Silver Girl (46 page)

“Remember, I’m leaving for New Hampshire on Friday,” Dan said.

Connie hesitated. Dan was taking Donovan and Charlie on a wilderness-survival camping trip for three days in the White Mountains. He wouldn’t even be able to call her.

“I have to stay in,” Connie said. She knew he was waiting for her to invite him over, but she couldn’t do that, either. The emotions in this house were too raw. “Tomorrow for sure.”

But now, she wished she’d gone. She watched Meredith hang up the phone. Meredith said, “That was Carver.”

Connie could barely bring herself to nod. She was the one who had answered the phone, she was the one who had heard Carver say, “Hi, Aunt Connie? It’s Carver. Is my mom there?” Connie had been consumed by an emotion she couldn’t identify, though now she supposed it was just plain envy, concentrated envy, envy in its purest and most insidious form. Meredith’s son had called her. He had heard the news and reached out. He had told her he loved her. Connie had felt both pierced and deflated. She could check her cell phone right now, but she knew that even though her face had been on TV all day, there would be no message or missed call from Ashlyn.

Meredith seemed a little lighter since the phone call from Carver—although she was quick to admit that Carver had barely said a word about himself. Meredith didn’t know where he was living or what he was working on or if he still had friends or if he was dating anyone.

“He just called to make sure I was going to divorce Freddy,” she said.

“And what did you tell him?” Connie asked.

Toby stared. Meredith said nothing.

“My offer stands,” Connie said. “If you want to divorce Freddy, I’ll pay for it.”

Meredith said nothing. Connie could see the shine of the phone call wearing off. Meredith was very slowly slipping back down to her previous depths.

“He told me he loved me,” Meredith said.

“Of course he loves you,” Toby said. “He’s your son.”

The phone rang again, just as the sun was setting, at seven thirty. Setting sun at seven thirty? God, the summer was ending; they were running out of time. Dan was leaving the day after tomorrow for his camping trip, and when he got back, they would have a scant week left together. Last year, Connie remembered, she had been grateful for the end of summer. The sunshine and the beach and the forced cheerfulness had been trying for her. Last summer, she had been unable to look at the ocean without thinking of Wolf’s ashes. So much had changed in one year; she should be happy for that.

Toby was over by the phone, checking the caller ID. “It’s an unknown caller,” he said. “Want me to answer it?”

“No,” Connie said, but Meredith said, “Go ahead,” and since Meredith’s answer would always trump Connie’s answer with Toby, he answered.

“Hello?” He paused. He looked at Meredith. He said, “May I tell her who’s calling?” He paused. He said, “I won’t give her the phone unless you tell me who this is.”

Then, to Meredith, he said, “It’s her.”

“Samantha?” Meredith said.

Toby nodded.

“No,” Meredith said.

Toby hung up. Connie thought,
I told him not to answer.
But her insides were jumping. She hated to admit it, but it was exciting living through this kind of drama.

“Wait a minute,” she said. “That was
Samantha?
”

“Samantha Deuce,” Toby said.

Meredith slowly shook her head.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Connie said.

“She called earlier.”

“She
did?
”

“I answered, and when I figured out it was her, I said, ‘No,’ and hung up.”

“Wow,” Connie said. “That woman has guts.”

“Well, yeah,” Meredith said.

Connie put out some crackers with bluefish pâté, but none of them ate. It grew dark in the room, and Connie thought,
I should turn on some lights,
but lights seemed too harsh, or perhaps too optimistic, so Connie lit candles, as she might have during an electrical storm. It was too bad it wasn’t raining, she thought. A storm would fit the mood.

Connie wanted wine. If this had been three weeks ago, she would already be on her third glass. And Dan wasn’t here, so… Connie poured herself some.

She said, “Meredith, do you want wine?”

Meredith said, “Do I want wine? Yes. But I shouldn’t. I won’t.”

Connie shouldn’t either, but she was going to anyway. She took in a mouthful, thinking,
Deliver me.
But the wine tasted sour; it tasted like a headache. She poured it down the drain. She got herself a glass of ice water with lemon. She knew they should do something about dinner. Meredith was in the armchair, folded into herself like an injured bird, and Toby was sprawled across the sofa, keeping vigil on Meredith. He loved her. It was as plain as the nose on his face.

