“I’m not snooping. I just came up here to use the bathroom. And Caroline was planning to give me a tour of the house … so I’m not as out of line as you seem to think,” I said, and started walking straight ahead. I’d almost reached the last door when Ned spoke up again.
“Savannah,” he said.
I turned around and saw him standing against the banister.
“Come back here,” he ordered, crooking his finger.
My gaze darted between him and the staircase. “Why?” I asked. “So you can make sure I accidentally trip down the steps?”
“Good God. You English majors have the wildest imaginations. I won’t touch you,” he said, holding up his hands. “I just want to show you something.”
I folded my arms across my chest and walked down the hall. I met Ned by the stairs, where he turned toward the nearest door and twisted its knob. The room behind the door was dark, but I could see the silhouette of a wide desk in front of a window.
He walked in and turned on a lamp. I saw that the desk was made of dark wood, which matched the walls and the rafters, and it was covered with neat piles of papers and folders. I also saw books on shelves and lots of awards printed with EDWARD STONE.
“This was Dad’s office,” Ned told me as he stood in the middle of it on a Persian rug.
The air held a bit of cologne and a hint of cigar. It seemed like the room had been locked up and preserved, a time capsule kept just the way Edward had left it—the computer keyboard slanted, the chair pushed back, a coffee cup sitting on a coaster.
I stayed in the doorway. “Caroline told me that Virginia got this house in the divorce … but she and Edward still shared it,” I said, unsure whether I should be more stunned that I was actually in my father’s personal space or that Ned was allowing me to be there. “But I’m surprised she didn’t pack up his things after he died and … after she heard about—”
“About you?” Ned asked, leaning back against the desk. “And about your mother and Senator Caldwell? Well … the fact that she didn’t toss out Dad’s belongings—despite how she’s been humiliated by his indiscretions—shows how she once felt about him. Wouldn’t you agree?”
I had to. The evidence was glaring. I nodded as I teetered on the line separating the hall from the office and Ned stared at me.
“So,” he said, “are you going to come in at some point?”
I went inside and followed him as he walked to a wall, where he pointed out Edward’s Yale diploma and his media awards and a framed magazine cover dated a few years ago. There were photos of famous people on it, including Edward with my blond hair and Ned’s cleft chin. Time 100, I read. Then I heard the door at the bottom of the staircase open and Caroline’s and Virginia’s voices.
“Damn,” Ned muttered. “My mother will disown me if she sees you in this room. Can you stay quiet in here until I get her to leave? I’ll come back when she’s gone.”
Some people might have been offended by that. They might have balked at the idea of being forbidden in a sacred place that held a trace of a father they’d never known. They might have refused to hide. But I didn’t, because Ned had taken a risk by bringing me in and I couldn’t let him catch any grief for it.
I nodded. Ned dashed across the office, clicked off the lamp, and closed the door behind him just as Caroline’s and Virginia’s feet hit the landing. Someone must have flipped a switch, because light from the hall seeped beneath the office door.
“What are you doing up here, Ned?” Virginia asked. “Where’s your jacket?”
“I felt warm so I took it off,” he said. “And I came up to use the bathroom.”
“Well,” Virginia began as I walked behind the desk and looked through the window at the winter sky. Clouds drifted away from the first-quarter moon that dimly lit the office. “I’ve barely seen you all evening … and your great-aunt said—”
“Which great-aunt?” Ned asked. “There are three here.”
“Aunt Baby Barlow,” Virginia said, and I smothered a laugh. I’d come across some odd rich-people names since I’d moved to Manhattan, but Baby Barlow beat them all. “She saw you leaving the kitchen with Heather Schmidt.”
I sat down in a big leather chair, waiting for Ned to explain his way out of that one.
“Aunt Baby,” he said, “is ninety-two and myopic. I came up here alone.”
“You keep disappearing,” Caroline told him as I spotted a pad on the desk. It was covered with notes, and the script was so messy that I couldn’t read it. But I studied the writing because it had to have been Edward’s. “It seems like you’re hiding. You’ve made yourself scarce tonight, and you vanished from Bridgewaters after that speech—”
“Can we not talk about the speech?” Ned asked.
