Cutting the Ties

by Francine Pascal

  The next day, Elizabeth drove straight to Richmond’s city hall, located on Main Street, sandwiched between two-story row houses that gave the street an Old West feel. City Hall was a plain squat brown building with CITY HALL in blocky brown letters.

  Elizabeth walked in and the soft tangy lilt of the southern accent all Richmond residents used washed over her. She found the people warm and friendly and eager to help. She quickly found the records she was looking for: Robin Platt’s birth certificate, which confirmed that her mother was Ethel Platt and father, George. Elizabeth also found proof that, just like Robin had said, her father died twelve years ago from colon cancer and her mother died just two years ago.

  Her parents left Robin the house she grew up in, an address Robin had given her, and Elizabeth also tracked down in the court records. She decided her next stop was there. She hoped there might be a neighbor who remembered her.

  She found Robin’s old house not too far from Main Street. The old white two-story farmhouse bore a large wraparound porch, complete with a creaky porch swing. When Elizabeth drove up, she saw a couple of small ride-on toddler toys on the porch, including a Thomas the Train scooter that her nephew Jake had. She figured young children lived there.

  She parked and walked up to the front door where she rang the doorbell.

  A pretty young mother with her dark hair swept back in a ponytail answered, carrying a boy a little older than Jake on her hip. “Yes?” she asked.

  “Hi, sorry to bother you,” Elizabeth began. “I’m…” Elizabeth stopped for a second. She was so used to saying “a reporter for the Tribune” that it almost popped out without her even thinking about it. But she didn’t work for the Tribune anymore, not since she’d refused to run Robin’s interview and her editor, Tim, had fired her. Elizabeth swallowed and tried again.

  “A freelance writer,” she said. This was true. She was freelance. Nobody was paying her at the moment, but it didn’t change the fact she was a writer. “I’m doing some research on a story I’m working on involving Robin Platt.”

  “Robin Platt…why does that name sound so familiar?” the woman asked.

  “She owned this house,” Elizabeth prompted.

  Recognition dawned on the woman’s face. “Oh, right. She did. I never actually met her. We bought this house two years ago, when we moved here from Lexington. But she’d already moved out somewhere west, I think. The sale was all taken care of through her lawyer.”

  “Do you happen to have that lawyer’s name?”

  The woman paused. “Hold on a second. I can get it for you.” She put down her son, who toddled after her. She ducked back in the house and returned with a big legal-sized manila envelope with her mortgage papers in it. Her youngest boy, probably no more than two, peeked out from between her legs.

  “She left her card in here…” She dug around in the folder and retrieved it. “Christina Parr. Here’s her number.”

  Elizabeth looked at the card and jotted it down. “Thanks so much. This helps,” she said.

  The young mother shut the door and Elizabeth decided to knock on some neighbors’ doors.

  At the house next door, Elizabeth found an older woman sitting in a rocking chair on her porch with a steaming cup of tea.

  She approached and introduced herself. “Did you happen to know the Platt family?” she asked the woman with the gray-white hair in a bun. Elizabeth put her age in the mid-eighties.

  “Oh, yes, I did. They were a nice family,” the woman said. “Very sweet. Shame the father died of cancer, and the mother, she died not so long ago. Heart attack, I think.”

  “Did you know their daughter, Robin?”

  “Yes, I did. She was a sweet little thing. Great artist, too. She made Halloween signs for the whole neighborhood. Had quite a talent, that girl. She also painted Christmas decorations. I even have one of her plywood Santas.”

  “Really?” So it was true what Robin said about being an artist.

  “Oh, yes. I’m sure she is a successful artist by now. Is that why you’re doing a story on her? Talented girl.”

  Elizabeth was starting to feel dejected. So far, everything Robin had said was panning out. There were no inconsistences. Her worry that the trip might have been a waste of time grew.

  “Right. Thanks for the help,” Elizabeth said before retreating back to her car and driving back to Main Street. She stopped in a little coffee shop and brought in her laptop. Amazingly, she found a place with WiFi. As she ate a sandwich for lunch, she went over the other information she had on Robin.

