My mother, on the opposite side of the table, waggled a determined finger. “Not after hot dogs, fries, and ice cream at the zoo.”
“But we always go to the diner for pie. It’s a family tradition.” Pops jutted out his bottom lip.
“And that’s why your cholesterol numbers are off the charts.”
Ian sidled next to Claire, who sat opposite me and Avery. “Is my chor-list-tral off the charts?” His butchering of the word brought a smile to Claire’s lips.
“No honey. Your numbers are fine.” She patted his head.
“Then why can’t I have pie?” Ian jutted out his bottom lip as well, and I gave Pops a way to go look, but he seemed not to notice.
“Because Pops can’t. And we always support our loved ones, no matter what.” Claire spoke over Ian’s head, making eye contact with me.
I winked, relieved to share some burdens with the one person I could trust. Claire was good at picking up my mood and even better at detecting when Avery was acting way too casual. Was Claire taking spy craft lessons from Avery? The thought made me chuckle quietly to myself.
Mom said to Ian, “Be a good boy and help me with the dishes.” She half covered her mouth and stage whispered, “I may have a special treat just for you in the kitchen.”
Ian carried in three plates and zipped back out for the rest.
“It’s nice to know good old-fashioned bribery still works with kids,” I joked.
The rest of us trooped into the front room. Pops flipped on the television to watch the Boston Red Sox and Cleveland Indians on ESPN, and from our conversation earlier, Pops was convinced the Sox would lose in the first round of the playoffs.
Tonight’s primetime game, in the third, was about as exciting as rifling through receipts with an accountant.
Claire sniffed. “I think Miss Mia left us a gift.”
Pops waved a hand in front of his pinched nose.
Claire took Mia to a different room to attend to the stink bomb, leaving Pops, Avery, and me alone in the front room. The space hadn’t changed much over the years, including his mocha La-Z-Boy recliner Mom and I gave him for Christmas when I was in college. His eyes closed much quicker than usual.
Ian busted into the room with a Charms Blow Pop in his mouth, the front of his shirt damp from helping with the dishes. Both Avery and I put our fingers to our lips so he wouldn’t wake my father, who was really starting to show his age.
There were roughly forty minutes of daylight left, and my goal was to wear out both children so Claire and I could have alone time later. “Fancy going to the park, Ian?”
He yanked the green sucker out of his mouth and started to shout “Yes,” but Pops’ muffled snore reminded him to be quiet, and maybe as a safeguard, he shoved the candy back into his mouth.
My feet crashed from the ottoman onto the floor. “I’ll tell Claire and Mom.”
The two of them sat at the kitchen table, covered with a blue and white checkered cloth, sorting through photos from a shoebox. Mia, freshly changed, watched from her seat.
“Look at this one.” Mom held aloft a Polaroid of me with white socks pulled up to my knees, teal shorts, and an orange Broncos shirt, a gift from my father no doubt. “Hopefully, you won’t let JJ pick out her wedding outfit.”
Claire examined the photo with one eye closed, the other squinted as if the outfit hurt her vision. “I’m not trusting JJ with many of the wedding plans. This morning she offered to whisk me to the courthouse. Her exact words were ‘Boom! Done!’” She mimicked the hand gesture I was prone to using when excited.
Mom tutted. “That won’t do. I’ve been looking forward to this day for too long.”
“I’m thinking of a beach wedding. Early June,” Claire said in a dreamy voice. “JJ needs some time off.”
This was news to me. “Doesn’t give me much time to get into bikini shape.”
Both of them shook their fists at me.
“Kidding. I’d at least wear a one-piece with a sarong wrapped around my waist for the ceremony. I’m assuming being barefoot is acceptable, though. Add pedicure appointments to your wedding tasks.”
Claire rolled her eyes, mouthing an inappropriate curse word.
I chuckled. “Aves and I are going to take Ian to the park. Burn off all the sugar so he’ll sleep tonight.”
Claire picked up on the true motive and arched her brows seductively. “Good luck.”
I gave them the double guns and moonwalked out of the kitchen, their laughter following me.
