For in that house in Ho-Ho-Kus, Lupita had uncovered a treasure trove of letters between Burr and Hamilton, letters which were thought to have gone down on a ship with Burr’s daughter, Theodosia. The letters proved incontrovertibly what Lupita’s professor had thought all along—that Hamilton and Burr did share a connection through Suffern. And that connection was none other than Hamilton’s mistress, Maria Reynolds.
Historians knew that Maria had hired Burr as her divorce attorney. But the letters confirmed Burr and Maria did much more than process her divorce papers together. They met many times in the Suffern cottage on Provost Drive, owned by Burr’s wife’s family, as Burr wrote to Hamilton, gloating about their intimate liaisons.
Lupita explained, “It was one thing for Burr to slander Hamilton in the press, to question his ethics and his character and whether or not he was fit to govern our country. But it was another for Burr to steal the woman Hamilton loved and rub it in his face. That was why Hamilton went after Burr with such force in the New York Evening Post, printing the strong words that instigated their duel. The letters in that shoe box proved that Burr and Hamilton’s duel was not to settle their political differences. It was much more personal. They fought their duel on that fateful day over Maria.”
“But—this changes history!” I shouted, trying to keep my hands steady on the steering wheel.
Lupita smiled. “Technically, it does not change history. But I suppose the world will now see this chapter with a whole new understanding.” Her voice trembled with excitement. “My professor and I pulled all-nighters this past week and submitted the paper to a number of national journals. He said he has friends who might be able to expedite the authentication and review process, but now we just have to sit back and wait.”
“This is beyond huge! We have to go out and celebrate.”
“Today we will be celebrating dinosaur huge,” she laughed, and Samuel yelled out, “Rwrarrr . . . dinosaurs!”
We got lucky and found a parking spot on a side street a few blocks from the Museum of Natural History. On our stroll to the Central Park West entrance, we passed the New York Historical Society on the corner of 77th Street. “Your mom is going to be in there,” I told Samuel. He looked up at me quizzically but I knew he would soon understand just how well-known his mother would become.
As we swung through the museum’s revolving doors and into the ornate rotunda, I felt like I had just been there even though it had been almost a whole year. Samuel, Phoebe, and Madison craned their necks upward at the immense dinosaur skeleton towering above us.
“That’s the biggest dinosaur I have ever seen!” Samuel exclaimed.
“Wait until you see the fourth floor,” I said.
We walked past the admissions line packed twenty people deep and breezed right up to the members-only desk. I couldn’t believe I had even thought twice about sending in our membership renewal. We need to use it more often. Once a month; from now on we’re coming at least once a month, I promised myself.
We took the elevator straight up to the fourth floor and came face-to-face with the menacing teeth of a T. rex in the first gallery. “Whoa!” Phoebe said, and ran over to the display, while Madison made a beeline up the ramp behind the brontosaurus. Lupita stayed with Samuel and Phoebe while I scurried after Madison, speeding by the triceratops and some of the specimens I’d forgotten about, like the dinosaur with a bill like a duck’s. The kids were drawn like magnets to the touch screens positioned throughout the galleries, and I had to admit it was cool to see the bones come to animated life. But the computer graphics couldn’t compare to the looks on the kids’ faces when we reached a sign that read, Touch me! and they were allowed to feel a real dinosaur arm bone and an 11,000-year-old mastodon molar.
“It’s bigger than my whole head!” Phoebe marveled.
“Mine too,” Madison said in her cute high-pitched voice. “It’s too bigger than my head.”
We slid into the last available bench spots in the theater to watch a movie about the dinosaur family tree, squeezed shoulder-to-shoulder in the middle row between a family who said they were visiting from Australia and an older couple from St. Louis. I glanced around at the crowd of strangers who had come together in this theater from across the globe and down the block, women holding babies and tourists with backpacks covered in patches and toddlers running in front of the screen with too much energy to sit through to the end of the film. It wasn’t quiet, like a regular movie; the room hummed and clicked and sneezed. And I loved feeling crowded in the middle of it all. I missed being a regular in that theater. And I felt a physical pang—I really missed living in the city.