  Elizabeth had pressed Robin to give her the names of a couple of high school friends: Hillary Park and Shannon Kent. She knew the two would probably be married. She booted up her computer and did a quick Facebook search. Hillary had left town and now lived in Chicago, but Shannon still lived in the area.

  After lunch, Elizabeth swung by her house. She found no one home, but did find a sign on the street with Shannon’s picture on it. She was a real estate agent in Lexington. Elizabeth dialed the number.

  “Hello?” a hurried voice asked.

  “Hi, my name is Elizabeth. You don’t know me, but I’m calling about Robin Platt.”

  “Robin? I haven’t heard that name in years!” Elizabeth heard background noise, like Shannon might have the phone on speaker while driving in a car.

  “I’m doing some research on her for a story I’m working on and just wanted to know how you knew her.”

  “She was a sweet girl. Really sweet. We went to high school together. We were both on the swim team.”

  “Can you tell me what she was like?”

  “Sweet.” Shannon offered nothing else.

  “Did she have any boyfriends or anything? Anyone I could talk to?”

  There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. “Uh…look, now is not really a good time…”

  “If you could just give me a quick name. Someone to talk to, then…”

  “Try Josh Elliott He’s in Lexington now.”

  “Oh, great. Thanks. Do you know how long they dated?”

  “Look, I’m actually showing a house now. I’ve got to go. Sorry. Bye.”

  And then she’d hung up. Strange.

  Why had the topic of boyfriends caused her to want to end the call?

  Elizabeth scribbled down “Josh Elliott” and then made a note to look him up. As she sat in her car, she pulled up Facebook on her phone and did a quick search for the name. She found several dozen Josh Elliotts on Facebook, but only two who lived in Kentucky. She messaged them both and hoped to hear back.

  In the meantime, she decided her next stop was the Richmond police station. She went to the clerk’s office and ran Robin’s name, just to make sure she’d never been arrested. Her name never came up.

  That was the sum of day one. Day two began with her taking a drive through Richmond, where she happened upon St. Mark’s Catholic Church, a white stone building with a small steeple in front and decorated with three pretty stained-glass windows. On a whim, she pulled into the little circular drive in front, parking her car near the double red doors.

  Robin said she’d attended mass regularly at a Catholic church in Sweet Valley, and it had been her priest who had first come forward at her request about the allegations, so Elizabeth figured the girl probably also had a hometown church.

  She walked around to the office building, and in through the open doors. She found a receptionist up front with her brown hair up in a bun. She gave Elizabeth a smile.

  “May I help you?”

  “I was looking for a friend of mine, Robin Platt. I thought she might be a member of this church.”

  “Robin Platt? I don’t think I’ve heard that name. Let me ask Father Robert.” She turned and walked toward the back. In a few minutes, she’d returned with a middle-aged priest with a receding hairline and wire-frame glasses.

  “I’m sorry. Robin Platt, did you say? I don’t think she’s a member of our church.”

  “It might hav
e been a few years ago,” Elizabeth said.

  “I’ve been here fourteen years and I’ve never known a Robin Platt. We don’t even have a Platt family in our congregation.”

  “Thanks, anyway,” Elizabeth said, and made her way back to the car. A quick search on her phone found just one other Catholic church in Richmond. She drove there, but found Robin hadn’t been a member there, either.

  Strange, she thought as she climbed back into her rental sedan; Robin had said she regularly went to mass in Sweet Valley. But neither of the two Catholic churches here had ever heard of her. She could have converted or decided to join a church later in life. But it just seemed a strange choice for a woman in her twenties who’d just moved to California.

  It was odd, but it certainly wasn’t enough to prove Robin had lied about the attempted rape charges.

  Elizabeth glanced through her notes. She still had Robin’s lawyer to talk to, but she wasn’t sure she’d get anywhere, since there was attorney-client privilege even on real estate transactions. She called Christina’s office, but soon discovered Robin’s attorney had retired and now lived somewhere in Florida.

  Another dead end.

  By day three, she was almost out of leads.

