“I appreciate that. Dan’s okay, right?”
Depends how you define “okay,” thought Jordan, remembering Dan curled on his side in the jail cell and Meredith Armbruster’s calm assertion that they had prayed together. “He’s fine. But that’s the other reason I came. I wanted to make sure he hasn’t been bothering either one of you.”
Val’s face darkened. Addie’s hand crept back to her belly. “No,” she said. “Should I be expecting him?”
“I don’t think so. I think he’s turned over a new leaf, or he’s trying to.”
Val snorted. Addie said nothing. The wind gusted, making the bare branches of the trees in her front yard shake. He saw Addie shiver, and he wished he could hold her, open up his jacket and tuck her tight against him. “Go inside,” Jordan said gruffly. “It’s cold out here.” He remembered the flowers and held them out to her. “These are for you.”
“Oh.” She took them and held them awkwardly in one hand, barely noticing as Val drifted discreetly back up the stairs. “Thanks, they’re beautiful.”
“Addie, listen,” he said. “Do you think we could get together sometime? For a drink, or dinner, or something?” His heartbeat thundered in his ears, and his palms and armpits started to sweat.
She looked at him, her smile fading. “You’ve been in my house,” she said. He didn’t answer. “You met my brother, I bet.” He waited. “You chased me all the way down to Florida…”
“‘Chased’ is a little bit strong. It was pursuit.” He looked at her, straight-faced. “Official police business.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You were showing people my picture. And it wasn’t even a good one. And we…” She ducked her head. That pretty flush was back, coloring her cheeks and her neck.
“Well, that’s just standard police procedure. Didn’t I mention it the last time I was here? We do that with all our suspects. First the kissing, then the arresting. The kissing calms them down.”
Her laughter had a lovely, musical sound. He went on. “I’m sorry about being in your house. But we did have some pretty compelling circumstantial evidence. And your door was unlocked.”
“Was not.”
“Was too.”
“You had a key under your welcome mat.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“Have dinner with me.”
She leaned against the side of the doorway and sighed, with one hand on her belly. “It won’t work.”
“Is it because of the baby?” She didn’t answer. Jordan wiped his palms on the sides of his pants and plunged on. “My wife and I, my ex-wife, we couldn’t have kids. I always wanted them—she did, too—but…” He shut his mouth.
Addie shook her head again, looking as if she might cry. “I wish things were different. But I’m not brave.”
“You are.” He looked into her eyes, making her believe it. He was sweating everywhere, hands and armpits and behind his knees, knowing just how important this was and certain that he was going to screw it up somehow, the way he’d screwed everything up lately. “We’re good together. You know we are.”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t say yes, but she didn’t say no either. Jordan kept talking. He wasn’t sure he could have stopped even if he’d wanted to. “Just a chance,” he said. “That’s all I want.”
Addie shook her head. “The baby…” She paused, regrouped, and tried again. “The, um, father…”
She seemed about to say more when Jordan interrupted. “I don’t care about that. As long as it’s over.”
“Oh, it is so over.”
“Then that’s fine.”
She looked at him, standing there in the cold. For a long moment he was sure she was going to shake her head and shut the door. Instead, she exhaled slowly and looked at him, her face alight, smiling. “Would you like to come inside?” she asked. She held the door open, and Jordan followed her into the warmth and the light.
FIFTY-FOUR
“Can I just say how much I love this?” Valerie asked. It was a ripe June afternoon. We were in the backyard, bare-foot in shorts and T-shirts and canvas gloves, digging up a patch of grass in the backyard, where my mother had once had her garden.
“What, weeding?”
“No. Your whole setup.” She beamed at me. She’d tied her hair back in a bandanna. “You. Jordan. The baby. It’s so South Pacific!”
“People are going to think it’s weird.” I sank my spade into the dirt, then got up, setting my hands in the small of my back and stretching. My due date was ten days away, and I was just starting to think through the logistics: how, in all probability, my daughter’s skin would be darker than mine and Jordan’s. Maybe they’d think she was adopted… or that I was the nanny. That would be interesting, I guessed.