Phoebe and Madison both sat on my lap, barely able to fit anymore. I kissed the tops of their heads and watched them watch the screen, eyes wide. They were getting so big, so fast. Too fast, I thought, and I wished they’d fit right there on my lap for the next million years.
But the movie ended and the lights went up and we heard the announcement that the museum was going to close in an hour. We had originally planned to catch the space show in the planetarium but there just wasn’t going to be enough time.
“One more stop before we go,” I said.
We went back down to the first floor and took a picture of the kids sitting in the giant clamshell in the Hall of Biodiversity. A few steps to our right, we peered through a doorway and when Madison caught sight of that ninety-four-foot blue whale suspended from the ceiling, she stopped in her tracks and said, “Wow, Mommy.”
“Wow,” I echoed. It took my breath away every time. I held Phoebe’s and Madison’s hands and Lupita held Samuel’s, and we walked down the stairs to stand beneath it. Blue waves and glimmers of light washed across the ceiling and the tranquil sounds of the ocean enveloped us, and we all looked up in awe at the whale’s immense beauty.
Parents were stopping their kids from running around, scolding them—Hurry up, it’s time to go, the museum’s closing soon. But we stayed right up until the end and let them spin and dance under that enormous wonder of the sea.
* * *
Outside the museum we bought hot dogs and pretzels and water and parked ourselves on an empty bench under the shade of some trees. I tore off a piece of hot pretzel and tasted such a perfect bite, crunchy on the outside and warm on the inside, with just a hint of salt.
Aaron’s text popped up: he’d just landed. In a few minutes we’d need to get back in the car so we could be home when he arrived.
A young couple studying a guidebook walked up and the woman said, “Pardon? Do you know, where is . . . Strawberry Fields?”
“Of course,” I smiled. I hadn’t been asked that question in a long, long time. “Walk down about six blocks and make a left into the park, right across from the building where Lennon lived, the Dakota. You can’t miss it.”
They thanked me and as I watched them walk away, I was amazed that of all the people on the street, they had asked me for directions. “I don’t even live here anymore,” I thought out loud.
“But you look like you know where you are going,” Lupita said, and I realized it was true.
* * *
I heard Aaron open the front door and drop his bags in the hallway.
“I am so glad you’re home!” I kissed him hello; he smelled like airplane. “Jump in the shower, we’re going out to dinner.”
“Dinner? We have Jeff’s fundraiser tonight. And we’re already late.”
“We’re not going to that fundraiser,” I said. “Wait until I tell you about the fight Alyson and I had today in ballet, you would not believe the—”
“I literally just spoke to Jeff on the way home and promised him I’d be there to introduce his new technology platform. He has a speech written for me and everything. Plus, we spent five hundred dollars on a table.”
“Forget the money, Aaron. I cannot be in the same room with Alyson. Seriously, it would be way too uncomfortable.”
“We can leave right after the speech; I promise. Or you can sta
y home and then we can go to dinner after, but I have to show up.” He glanced at his watch. “Fifteen minutes ago.”
I couldn’t let Aaron go to the party by himself. I didn’t have to speak to Alyson but I absolutely had to make sure she didn’t get near my husband. Who knew what she might pull to get back at me for telling her to fuck off today?
“Half hour tops,” I conceded.
No matter what, I had to stick to Aaron’s side all night.
* * *
People were packed shoulder-to-shoulder in the foyer of Jeff and Alyson’s house. So many faces I hadn’t seen before, and many I hadn’t seen in a long time. I spotted Michelle deep in the crowd near the stairwell standing next to her husband, Randy—I remembered he was the head of the zoning board, of course Jeff would want him there for his political nod. For sure I wanted to make our way over to say hi to them. I recognized the mayor of Suffern walking in, and behind him, the state senator. An impressive crowd.
Thankfully, Alyson wasn’t there to greet us at the door.
