by Nicole Bokat
“I have no idea who Grace Cooke is,” Simon’s message began. “Poor you. You seem to be inventing scenarios to stay in touch. I’ll be in Boston next weekend. Let’s meet and have a proper talk. P.S. No more bothering Gillian.”
nineteen
—
NATALIE DROVE TO SIMON’S HOTEL, OVERLOOKING BOSTON Harbor, in the early afternoon. She rushed through the lobby with its abstract sculptures and egg-shaped vases stuffed with miniature cacti, all coolly modern, not cozy or inviting, but open, safe. She’d wanted to meet downstairs, someplace public, maybe go to a restaurant; although, she hadn’t wished to share another meal with him. He’d written back: What do you think I’m going to do, jump you? Pull a knife? You can leave my door open. I prefer to be comfortable after travelling.
She’d acquiesced. But, now, alone in the elevator, she grasped her pocketbook to her chest as if caught in a dicey neighborhood. On his floor, Natalie ran her hands over the wallpaper as she walked slowly to his room. She rounded one corner, then another. There was his room number on the door. There was nothing to do but knock.
When he opened it, she avoided looking at him at first, focusing on how the bedspread and blankets were stripped away, as if he’d been napping, yet the drapes were open. One quick glance and she noted the constellation of tiny freckles on the side of Simon’s face, the same ones she’d kissed when they’d made love.
She swallowed down the acid rising in her throat.
“Hello,” Simon said in a pleasant voice. He left the door slightly ajar and motioned for her to sit wherever she liked: the unmade bed or the leather chair by the window. “Do you want me to order drinks?”
“No. Thanks.”
He pointed to the bowl of fruit on the dresser, next to the television, a vase of cornflowers. “Pear, apple?”
“I’m okay.” Natalie crossed the room to the seat by the window, as far from him as possible in the small space. She left on her jacket and scarf despite the warm temperature.
Simon sat on the crumpled blanket. He stretched his arms over his head to rub the back of his neck, then ran his hands slowly down the sides of his pants. It was if he were pleasuring himself. So unappealing this little bit of perversion showboat act of his.
“Let’s get this sorted,” he said. “Just to warn you, I’m juggling two ladies already. And all your theatrics aren’t my cup of tea.”
He couldn’t be serious, being all performance himself.
“I told you why I’m here,” she said. “The emails.”
“Yes, you’ve been sending them regularly.”
“The ones I’ve been getting about the accident in the Cayman Islands.”
“I’m aware of this obsession of yours,” he said. “Bit of a bore, to be honest.”
Natalie said, “If you answer my questions, I promise to leave you alone.”
“Very well. Let’s get this over with.”
“Why were your brights on if you saw us ahead of you?”
He met her eyes. “To get Isabel’s attention, of course.”
She caught sight of the phone on the desk, wondering if there was a panic-button on it. Famous cases of celebrity stalkers ran through her mind: Hinckley and Chapman.
“So, you’re admitting you were following us?”
“Yes.”
“What were you even doing there?”
“Isabel wouldn’t talk to me,” he said. “I’d been trying to have a conversation with her for weeks.”
There he was, all neat and put-together in his navy shirt with an undecipherable logo on it, designer jeans, and brown loafers shiny as bread glazed with a pastry brush. His eyes and teeth were beacons of good health. He had Oxford-by-way-of-Eton written all over him, insanity aglow in privilege.
“You traveled to the Caymans to talk to her?” she asked.
“Yes, of course. She’s been too caught up in her business woes, finance, deadlines to have a decent conversation.”
She was blinking too quickly now. Was Simon someone Isabel owed money to, a loan shark with a fancy daytime job?
“You could have seen Isabel at one of her events in New York. She gives lectures there regularly.”