I rubbed my back again, then scratched my belly, which itched all the time. In the wake of our adventure—and that was consistently how she referred to it, as “our adventure”—I’d seen a lot of my best friend. After her month off, Val had gone back to work, and back to her condo in Chicago, but she’d signed up for improv classes—in case, she said, she decided to leave the glamorous life of a meteorologist for the even more glamorous life of a thirtysomething wannabe actress. Every weekend she came to Pleasant Ridge, taking over the guest bedroom where no guests had ever slept, filling the house with her music, her chatter, her self-help books and baby books, the bags of designer maternity clothes and crates of kale, her running shoes, unlaced and stuffed with her socks, by the door. Once in a while, she’d join me and Jon for Wednesday-night pierogi. Jon was delighted that he was going to be an uncle—he’d made a sign with the baby’s due date for his room, and one for the refrigerator, and a reminder card for his wallet—and he’d used his employee discount at Walgreens to buy a NUMBER ONE BABY onesie, a state-of-the-art wipe warmer, and more diapers than I’d need for a year.
“Who cares what people think?” Val asked impatiently. “Jeez. You can’t worry about that. You should see what they say about me on the Internet.”
I grinned at her new-and-improved, post–Key West attitude. The truth was, Jordan and I had talked about it. He’d told me I was worrying too much—“buying trouble” was how he put it. There were kids who didn’t look like their parents all over the place now, and nontraditional arrangements were normal—“practically normal,” I thought he’d said. He knew of kids with single moms, with two moms, with two dads, which meant that nobody would look at us strangely, or comment on how the two of us and the baby didn’t match. “If anyone asks, tell them you got her at Target,” he’d said. I figured at some point I’d have to come up with an explanation: for the world, for my daughter, maybe even for Vijay, whom I hadn’t been in touch with—but that could wait. For now, I was painting the bedroom, assembling the stroller and the crib, installing the car seat, taking classes in infant first aid and CPR… and being with Jordan, who came by every night after work.
Val stood up, groaning dramatically (she’d been weeding for all of seven minutes). Then, shading her eyes, she looked out across the street. “Check it out,” she said, pointing across the street. “New neighbors.”
“Really?” The DiMeos’ house—for that was how I would always think of it, no matter how many times it changed hands—had gone on the market in April. The FOR SALE sign had come down six weeks later, but in the euphoric blur of my pregnancy and being with Jordan, I hadn’t spared the new homeowners a thought. Now I watched as a moving van pulled up to the curb, and two men got out of the cab. One of them had a braided goatee and an iPod strapped to his arm. The other had rubber plugs the size of wine corks in his earlobes. They walked around to the back of the truck and pulled open its gated door.
A hybrid car whispered to a stop behind the moving van, and a man and a woman got out. She looked to be about our age—in her early thirties—and she was pregnant.
Valerie squealed and gave me a little shove. “Oh my God, it’s perfect! Go say hi!”
I shook my head, feeling my little-girl
shyness rushing back. The woman was staring at the DiMeos’ house—her house now. Then she turned, said something to the movers, and turned again and looked at us.
“Go on,” Val said. I took a deep breath and crossed the street to the DiMeos’ front yard, where our new neighbor was waiting. “Hi,” I said. “I’m Addie Downs. Welcome to the neighborhood.”
The woman’s face lit up. “Hey, you too!” she said.
I patted my belly. “Me too.”
“Do you know what you’re having?”
“A girl,” I said, and her smile widened.
“Me too!” Her name was Pam Rollins, wife of Sean, twenty-two weeks along. “It’s so pretty here. I didn’t think I’d like it. Sean and I lived in a high-rise, so this…” She looked around and made a wry, funny face. “Big change. We’re not used to all this green. But, you know, the city…” Her voice trailed off. “We wanted to start our family somewhere safe.”
I nodded. I could have told her that places that look safe sometimes aren’t. I could have said that pretty houses and neatly kept lawns didn’t mean that bad things didn’t happen in the basements or the backyards or the woods… but I kept my mouth shut. Maybe someday she’d learn for herself. Or maybe she’d be lucky and she would never find out.
