Doris thought this line might carry some weight. After all, even Doug’s parents had no idea that there was a problem in the marriage. When Doris finally got brave and called them, they asked how Doug was doing on his little road trip. In her heart, she had taken that as a good sign. If he’d told them he was coming back, maybe that’s what he was planning.
In spite of the way Doug had hurt her, Doris missed him. She missed his wry humor, the scent of sandalwood in the morning, and the occasional kiss he would plant on her forehead right before they fell asleep. Maybe the whole thing was all her fault. Maybe she had lost sight of him due to her depression and been too cold, too self-absorbed. If Doug would just come back, she would . . . she would . . .
“When does he plan on breezing back in?” Jackie asked, smoothing down her silky blouse. Even though her tone was light, Doris knew she was concerned. If Doug came back before The Whole Package opened, he might try to stop Doris from being a partner.
“He’s not going to stop us from opening the restaurant,” she said. Doris picked a silver hairbrush up off her dresser. She polished it with a tissue, then ran it through her hair. “I might not even take him back,” she said, even though it was the furthest thing from the truth.
Mandy snorted. “Whatever, Mom.”
“A woman needs time to forgive,” Jackie said, nodding. “He left her, you know.”
“Mom.” Mandy sat up on her elbow. “You wouldn’t do that, would you?” Doris’s jaw pulsed and her daughter practically shrieked, “Mom?”
“No,” Doris admitted. She set down the hairbrush and studied the lines in her face. The furrow between her eyes got deeper when she thought of what had happened between her and Doug. Unable to face her reflection, Doris finally moved away from the mirror. “Of course I’ll take him back. He’s my husband.”
Back when Sean and Cheryl had separated, Doug had taken it as a personal offense. It was like Cheryl had wronged him, not just his friend. “Marriage is forever,” Doug had said, from that chair in front of the television. He set down the remote control with a crash. “Are you planning on leaving me anytime soon?”
Before his outburst, Doris had been pawing through their bookshelves. She was trying to figure out whether or not they should send some of their leather-bound classics to a halfway home. Walking over to Doug, she gave a big sigh and rubbed his shoulders. “Honey, Cheryl’s always been wild.”
Doug eyed her. “So were you.”
Biting her lip, Doris leaned forward and kissed the top of his head. “I love you,” she’d said. “That will never change.”
“Doris,” Jackie called now, waggling her champagne flute from across the living room. “Come back to planet earth. You need to keep drinking or our toast will be cursed.”
Doris looked at the full champagne flute in surprise. Jackie and Cheryl had each already finished theirs and were tipsy, thumbing through the plans for The Whole Package. They had interviews scheduled for the waiters and the two were fantasizing about what they could get away with making them do.
“We will pick the best-looking ones,” Cheryl said, “and put it in their contract that they have to come home with us every night if we want them to. They’d be our employees. They have to do whatever we say.”
The doorbell harmonized with their laughter and Doris looked up in surprise. Who could be ringing the bell this late? She got up to answer it, half hoping it was Doug.
Throwing open the door, her knees buckled at the sight of two police officers. They were standing on her front porch in full uniform. One was short, one was tall; both looked very serious.
“Where’s Mandy?” Jackie shrieked, leaping to her feet. “Where is she?”
“Volleyball,” Doris said, voice calm. This visit wasn’t about her daughter. “Won’t you come in, Officers?”
“It’s Doug,” Jackie cried, bustling to Doris’s side. “Doris, sit down. There’s no reason for you to panic, but please take my hand.”
“We’re here on a vandalism report, ma’am,” the tall one told Jackie. “Not a fatality.”
Doris could have told them that. She stared at the carpet, feeling her face get hot. Cheryl’s relief was painted on her face, especially after what she’d said about it being snowy and hoping Doug would crash and all that. Since all eyes were on Doris, she cried, “Oh, thank God. My husband’s okay,” like some soap opera star in a hospital scene.
Jackie’s and Cheryl’s eyes narrowed.
