Finally, Dylan shook her head, then shrugged. “I don’t remember.”
But it was obvious she was lying, covering up for someone.
“What would happen if someone refused to play?”
“I don’t know,” Dylan mumbled, staring at her shoes. Suddenly, her fingers froze. “No one ever said no.”
“Not even Amelia?” Lew asked.
Dylan shook her head, shifting around on the couch uneasily.
“You and Amelia were close, weren’t you?” Kate asked.
She shouldn’t be asking about their relationship. It was for Lew to do. They’d discussed it specifically. But it was too much with Dylan sitting right there, holding all the answers.
Dylan looked up at her mom, as if she was trying to tell her something with her eyes. Celeste put a hand over her daughter’s and squeezed.
“Dylan and Amelia did have a close friendship, if that’s what you’re asking, Kate,” Celeste said calmly.
“It was more than a friendship,” Kate said, willing herself to stay calm, too.
Celeste waved a hand with theatric flourish. “They’re teenagers. These things between them, they’re ephemeral, and the lines are much blurrier than they were in our day. Wouldn’t you agree?” Celeste waited for Kate to nod. She didn’t. “Personally, I don’t think teenagers understand what their relationships are half the time, much less why they end.”
A warning had risen up in Celeste’s eyes, too. She didn’t like where the conversation was headed, and she was fully prepared to push back and push back hard if necessary.
“I’ve read Amelia’s texts,” Kate said, forcing herself to stay seated, even though all she wanted was to jump up, grab Dylan, and shake her until she admitted what those girls had done to Amelia and why. “Honestly, there didn’t seem to be anything blurry about it. Amelia was in love with Dylan.”
Celeste smiled stiffly and crossed her arms.
“Perhaps we should back up for a minute,” she said. “Why exactly are you here, now, all these weeks later? We were told that Amelia had cheated and that it had led to her suicide. Impulsive suicide—that was what they called it. We were even given instructions about what to look out for in our own children.”
“Who told you that?” Kate asked.
“At the the school’s assembly for parents,” Celeste said.
“Assembly?”
“Right after Amelia . . . right after. Parents had questions. They wanted to understand. The school counselor was there and an outside expert, I think.” Celeste turned to look at Dylan, who’d sunk deeper into the couch, her hands returned to their tapping, this time even faster. “I’m sorry, but my daughter has— This kind of situation can be stressful for her.” She looked from Lew to Kate, seeming aggravated that what she’d given them so far hadn’t been enough. “If you must know, Dylan sometimes has difficulty processing social situations.” She squeezed her daughter’s hand. “It’s an extremely mild condition, extremely. Frankly, I think this discussion would be stressful for anyone. Regardless, you’ll need to finish up your questions, now.”
A condition? There were the ticks with her hands, the way Dylan hadn’t made eye contact with them, the distance that had taken over her face. Kate didn’t know exactly what condition Celeste was referring to, but a difficulty processing social situations could have explained why Amelia had found Dylan’s behavior confusing.
“Did Amelia know?” Kate asked, turning to Dylan for an answer. “About your condition?”
“Grace Hall doesn’t even know,” Celeste said, jumping in to answer on Dylan’s behalf. “Only a very select group of trusted family and friends do. We’ve never wanted Dylan labeled unnecessarily.”
“Zadie knows,” Dylan said robotically. “Zadie knows everything.”
The way she said it made the hair on Kate’s arms stand on end.
“As I said, we consider Dylan’s situation a private family matter.” Celeste rose abruptly. And it was clear that by private she meant secret. It was also clear that she regretted mentioning it. “We’ve tried to be as helpful as we can. I ask that you respect our privacy by not mentioning Dylan’s situation to anyone at Grace Hall. College applications are on the horizon. We wouldn’t want to confuse the issue.”
“Yeah, sure,” Kate said quietly.