Valerie, who’d pulled off her gloves and stuck them in her back pocket, crossed the street to join us. “Valerie, this is Pam Rollins.”
“You’re living in my old house,” said Val.
Pam nodded… then, shyly, she said, “You’re on Fox News, right?”
“I am,” said Val, and turned to me. “See, not everyone gets the weather on their cell phone.”
“Right,” I said, and smiled at my friend before turning back to Pam. “Do you need anything? Directions to the grocery store? Pediatricians’ names?”
“We’re all set,” she said. “This is just so perfect!”
“Perfect,” Val agreed. “Maybe your girls will be friends.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As always, I am grateful for the hard work and stewardship of my agent, Joanna Pulcini, who is dedicated, enthusiastic, and given to writing “make this more poetic!” in my margins (which, it turns out, does not mean that the passage in question should rhyme). Joanna believed in me six books ago and believes in me still, and I’m so happy that we’ve built our careers together. And that I can stop trying to gratuitously insert the word “Nantucket” into my novels.
My amazing editor, Greer Hendricks, has been with me for every book I’ve written. Greer is a shining star for her good judgment, humor, generosity, kindness, and endless reservoirs of calm.
My thanks to Joanna’s assistant, Molly Ahrens; Greer’s assistant, Sarah Walsh; and my assistant, the funny, friendly, and altogether fabulous Meghan Burnett.
I am grateful to work with everyone at Atria Books, the most enthusiastic, attentive, and hardworking publishers in the business. My thanks to my publishers, Judith Curr at Atria and Carolyn Reidy at Simon & Schuster; to Nancy Inglis, who has the unfortunate job of copyediting my manuscripts; and to Deb Darrock, Natalie White, Kathleen Schmidt, Lisa Keim, Christine Duplessis, Craig Dean, and Jeanne Lee. Across the pond, I am very lucky to work with Suzanne Baboneau, Julie Wright, Ian Chapman, Jessica Leeke, and Nigel Stoneman at Simon & Schuster UK.
Lucky is the writer who has publicist Marcy Engelman and her girls, Dana Gidney Fetaya and Emily Gambir, on her team, and who gets the fabulous Jessica Fee to arrange her speaking gigs.
For technical expertise, my thanks to Detective Sergeant Gary Pierce of the Haddonfield, New Jersey, Police Department and Detective Sergeant John Stillwagon of the Lower Merion Police Department; to Sara Jacobson for explaining the legalities of fictitious hit-and-runs at high school reunions; and to Sue Serio of Fox 29 Philadelphia for details on the secret lives of on-air personalities.
Curtis Sittenfeld and Elizabeth LaBan were generous and perceptive first readers.
I am lucky to have wonderful friends and family, near, far, and on Facebook, who supply me with laughs, companionship, and raw material (a special shout-out to Jeff Greenstein for being hilarious and helpful and loving Harry Crews’s Body as much as I did). Jake and Joe Weiner are not only my little brothers, they also take care of me out on the coast, and my sister Molly is an endless font of inspiration and amusement. I’m grateful to my Nanna, Faye Frumin; to my mom, Fran; and to my mother’s partner, Clair Kaplan, for laughing with me and at me. Thanks also to Terri Gottlieb, who takes care of my girls while I’m working.
Last but never least, all my love to my husband, Adam, and our girls, Phoebe and Lucy, who make everything else worthwhile… and to all of my readers, who’ve come with me this far.
INTRODUCTION
If time was a dimension, and not a straight line, if you could look down through it like you were looking through water and it could ripple and shift, I was already opening the door,” says Addie Downs in her first chapter of Best Friends Forever. It’s been years since Addie has seen her long-lost best friend Valerie Adler. Addie and Val became instant best friends when Val moved into Addie’s neighborhood in the small town of Pleasant Ridge, Illinois. Ripped apart by betrayal their senior year of high school, they are reunited fifteen years later when Val shows up at Addie’s door asking for help.