“We need to talk about it,” Virginia said while I moved my fingertip along Edward’s writing—big, angular letters slanted to the left. “It was a disgrace. You drank too much and you weren’t prepared, and you embarrassed yourself and Stone News in front of all your employees.”
“Dad never would’ve done that,” Caroline added.
I looked up at the door and heard it creak, like Ned had leaned against it.
“Well,” he said after a long moment, “I think it’s become obvious that I’m not Dad.”
It was quiet. I glanced around the room at the plaques and the certificates and Time 100, and the chair I was sitting in suddenly felt enormous. It felt impossible to fill.
“I’m sorry,” Caroline said. “I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that—”
“It’s just that we’re concerned about you,” Virginia cut in. “You’re making poor decisions, Ned. And you should know I am not pleased about that magazine cover. ‘The Ultimate Guide to Pleasing a Woman’ was printed right beside your photo. It’s gauche.”
“Biz is a very successful publication, Mother,” Caroline said.
“So is Hustler,” Virginia shot back. “That doesn’t mean I want my son’s name on it.”
“There is no parallel between those magazines,” Ned told her in a tired voice.
“I disagree,” Virginia said. “They are equally beneath you and your family and the corporation your father trusted you to run. And considering that Stone News is not doing as well as it was when Edward was alive, I don’t think you should be wasting time at Scores.”
Ouch. Dang. Dear Sweet Lord in Heaven. No grown man needed his mother to know he was frequenting a strip club so he could get lap dances and stick cash into thongs.
“Jesus Christ,” he said, and the words sounded like they were coming through gritted teeth. “Did you hire someone to spy on me?”
“I didn’t need to,” Virginia said. “There was a rumor, and you just confirmed it. Really, Ned … do you think that is a productive way to spend your free time?”
“What free time?” Ned shouted. “I have no free time. I live in that goddamn office. I’m doing the best I can, Mother … I’m sorry if it isn’t good enough for you and Caroline.”
Everybody shut up. I heard music through a vent—Dean Martin singing “Silver Bells.”
“It is good enough,” Caroline finally said. “We know you’re trying.”
“Of course we do,” Virginia added. “You just have to try a little harder … and remember who you are. You’re made of Stone and Barlow blood … and nobody from those families ever backs down when the road gets rough. And we certainly don’t let a divorce tear us apart.”
“Mother,” Caroline said, “why are you bringing that up?”
“Because,” Virginia replied, “it’s the root of this problem … which is a problem I understand, Ned … although I don’t think you can deny that my situation has been far more painful than yours. But I don’t fall to pieces, do I? That’s how I was raised … and it’s how I raised you. We always maintain our dignity, and we do not show weakness. You haven’t forgotten that … have you, dear?”
Silence again. Dean Martin on the second “Silver Bells” verse. Then there was Ned’s t
aut voice saying, “No, Mother. I haven’t forgotten.”
“Good,” she said in a honeyed tone. “Now why don’t you find your jacket and join us downstairs? I want all my guests to see my dashing son.”
I heard two sets of high heels on the steps and saw a shadow beneath the door that must have been Ned’s feet. I waited for him to come in, holding my breath as I tried to think of the best words to say, like, Don’t listen to your mother. Everybody screws up once in a while. We all have feelings and it’s okay to show them. It doesn’t mean we’re weak.
But those things seemed too much, and Ned didn’t give me a chance to say them. I saw the shadow move and heard his footsteps fading away down the hall, and then there was a door opening and closing and water running.
He was in the bathroom, so I had some time to be with everything that belonged to Edward—the cushy leather chair, the grandfather clock ticking in a corner, and his coffee mug that I picked up by the handle. It looked like a grammar-school art project with DADDY painted in the middle and CAROLINE STONE, GRADE 3 carved underneath the cup.