She was still staring at Dylan. Couldn’t take her eyes off the girl. Kate had been so sure that Dylan was the villain. Now it was hard not to feel sorry for her, too. She didn’t know what it was like for Dylan to function within her limitations, much less what it was like for her to pretend—at her mother’s request—that she didn’t have them. Kate had felt the terrible weight of her own daughter’s secrets. And they were enough to break her heart.
“Now, if you wouldn’t mind,” Celeste said, motioning toward the door.
“One last thing,” Lew said as he stood. “Dylan, Amelia was asked to leave the club, wasn’t she?” He pulled out one of the “I hate you” notes from his back pocket and put it on the table. Dylan nodded as she looked down at the piece of paper but didn’t reach for it. “What was she kicked out for?”
There was a long silence. It filled the room, pressing out hard on the windowpanes.
“Because she liked me, and I liked her back,” she whispered finally, still staring down at the notes. When she looked up at Kate, there were tears in her eyes. “But Zadie invited Amelia into the club because of you.”
They walked in silence for a few blocks after they’d left Dylan’s house. Kate felt shell-shocked. It didn’t help that she had even more questions now. Celeste had whisked Dylan away before they could get her to explain how Kate could possibly have been the reason Amelia had been invited into the Magpies.
“Before I go,” Lew said when they reached Kate’s house. His hands were pushed deep in his pockets, eyes to the ground. “You’re going to need to tell me.”
“Tell you what?” Kate asked.
“What Dylan meant when she said that Zadie tapped Amelia because of you.” His voice was calm but serious.
“I honestly have no idea.” Kate felt guilty even though she had nothing to hide. But she knew how it looked. If she were Lew, she would have wondered, too. “I’ve never met that girl in my entire life. I don’t even know what she looks like.”
“But you did meet her mother,” Lew said. “She came by your house, didn’t she?”
“To ask about that suicide awareness benefit the PTA wants to do in Amelia’s honor. I did ask her not to do it, which apparently they’ve decided to ignore, because they’re going ahead with it. But I did mention that there had been some new developments.” Kate pressed a hand flat against her hollow stomach. God, why had she told Adele anything? “But that can’t have had anything to do with it. Amelia was invited into the Magpies months before I ever met her mother.”
“Then it’s something else,” Lew said. “But Dylan wasn’t making that part up. It was too far-fetched, not to mention unnecessary.”
Kate stared at the ground, racking her brain. “I just— I don’t know what it could be.”
Lew looked her straight in the eye for a minute, then nodded, like he’d come to some conclusion.
“Then we’ll just have to ask Zadie,” he said, starting to back away. “But tomorrow. You need some time off.”
“I don’t. I could—”
“You do,” Lew said firmly. “And don’t bother arguing. I’ve got five kids, remember? I’ve got a lot of practice sticking on no.”
Everything ached as Kate sat down hard in her desk chair and reached to turn on the lamp. As she did, she noticed the picture of Amelia up on the shelf. Age seven, she was propped on her toes at the edge of the waves on one of their many trips to Coney Island. Arms outstretched, she was kissing the air. It had always been Kate’s favorite picture of Amelia. To her, it was proof that they had had a happy life together. That they had been a family with their own history and traditions. A tiny family, but one that had worked. Kate had made a lot of mi
stakes in her life, too many. She certainly hadn’t been a perfect mother either, but she had built something for her daughter that mattered.
“Why did you have to pick that girl, Amelia?” Kate heard herself say out loud. The worst part was how familiar her daughter’s choice had been, so similar to so many of her own. “She’s beautiful, I get that part. But she’s so, I don’t know, troubled. It’s not her fault—look at her mother. But didn’t you see it? I would have thought you’d see that.”
Kate hadn’t allowed herself to do this since Amelia died, talk out loud to her dead daughter. The thought of doing so had always made her feel unhinged. For some reason, it was a comfort now. Perhaps because she was already so undone.
“Whoever broke up with who or why, she was lucky to have you,” Kate said. “Anybody would have been. I hope you know that.”
Kate paused then, staring again at the picture. She wasn’t waiting for an answer, at least not exactly.