“I’m well aware; it’s how we met. Gillie signed us up for one of Isabel’s silly seminars. Bit of a drag, giving up my Saturday to placate the girlfriend. But, what a pleasant surprise. I went to Isabel’s next talk when she came back to town, alone this time, and introduced myself and, the rest, well,” a dip in his voice, his false gallantry, “I’ll be a gentleman and spare you the juicy details.”
Natalie sucked in her lip, so as not to snicker. “That’s hard for me to believe.”
“Believe what you want.” He shrugged languidly. “We chatted for a long time after her lecture. I suggested we get a drink at The Gramercy.”
“That was the restaurant you took me to.”
“Yes. I like that place.”
Disgust had a taste, like old pennies on the tongue. She stared at the linked, octagon-pattern in the carpet, not wanting to see Simon’s face as he spoke.
“Getting her to go home with me, that took a little convincing. Interesting how Isabel worries about following a code of ethics in her work life, isn’t it? But she wasn’t my therapist. I wasn’t her student. This was a gray area, and we were both adults.”
“Isabel wouldn’t have an affair,” Natalie said. “She’d never cheat on George.”
“You don’t seem to know your stepsister very well.”
“I know her better than anyone.”
A ripple of uneasiness. Do I?
Simon broke into a grin. “Isabel and I were seeing each other for months, and you never suspected.”
“Why not meet her in New York again?” Natalie said, sticking to her playbook. Facts, what happened when she’d crashed the car, the emails that followed. The rest was rubbish. “Why follow her to the Cayman Islands?”
“Isabel’s idea, a romantic getaway. She made the reservation for the two of us. Then she changed her mind, said it was too risky. When I called the hotel, they were nearly sold out but not quite.”
Natalie wondered if he was enjoying goading her or truly delusional. “The reservation was for Isabel and me.”
“Not originally. She confronted me the next morning, that day I met you on the beach. She wasn’t pleased I showed up. But she left me no choice.”
“This fantasy …” she had to be prudent, “you should try to let go of it.”
“That’s what Gillie said—later, when she found out. It’s not that simple, though. I’m in love with Isabel. She feels the same.”
It slipped out. “That’s absurd!”
Simon’s eyes drained, his mouth slackened, as if he were injured. This only lasted a moment, this look of vulnerability, before he arched his head in her direction. “She tried to end things between us, even after everything we’d shared, so many secrets, things she’d never say to anyone, even her husband. But she still loves me.”
Natalie’s hands trembled in her lap. She realized her miscalculation, not standing by the door. She’d have to bypass him to leave, no easy exit for her. She turned toward the window. The water in the harbor was choppy, the nearest dock bobbing, no boats in sight. She touched her wool scarf. She imagined Simon’s hands pulling it tightly around her throat, as the world shrank to smaller and smaller circles, surrounded by a black background, like in the endings of old movies. Quickly, she untied it.
“What secrets?” she asked.
“You can’t expect me to tell you that.”
“I’m assuming you didn’t mention that you’d slept with me,” she said, her voice too loud in her ears. “I’d love to share that information with her.”
“No, you wouldn’t … or you would have already.”
“Try me.”
He peered at her. “Why do you think I was driving with my brights on? It was a signal that she couldn’t fuck around with me anymore. I knew what had happened to you, how rattled you’d become, ho
w that would upset her. Isabel told me what happened the night your mother died.”
There was a glitch in Natalie’s perception, the room askew, the light too bright. The danger was coming at her too fast, like a train derailed.
“Why would she do that?” she whispered.
“I asked her the worst thing she’d ever done. And she said, not making sure you were safe.”
“How could she keep me safe? She wasn’t with us.”
“She should have convinced your mother not to take you—or gone along to that doctor. She was too distracted by that boyfriend of hers. I told her about my poor brother, Charles, the sailboat accident.”
Natalie recalled the little boy in the picture on this table, the derision already etched on his face, how his mother cradled her other son with love, his father’s apparent disinterest. “What did you do?”