“Mrs. MacLean, where were you on the night of October twenty-seventh?” the tall officer asked, opening his notepad. A large gun dangled from a leather holster on the side of his navy polyester pants. Doris stared.
“She was hanging out with Jackie,” Cheryl said quickly. “Right?”
Doris looked at her in surprise. Feeling a glimmer of hope, she nodded. “We watched Sex and the City.”
“I had a date that night,” Cheryl said. “At least, I think it was a date. He didn’t even try to kiss me. Can you believe that? Don’t you think that if a guy shows up at your house, brings you flowers, and takes you out on a date that he should at least try to kiss you?”
“What?” Jackie said eagerly, fluffing her hair. “You didn’t tell us that. Who was this guy?”
“Andy.” Cheryl grimaced. It was obvious that even saying the guy’s name got her blood boiling.
Doris ran through the catalogue of men they knew, trying to figure out who Cheryl was talking about. “Who’s Andy?” Doris asked. “I can’t place him.”
“That guy I used to work with,” Cheryl said. “The one who drove me home after I was in the hospital. I can’t stand him.”
“Excuse me just a moment, ladies,” the short one interjected. “Can we stay on topic? Who here is Mrs. MacLean?”
Cheryl took a sip of champagne and pointed at Doris, who raised her hand.
“I am,” Doris said. She took a deep breath. “Like they said, on October twenty-seventh I was with my friend Jackie here. We watched television and then we . . . gosh, we . . .”
“Painted,” Jackie said quickly, “but not graffiti-style or anything, so don’t think we vandalized anyone. We were painting indoors.”
“The vandalism was not graffiti,” the tall officer said, eyeing Doris.
“Then do share your dirty little secret,” Jackie said. “What happened? We would love to know.”
“We’d love to know,” Cheryl repeated, sneaking a look at Doris. “We’re surprised we haven’t heard about it already.”
“Those details are confidential,” the short officer said. “But Mrs. MacLean was on our list of inquiries. Ma’am, do you drive a silver Lexus?”
“Yes. Yes I do.” Doris nodded.
“Did you and . . .” The officer glanced at his notepad, “Jackie . . .” She waggled her fingers. “Leave the house for any reason that night?”
Jackie stood up on her toes like a ballerina, looking around the room for inspiration. Her eyes settled on the champagne bottle. “Alcohol run,” Jackie said quickly, prancing over to refill her flute. “We are so rude. Officers, would you like some champagne?”
The short one looked like he just might go for it but the tall one shook his head. “We are on duty, ma’am.”
“My heart is officially broken,” Jackie said. She smiled big and the short officer blushed, clearing his throat. “Don’t be dull,” she pressed, letting the bubbly liquid fizz into her glass and bubble up to the top. “You simply must tell who was vandalized.”
“Yes.” Doris nodded, finding her voice. “What happened? Who was it? What did they do?”
The officers eyed the three women staring back at them as though waiting for a scoop. They glanced at each other.
“They’re going to tell us,” Cheryl cried, clapping her hands.
Doris almost fainted with relief as the tall one shook his head and closed his notepad.
“That’s all we need,” he said. “Thanks for your time, ma’am. Sorry to bother you,” he apologized.
&n
bsp; Doris nodded primly and saw them out the door, amid cries from Jackie and Cheryl of: “Come on! Just tell us . . . Pretty please?”
Once the door was tightly shut, Doris squared her shoulders, waited a moment, and then turned to face her friends. They were both staring at her, arms crossed.
“Naughty, naughty,” Cheryl said, voice tinged with admiration. Doris blushed. She hadn’t heard that tone since high school.
“What did you do?” Jackie whispered.
Doris turned to the bay window as though expecting the officers to come busting through. Pushing back the curtain, she waited until the cop car had pulled out of her driveway. Only when she was sure the coast was clear, Doris burst out laughing. She laughed so hard that she had to take off her glasses to wipe her eyes.
“Let’s just say . . .” Doris finally gasped, “Halloween came early for Katherine Rigney this year.”
