by Joy Fielding
Jennifer shook her head. The good news, she thought, silently repeating his words, is that you won’t have to tear yourself away from your important meeting to drive all the way up here to identify the various body parts of your daughter, your ex-wife, and your fiancée, assuming you’d know the difference. The good news is that we’re alive. No thanks to you. That’s the good news. And I’ve had enough fresh mountain air to last a lifetime, thank you very much. I just want to go home.
She’d call her sister when she got back, Jennifer decided, see if they couldn’t find a way to get back on track, to work together to determine the best way to look after their father. It might not be possible. But then again, it might. At least she had to try.
She reached over the front seat to give Val’s shoulder a reassuring pat. “Let me know if you’d like me to take over for a little while.”
“Thanks. I’m good.” Val smiled into the rearview mirror.
Jennifer returned her smile. “I know you are.”
IT WAS JUST after three o’clock when they reached Manhattan.
“Just a few more blocks,” Jennifer said, directing Val to turn right, then right again. “There. That building over there.” She pointed toward a fifteen-story white brick building on the southwest corner of the tree-lined street. A uniformed doorman stood waiting outside. “Home, sweet home.”
“Mom,” Brianne said as Val watched Jennifer stretch her impossibly long legs toward the pavement, and for once not immediately picturing them wrapped around Evan’s head. “Look. Over there.” She pointed to the other side of the street at a bright orange Mustang parked at least three feet from the curb. “Isn’t that Sasha’s car?”
“It most certainly is,” Val muttered, the pieces of a familiar puzzle suddenly falling into place as Jennifer grabbed her overnight bag from the trunk. “Jennifer, wait.” Val climbed quickly out of the driver’s seat. You prick, she was thinking, her eyes traveling up the building’s white brick exterior. You lying, self-serving, selfish little prick. You just can’t help yourself, can you?
“Is something wrong?”
Val tried to find the words that would keep Jennifer from entering her apartment, that would protect her, keep her safe. Will wonders never cease? she marveled.
“What is it?”
“I just remembered that you left your car at my house.”
“That’s okay. I’ll come by tomorrow to pick it up. Hey,” she said in the next breath, her eyes wandering across the street toward Sasha’s orange car. “Didn’t I see that car at your place the other day?”
Val held her breath.
“It’s Brianne’s friend’s, isn’t it? The pretty blonde from Lululemon.” There was a long pause while the meaning of her words registered on her brain. “Oh, God.”
“It might not be her car,” Val said quickly.
“Yes. I’m sure there are hundreds of bright orange Mustangs in the city.”
“Even if it is hers, it doesn’t mean …”
“Yes, it does.” Jennifer’s eyes glistened with the threat of tears. “Oh, well. What is it they say? Turnabout’s fair play? I guess it’s no less than I deserve.”
“No,” Val said adamantly. “You deserve so much more. We both do.” Once again she heard echoes of Evan’s seductive murmurings on the phone, the sly hints and vague innuendos. Had any of it meant anything? Or had his words been designed solely to keep her hanging on? Was she his fallback position in case his current deal fell apart? Hey, you …
Was he really so deliberate? Or was he just easily distracted?
Did it matter?
“I really should get upstairs,” Jennifer was saying. “Wouldn’t want to miss the fireworks.”
“Do you want me to come up with you?”
Jennifer laughed. “Much as I’d love to see the look on Evan’s face, I think it’s best if I go alone.”
“Will you be all right?”
“Absolutely.” Jennifer looked down at the sidewalk. “I’m in control of my feet,” she said, taking a long, deep breath.
“You can call me, you know,” Val told her. “Anytime.”
Jennifer suddenly threw her arms around Val, hugging her tight. They stood locked in this embrace for several seconds, before slowly pulling apart. Jennifer waved a quick goodbye to the others watching, slack-jawed and open-mouthed, from the car, then walked purposefully toward the door the doorman was holding open. Then she turned around and waved again.
“Good luck,” Val whispered, watching her disappear inside the lobby.
“Is it true?” James asked, leaning over the front seat as Val returned to the car. “Has Evan really been holed up here all weekend with Brianne’s friend?”
“She’s not my friend,” Brianne said pointedly.
“And, fortunately, Evan is no longer my problem,” said Val.
“Amen to that,” Melissa said.
“Amen,” echoed James.
“Amen,” Val repeated, pulling the car away from the curb. Then again, because she liked both the finality and the hope inherent in the word, “Amen.”