  Wandering through downtown Richmond, she headed into a diner, hoping for some good, old-fashioned luck. She asked a friendly waitress whether she knew Robin, but found she didn’t. The waitress asked the manager, who admitted he had a vague recollection of her, but not much else.

  Elizabeth’s phone binged. She glanced down at the face and saw an alert from Facebook. She pulled up the app and saw a message waiting for her from Josh Elliott. His profile picture had him wearing aviator sunglasses and pressing oversized headphones to one ear. He was a guy in his twenties, obviously DJing somewhere, probably a club in Lexington. His message read:

  YEAH, I KNEW ROBIN. I “DATED” HER FOR THREE MONTHS BEFORE I FINALLY FIGURED OUT SHE PLAYS FOR THE WRONG TEAM. EVERYBODY AT SCHOOL KNEW BUT ME!

  Surprised, Elizabeth messaged him back:

  ARE YOU SAYING THAT ROBIN PLATT IS A LESBIAN?

  Josh must’ve been on Facebook, because he instantly replied:

  YOU CATCH ON QUICK.

  Robin never mentioned that before. Elizabeth wondered why. But it also explained why her friend had been cagey when Elizabeth had asked about boyfriends. Elizabeth wondered if Robin was still in the closet. Surely it would’ve been hard for her to grow up gay in a small, conservative town. Elizabeth knew some of the pain and fear her own brother, Steven, had experienced spending most of his life in the closet. He’d feared rejection and ridicule from everyone he knew. He’d even married, only to come to terms with his true identity later in life.

  She could only imagine what it had been like for Robin.

  Maybe that’s why Robin didn’t respond to Bruce when he tried to pick her up that night at the bar.

  Instantly, Elizabeth shook herself. Why was she assuming Bruce had hit on her at all? Why did she keep yo-yoing back and forth between Robin and Bruce, blowing whichever way the wind took her?

  Bruce was right to leave.

  She had no loyalty.

  And now he might be moving on…with Annie. The thought was so painful, she couldn’t really allow herself to consider it for very long. It was much easier just to focus on Robin Platt.

  Elizabeth drove back to her motel room, feeling down. She’d found nothing that definitely proved Robin’s case either way, but most of what she said had checked out. The reason for her moving to California, her parents, and where she’d lived. All of that was true. The inconsistencies about her churchgoing habits and sexual preference really had no bearing at all as far as she could tell. Elizabeth texted Jessica with the news that she wasn’t finding anything.

  Elizabeth had spent two days in Richmond, but had found nothing except that Robin seemed to be telling the truth.

  She found it impossible not to feel disappointed.

  Chapter Eleven

  Elizabeth’s melancholy came through in her text messages, and Jessica felt like the wind had been taken out of her sails, too. She had been hoping Elizabeth would quickly prove Robin a fraud, and that this nightmare would be over, and that maybe Bruce and Elizabeth could find their way back to each other.

  Of course, that might never happen if Caroline Pearce’s rumors were true and Bruce was moving on to Annie. Jessica hoped Caroline was dead wrong, but it was hard to shake the feeling that it was weird Annie was staying in Cannes so long. Maybe there was something to Caroline’s gossip.

  Jessica sighed. She missed her sister and wished Elizabeth were home. She’d only told her the shortened version of Liam’s proposal and her big argument with Todd about Jake, and she badly wanted to rehash all the details with someone.

  Jessica dialed Lila’s number. Instantly, it went to voice mail—again. Either Lila had lost her phone, or she was avoiding Jessica’s calls. This was the third time she’d gotten voice mail this week and Lila hadn’t returned a single call.

  Jessica knew Lila was going through a lot and had gone into hiding since the True Housewives scandal broke, but she’d never gone this long without calling Jessica before. Jessica wondered if it was because Lila worried she’d gloat and say I told you so about the fake pregnancy. Lila had always hated it when she was forced to admit Jessica had been right about something.

  Still, something felt off. But all she could do was keep calling and texting and hope Lila returned one of her calls sometime.