But Meredith wouldn’t divorce Freddy. The man had done despicable things, both publicly and privately, and yet Meredith still loved him. Any other woman would have left Freddy Delinn in the dust, but not Meredith.

Dinner, they needed to eat dinner,
Connie thought,
something simple—sandwiches, salad, scrambled eggs, even. But she wasn’t hungry.

She said, “Meredith, are you hungry?”

Meredith said, “I’ll never eat again.”

At that second, Toby’s cell phone rang. He said, “It’s Michael,” and he bounded up the stairs to his bedroom.

Meredith said, “I can’t believe Samantha called here twice.”

“I’m sure she wants to talk to you,” Connie said.

“I’m sure she does,” Meredith said.

They sat for a second, listening to the mantel clock tick. Connie could hear the strains of Toby’s voice. “Hey, buddy.” Everyone was talking to their children tonight, except for her.

Meredith must have heard Toby, too, because she said, “It was good to talk to Carver. It was magical to hear his voice, just to hear him call me ‘Mom,’ you know? Just to hear him say he loves me. I can’t see him, I can’t touch him, but at least I know he’s alive out in the world somewhere. Thinking of me.”

Connie was suddenly too sad for tears. This, she realized, must have been how Meredith felt. Her sadness took on a sharp, shining edge.

She said, “Do you think Samantha was the only one?”

“What?” Meredith said.

“Well, we know Freddy did things in a big way.”

“What are you saying?” Meredith asked. “That there might have been other lovers?”

“There might have been,” Connie said. “I mean, you know how Freddy was.”

“No,” Meredith said. Her voice was cold stone. “How was Freddy?”

“He was flirtatious,” Connie said. “And at times, he was more than flirtatious.”

“Did he ever make a pass at you?” Meredith asked. She sat up in the armchair, her spine straight, her chin lifted as though there were a string from the top of her head to the ceiling. Meredith was so small in stature, she looked like a ventriloquist’s dummy. “He did, didn’t he?”

“He did,” Connie said. She couldn’t believe she was saying this. She had decided there would be no more taboo subjects, but really, to bring
this
up?
Stop, Connie, stop! Shut up!
But there was something inside driving her. She couldn’t say what. An urge to
tell.
“He made a pass at me in Cap d’Antibes. He told me I was a beautiful woman, and then he kissed me.”

“He kissed you.”

“And he, sort of, touched my breast. Cupped it.”

Meredith nodded once, succinctly. “I see. Where was Wolf?”

“Running.”

“And where was I?”

“Shopping.”

“So the two of you were alone in the house, then,” Meredith said. “Did you sleep with him?”

“No, Meredith, I did not sleep with him.”

“This was… when?” Meredith said. “What year?”

Connie tried to think. She couldn’t think. “It was the year we had lunch at that restaurant in Annecy. Do you remember that lunch?”

“Yes,” Meredith said. “So… two thousand three. Does that sound right?”

“I don’t know,” Connie said. “I guess so.”

“Before Samantha,” Meredith said. She slapped her hands against her thighs. “So maybe there were others, then. Safe to assume there were others. Dozens, maybe, or hundreds…”

“Meredith…” Connie said.

“Why,” Meredith said. She shut her mouth and swallowed. “Why on earth didn’t you tell me?”

God, what was the answer to that question? Freddy had made a pass; Connie had deflected it. There was, essentially, nothing to tell. Maybe she had kept quiet about it because it was a private moment between her and Freddy; he was paying her a compliment, and it had made Connie feel good. It had made her feel
desired.
She didn’t want to ruin that feeling by turning it into something else. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to spoil the week in Cap d’Antibes by making a mountain out of a molehill. Maybe she hadn’t had access to the kind of language it would require to tell Meredith what had happened without implicating herself. It hadn’t been Connie’s fault. Except, she had worn the clingy patio dress that put her breasts on display. But a woman should be able to dress however she wanted. It wasn’t an invitation for men to act inappropriately.

“I don’t know why I didn’t tell you,” Connie said. “It didn’t seem like a big deal.”

“My husband kissed you and touched you, and you remember it all these years later, but it didn’t seem like a big deal?”

“It was alarming,” Connie said. “Of course it was. But I backed away. In my mind, I minimalized it. I guess because I was embarrassed.”

