Young Wives (63 page)

It was sad to her that the very thing that would now bring them both freedom would also separate them. But the money was necessary. Michelle just hoped that nothing would go wrong. Because if it did, she’d never forgive herself.

“Well, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re here now,” Jada said, breaking into Michelle’s thoughts. “What do I do next?” she asked.

“You go into the bank and you close out the box,” Michelle told her. She took out a zippered black bag and handed it to Jada. “You put everything into this and we’re outta here.”

Jada nodded, ready to go. But first Michelle took her hand. It was very warm compared to Michelle’s, which felt icy. “Jada, I don’t think there’s anything dangerous here, but I’d be lying if I said there was no risk at all.”

“It’s not drugs, right?” Jada said. “I already told you I won’t have anything to do with that. Not that I thought you would. Anyway, you already told me it wasn’t, and I believe you.”

“It’s just that Frank may be watching me, or one of his people, or worse.” She didn’t say what “worse” might be—because having police in your life once made it awful to even consider twice.

“Michelle, you’re helping me get back my babies. I don’t know what’s in there, in that box, and I don’t wanna know. But you’re willing to help me and that means a lot. I think if you hadn’t stepped up to the plate, Angie might not have helped. And I…I just don’t seem to have the courage to do everything alone.” Jada squeezed Michelle’s hand. “You know what I mean?” Michelle nodded and Jada smiled. “Okay. So I’m gonna go in, unload the box, close it out, and come back.”

Michelle’s heart felt as if it were fluttering in her chest, while at the same time there seemed to be a cue ball in her throat. She couldn’t swallow her own spit. She also couldn’t help but check the rearview mirror (for the twentieth time) to see if there was anybody following them. She tried to swallow again. If she got Jada involved in all this, what if Jada got arrested and accused of being part of Frank’s crime? What if
she
did, just because she was here sending Jada in? Both of them would surely lose their children forever.

Maybe, Michelle thought, she should just abandon the idea. Maybe she should leave all that cursed money just where it was, away from Frank and unable to hurt anybody. That was probably the best idea—to tell Jada to put the car in reverse and get them out of there. She sat very still for a moment, considering the option. It wasn’t as if she wanted anything to do with the money in there, sitting neatly stacked in its box inside the bank vault walls. But to make the deal with the DA, she had to have something to show him. This bad money could be turned to good. And maybe in more ways than one.

She glanced into the rearview mirror again. Hadn’t that white Chevrolet across the lot been sitting there a long time? There was a man alone in the driver’s seat. The car looked exactly like a plainclothes cop’s car—stripped down, no special features. Was it a Cavalier? Wasn’t that what Frank once told her that most Westchester undercover cops drove? Then an older woman with a really bad perm crossed the lot and got into the passenger seat. Michelle took a deep breath. She was getting crazy, paranoid.

“Michelle, are you all right?” Jada asked.

Michelle couldn’t speak. She was that shook up. She just nodded. If anything happened, if one of Frank’s people grabbed the money, it would just be gone. As long as they didn’t hurt Jada. And if the DA’s people did anything, Michelle would just tell them the truth—that she was getting the money to take to them.

“Make it quick, Jada,” Michelle finally managed to say. “Don’t bother to close the box out. You know how much time it used to take Anne to do that. Just pack up the bag and come back as quick as you can. Okay?”

“Okay,” Jada told her. “But are
you
okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. I’m just a little dehydrated or something.”

“Well, I’ll be right back,” Jada said cheerfully, opening her door and sliding her long legs out. She walked onto the sidewalk and Michelle watched her, counting every step. She looked down at her—well, Jenna’s—Swatch. It was seven minutes after ten when Jada disappeared into the double doors of the bank. How long could it possibly take? Ten minutes? Fifteen? Michelle tried to swallow the cue ball in her throat and began to wait.

But not two minutes later, a police car pulled into the parking lot from Post Road and right up to the door of the bank. Michelle panicked—she didn’t know what to do. Her mind raced. There was no point in running, and she supposed she shouldn’t go into the bank, because if they were looking for her it would only make their job easier. Not that they wouldn’t find her here. She remembered the icy feel of the handcuffs when they had taken her away.

