I’ve been tearing apart Sawyer’s room ever since, determined to find a clue that can bring him justice, and when I do, I’m going back over there and throwing it in her face.”

So far, Kendra’s relentless search for a “clue” to the shooting has driven much of the novel’s suspense. What drives her now, however, seems as much her blind rage at Lindsey as “justice” for Sawyer. At their last meeting, Lindsey scornfully dismissed Kendra’s video evidence of their sons’ romance, bluntly accusing her of narcissism for pursuing that lead. Now, Kendra’s determination to “best” her friend adds fuel to her search, leading to an important discovery.

“Jacob’s last text to Sawyer was sent the day before the accident. My blood chills as I read his words: […] ‘I wanted to kill you when I saw you flirting with those girls at lunch.’”

On Sawyer’s secret “burner” phone, Kendra has found her “smoking gun”: seemingly conclusive evidence of Jacob’s murderous jealousy. These texts, she thinks, give her the moral high-ground over Lindsey, who has always claimed the shooting was an unfortunate “accident.” The fact that the alleged culprit (Jacob) is effectively dead as well does not mitigate her wrath; Jacob’s mother must suffer the full brunt of her son’s guilt.

“‘I did it.’ His voice is wobbly, unsure. ‘I killed Sawyer.’”

When Kendra storms back into Lindsey’s house with her new evidence, the final shoe of the narrative drops: To stop his mother’s friends from fighting, Caleb finally breaks his monthlong silence, gasping out a confession. Ironically, Dani, who has prayed for weeks for her son to speak, now wishes he would keep silent.

“She’s been standing up for me whenever I couldn’t since we were kids. She’s chased every bully away and outplayed every mean girl who’s ever threatened me. […] I put my arm around her. ‘I still love you.’”

As Kendra apologizes for her selfishness and for her false accusations against Jacob, the two mothers who have lost sons embrace, bridging much of the bitterness between them. Lindsey’s narration acknowledges, for the first time, Kendra’s vital role in her childhood and teens as her defender. Though their sons may be gone, the bedrock of their sister-like bond has survived.