Moments later, Avery and I sat on a wooden bench while Ian swung on the monkey bars, mimicking the animals he’d been so enthralled with earlier.
“Are you going to make me ask?” I stared straight ahead, not at Avery.
“I thought inviting me to dinner was your way of asking.” She played coy.
Ian scratched under one armpit, dangling from a bar with his other hand.
“Do you trust her—Janie?”
Avery barely flinched at the mention, but I knew her well enough to know her insides squirmed. “No.”
“Me either. But that’s not the question I should be asking, is it?” I tapped my thigh with my thumb. “I should be asking if you trust Cora. The plan.”
Avery seemed to measure her words carefully before saying, “I always trust her in the long run.”
“I can’t get the idea out of my mind I’m being baited for something epic—bigger than the Miracle Girl storm. But I don’t know whom to turn to, anymore. Janie has proven she can’t be trusted. Cora is desperate with the state of MDD and her marriage. God knows about Janie’s source. Now the Hal show. Planning a wedding. I really don’t want any surprises. Not now.”
Avery shrugged. Since she’d started working at MDD, she’d been present for many weak moments when I babbled. Maybe it was her lack of emotion and response that gave me the permission I needed to unload.
“I used to love this business. The thrill of uncertainty.” I waved a hand in the air. “Am I getting too complacent? Claire and my mom were going through old family photos, and it looked fun. When did I become that person? Domestic?”
“Look, JJ!” Ian, now on a swing, squealed from the furthest point in the air right before he dropped down and soared into the sky once more in the opposite direction, taking my stomach with him.
“Good job!” I encouraged.
“Maybe you always were domestic but didn’t have the opportunity. You’re not the type to settle down with just anyone. You set your sights on Claire back in college, and no one else could fill her spot at your side.”
Avery’s words knocked me for a loop. She wasn’t the type to pontificate, and I wondered if she wasn’t talking solely about my situation. Was my trusty assistant pining after someone from her past?
“Mom! Come join me.”
Avery and I turned our heads to the left to spy Claire, pushing Mia’s stroller and waving to Ian.
He waved back, causing the swing to swerve to the left and wobble, stopping my heart. Ian giggled, righted the swing, and continued pumping his little legs.
Claire clicked on the brakes to the stroller and motioned her intent to join Ian on the swings, which meant I was in charge of watching Mia. She meandered over and, soon enough, was as high as Ian. The two chatted while flying through the air together. It was a wonderful sight, mother and son having a private conversation while ascending and descending in the sky.
I motioned to the teeter-totter and freed Mia. Glancing at Avery I said, “Shall we?”
With Mia on my lap, we seesawed up and down, her body giggling so innocently. “It’s a shame we lose this feeling, isn’t it?”
Avery studied Mia with such intensity I wondered if she’d ever felt innocent. I knew I’d been so once, but that was long ago. Knowing it and being able to feel it were two completely different things. Even without the drugs, booze, and sexual conquests, most adults I knew were tainted beyond repair. Living even normal
day-to-day life left marks.
Three teenage boys kicked a soccer ball on the field. In the distance sat the squatty redbrick elementary school building I had attended in what seemed an altogether different life. Claire and Ian approached, and I watched as the boys stopped playing ball and stared with open mouths at Claire. She had removed her cardigan, and the tank top with spaghetti straps must have allowed their imaginations to flow. Besides bribery, another thing about youngsters hadn’t changed: when around big boobs, teenage boys couldn’t help but gawk. One of them said something, while another made a jerking motion with his crotch. The three of them laughed, not so innocently.
“You have a fan club,” I teased.
Claire rolled her eyes, slipping the cardigan back on in spite of her flushed cheeks. “So do you.” Without pointing, she drew my attention and Avery’s to someone in jeans and a black long sleeve taking photos. Half of the person was obscured by the kindergarten building. He or she appeared to be only resting against the wall, not attempting to hide.
“Not very sly,” I remarked.
One of the reasons we stayed in Colorado was that the residents didn’t give two shits about my status as the Miracle Girl. In New York, it wasn’t unusual to have someone snap my photo. Here, it rarely happened. I adjusted my hat lower over my eyes out of habit.