  Jessica glanced at her watch. It was nearly six and she didn’t have any important clients to stay late for these days, so she shut off her computer and packed up her bag. As she walked out of the office, Michael deliberately avoided eye contact and Tracy did, too. Sometimes she felt like Dead Woman Walking at work. Michael had taken away her team; Tracy hated all of her ideas. And Emily—Tracy’s spy—continued to try to undermine her at every turn. She could see the writing on the wall. If this kept up, she’d be fired.

  Yet, all the while as she drove home, all she could think of was it was Wednesday, another day when she’d see Todd after he dropped off Jake after their regular Wednesday afternoon visit.

  ARE WE ON FOR DINNER TONIGHT? Liam texted. He’d been texting all day.

  NO, SORRY. NOT UP FOR IT TONIGHT, Jessica texted back quickly.

  Jessica would rather grab something in a drive-through than face sitting at dinner with Liam. She just didn’t have the energy to pretend to be happy to see him, when she wasn’t happy about anything at the moment.

  She’d need all her emotional reserves to manage seeing Todd for a few minutes, and dealing with Jake afterward. During the last several drop-offs, Jake became very upset. Even more than usual. But Jessica couldn’t blame Jake. She felt miserable, too.

  Her townhouse was empty when she got home. She’d been so distracted on the way home she hadn’t even remembered to pick up dinner. She dropped her bag on a chair and walked into the kitchen, checking the fridge. She found nothing there but a bevy of Jake’s favorite snacks: mozzarella cheese sticks, juice boxes, and apple slices. Stashed in the door was an open bottle of pinot grigio. She grabbed it and poured herself a glass.

  Her phone dinged twice more with messages from Liam. He was trying to change her mind.

  Why won’t he just leave me alone? she thought. Can’t you see I don’t want to talk to you now?

  She leaned against the counter, slowly drinking her wine and watching the clock tick toward seven, when Todd would bring Jake back. Before Sarah and before Liam, Todd would happily play with Jake at her house during his visitation time, but these days he deliberately took him out to Chuck E. Cheese or somewhere else, as if he was trying to keep his exposure to her at the absolute minimum. The thought was depressing. She took another drink of wine.

  She heard Todd’s car in the drive before he came to the door. She finished the last dregs of her wine glass for fortification, and then she went to her window seat and peeked out, watching as he walked around
the car, opened the back passenger side, and bent down to untangle Jake from his car seat.

  Jessica still wore her work outfit: pencil skirt and sleeveless silk shell. Her black stilettos clicked on the tiles as she walked to the door. She swung it open before they rang the doorbell.

  She caught Todd mid-stride, carrying Jake on his shoulders, the little boy giggling with glee. They looked so much alike, and as Todd bounced Jake up the sidewalk, they made the perfect picture: ready-made for a Father’s Day card.

  And then Todd glanced up and saw Jessica standing in the doorway and he slowed his step, his smile fading.

  “Mommy!” Jake shouted, his enthusiasm genuine and pure. He wiggled on Todd’s shoulders, and Todd lifted him up and over his head, putting his feet on the ground.

  Jake ran to her at full speed.

  “Mommy!” he cried, and she stooped down, arms out just as he jumped into them, wrapping her in a tight hug that smelled like apple juice and pizza.

  Todd carried Jake’s little backpack filled with a change of clothes and wet wipes, among other must-have toddler accessories, like his favorite Thomas the Train spoon.

  He put it down.

  “Okay, big guy. Time to say good-bye.” Todd crouched down so he was on Jake’s level.

  Jake gave Todd a long hug.

  “I had a great time, kiddo. I love you,” Todd said.

  “Love you too much, Daddy!” Jake cried in his heartbreakingly sweet, toddler singsong voice.

  Todd smiled at his son and then glanced up at Jessica.

  For the briefest of moments, their eyes locked, and for a second, Jessica simply couldn’t breathe. It was there, still there, the powerful attraction between them, the tug of a cord so strong neither one of them might ever be able to fully sever it in their lifetimes.

  After all, this was the pull so irresistible that Jessica had gambled her sister’s love for a chance with Todd. They’d risked everything to be together, to take a chance at what both of them knew felt so right, of what should be. And now, all too quickly, after a few short years, they’d come apart, and neither one could understand quite how they’d gotten here, with so many obstacles between them.