“Nothing.” Simon glanced at her with those lovely, empty blue eyes. “I did nothing to save him that day. Same as Isabel. We were alone in the boat when he fell in the water. I didn’t push him. I didn’t rescue him either, although I swore I tried.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
“Ask Isabel,” he said, “the details.”
“Did you meet me in New York to make her jealous? Is that why you slept with me?”
He shrugged. “You seemed satisfied that night—before you snooped around in my things.”
“Weren’t you worried that it would get back to her?”
“Not then, too angry. But things change.”
“Did you want to hurt George, too?”
“I never gave him a second thought. But I wasn’t going to let Isabel decide. It doesn’t work that way—maybe with her passive, pathetic husband. Not with me.”
“Whatever happened between you and Isabel, she loves George.”
“She called him her ‘old dog.’” He grinned with fury. “The old dog would fall asleep during sex. Can you imagine, with someone like Isabel? He clears his throat when he feels guilty about not doing his paperwork. She hates that noise.”
Natalie’s hands and legs were quivering. Isabel had told her about the guttural sound George made, his habit of confessing, his time mismanagement, how annoying it was to her. “So, you came to Boston this weekend to see Isabel?”
“Yes. And I did so, earlier. In this very room, in fact. It was delightful what we did.”
He’s coming to town for business. I told Debbie to ignore his email, toss it in the trash file.
Natalie’s throat was so dry it burned. “Why are you saying these horrible things? I’ve never done anything to you. Why are you trying to hurt me?”
“Don’t be silly. All is mended between us, which is why I would very much prefer you don’t mention our little fling. I want you to be my sister-in-law.”
“That’s disgusting.”
Simon pointed to her hand. “Strong word. Why wear the ring I got Isabel if I’m so disgusting? We picked it out together, for her, of course, from a place in the diamond district. Isabel thought it brilliant.”
Hatred smoldered. Careful. Don’t incite him. Be strategic. “If you and Isabel are so close, why hasn’t she left George for you?”
“She says it would be bad for her reputation. You know Isabel can be cold-blooded when it suits her. Marriage to a nice, dull doctor, whose research she could use to boost her career, is better for business. Never mind the money I gave her to bail her out. I’m not a fool, though. I’m not going to keep giving without a commitment.”
“I should go.”
“I just thought of something that might help you solve your riddle after all,” he declared, with an uptick in excitement.
“What riddle?”
“The reason you’re here. Have you forgotten about your emails already?”
Natalie shook her head, even though she had.
“Gillian and I reconnected before I went on my island vacation. Poor girl never got over me. And one does have to look out for oneself, which Isabel is well aware of. When Isabel leaves George, I will do the same. It’s agreed upon.”
“What does that have to do with the emails?”
“Gillie admitted to reading mine after I returned from the Caymans, harassed me until I confessed everything.”
“She knows you were there to be with Isabel?”
“Yep.” He slapped his thighs. “You and me, how we met, my trailing you on the road, the minor drama that sent you into a panic, all of it. She grilled me to death, and I gave the girl what she wanted.”
“That you’re here today, to see Isabel?”
“Well, not everything, just enough to keep her quiet. She could be your offender, if you’re being truthful, and this email thing wasn’t a pretense to see me. Gillie has wanted to get back at Isabel for ages.”
Natalie wobbled upright, secured the strap of her pocketbook around her shoulder and walked the length of the room. “I really do have to go… work.”
“Ah, pictures of the mutton! Aren’t you going to thank me for helping you?”
“Thank you. One more thing … can you ask Gillian if she’s bb-Godfrey?”
“Sorry,” he said. “Don’t be greedy. Gillie is off-limits.”
She wrenched the door free and walked out quickly, hoping she wouldn’t heave up her breakfast on the hotel carpet.
ISABEL ENDED THE workshop with, “As you go through your week, keep up in your journals, focus on forgiveness, expectations, your intentional activities, and how they foster positive experiences.”