A banner hung on the wall above the place-card table—157 days to go until Election Day, November 4!—the same large marble table that always featured at its center a huge fresh flower arrangement, even on nonparty days. I leaned in to smell one of the beautiful white blossoms—was it a gardenia or maybe a peony?—and was surprised to discover it had no perceptible scent. “These aren’t real,” I said.
“What?” Aaron asked over the din.
“Nothing.” And I looked around and realized—the plants above the bookcases, on the side tables, all of the greenery adorning their house that I had so admired—it was all made of plastic. Alyson didn’t have a green thumb; she had an account at Home Goods.
“Hellooo, stranger, where have you been?” I heard Ivy ask. She scootched in next to me and squeezed my arm. “Hey, Aaron, good to see you.”
Aaron nodded. “Hi, Ivy. Drew.”
Ivy found their place card. “Table two. You guys?”
“Table fourteen.” Back of the bus. I was half-surprised to have found our card at all.
I couldn’t help but notice how low Ivy’s dress was cut, dipping right into her cleavage, the same spot where that stranger’s head had been buried doing body shots between her boobs.
I cleared my throat and tried to tuck that memory back, way back, so it wouldn’t leak out. Keep it light, keep it simple. “So, everything good?” I asked her.
“C’mon, dude, let’s hit the bar,” Drew said to Aaron. “Jeff told me there’s Jäger bombs to be had.”
Ivy rolled her eyes. “Jäger bombs, really? What are you guys, fourteen?”
Aaron protested: “Actually, I have to go find Jeff.” But Drew grabbed his arm and Ivy and I followed them into the living room.
Aaron declined the Jäger bomb, thank god, and opted for a beer. He passed me a glass of wine and I watched as Drew expertly dropped the shot of Jäger into a cup of Red Bull and downed it. He licked his lips. “Now that’s the way to start a party!” A thin line of saliva dripped from his chin and he wiped it with the back of his hand.
Aaron grimaced and then excused himself. “Jeff has a speech I have to look over,” he explained, and I waved goodbye and tagged along behind him. We searched for Jeff in the library and I was about to suggest circling back to the foyer when I felt a tap on my shoulder. “Hey there, chica,” Tami said, glass of champagne in hand, kiss, kiss. Not her first, I could smell from her breath.
I craned my neck to see if Aaron was still in front of me, but he had disappeared into the crowd. Shit.
Tami took my wrist and led us toward the kitchen. “Come, I need a refill.”
“Did you see which way Aaron was heading? I forgot to tell him to—”
We both stopped as we heard a loud pleasured grunt from the far end of the hall. “Ooooh . . . someone’s getting busy!” Tami said gleefully, and tiptoed toward the bathroom.
She mouthed, Love this! and put her ear against the door. Then she slowly turned the knob and thrust it open with her hip—and there was Alyson up on the vanity with her legs wrapped around Tami’s husband, Chris.
Tami exploded, “Are you fucking kidding me?”
At first I thought maybe it was just another game in the Tami and Chris playbook—hide and seek and screw the BFF. But I could see shock and hurt in Tami’s eyes, even though just a short week ago she’d been doing the same—although at least it was with a stranger, not her closest friend’s husband.
Chris quickly hiked up his pants while Alyson slid off the counter and casually pulled down her dress. She turned to check her lipstick in the mirror, looking not the least bit fazed.
Tami screamed, “You two-bit backstabbing whore! After all I’ve done to help you out of every fucked-up mess in your life, Aly, this is how you thank me?”
Alyson replied calmly, “I believe we’re even now.”
Tami stared at her and then a look of recognition came over her face. “If you are actually demented enough to still be mad about me fucking your freaking prom date the summer after we graduated from high school—almost twenty years ago—you are one sick fuck.”
“For your information, I have proof you and Dwayne fooled around before that summer. And you calling me a whore? Don’t make me laugh.”