“You could have told me about her, too. You loving her would never have made me love you any less.”
Kate was still staring up at the picture when her phone rang. DAD CELL read the caller ID. Her father calling her? If it had been her mother, she would certainly have let it go to voice mail. But her father never called, certainly not from the cell phone he hardly ever used.
“Dad, what’s wrong?” Kate asked. Her parents were reasonably healthy, but they weren’t exactly young anymore. There was some staticky noise on the other end, but nothing else. Kate wondered for a minute whether her dad had dialed her number by accident. “Dad, are you there?”
“Oh, yes,” he said finally, clearing his throat. “I was momentarily distracted, apologies. I was taking a walk down to the lake, and I could have sworn I just saw a white-crested Elaenia. Of course, that’s not possible because that’s a South American bird, but—” His voice was filled with childlike wonder. Kate could hear him breathing harder, too, as though he was walking faster. “Let me circle back here and check. Bear with me for a moment.”
“Dad?” Kate asked, even though it sounded like he’d pulled the phone away from his ear again. “Dad?”
“Oh yes, sorry,” he said, returning to the phone finally. The awe in his voice was gone. “I must have been seeing things. I’m afraid birding might be a young man’s game, not that you’d suspect it from the demographic of that Galapagos cruise I was just on.” He cleared his throat. “In any event, your mother asked that I call and check in on you.”
“Mom asked that you call me?” Kate suspected her dad was making that up in order to keep some emotional distance. “I find that hard to believe.”
“The truth often is,” he said. “But yes, she asked that I make sure you were okay. She seems upset about the last conversation the two of you had. I didn’t press for details. You know I don’t like to get into the middle of things. But I did say I would call. Are you okay, Kate?”
“No,” she said, resisting the temptation to tell him what he wanted to hear, but having no real interest in sharing any details. She knew he didn’t really want details anyway. “I’m not sure I am.”
“Yes, well,” he said quietly. “I suppose some things never do get any better.”
It was the first time he had ever just let her bad feelings be. She’d thought for sure she’d heard him wrong.
“No, they don’t,” Kate said, her voice wavering.
“You know, your mother means well,” her father said more stiffly. He was treading into unchartered emotional waters, and his discomfort was obvious. “She doesn’t always know how to . . . Remember when we first came to New York to meet Amelia right after she was born? Did you know your mother cried all the way back to the airport because she was so worried about you?”
“I don’t think that’s why—”
“It is,” he said. “She didn’t cry again, that’s not your mother’s way. But on that day . . .” He took a deep breath. “So will you be okay? Can I tell your mother that?”
Her father was many things, but he wasn’t a liar. Kate wasn’t entirely sure that she believed this story about Gretchen racked with motherly concern, but at this very late date, she also wasn’t sure that it mattered.
“To be honest, I don’t know if I will be okay, Dad,” Kate said, her eyes filling with tears. She was so overwhelmed suddenly by sadness and regret, coming from infinite directions. “But you can . . . You should tell Mom that I will be.”
The Thistle Tavern was much busier at six p.m. on a weekday than Kate would have expected, but then she’d never actually been inside. It was just one of the many grown-up neighborhood spots she’d always wanted to visit but had never had the time to.
Inside, the tavern didn’t disappoint. It was filled with dark woods and muted brass, the menu etched on a big chalkboard above the bar and servers who—with their peekaboo tattoos and scruffy facial hair—looked as if they’d just walked off the set of an independent film. She saw Jeremy sitting at the short, crowded bar, his back to the door. He was nursing a beer and chatting with the sideburned bartender like the two were old college buddies, slipping effortlessly, as usual, into some stranger’s skin.
“Hi,” Kate said, interrupting them.
Jeremy turned and smiled brightly. He jumped off his stool and gallantly offered it to Kate. She took it only because it would have been more awkward not to. The bartender seemed disappointed, not so much that they were being interrupted, but that it was Kate who’d done the interrupting. Like he’d had higher expectations for whoever it was Jeremy had been waiting for. Kate looked down at her clothes, an old sweater, jeans, and overly practical weekend clogs. Her hair was pulled back, too, and she had on no makeup. Someone like Jeremy did deserve better, but it wasn’t as though it were a date. And Kate, as she was at the moment, was the best she could do.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked, a little begrudgingly.