She rubbed her wrists and slid farther down in her seat, shivering. She watched and waited. The cop on the driver’s side stayed in his seat, but on the other side of the car, the door opened, a policeman got out, and walked to the sidewalk in front of the bank entrance. Then he made a left and walked past the dry cleaner’s and into the deli. Michelle could hardly believe it, but in two or three minutes, he walked out again holding two coffees in one hand and eating a danish that he held in the other. Michelle could see crumbs all over the front of his uniform. He got back into the cruiser and Michelle watched, feeling as if her body had turned into liquid, while the police car pulled out of the parking lot.

After a few minutes she could breath again, and even move and think. She looked down at her watch—it was almost a quarter after. Jada should be in a booth by now. That is, if she hadn’t been stopped inside the bank. Michelle found that she had been tapping her foot and stopped herself. She turned her head around and scanned the parking lot again. Surely, if there had been people inside the bank waiting for Jada to show up, they would have already come to get Michelle.

She glanced again down at her watch. Eighteen minutes past ten. Jada had been in the bank for eleven minutes. Well, eleven minutes wasn’t long. Michelle was tapping her foot again, but this time she didn’t even try to stop it. She would just wait, tapping as much as she had to.

She managed to wait until ten-thirty, but by then it seemed unbearable. If Jada was being detained in the bank, if Michelle had gotten her involved, she’d never forgive herself. And Jada would probably never forgive her. Michelle decided she had better go in to see what was happening, but as she put her hand on the door handle, she thought better of it. She might be the one they were looking for. Despite the cold of the handle, her hand was sweating. What good would it do if she went into the bank? If people were searching for her, she’d be spotted and that would get Jada in trouble. Meanwhile, if they had caught Jada, they would certainly be out any minute looking for her car.

Michelle, who hadn’t had a cigarette since she was in eleventh grade (when Frank had made her quit) wished desperately for the comfort of a drag on a Marlboro. For a moment she even considered going into the deli and getting a pack. Instead she looked down at her watch—it was 10:34. Jada had been in the bank for twenty-seven minutes—almost half an hour.

Michelle was freezing, but even though Jada had left the keys in the ignition, she wouldn’t turn on the motor and the heat. The fact was, aside from her foot tapping, she couldn’t move. If Jada never came out of the bank, the headline in the papers tomorrow would read:
DRUG KINGPIN
’
S WIFE FOUND FROZEN IN FOREIGN CAR
,
FOOT FALLEN OFF
. The funny thing was that even though she was so cold, Michelle was sweating under her arms. It was that nasty, clammy sweat that ruined her clothes. This sweater would be in the garbage by the end of the day, if she lived through the end of the day.

A woman came out of the bank holding a little girl by the hand. In fact, it was the first person who had come out in the last half hour. Maybe there was a problem in the bank. Maybe the bank was being held up and everyone was a hostage. But then why would this woman be walking out?
Michelle
, she said to herself,
you’re going crazy. Stark raving bonkerinos
. The bank doors opened again. Michelle held her breath, but this time it was only an old lady, one who took tiny steps down the slate stairs, holding the railing and avoiding anything that might look like ice or dampness.

Then, at last, at precisely six minutes to eleven, the doors opened again and Jada walked out. She was swinging the black bag, and it looked appropriately heavy. She walked down the steps, got up to the Volvo, opened the door, and stuck her head in. “Mission accomplished,” she said cheerfully, and placed the black bag on Michelle’s lap before settling herself into the driver’s seat. The bag felt solid and heavy against Michelle’s thighs. Jada reached for the ignition and had the car started just before Michelle burst into loud, wet sobs.

A boyfriend, a brunch, a broadcast

Michelle had cleaned Angie’s apartment until everything gleamed—Cinderella had struck again. Jada had brought her some flowers from Price Chopper—two mixed bouquets of carnations, gerbera daisies, gladiola, and a lot of leaves. They looked cheery. Angie had just finished putting the quiche in the oven. Then she mixed the salad and added the dressing. She couldn’t eat, so she had set the little table for two. Her nausea had passed, but she was now ravenously hungry, so she’d eaten once already. Later she’d eat the leftovers.