“Pretty sure that’s the intention.” Avery took Ian’s hand. “Ready?”
Ian nodded with heavy eyelids. The trip to the park had worked. Claire pushed the empty stroller as I carried the sleeping Mia in my arms back to my parents’ house to say goodbye and head home.
***
After putting the kids down for the night, Claire strolled into the bedroom, rubbing moisturizer into her left elbow. “It’s been so dry lately.”
“Yeah,” I said completely unengaged in the conversation, contemplating who had been taking photos at the park.
Claire snapped a finger in front of my face.
“I’m sorry. What were you saying?”
“Just that it was nice bumping into Avery today. I think she likes being around a family. Ian absolutely adores her.”
“I’m not sure how much normal she gets.” I hefted the bedcovers for Claire to climb in.
She snuggled into my arms. “You know, I could set her up with—”
I flicked her nose lightly. “I don’t think she dates. At least I’ve never seen her with a man or woman that I can categorically say was a significant other.”
“But you’ve bumped into her in social situations in New York.”
This wasn’t the first time Claire and I had conducted a circular argument about the elusive Avery.
“Have you asked her?” she pushed.
“Out on a date? She’s not my type.” I swatted the thought away.
“Oh really. What’s your type?” Her voice gave hints of what was to come.
“I’ve always had a thing for redheads.”
Claire let her auburn hair fall into my face. “This color.”
I played with her hair. “Nah. I prefer more carrot than red.”
She thwacked me with her palm.
“And brown eyes. Not shimmering sapphire like yours,” I continued down the path of lies. “Small to no tits.” My hands kneaded Claire’s wondrous breasts.
She jammed a finger into my rib cage. “How did you ever manage to overlook all of my flaws?”
“It wasn’t easy. And let’s not even get started on your crusty personality and lackluster skills in bed.”
“Lackluster!”
I flopped around on the bed like a dying fish.
Claire pinned my arms down and spread my legs with her knee. “I’ll show you lackluster.”
“Please do. And keep on showing me.”
***
Afterward, Claire held me in her arms. “Do you trust me?” I asked in all seriousness.
Claire’s body stiffened. “We aren’t talking about Avery or all of my flaws, are we?”
I shook my head, unable to look into her intelligent eyes.
Claire heaved a sigh that would shatter most hearts. “How bad?”
I pinched my eyes and pushed my head deeper into the nook of her arm. “I have no idea, so I’m assuming bad. Worse than bad. This story—” I stopped.
Her heartbeat thrummed in my ear. “Gotta love the wonderful world of journalism.”
Neither of us spoke for several seconds.
Claire brushed her lips on the top of my head. “Together, we’ll get through it.” She lifted my head and peered into my eyes. “Is this one worth it, at least? Not a Fancy Pants story but one with grit?”
“I hope so. I don’t want to do another hatchet job that involves hiding in bathroom stalls to peek at someone’s underpants.” I laughed but didn’t feel much joy.
Chapter Seventeen
About a month later, Cora was back in town. Since living in a temporary apartment, she didn’t spend much time in the Big Apple.
“JJ, I’d like you to meet Nicki Esposito, the author of the book on internet trolls I recommended to you.” Cora waved to a woman with almond-shaped chestnut eyes behind cat-eye tortoiseshell glasses. “She’s done extensive research on 4chan.”
Nicki, in a black merino wool turtleneck, dark jeans, and red scarf didn’t tick too many marks on my hot scale, but the mere mention of her name brought to mind the previous night, when Claire played Prince’s “Darling Nikki” and acted out the lyrics, including masturbating.
Cora cleared her throat and glared at me.
I put a hand out and said in a friendly business tone, “Nice to meet you.”
Nicki definitely didn’t have the look of a geek who had spent hours upon hours on a computer in dark hidden spaces.
Cora motioned we should take a seat in the corner of the mom-and-pop Italian restaurant, where we would be out of hearing from most. Empty Chianti bottles in traditional fiasco baskets adorned the walls, the lights were dimmed, and each table had a tiny candle next to a vase with a wilting yellow rose. Blinking Christmas lights lined the windows.