“A glass of white wine,” Kate said, not that she felt like having a drink.
“I’ll get you a list.”
“Oh, I don’t need a list,” Kate said. “You can pick it.”
“The most expensive one it is,” the bartender said, winking at Jeremy.
The stool next to Kate opened up, and Jeremy took a seat as the bartender was bringing Kate’s wine. They sat in silence until he was gone again.
“Did you not go into the office today?” Kate asked, motioning to Jeremy’s jeans and fashionably casual button-down.
“I ended up leaving early.” He shook his head and took a long sip of beer. “I needed some space. Some time to think.”
“About what?”
“Oh, lots of things,” he said, staring down into his drink as he worked his way up to saying something. “Listen, I know this is late in coming, but I wanted to apologize, Kate, for what happened between us, you know, back then. It was totally inappropriate for me to have that kind of relationship with you.”
Kate felt a flash of anger. She could not believe Jeremy was doing this now.
“You cannot be serious.”
Jeremy looked confused. “What do you mean?”
“You called me out here in the middle of everything else I’m going through to talk about you regretting the one night—no, one hour—we spent more than a decade ago?”
Jeremy looked wounded. He truly believed he was always at the front of everyone’s mind.
“I just wanted to be sure that you know I take full responsibility,” he said. “Especially now, I feel like— It’s important to me that you know that it wasn’t your fault.”
“My fault?” Kate laughed a little crazily. But then the situation was crazy. “Fine, I know it. Now, can I go?”
Jeremy frowned, then pulled a folded piece of paper out of his shirt pocket. He held it out to Kate.
She didn’t take it. “What is that?”
“It was on inside-the-law dot com this morning,” he said, as Kate reluctantly took it from him. “I’m having someone try to figure out who’s responsible,
but that’s easier said than done.”
Kate looked down and read: “Slone, Thayer’s Jeremy Firth Beds Them Down Then Boosts Them Up.” Kate closed her eyes without reading any more.
“It doesn’t mention you by name,” he went on. “Luckily, it doesn’t mention anybody by name except me. And a lot of the details aren’t true. There’s all sorts of nonsense about sex in conference rooms and elevators and that it went on for years. But I think there could be enough in there that people might guess that some of it is about you.”
“Oh my God,” Kate said, tears rushing to her eyes. “What about Vera?”
“She hasn’t read it.” Jeremy shook his head. “At least not yet. Somebody will probably tell her eventually, though I’m not sure who’d want to be the messenger.”
He turned to look at Kate, then back down into his beer.
“I feel so—” She cupped a hand over her mouth. “Poor Vera. She’s going to hate me.”
“That’s not Vera’s style. She’ll definitely hate me, but not you,” he said quietly. Then he took a deep breath. “You should also know that the post mentions other women, too. They’re wrong on the details, but they’re not wrong that there were other women. I wish I could say otherwise.”
“I knew there were other women,” Kate said, feeling ashamed hearing herself admit it and annoyed with Jeremy for thinking she’d been naive enough to believe she was the only one. “Even back then I knew it.”
Knowing that Jeremy had slept with—was sleeping with—other female associates around the time they’d slept together had actually made Kate feel better. Somehow, it had made her less accountable.
“I’m not proud of the person I was,” Jeremy said. “But I’m different now. I’ve been different for a long time. I’ve been one hundred percent faithful to Vera for the past decade. I wasn’t always, but I’m a good husband now.”
Kate stared at him, her body rocking ever so slightly from the force of her pounding heart. What was it he wanted from her? Absolution? She had none to give. And she had more important things to worry about then Jeremy’s misdirected conscience. She needed to get out of that bar and away from him.
Reconstructing Amelia Page 25