I put it back, thinking it had probably been one of those Father’s Day gifts I’d never made and Caroline was lucky she could. She was even luckier that Edward had kept it long after she was out of third grade.
I looked at the notepad again and thumbed through it, studying Edward’s scribbles. It made me remember something I’d once read about handwriting analysis—graphology, it was called—and I tried to recall the meaning of a leftward slant. I couldn’t, though, and graphology was probably nonsense, but Edward’s writing still felt personal. It felt like part of him, and I wanted some of it. There was so much here, and nobody would miss it, would they? I convinced myself of that as I tore two random pages from the pad and hid them in my purse.
Then I thought that since I was a thief, I might as well be a spy, too. So I slid open the desk’s middle drawer, where I found business cards and pens and two old copies of Forbes. The next drawer held nothing more intriguing, but it got stuck when I tried to close it. Something was jammed, so I slipped the entire drawer out and found an envelope underneath.
I put the drawer into place before I opened the envelope, which held a paper folded in half. I opened it and saw a printout of me in my cheerleading uniform from Charleston High.
I gaped at me as a teenager, holding pom-poms and sitting on bleachers. My teammates had also sat for those portraits during our senior year, and they’d been posted on the school’s athletics page, and Edward must have looked me up and found mine. And printed it. And kept it in his desk for all these years.
I heard footsteps coming my way. I folded the picture and shoved it in the back of a drawer before the doorknob turned. Then Ned walked in and flipped on a light.
He’d put on his jacket. His hairline was damp, and his cheeks were flushed like he’d just doused his face with cold water to wash off Virginia.
“Have you had enough nostalgia?” he asked.
I nodded, pushed the chair away from the desk, and stood up. I walked toward Ned, who was leaning against the doorframe and seemed to be waiting for me to leave so he could lock up the museum. Then my mind shifted back to the things Virginia had said. Ned probably wanted to pretend I hadn’t heard any of it … but I just couldn’t.
I stopped at the edge of the Persian rug. “You know what?” I said, hoping humor would be a good start. “Baby is the silliest name I’ve ever heard.”
Ned stared at me, unblinking. “It’s a nickname. She was the youngest in her family, which is why everyone called her that … and it stuck. So don’t criticize until you know the facts.”
My shoulders slackened as I looked down at the elaborate pattern of palm leaves woven into the carpet. I wanted to snap right back at Ned, but I forced myself to cut him a break. I’d be cantankerous, too, if I’d been raised the Virginia Stone way.
“You know what else?” I said evenly. “I don’t need your constant correction.”
“It’s called having an older brother. Deal with it.”
That wasn’t what I was expecting. My eyes leaped from the carpet to his face, which was straight and serious until my gaze stayed on him for too long. He seemed edgy, and he nodded toward the door.
“Go on,” he said.
I started to walk past him, but I stopped and turned in his direction. “Thank you for showing me Edward’s office,” I said.
He shrugged. “It’s nothing.”
“No, it isn’t. It’s something. And I just want to say…” I thought for a moment, struggling for words. “Your magazine cover is very impressive.”
That seemed to surprise him. “Others disagree,” he said after a long pause.
“Others are wrong.”
Ned looked at the carpet while he aimlessly swept his shoe back and forth across the palm leaves. “To be honest,” he said, “I’m proud of being on that cover. But … lately I’ve realized those sorts of things don’t matter when you have nobody to share them with.”
I stared at him, remembering when Alex said something just like that. I also thought about how sad it was that Ned was trying to fill the gap Kitty had left with booze and Scores and Heather Schmidt.
“Ned, I—”
“You have to get back to the party, and I do, too. So like I said before … go on.”
His olive-green eyes met mine as he nonchalantly tossed his hair. Then I turned around and headed toward the stairs, listening to him close up Edward’s office while that grandfather clock chimed behind the door.
Nine
The party was winding down. Ned stood in a courtly pose at the entrance, bidding good night to everyone with a smile just like the one Virginia wore as she stood beside him. She seemed quite pleased that Ned was doing a better job of remembering how he was raised.
