The Good Neighbor (24 page)

Darby had tucked herself into the corner of the ladies' room, out of the way, but now she'd been charged with my care and delivery. The room spun and I rearranged my reality.

“Just be yourself.” Darby walked over and looked at me in the mirror. “You're forty. How hard could that be?”

The bitch had no idea.

Darby checked her watch and I noticed her tattoo, on the inside of her forearm:
CARPE DIEM
.
Yes. I would. I would seize the day. Just a little later than planned.

“It's time,” Darby said.

“I'll be ready in a minute.”

“I mean it's time to come clean.”

“What are you talking about?” My throat was dry. I needed some water. No, I needed wine.

“I know about Mac.”

“Everybody knows about Mac.”

“No, I
know
about Mac. He was always too good to be true.”

Too good to be true, indeed.

Darby held out her arm:
CARPE DIEM
. With a capital C and D.
CD.

“You were CD!”

“I was.”

“But you stopped.”

“Because I had bigger plans.”

“The new advice column. You want that job for yourself.”

“I deserve that job. I've earned it. That's what makes us different.”

And about a million other things. Starting with the nose ring.

“It's your word against mine when it comes to Mac, Darby. Who do you think Jade will believe?”

“I took photos of the notes I found in your ‘bread drawer.'”

“You went into the drawer in my kitchen?” Right. Noah was wearing my Phillies cap when I came home and found him with Bruce. Darby had scooped the hat out of the drawer along with intel.

She rolled her eyes, reminded me she was more of an adolescent than an adult. “It's a bread drawer. I didn't expect to find evidence. I expected to find
bread
.”

She couldn't have gone looking for ice cream?

I made eye contact with Darby, maybe for the first time ever. “You're too late. I'm telling Jade about Mac after dinner.”

“No,
you're
too late. I'm telling everyone in that room how you lied—and I don't know—maybe telling how Jade was in on it to fool the readers and land this new big deal with the
Press
—
unless
you tell her you're not taking the job,
and
that you think I should be the new advice columnist. I don't care what reason you give her, or what you tell her or don't tell her after that.”

“I can't make her hire you. And—that's extortion!”

“That's real life.”

*   *   *

Darby walked out in a cloud of arrogance, then the handicapped-accessible stall door opened. Out walked Mrs. Feldman.

Her easy smile and familiar gait calmed me, and I filled with relief as if someone had turned on a spigot. She walked toward the sinks but stopped in front of me. She pointed her finger close to my nose, which tingled with a mix of fear and anticipation.

“Don't worry, Elizabeth. We'll fix
her
wagon.”

*   *   *

I counted to twenty, then opened the door. The space sparkled and sizzled under the glow of a dimmed chandelier. People were milling, sitting, talking, laughing, eating, drinking. I stood still, my feet heavy with the weight of decision. Determined, I walked through the room, but no one acknowledged me. Of course not. I wasn't wearing a Phillies cap. I didn't see Jade. I didn't see Holden or Andrew. Was I in the right place? I scanned faces looking for someone familiar, and then, the Lane family aura permeated the air and grabbed me. Toward the back of the room I saw Ethan. Then I saw Eddie. I noticed the back of a woman next to Eddie. Trish. Then I spotted Rachel and Seth, her arm linked through his and holding tight. Jade waved to me from her perch at a high top. Next to her were my nephew, Matthew, and my niece Brooke. Donna and Helen and—Dr. Howard from Liberty? And he was wearing a black suit with a red tie. He looked almost trendy. They stood nearby with champagne flutes and smiles. I swiveled, feeling as if
now
anywhere I looked, I'd see someone else I hadn't expected. I saw Andrew, whom I
had
expected, with his hand in his pants pocket, other hand moving in time to words I couldn't hear, standing with Mrs. Feldman.

Still, I felt like a bride at a shotgun wedding. Not one thing was as it should have been. I was all dressed up, ready to get on with it. There was nowhere to hide. I grabbed a glass of red wine from a passing tray and walked toward Mrs. Feldman. Andrew had just walked away.

“I was just telling Andrew how lovely the party is and how happy I am to be here.”

“Are you sure that's all you told him?”

“The rest is up to you. And no matter what happens next, this is the right thing to do right now.”

Andrew returned holding a cocktail, but not the foo-foo umbrella kind.

“I'm going to leave you two.” Mrs. Feldman held my hand until our arms were outstretched and we were too far apart.

I was now alone with Andrew in a room filled with people. “Thanks for helping her look for her daughter.”

“No problem.”

Is that all he could say? I was trying to make conversation. Andrew was not cooperating with my weak attempts to flirt or to distract myself from what I was about to do.

I finished my wine in one gulp. I should have told him right then. There was no Mac. I loved kids. I wanted to date a man who was a father. But all I could think was, why did I wear these stupid heels? I'd always dated tall men. I married a tall man, so that was no real measure for success. Did it matter if I was taller than Andrew? No, we weren't dating. But if we were? We weren't. At the moment I wasn't even talking to Andrew. I kicked off my pumps toward the wall. “I don't know why women wear these things.”

Andrew chortled and shook his head. I could have blamed it on the wine, but why bother? It was just the beginning. There was more emotional disrobing to come.

*   *   *

I couldn't get Jade alone before she walked to the front of the room, evoking a
Norma Rae
vibe. She spoke fervently about the merger of Pop Philly with
The Philadelphia Press,
and the crowd cheered. She lauded the new Web sites and introduced local editors from South Jersey, DC, Columbus, Pittsburgh, and Boston. This was her baby, and I'd been careless with it.