Chapter Twenty-two
AS JACKIE DRESSED FOR HER OUTING WITH GEORGE, SHE TOOK A moment to watch the reflections from her sequined gown dance their way across the ceiling. Even though he was forcing her into going out to the symphony, Jackie had to admit she was excited. In Paris, there was art on every corner. Here, there was Starbucks.
Jackie preened in the mirror, enjoying the sight of her reflection. The dress was low-cut and flattered her body in all the right places. Her blond curls were swept up into a neat chignon and accessorized with her favorite earrings, delicate diamond drops. Bankrupt or not, she looked the very picture of success.
A light knock sounded at the guest bedroom door. “Come in,” Jackie called, spritzing on some Angel perfume.
Mandy stood in the doorway. “Just wanted to check,” she whispered. “How late will you be out?”
“Your mother’s not here, you don’t have to whisper,” Jackie said. “I’ll be gone until ten thirty but your mother will only be at her meeting until ten. Please use discretion. You should have him out of here by nine thirty, just in case. And have him read you some poetry,” she added as an afterthought. “Or play guitar. You deserve to be romanced.”
Against her better judgment, Jackie had agreed to help coordinate Mandy’s alone time with her boyfriend. The teenagers had been having most of their make-out sessions, including the pregnancy scare, in the back of her boyfriend’s car. Jackie thought it much more practical to let them have some private time in a safe environment instead of risking their lives to any psycho that wanted to sneak up and attack. Jackie figured what Doris didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, as long as Mandy didn’t get caught . . . or pregnant.
“Thanks, Jackie.” Mandy beamed. “You look beautiful.”
“Listen, if you do anything more than cuddle,” Jackie said, shaking her head. “Please . . .”
“I started taking the pill. We’ll double up if we do anything,” Mandy promised.
Jackie’s stomach turned at the thought of the girl having sex at such a young age. When Jackie was in high school, she had not done anything more than kiss. Granted, she would have loved to have done more but didn’t dare get that close to anyone.
Growing up, Jackie had been a genius at hiding her problems from her girlfriends. To explain why she could never invite them over, Jackie made up an entire life for her father that he didn’t have. She told everyone he got up at the crack of dawn to manage a branch at an industrial plant, so inviting anyone for a sleepover was impossible. He couldn’t be kept awake by a bunch of giggly girls.
In truth, her father was a drunk. He downed Jack Daniels from the moment he woke up to the moment he passed out. Luckily, he got the majority of his rage out at the bars; Jackie had only had to lock herself into a bathroom twice, shaking and sweating, wondering if she should call the police. Of course, he’d been in and out of jail several times. When Jackie was in college, he cracked a man’s head open and was in there for the same amount of time it took Jackie to get a degree. That had been slightly distracting but nothing new. On the rare occasions her father was sober, Jackie would take the opportunity to show him off and squelch any suspicion that anything was wrong. She would have her friends meet them at some local restaurant for dinner, which her father always paid for. Those nights, he was charming and witty, flirting with her friends and patting Jackie’s arm with affection.
Jackie’s father had loved her something fierce. He called her his “little bunny,” as her two front teeth were pushed slightly forward when she was young. Jackie loved hanging out with him. When he was sober, he was fun. He would pull out his guitar and serenade her like a rock star or take her to places like Baskin-Robbins or the arcade, no matter how old she got. But good intentions aside, the man just didn’t know how to be a father. Jackie learned that in the fifth grade, when he tried packing her lunch for the first time. Happy to be like the other kids, Jackie dumped the contents of her brown paper sack onto the lunch table and was instantly mortified. Her father had given her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a warm can of Miller Lite. Luckily, none of the kids knew what the can was and she dumped it in the garbage before any of the teachers noticed.
Jackie survived her childhood by deflecting—being popular, being perky, and being fun, signing herself up for as many friends and activities as possible. The constant busyness of her life kept her away from home. Once in a while, it dawned on her that she should be angry at the hand she’d been dealt, but she wasn’t. Jackie loved her life. Plus, she’d been given a consolation prize for not having a family. Jackie was gifted at art and everyone knew it. While Doris and Cheryl spent their time messing around with boys, Jackie protected her privacy by perfecting her craft. But even back when Cheryl and Doris were going all the way, they had certainly seemed a lot older than the young girl standing in front of her now.