Aunt Baby relaxed on a chaise longue while she waited for her driver to arrive and take her home to Long Island. Trish left to head back to Manhattan and Jack followed behind, jangling his Ferrari keychain in his hand.
He walked past me in the foyer and our eyes met as a maid slipped my coat onto my shoulders, but I looked away to stare at a poinsettia. Then I unzipped my purse and riffled through it, focusing on my wallet and my lipstick and that crystal snowflake from the Stone News Christmas party until I was sure Jack was gone.
“You’re not leaving already, are you?” Caroline asked, suddenly beside me.
I’d just taken out my phone to call Tony, and I motioned toward people yanking gloves onto their hands and looping scarves around their necks. “Isn’t the party over?”
“For them it is … but not for you. I still have to give you a house tour.”
I’d seen enough. I couldn’t handle any more. “That’s okay,” I said, leaning toward Caroline and lowering my voice. “Ned already did.”
Her eyebrows rose. “You’re kidding. When did this happen?”
“Earlier tonight. He showed me an interesting part of the second floor.”
She glanced at Ned, who had just opened the door for a departing guest and let in a frigid gust of air. “So that’s why he was upstairs. I thought he was screwing Heather Schmidt.”
I fiddled with the buttons on my coat. “No,” I lied. “He wasn’t.”
“That’s good … and I’m glad I was wrong. Just because he’s single now doesn’t mean he has to mount every sex-crazed divorcée and low-IQ socialite in New York.”
“Is that what he’s been doing?” I asked.
“That’s not even half of what he’s been doing. I wish he’d find somebody decent … a quality woman like Kitty. He needs another stable relationship … he was in better shape when they were together. But I’m still not confident he’s ready to be monogamous,” she said. “Anyway … even though you’ve seen the house, I want you to stay and help decorate our tree. We always do it after the pre-Christmas party. It’s another family tradition.”
That explained the bare spruce I’d noticed earlier. “Caroline,” I said, “it’s thoughtful
of you to ask, but I don’t think I belong at—”
“I’ve already explained why you belong. It won’t be easy to repeat.”
I supposed it wouldn’t. So I stayed, and a few minutes later I sat with Caroline on a couch in the living room, across from a roaring fire. The last of the guests had left, and a man who was a butler or something walked into the room. He carried a stack of cardboard boxes as Ned and Virginia followed behind.
Virginia stopped short after she rounded the couch and saw me on her expensive cushions. Then she sighed and walked toward the tree in the corner with her head up and her back straight. She seemed stoic and resigned, like she was about to get a molar drilled.
“Over here, please,” she told the butler, gesturing toward the floor. “And be careful.”
He put down the boxes and left, and Virginia sat on an upholstered loveseat and opened one of the boxes as Caroline whispered in my ear.
“Savannah, I’m sorry she’s—”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” I said, watching Ned take a seat beside Virginia. “I’m sure she’s only allowing me to be here for your sake … and we should give her a few points for that.”
It took a moment for Caroline to nod. After that, she stood up and went to sit beside Virginia, who had just taken an ornament out of a box. It was wrapped in tissue paper that she unfurled, and she smiled at what was inside—a tiny porcelain angel.
“That belonged to your grandmother’s mother … didn’t it?” Caroline asked.
“My grandmother’s grandmother,” Virginia corrected her, handing the angel to Caroline before she plucked out something else to unwrap. “Oh,” she said as she gazed at a heart made of glass, “here’s what your father bought for me a few months after we were married.”
“That’s when you went to Ireland for the holidays,” Ned added.
Virginia started talking about that trip, and Caroline brought up a Christmas morning when Edward had unsuccessfully attempted to chop firewood out back, and they all laughed and seemed to have forgotten the not-so-nice things about Edward … including me.
I didn’t mind. I sat there and smiled, watching them like they were a happy-family holiday special on TV and wondering if this was how things had been on Christmas mornings when Edward was around. And even if the other 364 days each year weren’t all that great, imagining those few hours with him gave me envy pangs.
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