The apartment was unusually quiet. Her roommates and the kids had cleared out early; Jada had gone to a church service, and Michelle was killing time with her kids until she could take them to the first show at the movies. That ought to give Angie more than enough time, more than enough privacy, but she wondered whether she’d done the right thing at all.

There was a knock on the door. It was early—her mother was usually late and her father was a nut about getting to places exactly on time, so Angie was surprised. She went to the door and Michael was standing on the other side of it. He was carrying the Sunday papers and a big bakery bag. “I thought I had extrasensory perception,” he said. “It emanated from here. Is there somebody craving both newsprint and empty carbohydrates?” he asked.

He looked cute. He was wearing a red sweater and one of those puffy sleeveless vests that Angie could never understand, because she needed seven layers and lots of long sleeves to keep warm. “Come on in,” she said, but though she tried to keep the warmth in her voice, she felt the reluctance of her invitation. Her plate was full with the news she was going to have to drop on her parents in the next hour. She couldn’t expect both of them to take it as well as Michael had.

Michael, she’d discovered, was attractive in a way she had never appreciated before. He was very sure of himself and very competent—at least in the things he was sure of.

He came in and his eyes briefly swept around the room. “Where’s Coxie’s Army?” he asked. “I brought enough for all of them. Are all your varied guests and roomies still sleeping?”

“No,” she admitted. “They’ve gone out.”

Michael looked over at the set table, took in the flowers and the guest-readiness of the place. “I think my ESP has just kicked in again,” he said. His shoulders drooped. “You’re about to entertain someone else for brunch.” He handed her the bag and looked, for a moment, flushed and embarrassed. “Well, he’s welcome to my crullers.”

Angie smiled. He was jealous. It was so cute. It gave her a little
frisson
of pleasure, but not at his expense. “Michael, the table is set for two,” she said, “because there are two guests, aside from me—my mother and my rather.”

“Do they break bread—or crullers—together?” he asked.

She could see that under the joke he was relieved. “No, not usually,” she admitted. “This is what you might call experimental in nature. But since they’re going to be grandparents together, I figured now was the time for them to hear the news. And hear it together.”

“Whew. You know, two strikes and I’m out. First I think you’re here with the gang. Then I think you’re here with a lover. I don’t think I’m going to set up that part-time business as a reader-slash-adviser, after all,” Michael told her. “I might not have been attuned to all the music of the spheres. In fact, now that I am, I think I’ll take a powder.”

She walked him to the door, then she held on to one of the red sleeves of his sweater, stood on tiptoe, and gave him a kiss. “Thank you for the attention,” she said. “But I’m afraid this morning is going to be fraught with difficulties.”

“Well, it’s the fraught that counts,” he said. They both winced. “Give me a call if you survive,” he said, and started to leave. Halfway down the walk, he turned back. “Hey, Angie?” he asked. “You told me about, you know, the pregnancy,
before
you told your mom and dad?” She nodded. He smiled. “Good,” he said, and walked away with a jaunty step.

Some things were so predictable, they were ridiculous. Her father had arrived exactly on time with a big and ridiculous house gift—one of those ice cream makers which would take up at least half of her kitchen counter space and be used only once, if ever. “It took you long enough to invite me to the housewarming,” he said, as if this were a black-tie party for fifty and she’d been holding out on him.

He walked through the whole place suspiciously, as if she might be hiding a poster of Fidel Castro on a closet door somewhere. Then he sat down on the sofa and wanted to know about the rent, whether utilities were included, how long the lease lasted, and every other useless financial detail about the place. She answered while she made raspberry ice tea. She knew he’d go on and on with his inquisition as long as she let him. Then the doorbell rang. Angie put the salad on the table and opened the door.

Natalie bustled in with two shopping bags filled with more delicatessen and prepared gourmet take-out than any normal family could eat in a week. “Hi, darling,” she said, and Angie had time to kiss her before Natalie heard Anthony’s grunt and looked over her daughter’s shoulder to see her ex-husband. “What is this?” she asked, putting down her bags.