Brooke didn’t hesitate for even a nanosecond. She looked Anna square in the eye and said, “It’ll happen for you and Jonas.”
Arden touched her elbow. “Absolutely.”
But Anna shook them off. “Maybe it won’t. I’m so tired of people telling me to ‘just relax’ and ‘it’ll happen when you least expect it.’ I’ll probably never be able to have a baby, and eventually I’m going to have to face that fact. But right now, it kills me to spend my weekends making cakes for other families. Selfish, I know, but there it is.”
Cait nudged Anna’s bare foot with her own. “It’s not selfish at all.”
“It actually works out perfectly for my new fantasy career,” Jamie said. “I need you to whip up the dessert trays for all my five-star shindigs.”
“And I need you to make crumpets and watercress sandwiches for my B and B,” Brooke said.
“And what am I supposed to do while you’re all colluding with crumpets?” Cait demanded. “Don’t leave me stranded up in the Ivory Tower with Cheerio Charles and an angry mob of freshmen who’re pissed because they’ve never gotten less than a B+ on a paper before in their lives.”
“We would never,” Brooke said. “You’ll be up in the B and B garret, plugging away at the Great American Novel. We’ll keep you fully supplied with pastries and tea.”
Cait closed her eyes and indulged the fantasy for a moment. “Sounds heavenly. When do we start?”
“Never, because we have no money and no business acumen because we all majored in English.”
“Silence, dream crusher!”
Jamie started belting out Cher’s “If I Could Turn Back Time.”
Their laughter rang out over the black, still lake as the first firework of the night exploded into the dusk.
Arden held up her wine cooler. “Here’s to ten years of friendship and fine literature.”
“And many more!”
“Cheers!”
“Cheers!”
“Cheerio!”
Later, after the other girls drifted off to bed one by one, Arden and Cait remained on the porch, hugging their knees against their chests to ward off the damp midnight chill and watching the rippling reflection of the huge white moon on the lake.
They sat in silence, listening to the steady lapping of the waves, until Arden yawned loudly. “Last Fourth of July. Couldn’t have asked for a better night. Jamie was right about those wine coolers, though; I can already feel an epic hangover coming on.”
Cait stared straight ahead and addressed the fearless, frail girl who had started out as her freshman year roommate and ended up as her best friend and bonus sister. “You’re not going to die, you know.”
Arden’s laugh was wry but gentle. “Of course not. I’m only taking an extended leave of absence from the firm because I’m bone idle.”
“That’s not what I meant; I just—”
“I know exactly what you meant, Cait. I know what you mean and you know what I mean.” Arden exhaled slowly, her breath barely audible above the breeze. “Let’s change the subject. How’s the book coming?”
Cait frowned. “What book?”
“That novel you keep saying you’re going to write.”
“Oh. That. Well, between teaching and going ten rounds with the B+ brigade and trying to publish all those esoteric articles in all those esoteric journals, I don’t really have time to write fiction right now.”
Arden shifted in her seat and quoted Marvell. “‘Had we but world enough, and time …’”
“Exactly. I’ll get to it someday.”
“Well, you better buckle down, sugarplum, because all the best writers kick off young: Keats, Shelley, Plath …”
“Those are poets,” Cait pointed out. “Totally different. Poets do their best work before thirty; novelists don’t even get warmed up until then.”
“Says who?”
“Professor Hott-with-two-t’s Clayburn.”
“I see.” Arden changed position again, but Cait couldn’t tell if the cause of this restlessness was physical or psychological distress. “Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but you just had a birthday, didn’t you? Thirty-two?”
“I prefer to think of it as twenty-twelve.”
“Always with the excuses.” Arden’s voice dropped to a thick, slow murmur. “Here’s the thing: Time is a luxury. Time is precious. And this is coming from the queen of procrastination. No more extensions. No makeup tests.”
Cait bowed her head to hide her tears. “Can we please talk about this?”
“Absolutely not.” Arden snapped back into her customary flippancy. “And if you start singing ‘Wind Beneath My Wings,’ I’m kicking you out of the cabin. You’ll have to sleep on the beach.”
“Can I just hum a few bars?”
“You’ll be a tasty bear canapé in your sleeping bag.” Arden shivered. “Let’s stay up late and look at the moon. Pull an all-nighter, just like back in college.”
“You’re on.” Cait ducked into the house long enough to grab two thick woolen blankets, which she wrapped around Arden and herself. They huddled together on the chaise in silence, sharing a cocoon of warmth and gazing up toward heaven. Cait vowed to stay awake, to safeguard Arden with her own vitality, but sometime before dawn, her vigilance lapsed and she slipped into slumber.
Two months later, Arden slipped away, too. She did so in classic Arden Henley fashion, quietly and on her own terms, and not before springing one last, life-changing surprise on her friends.
“She had an unequalled gift … of squeezing big mistakes into small opportunities.”
—Henry James, Greville Fane
A million dollars?” Jamie slid down against the bar’s break room wall until she was sitting on the booze-sodden floor mats. “You’re yanking my chain.”
“Well, a million dollars split four ways,” Anna explained on the other end of the phone line. “So two hundred and fifty thousand.”