In her sixth novel, Jennifer Weiner crafts a story full of mystery, humor, love, and forgiveness through the prism of female friendship.
QUESTIONS AND TOPICS FOR DISCUSSION
1. “In all my years of fuming and resentful imagining, all the years I’d carried my grudge like a pocketbook I was afraid to set down even for an instant, I’d never considered that there might be a different way of looking at the situation, another truth,” says Addie of seeing Valerie after many years have passed (on page 96). What does this say about friendships? About personal relationships? About forgiveness?
2. Addie, who suffered from years of insecurity prompted by emotional eating and teasing, often perceives Val as her antithesis. Does this make her a reliable narrator for the story of their friendship? How were Addie’s feelings about herself as a teenager based on what she thought of Val?
3. One of the major themes in this novel is the idea of transformation. Cite examples of how people transform both internally and externally. Who changes by way of fate? Who chooses to change?
4. Compare and contrast how the girls are shaped by their relationships with their respective mothers. How are Val and Addie similar to or different from their mothers?
5. Val’s father is absent, while Addie’s father is physically present, but can be emotionally distant, retreating from his family to his work space. How are Val and Addie shaped by the relationships they have with their fathers? Are there examples of either of them emulating those relationships with men?
6. From Jordan’s baby-proof home to Kevin Oliphant’s “shitbox,” describe how a character’s space, seen through the eyes of Jordan, may have impacted how you felt about him or her.
7. The novel is filled with different versions of the same stories. While investigating Dan Swansea’s disappearance, Jordan comes upon different perceptions of the same people. How does this illustrate the difference between the stories we tell ourselves and what is actually happening? Does this make it easier for Addie’s classmates to point the finger at Jon?
8. From Addie’s stay-at-home father to Patti’s Guatemalan baby, what do you think the author is saying about alternative families?
9. Why do you think Addie chooses to keep her baby?
10. In Best Friends Forever, characters’ lives are often marked by moves. Valerie moves into Addie’s neighborhood, Jordan and Patti move to Pleasant Ridge to start a family. How does the author use this notion to further the plot?
11. The balance of power often shifts between Addie and Valerie. Cite examples when the balance is in Valerie’s favor. When is the balance in Addie’s favor?
12. On page 216, Mrs. Bass tells Jordan that he has “a great deal to learn about huma
n nature.” How is this illustrated with other characters in the novel? Is it at all? What does this tell us about the overall theme of the novel? About the people in the small town of Pleasant Ridge?
13. “I wondered sometimes whether it had to do with Jon. Maybe they hated me because they couldn’t hate him,” Addie says on page 227, attempting to make sense of why she’s a target of bullying. Do you agree with Addie? Do you think she’s making excuses for her classmate’s cruelty?
14. On page 121, Addie describes Jon as someone who would “never grow up, never have to worry about the things grown-ups worried about.” Why do you think the idea of never growing up is such a comfort to Addie?
TIPS TO ENHANCE YOUR BOOK CLUB EXPERIENCE
1. Imagine a road trip with a long-lost friend. What would it be like? Where would the two of you go?
2. Is there a long-lost friend you dream of getting back in touch with? Tell the group about this friend, why you grew apart, and what you think it would be like to get back in touch.
3. Go to a social networking site such as Facebook and see if you can find old friends you’ve lost touch with. Are you surprised by how their lives turned out, or are they pretty much what you’d imagined?
A CONVERSATION WITH JENNIFER WEINER
Q: Did writing Goodnight Nobody prepare you for the facets of mystery in Best Friends Forever: the investigation, the crime, the Thelma and Louise–like road trip?
A: Writing Goodnight Nobody definitely helped. So did talking to the detectives who were nice enough to walk me through investigatory procedure (and to okay the liberties I planned on taking). I think the best part of researching this book was going to see the Lower Merion Township jail, which not only has a video setup for long-distance arraignments (the suspect stands in front of one camera and the judge, at home, in front of another), but also features the federally mandated handicapped-accessible holding cell, which was absolutely too good not to use in the book.
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