My legs shook under my table. Rachel sat to my right, her hand patting my back. Her other hand held Seth's. With Ethan on my left, we scrolled through the newest Maya photos, as well as plans for her birthday party. I was in charge of purple balloons, and it lifted me like helium, just for that moment. Eddie, Trish, Matthew, and Brooke sat with Mrs. Feldman and my Liberty High contingent. Surely I wasn't being fired if my boss was drinking champagne in my honor.

I laid my head on Ethan's shoulder. I could have told him my plan. But then he'd have stopped me.

“And now,” Jade said, “I'd like to talk about one of our newer and more popular features on Pop Philly, our
Philly over Forty
blog.”

Everyone clapped. Of course they did. I saw Darby on the other side of the room staring at Jade. Darby wouldn't do anything while Jade was talking, would she?

“While this started as a way to engage a new demographic for Pop Philly, it has really taken on a life of its own, so much so that we're introducing an advice column for the rollout of our newly designed site and all our affiliates.”

Jade looked at me and nodded.

“If you're here, you probably know that the face of
Philly over Forty
wasn't a face, it was a Phillies cap.” A Phillies cheer erupted that had nothing to do with me. The crowd quieted. “We agreed to keep the identity of the blogger a secret for the past two months because this person had a lot going on, but more than that, she has insight and humor and a dedication to helping others.”

Dig the knife in deeper, Jade, please. I can't feel it.

“And this same person is going to be our new advice columnist. So, please welcome Izzy Lane. And give her a big round of applause. Tomorrow is Izzy's fortieth birthday, so it's a really special night for her.”

I stood at my seat and looked around the table, knowing Darby was watching me, waiting. I looked at her and flashed a toothy, fake smile.

I walked toward Jade and she started clapping and sat in her seat. Everyone clapped and some people high-fived me. I felt as if I were on
The Price Is Right,
when, really, everything was wrong.

When I got to the front of the room, I looked at Jade and mouthed,
I'm sorry.
Then I looked out into the crowd.

“It's true. My name is Izzy Lane. Actually, Elizabeth Lane.” I glanced at Andrew. “And what's also true is—tomorrow I turn forty.” Now I didn't look at anyone, just straight ahead into the room at large.

My heart pounded so loud in my chest I feared I was screaming my words above the noise. I couldn't modulate my voice, or my thinking. “I loved writing
Philly over Forty,
sharing my stories with other single women, and some men, and most of all connecting with the readers. All of you, you're the ones who made me okay with being here now. And I don't mean at the Pinnacle drinking champagne. I mean here, where I am in my life. Single. Forty. You all know
a lot
about me. That's definitely true, please don't doubt that. But there is something you don't know.…”

I looked across the room at Mrs. Feldman. She gave me a thumbs-up, as if I were about to take off in a single-engine plane and fly across the Atlantic. Except this was scarier.

And then I thought of Noah. He deserved a mother who
liked
what she saw when she looked in the mirror; who didn't make-believe, except as part of a game; who didn't build worlds, except out of LEGOs.

“What you don't know about me is that I lied.” I looked at Darby, whose eyes were wide as a Kewpie doll's, and then looked back into imagined nothingness in front of me. “And I lied about more than my name. But I did that on my own. Jade had nothing to do with this. Nothing. She didn't know until now, like all of you. She just wanted to help me. And she did. But what I did was wrong. I just didn't realize how wrong until it was too late.”

The room was quiet. I looked down at my bare feet and wiggled my toes. I'd never slipped back on my shoes. I needed a pedicure. Would anyone notice? Sentences rattled in my brain, and their echoes dizzied me. I sweated. I fanned the back of my neck. I unzipped my dress along its side to let in the air, exposing my skin to anyone who dared watch. My dress touched the top of my knees but I shimmied it up higher, and my legs burned to the touch. But when I watched myself from above, I was staring straight ahead, zipped up and coiffed. Then, back on the ground, looking down at my feet again, I heard words outside myself. Full sentences leaving my mouth without my consent, as if Balloons the Clown were pulling a string of primary-colored scarves out of his sleeve. One after another after another. I was the one talking, but I only heard bits and pieces of my voice. I covered my ears with my hands at my sides and kept talking.…

And then, with nothing left to lose, I looked up.

“The truth is…” No one snickered. “I hated everything about my life.”

Impeccable timing for
that
revelation.

“Even with a job I loved and a great kid and amazing friends and a family who loves me. And when you feel that way, crazy things happen. I was embarrassed that my ex had a girlfriend and I was alone.” Jade turned away. I willed her to look at me, into the same eyes she'd looked into when she held my hand all night after my miscarriage. I was that person now. Off course. Shattered. Straddling realities. “Then I was embarrassed I lied about it. Embarrassed I kept lying. I lied to protect an ego I didn't even have. Really, I didn't need protection from anyone but myself. I put Jade and Pop Philly in jeopardy because I was embarrassed.” I transferred my gaze to the table of
Press
executives. “I wish I had had the guts to not just come clean, but to never do this in the first place. I wish I thought it was okay to just be upset that my ex had a girlfriend and that it made me feel like crap. I didn't even want to get divorced.” I just said
crap
in the middle of the Pinnacle Hotel and admitted that my ex had summarily dumped me. I looked back at my feet, still as unsightly as the rest of me.
“
If you learn anything from this, it is that trying to hide who you are or even what you've done? Never a good idea. Secrets and lies don't protect you, they strip you bare. And one more thing. I don't deserve to write for Pop Philly anymore, but neither does Darby Bartlett.” I told them why.