“But that’s too much! She can’t do that!”
“She already did. According to her estate attorney, she wants us to pay off our student loans and our credit cards—or, in my case, home equity loans taken out to pay for in vitro—and use the rest to start over. Follow our bliss. Fight the power.”
Jamie pushed off the wall, grabbed her handbag from her employee locker, and dug out a cellophane-wrapped pack of cigarettes.
Anna paused when the lighter sparked. “Are you smoking?”
“No.” Jamie closed her eyes and inhaled. The initial hit of nicotine rendered her light-headed for a moment, reminding her of how hard it had been to quit two years ago and why she shouldn’t have surrendered to the temptation to buy this “emergency reserve” pack on Monday when Cait had called to break the news about Arden.
“Liar. Don’t make me send you another ashtray shaped like a blackened lung.”
“Ugh. That thing was grotesque.” Jamie shuddered at the memory and stubbed out the smoke. “Listen, I can’t talk now because I’ve gotta start my shift, but you tell the powers that be that I don’t want any of Arden’s money. I already owe her more than I can ever repay. You, Brooke, and Cait can split it three ways.”
“But her will says—”
“I don’t care.” Jamie’s tone was sharper than she’d intended. “I’m not taking any of that money.”
“But—”
“No. Non. Nyet. End of discussion.”
Anna paused, then asked, “Did something happen? Between you and Arden?”
Fuck it. Jamie extracted a fresh cigarette and lit up again. “No. Of course not. What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know. But why are you so adamant about this?”
“I love that girl like a sister and she’s only thirty-two and I will not profit from her death. There is no upside to this. Not for me.”
“We all loved Arden,” Anna said softly. “But refusing this inheritance isn’t going to bring her back. This was her wish, Jame. She wanted to give us a gift.”
�
�Well, I don’t want any part of it.” Jamie dragged on her cigarette and watched the ash crumble down onto her tight black halter top.
Anna resumed her usual authoritative attitude. “Don’t make any final decisions right now. You’ll have time to think it over later when you’re not so shell-shocked.”
Jamie finished her cigarette and tossed the rest of the pack into the trash with a physical pang of longing. “That’s a good word for it. The whole thing is still so surreal. My brain can’t process anything beyond the most superficial details. Like, you know what I was thinking while I was driving to work tonight: What am I going to wear? Honest to God. I can’t believe I’m going to go home tonight and open my closet and try to find something appropriate for Arden Henley’s funeral.”
“Knowing Arden, she’d probably want you to show up in that micro-mini leopard print number and four-inch red heels. With a six-pack of wine coolers.” Anna’s laugh ended in a sigh.
“Yeah, I’m sure her parents would really appreciate that. Not to mention the minister. I think I’ll stick to basic black and a purse full of tissues. Are we still on for the airport pickup tomorrow?”
“Text me when you land. I’ll pick you up at the curb.”
“Is Jonas coming with you?”
Anna hesitated. “Um, I don’t think so.”
“Oh?” Jamie waited a few seconds for Anna to elaborate, then prompted, “Everything okay with you guys?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I know you’re holding out on me.”
“And I know you’re smoking again.”
“Well, aren’t we all just jam-packed with knowledge?”
“Love you, Jame. Have a safe flight.”
When Jamie emerged from the break room, the bar manager was waiting with the latest copy of the employee schedule in his hand and an irritated expression on his Botoxed, exfoliated face.
“Why are your shifts X-ed out for the next three days?” he demanded. “We’ve been over this. I let you take Fourth of July weekend off because I’m a nice guy, but you have to work Labor Day. Those are the busiest weekends of the summer, and we need all hands on deck.”
Jamie glanced down and let her hair shield her face. “I get it, but it’s not like I’m traipsing down to Cabo for vacation. It’s a funeral.”
“Family member?”
She started to nod and had to correct herself. “Well, not technically. One of my oldest and dearest friends from college.”
“If it’s not a family member, then I’m sorry, but I can’t give you the time off.”
Her head snapped back up. “Okay, fine, it’s my grandma.”
The bar manager crossed his arms. “You just told me it wasn’t.”
“Pretend I didn’t.”
“Jamie.” He closed his eyes and massaged his temples. “You’re my best bartender, and the customers love you, but I can’t deal with your drama all the time. If you don’t show up to work this weekend, you’re making a choice.”
Her fingers twitched, itching for a cigarette. “I’m sorry, but I have to go to New York tomorrow. It’s not optional.”
“Then you’ll have to find a new job when you get back.”
“Probably for the best.” She lifted her chin and tossed out a little T. S. Eliot. “I’ve been measuring out my life with coffee spoons for too long.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you can’t fire me, because I quit.” She threw back her shoulders and marched toward the break room to collect her belongings. “Dare to eat a peach!”
On the flight from LAX to JFK, Jamie sweet-talked her way into first class and gratefully accepted the flight attendant’s offer of red wine, even though it was only ten a.m. She hadn’t been able to sleep at all the night before, and hadn’t bothered with a shower or makeup, so she looked like crap, the upside of which was that she’d be left alone to read in peace.