She handed Nicki the wine list, only to have it promptly handed back. “I wouldn’t know the difference between a Pinot Grigio or Chianti.”
Cora smiled sweetly, disarmingly so. “Considering all the Chianti bottles dangling from the walls, maybe we should stick with that.”
Angelo the white-haired waiter with a sauce-stained apron quickly returned and placed the bottle next to Cora. A glass of water with two lemon slices was set before me, and Angelo, whose wife had once asked me to sign a copy of my book, forced a guilty smile. The one people wore to convey they were only helping my sobriety, not judging.
“Did you have trouble finding the restaurant?” Cora poured Chianti into Nicki’s glass. “It’s a bit out of the way, but once you sample the meatballs, you’ll understand why I suggested it.”
Cora hadn’t, though. Claire had introduced me to Mamma Mia’s last year, and it quickly became the hidden gem we frequented once a month on date night. We’d been having a rare lunch together here when we received the news she would be able to adopt a girl, and that was how we settled on Mia’s name.
“Not too much. I asked a few people in town.” Nicki met my eye for a fleeting second before taking what seemed to be a cautious sip of wine. Was it because everyone on the planet knew I was a recovering addict, or did she fear Cora had poisoned it?
“Did you lose your phone? I can’t live without my GPS.” Cora tipped wine into her own glass.
“I don’t have one.” Nicki focused her attention on Cora, allowing me to observe the way her eyes soaked in little nuances that reminded me of Janie’s ways.
“None at all? Not even an old-fashioned landline?” Cora’s lashes fluttered.
Nicki remained stone.
“I guess you of all people know better than most how to protect yourself from online goblins.” Cora laughed, but the slitting of her eyes accused Nicki of bullshittin
g. How could an internet researcher be without access to the Net when on the go?
Nicki smiled politely, but I sensed a ripple of annoyance rumbling under her calm veneer. “Occupational hazard, really. But I do find it less stressful living without being connected every second of the day.”
“Yes, I’ve been reading a lot about how people need to learn to become bored again and not be so reliant on continual disruptions.” As she spoke, Cora eyed her iPhone, not noticing Nicki taking in her words and contradictory actions.
I smothered my mouth with a palm and pretended to stifle a yawn, not laughter. My phone, turned off, was tucked into the pocket of my jeans.
“Are you working on any projects at the moment?” Cora’s confident smile flickered brighter than a hundred-watt bulb.
“I’m in-between at the moment.”
I wasn’t buying that. A researcher who had successfully interviewed denizens on the Dark Net, earning their trust, was the type to have her finger in many pies behind the scenes.
Cora sipped wine, calculating her next move. “We’re working on something, and I’m wondering if you would like to help. Offer insight. Maybe conduct some research.”
Angelo reappeared. “You ready to order?” His Italian accent was thick. He held a cheap Mamma Mia pen in his hand and a notepad with the flag of his home country at the top. I’d wondered on several occasions why he and his wife had left Italy thirty years ago and set up one of the best restaurants I’d ever been to in northern Colorado. They could have made a killing in New York City, Los Angeles, or any big city. Mafia, maybe? I had to laugh at my tabloid tendencies. Although, peel away some layers to most people and, more than likely, there was a story to be told.
“Spaghetti and meatballs for me.” I handed my menu to the stooped man.
“Very good,” he said and turned his attention to Nicki.
“Ditto.” Nicki hadn’t opened her menu.
Cora nodded she’d like the same, placing her menu on top of Nicki’s.
The waiter gathered the remaining menus and retreated to the kitchen. Across the dimly lit room, an elderly couple sat so still they could have been part of the décor. It was well after nine on a Monday night, and I had a feeling our order would be the last the chef would accept. Most in Colorado probably had their eyes glued to a television, watching a must-win game for the Broncos or their playoff hopes would be in the toilet, according to Pops, who recently started contributing a weekly sports article for MDD.
The Fall Girl Page 15