Natalie’s body felt loose and jangly. The plan was that Jeremy would wait for her downstairs. Originally, she was going to ask Isabel to lunch. But she’d shared with Jeremy her meeting with Simon, how he’d bragged about sleeping with her stepsister, how he claimed they were in love. “Let me be there for you in case the guy isn’t lying,” Jeremy said. “You’ll be so hurt.”
Isabel glanced her way. “Keep in mind what we discussed today, how overthinking is toxic. Okay, everyone. Have a great week.”
After the usual disciples lingered, the room emptied of all but the two of them. Isabel was packing her workbook and pamphlets into her leather tote. She smiled at Natalie. “Hey, stranger. You been hiding?”
Isabel had made several attempts to contact her. The day before, Natalie had texted her back: Busy. See you at group.
“I’ve been really upset.” Natalie stared at her stepsister’s long white fingers, the platinum band tucked under the handcrafted engagement ring.
“Uh, oh, that deadly rumination.”
She was standing on the plank near the dreaded end, choppy waters below. Stay still, focus only on the horizon. She jumped. “I talked with Simon Drouin when he was in Boston last weekend.”
Isabel made a small sound, like a gasp stopped mid-inhale. She arched forward, anchoring her weight on her bag. And Natalie marveled, as she often did, how stunning it was that someone so beautiful could appear washed-out with the smallest change in lighting.
“Why did you do that?” Isabel asked.
“You know why. To figure out who sent me these emails.”
“And did you figure it out?”
“No. He denied sending them.” Confrontation always cost Natalie. “Simon told me something pretty disturbing, though.”
“Oh, yes?”
“He claims you two are in love.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“He knew about me, about my mom’s accident. He said that he shined his brights on the road because it would trigger me.”
Isabel’s eyes ablaze. “He’s such a sadist.”
The moment was frozen, a photo taken at too fast a shutter speed.
“You told him about me. You did! He said you called George your ‘old dog,’ never mind the stuff he told me about George and sex.”
“What do you want, Nat?”
Natalie’s chest was so hot under her sweater and winter coat; she felt like she could catch on fire. “What do I want? I want to know why?”
>
“It’s complicated….”
“That’s not an answer! Tell me your version or I’ll go to George.”
“You’d never do that.” Her mouth was tight and colorless.
“Try me. You want to risk it?”
“I want forgiveness. I can’t forgive myself for what I did, but maybe you can.”
“Explain to me how you could do that.” Natalie could hear the percussion of her heartbeat. “Not just the sex but confiding … and with someone like him?”
“Worst mistake of my life. I was such an idiot.”
“Which part: betraying me and George or falling in love?”
“I never said I loved him.” The vein in Isabel’s forehead throbbed, and she tugged on the errant strand of hair that had strayed from her ponytail. “It was a fling. Nothing. What I said about you, it was only in the context of my feeling guilty that I hadn’t been able to prevent you from suffering. Simon twisted it into something else.”
Natalie gripped the back of a chair. “You warned me away from Simon for my sake, you compared him to that crazy woman in Oregon. You let him search the bushes. It was the two of you against me.”
“It wasn’t like that.” Isabel knocked her palm on the side of her head. “I fucked up so royally.”
Natalie couldn’t locate the hub of her wrath: the affair, the deceit, or the chaos so uncharacteristic of Isabel. “It’s hard to picture, you that out of control.”
“You know I used the second advance, pumped it into my business. But, then, I borrowed from my IRA, because the house and stocks are all in both our names. I should have told George what was going on, but I didn’t want him to flip out. You’ve seen how he is, like my dad that way, breathing down my neck. He would have told me not to aim so high, not to gamble. But how else was I going to keep the platform my editor wanted? The first time I met with Simon, we talked about investments, financial stuff. I thought he’d help me.”
“He said that he did.”
“Not a lot. I figured he was a cash cow, I admit it. I used him for that. But, I’d come to my senses and broken off with him by the time we went to the Caymans. I couldn’t believe he’d follow me to the conference.”