“Mandy, are you sure you’re ready for all this?” Jackie said. “Hearts are so fragile when you’re young. Shouldn’t you be hanging out with your girlfriends or . . .”
“Volunteering at a shelter or something?” Mandy was sarcastic, but her eyes were sparkling. “I see my friends all the time. Jackie, it’s really cool that you’re helping me.”
“My goal isn’t to be cool.” Jackie sighed, adjusting her décolletage and dabbing on some sparkling powder. “My goal is to keep you safe.” Her cell lit up. George. “Bonsoir. Have a good night.”
Mandy nodded. “Will do.”
Jackie shook her head as Mandy closed the bedroom door. “Will do.” How old was this child?
GEORGE’S TOWN CAR was waiting out front, a sleek black ride complete with a driver and tinted windows. Jackie floated up the drive and climbed in, smiling at George in the dim interior. He was leaning back against the plush leather seats, and the moment the driver pulled out, he cracked open a bottle of cognac. Jackie held up her hand. “George, wait. I have to tell you something.”
Jackie planned to excuse herself from any thoughts or illusions George might have about their visit to the symphony. Nothing was going to happen between them and she wanted him to know that. Even though Cheryl was correct in her earlier assessment—George was still a very good-looking man, with his dark eyes and intelligent face—he had to remain Just George. The alternative was just too unsettling.
“I have to tell you something, too,” George said, before she could finish her thought. “You look beautiful, Jacqueline. Truly radiant.”
“Thank you, darling,” she said nervously. “Listen—”
“Tonight will be grand,” he interrupted. “We’re primarily seeing Tchaikovsky. The conductor is that young man who’s been receiving such favorable press.”
“Really?” Jackie lit up. She had been interested in the conductor for quite some time, but he had not toured while she was in Paris. “That sounds lovely,” she admitted.
“I’ve been looking forward to it,” George said. He settled back in the seat, suit rustling softly. “The tickets were not easy to come by. It should be a pleasurable evening.”
Jackie eyed him. There was nothing lascivious in what he said or the wa
y he was looking at her. Maybe she should save her speech. George was a music lover and probably just wanted company. After all, he had been the one to convince her and Robert to get a subscription to the symphony, so long ago. When the violins sang their mournful song, George would always close his eyes, minutely conducting the music with his fingers. Jackie used to mimic him; miming the action and making Robert laugh. It was hard to believe that, so many years later, they were headed out for a night on the town without her husband.
“Jacqueline,” George said. “I know this is hard on you. It’s hard on me, too.” Suddenly, George’s hand was on hers, warm and comforting. “If you don’t want to go . . .”
The question lingered in the air and she turned to him, surprised. “Maybe it’s too soon,” George said honestly, shrugging. “This has to be a bit unusual for you, having an outing with me. You probably half expect us to pick up Robert at the office. I know I do.”
Jackie looked down and studied the way her hand looked in his. George’s hands were smooth and moisturized, the skin slightly tanned. Hers looked slight and sparkly, her rings and manicured nails glistening prettily.
“I can see you struggling,” George said. “You tell me what you need and I will try to help.”
A tear had formed in the corner of her eye and she blinked it back. How could she explain to George that the problem was completely different from what it should have been? In Paris, Robert had become an idea and seemed to be around every corner, even while she was dating another man. Now, back in this town where they had shared a life together, Jackie could barely picture his face. She hadn’t even reached out to any of his other friends. Granted, they were a lot older than she was and she no longer had the money to keep up with their lifestyle but still . . . shouldn’t she miss him more than she did?
I’m angry with him, she realized with a start.
Angry that he had cheated on his finances and not even shared the secret—that type of deception made her wonder what else Robert had been dishonest about. Was there a Katherine Rigney out there for him? Some other family on the side? Jackie had dealt with enough secrets in her life. Promises made, promises broken. But for that to come from Robert . . . it was a surprise.
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