The Children by Ann Leary

smiling. She was starting to like Laurel. I was, too. I couldn’t help myself. She’s pretty hard not to like.
    â€œI’m gonna run over and say hi to Everett,” Spin said.
    â€œI’ll make some breakfast if you want, Spin,” I said. “Want some pancakes? Eggs?” But he didn’t hear me. Everett’s truck had started, and Spin ran out so that he could catch him before he left.
    â€œI’ll help you, Charlotte,” Laurel said. “I’m starving.”
    â€œI never eat anything but toast for breakfast,” Joan said, as if any of us had asked. “Toast and a banana.”
    â€œIs that right?” said Laurel.
    â€œHow about scrambled eggs?” I asked Laurel.
    â€œPerfect,” Laurel said.
    Joan went upstairs to shower and Sally came and stood next to me. She was leaning against the counter, drinking her coffee and gazing at Laurel.
    â€œSo you stayed at Perry and Catherine’s, huh?” Sally asked.
    When I didn’t hear a reply, I looked over my shoulder at Laurel. She was tapping something into her cell phone and frowning.
    â€œWe don’t have cell service on this part of the lake,” Sally said.
    â€œOh no,” said Laurel. “I’m expecting an important e-mail. Do you have Wi-Fi?”
    â€œYeah, Charlotte, what’s the password here, again?” Sally asked. She pushed her elbow into my side.
    â€œ Banjoguy , no caps, two three,” I said.
    Laurel tapped away at her phone. “It doesn’t seem to be working.”
    I was breaking the last egg into the bowl. I repeated the password. She couldn’t get it to work.
    â€œHere, let me try,” I said. “Let me wash my hands. Sally, hand me the phone.”
    I washed my hands and Sally launched into an account of her night. She had been with some old friends. The town of Harwich is boring. The Pale Horse Tavern is the only place to go at night. I dried my hands and reached for the phone that Sally was holding. She had taken so long with her story that Laurel’s password screen was up.
    â€œLaurel, I can’t get in. You need to put in your code,” I said. Most people will just tell you their password when this happens. Laurel asked for the phone back. I walked over to the fridge as she punched in a few numbers. Then she handed it to me.
    I typed in our Wi-Fi password, and as I did, I said it out loud. “Banjoguy three three.”
    â€œOh, I think you told me two three,” said Laurel.
    â€œNo,” I said, laughing. “I’m sorry, I said two threes. Three three.”
    We all had a little chuckle at the misunderstanding and Laurel sat back at the table to do her e-mailing. While I heated up some butter in a skillet, Sally casually wrote the numbers 7595 on a paper towel and handed it to me. It was Laurel’s code. I stuffed it into my pocket. Sally and I have always done this. We love to spy on guests. We have since we were little girls. It was unlikely we would ever go into Laurel’s phone. We just liked knowing that we could.
    â€œWe’ve never been to Perry’s town house,” Sally said when Laurel had finished her e-mailing and I was putting toast on the plates. “Well, we saw it in Architectural Digest, didn’t we, Charlotte?”
    â€œYes,” I said. “It looks really beautiful.”
    â€œIt’s nice,” Laurel said, “but this house is much more comfortable. I was afraid to sit down on their upholstery, to tell you the truth. I can’t believe they have those two adorable children and there’s not a thing out of place in that house.”
    â€œThe children each have their own servants, so I think it’s easy,” Sally said.
    â€œThey’re nannies, Sal,” I said.
    â€œI’ve heard so much about this place and all of you that I couldn’t wait to meet you.”
    â€œI wish Spin would get in here. These eggs are going to get cold.