Meredith stared. She had an arsenal of cold, scary looks. “I can’t believe you.”

“Meredith, I’m sorry…”

“You’re my best friend. And after you, my closest friend was Samantha.”

“I didn’t sleep with Freddy,” Connie said. “I didn’t encourage Freddy or invite any further attention. I did nothing wrong.”

“You didn’t tell me,” Meredith said.

It suddenly felt like a question pulled from a woman’s magazine: If your best friend’s husband makes a pass at you, do you tell her? Certainly the answer was no. But maybe the answer was yes. Maybe Connie should have told Meredith. One thing was for sure: Connie should
not
have told Meredith about it tonight. She had done so out of meanness; she had wanted to hurt Meredith, when Meredith was already hurting so badly.
Do I look like a woman who needs more surprise news?
But why? And then Connie knew: she was jealous about the phone call from Carver. Now look at the mess. If Connie had intended to keep her moment with Freddy a secret, it should have remained a secret forever.

“I’m sorry,” Connie said. “I should have told you, I guess.”

“You
guess?
” Meredith said. “You
guess?
” Her voice was shrill and righteous. Connie stood up. She needed a glass of wine; she didn’t care if it tasted like Drano. She took a glass from the cabinet and opened the fridge.

Meredith said, “That’s right. Pour yourself some wine. That’ll fix everything.”

Connie slammed the refrigerator door shut, then she threw the wine glass into the kitchen sink and the glass shattered. The noise was startling. Her anger and upset were unbelievable, and she knew that Meredith’s anger and upset matched, if not surpassed, hers. Was there room in one house for so much agony? Connie looked at the broken glass—and she spotted a chip in her enamel sink. Her gorgeous farmer’s sink, of which she had once been so proud.

Wolf,
she thought.
Ashlyn.
Lost to her. Lost.

She thought,
Dan. I should have gone to Dan’s.

She said, “Well, while we’re at it.”

“While we’re at it, what?” Meredith said.

“While we’re at it, I’m not the only one who made a mistake. I’m not the only one in the wrong here.”

“What are you talking about?” Meredith said.

She was standing with her hands on her hips, her graying hair tucked behind her ears, her horn-rimmed glasses slipping to the end of her nose. She had gotten those glasses in the eighth grade. Connie remembered her walking into American History class and showing off the glasses, and then in lunch and study hall, passing them around for other girls to try on. Connie had been the first one to try them on; they had turned the cafeteria into a blurry, swarming mass of color. Connie had almost vomited. And yet, she had been jealous of Meredith’s glasses, and of Meredith, since childhood. Practically her entire life.

“I’m talking about the things you said about Wolf,” Connie said. “The horrible things. You insinuated that we were pulling our money because Wolf had brain cancer and didn’t know any better.”

Meredith said, “You basically came right out and called Freddy a crook.”

“Meredith,” Connie said. “He was a crook.”

Meredith pushed her glasses up her nose. “You’re right,” she said. “He was a crook.” She stared at Connie. She seemed to be waiting for something. “And what I said about Wolf was ruthless. I’m sorry. I don’t know how I could have been so awful.”

“And you didn’t come to Wolf’s funeral,” Connie said. “And you knew that I needed you there.”

“I was on my way,” Meredith said. “I was at the door of the apartment, wearing a charcoal-gray suit, I remember. And Freddy talked me out of it.” She bit her lower lip. “I don’t know how he did it, but he did. You know Freddy.”

“Whatever Freddy told you to do, you did,” Connie said.

“That’s why I’m in trouble with the Feds,” Meredith said. “Freddy asked me to transfer fifteen million dollars from the business to our personal account three days before he was exposed, and I did it. I thought he was going to buy a house in Aspen.” She laughed. “I thought I was going to Aspen, but instead I’m going to jail.”

So that was why she was under investigation, Connie thought. She hadn’t been brave enough to ask. Another taboo shattered. She said, “You were supposed to come visit me here in nineteen eighty-two, but you didn’t come because of Freddy. Because Freddy had sent that telegram. He’d proposed, remember? And I said, ‘That’s great, we can celebrate your engagement.’ But you only wanted to celebrate with Freddy.”

“That was thirty years ago,” Meredith said.

“Exactly,” Connie said. “He’s been holding you hostage for thirty years.”