Or so she thought.
Five minutes after takeoff, the businessman seated next to her leaned in so closely that she could smell the starch in his crisp white shirt. “Good book?”
“Mmm.” She didn’t raise her gaze from the text.
He squinted to read the title on the back cover. “Wings of the Dove? Never heard of it. What’s it about?”
“A beautiful heiress who dies young and leaves a ton of money to her ratbag friends who don’t deserve it.”
“Pretty heavy stuff for a plane ride.” He took in the bright blond hair and the boobs and asked, “Are you an actress?”
“Nope. Unemployed bartender.”
“Well, do you have any interest in acting? Because I’m starting a production company and I could really—”
“Look, no offense, but I’m having a bad week and I just need a little downtime.”
“Sure. I’ll leave you alone. Sorry.”
“No need to apologize.” She turned the page and sipped her wine.
He managed to contain himself for a few more minutes, then leaned in again. “You headed to New York for business or pleasure?”
Jamie put down the book and looked him straight in the eye. “Funeral.”
She spent the next five hours reading in undisturbed silence.
Arden’s memorial service was even more wrenching than Jamie had anticipated. After the last “amen” echoed off the arched stone ceiling of the Upper East Side cathedral, she straggled back out into the sunlight with Brooke, Anna, and Caitlin by her side.
Anna wiped her nose and drew a shuddery breath. “Well, that was …”
“Devastating,” Cait said.
“Draining,” Jamie said.
“Beautiful,” Brooke insisted bravely. “A beautiful tribute to a beautiful spirit.” Then her lower lip started to quiver. “God, that was horrible. Her mother’s face …”
“Enough,” Anna took one more swipe at her eyes, then crumpled up the tissue and addressed the other three sternly. “No more crying. We’re supposed to be celebrating her life, not dwelling on her death.”
“I have never felt less celebratory,” Jamie said.
Brooke motioned them in, glanced at the mourners still streaming down the cathedral steps, and murmured, “Did you see who was sitting in the very last row?”
They all crowded closer together. “Who?”
“Jeff Thuesen. He ducked in after the service started, hoping no one would notice him. But I noticed, all right.”
Jamie’s stomach lurched.
“Jeff Thuesen?” Anna’s eyebrows snapped together. “Are you sure?”
Brooke held up her right palm. “I swear on a stack of Bibles.”
“I didn’t see him,” Jamie said softly.
“Oh, it was definitely him,” Brooke said. “He slipped out while the minister was winding down. Afraid to face our wrath, no doubt.”
Anna crossed her arms. “As well he should be.”
“Jeff Thuesen.” Cait scowled. “What a piece of work.”
Jamie stared down at the concrete and concentrated on the cacophony of idling diesel engines and car horns in the street behind them.
“Seriously,” Anna said. “He breaks Arden’s heart, ignores her for ten years, and then has the chutzpah to show his face at her funeral?”
“I don’t know who he thinks he’s fooling.” Brooke clicked her tongue. “It’s a little late to be playing the contrite ex-boyfriend now. He ruined her life.”
“Let’s not get carried away here.” Cait tilted her head. “I wouldn’t say he ruined her life. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m not defending him, but Arden had a lot going for her: a great job, a great family, great friends.”
“Okay, then, he ruined her love life.” Brooke’s eyes flashed. “Who did she date after they broke up?”
Cait sighed. “Well …”
“Exactly. No one. She spent the rest of her life alone. Completely and utterly alone.”
Jamie covered her face with her hands and started to shake.
“Jamie? Y
ou all right?”
“It’s okay.” Cait pulled her in for a hug. “I feel the same way. I just want to go back to the hotel, close the curtains, and spend the rest of the day in bed.”
The four friends huddled in silence for a minute, keenly aware of the absence of the fifth.
Then Anna straightened up and said, “No one’s going to bed. We’re all spending the rest of the day together, because that’s what Arden would have wanted. No roommate left behind.”
Cait rolled her eyes. “What a tyrant. You can’t force camaraderie at a time like this.”
“True. But I can force you all to eat dinner. We need to keep up our strength. Come on, we’ll find someplace dark and quiet.”
“You’re so practical,” Brooke marveled.
“Well, one of us has to be, and since you’re too sweet to be bossy, and Jamie has impulse control problems, and writers like Cait are impractical by definition, I’m it by default.” Anna strode toward the corner and shepherded them along.
“I’m not a writer,” Cait protested.
“And I’m not that sweet,” Brooke said. “Just well-mannered. There’s a difference between being polite and being a pushover.”
They turned to Jamie expectantly.
“What? We all know I have impulse control problems.” She shrugged. “I don’t think anyone can dispute that.”
A tinkly ringtone emanated from Brooke’s black patent leather clutch. “That’s my cell phone.” She opened her bag and checked caller ID. “Excuse me for one second. This is important.”
While Brooke stepped away, the conversation turned to the million-dollar bombshell Arden had detonated via her will.
“I still can’t wrap my head around it,” Anna said. “When her lawyer called, I was just … poleaxed.”
“‘Poleaxed’?” Cait grinned. “Do you get a triple word score for that?”
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