Tami’s blood boiled over and seemingly out of every pore. “I might not be a Mennonite but I would NEVER do this. Never! There are limits, Aly. But you wouldn’t know anything about limits, would you? Fucking everything that ever so much as waved a dick at you. Blowing Mr. Brockman in the pottery room after school. Gangbanging all the counselors on that Scared Straight wilderness trip. Shacking up in those pathetic motels by the hour on Route 17 with a string of horny contractors looking for an easy lay. You think you’re such hot shit but you’re just starved for attention. And now you’re just a washed-up thirty-five-year-old whore.”
“You only wished Mr. Brockman looked at you the way he looked at me!” Alyson countered, then turned and started down the hall.
“Me? You’ve been literally tearing your fucking hair out ever since I had another baby. The one thing you want so bad and can’t have, poor you,” Tami said sarcastically.
That stopped Alyson in her tracks. She spun around but didn’t say anything.
I didn’t want to defend Alyson. I certainly didn’t want to step into Tami’s line of fire. But I couldn’t stop myself from interjecting, “Miscarriages can be really tough.”
Tami rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me she’s been spewing that miscarriage sob story again. Not only is she a slut, she’s a liar, and has been since she learned how to say, Fuck me. You should know—maybe you ALL would like to know,” Tami said to the small crowd that had gathered. “The reason Emmy doesn’t have a little brother or sister is because Jeff won’t sleep with her and hasn’t for the past two—or what is it now, Aly—almost three years?”
I was never good about guessing what people did or didn’t do in their bedrooms; to hear Alyson and Jeff weren’t sleeping together came as a surprise, not a bombshell. Yet what I could not believe was that anyone would stoop so low as to lie about having a miscarriage. I thought back to that day in Alyson’s kitchen . . . I’d disclosed one of my most private secrets to help ease her phony suffering?
Alyson just shrugged and slipped into the crowd.
Tami turned to Chris. “And you—all the cunts in the universe and you had to stick your dick in hers? You’re a DEAD MAN.”
Chris took off and Tami tore right after him. I decided it was well past the time to find Aaron and take our exit.
Most of the guests had made their way outside near the pool, where round tables had been set up on the lawn. Up on the top tier of their deck next to their grill island stood an outdoor inflatable movie screen playing a slideshow of Jeff at different community events: Jeff smiling at the Rotary Club breakfast; Jeff setting up the stands at the Saturday-morning farmers’ market; Alyson and Emmy and Jeff picking apples at The Orchards, smiling in the picture I recogn
ized from their holiday card last year.
Jeff’s campaign manager stepped up to the podium, straightened his tie, tested the microphone, “One, two,” and then cleared his throat. “Okay, people, take your seats, we’re about to start.”
I found Aaron sitting at our table chatting with a couple I didn’t recognize. I gave them a polite smile and whispered to Aaron, “We should go.”
“Jeff said the tech piece is right after the appetizers.”
I debated whether to sit down or try to convince Aaron to leave as the montage continued: Jeff and Chris with Drew and Peter drinking beers at Sutter’s Mill after a basketball game; Jeff cutting the ribbon with a state official at the opening of a renovated playground. I noticed a photo of Aaron and Jeff in the pool holding Emmy and Phoebe high above their heads and I suddenly felt sad thinking about how long ago that seemed.
A picture faded in of me, Tami, Carolann, Ivy, and Alyson—the five of us, arm in arm on the deck at Red’s in Kiawah last week.
Holy shit, Alyson inserted one of the trip pictures. An innocuous one, but still—if she was mad enough, it was possible . . . In fact, that might have been her plan all along, to put those incriminating pictures up on the screen in front of the husbands. In front of everyone.
Jeff appeared on the deck with Alyson at his side. I noticed she had changed into a red dress so tight you could see her hip bones.
I tugged on Aaron’s arm. “Come on, let’s leave now; I can explain,” I urged.
The pictures kept rolling. Alyson and Jeff smiling cheek-to-cheek on the dance floor at the school auction; Emmy on Jeff’s shoulders at the Suffern Memorial Day Parade, waving an American flag.
Then a picture flashed up on the screen that made the crowd gasp. But it wasn’t a picture from our trip.
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