The Never Never Sisters (23 page)

“No, you do fine by those jeans.” We swung in silence for a bit. “I’m a horrible,
disloyal person, right?”

“I’d say more full of zesty opinions. But, ah, you mean about the journals. There’s
something very funny about asking for a blessing from a private investigator. I’m
professionally obligated to tell you to go after the knowledge.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Hell, yeah. Run toward the ignorance rather than run from it. Attack the facts. I
think Sloane has this one right—both for the stuff with Dave and your mom’s journals.”

“You know, what we do is not so different.”

“Who said it was?”

“I thought it was. Because we have different endgames.”

“What’s your endgame?”

“Resolution and harmony, while yours is confirmation of wrongdoing. But it’s not.
We’re really both trying to help people find what’s true.”

“What’s true,” said Percy.

“Right,” I said, hoping I wasn’t slurring. “That’s exactly right.”

“No, I meant what is true? As in—how do you even know what true is? I mean there are
facts, and then there’s perception.”

“Whoa.” His words swam before me, dipped around my brain, wiggled away. “By that logic,
you might be totally incorrect about what your father thinks of you.”

“I’m not, though.”

“No, you have perception, not truth. You can’t separate how much of his sending you
newspaper clippings is disappointment and how much is, say, trying to connect by keeping
tabs on your old friends.”

“Please.”

“Unless you’ve asked him outright.”

“I haven’t. And as logical as your point is, I know you’re wrong. There’s a beef.”

“A beef.”

“A long line of conflict between my father and my aunt. According to my father, I
chose her when I chose being a detective. It wasn’t personal to me, but it was to
him. I wasn’t trying to choose her; I was trying to do what he’d always told me to
do—make a living doing something interesting. See? There’s a price. There’s always
a price to doing something you want to do. Even if you don’t realize it, anytime you
go after something you want, you end up at least hurting someone else’s feelings.
It’s a given.”

“What was the beef about?”

“Don’t know. Don’t want to know.” We swung in the hammock, watching our feet. “So,
yes, read the journals. No judgment here. Still, I acknowledge the weirdness of accessing
your mother’s innermost thoughts when you were—how old?”

“Twelve, just like you are now.”

I had shifted at some point in the conversation, I wasn’t sure when, and we sat next
to each other in the middle of the hammock like it was a big giant swing, our feet
on the ground, pushing us off, our shoulders almost touching. He pressed his feet
to the ground before pushing us off again. “What were you like as a twelve-year-old?”

“Nerdy and oblivious. What were you like?”

“Really into baseball. Nerdy and oblivious, huh? Is that what the journals say?”

“About me?” I considered. “She doesn’t say anything.”

“Oh. Maybe
that’s
why you’re annoyed.” His voice shifted, so I turned to the left to look. He’d leaned
his head back, his eyes closed.

“I think it’s better your way, Percy.”

“Which way?”

“To know what messed you up, like you and your dad’s disapproval.”

“Yeah. It’s a real luxury.”

“It must have been so jarring to me as a kid, how Sloane just disappeared. I don’t
remember it that way at all, though. I remember it like a peace.”

“Maybe it was a bit of a peace.” His voice was sleepy.

“All my friends have kids. I haven’t wanted them, and not that there’s anything wrong
with not wanting kids, but I think my whole personality—my whole life as I know it—has
been formed by things I’ve never questioned.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-two.”

“You have a bright future ahead of you, Paige. Plenty of time to identify what’s messing
you up.”

“Let’s hope.”

After a moment of silence, his eyes flew open. “No sleeping, sorry. Forgot the rules.”

“It’s okay.” His eyes closed again, and I leaned back too and closed mine.

“That was a cool trick,” I said. “With the corncob holder.”

“Mmm,” he said, and mumbled something that sounded like
I’ve got moves
.

“I’ll go get the rooms ready,” I said. “I should.”

“Who needs rooms?” he responded. “Give the lovebirds the whole house.”

“What do you think
they’re
doing?”

“Heh, heh, heh,” he said, with more space between each syllable.

I was drifting off to sleep with predream thoughts, when I heard thunder crack and
felt the hammock buckle under me and arms around my shoulders.

Percy had pushed me over to the side; his face was inches away from mine. “A branch
fell.” His eyes were a little wild, and indeed, there was a large jagged tree branch
piercing through one of the holes in the hammock, right where we had been sitting.

It felt inevitable to have no space between us. Little shivers of recognition prickled
up from my toes at the atmospheric pull, crackling and alive. It was the moment right
before a first kiss, when someone new, a former stranger, turns into someone known.
We’d been building to this, probably for weeks, and he must have thought the same,
because we both jumped back and stood up.

“You can have any room you want,” I said. “The blue, the green or even the master,”
and then before he could respond, I blindly ran into the house and up to the first
room. Only after I’d shut and locked the door did I realize I was in the green one
I’d promised to him and my bag was still downstairs. I lay on the bed with all my
clothes on, my heart pounding hard enough that I could see my chest jump with every
beat.

I heard the back door close, the clank of the trash lid and then, about ten minutes
later, the creaks of the stairs and Percy’s footsteps pause at the top. When he entered
the blue room, the walls were thin enough that I heard the groan of his mattress as
he reclined on it.

I pictured him in there, staring up at the ceiling fan just as I was, hands folded
across his chest. I imagined, as if in a movie, donning a gauzy white nightgown, knocking
on the door softly, turning the knob and slipping inside. But it wasn’t a movie, so
I lay there in my shorts and T-shirt and, instead of counting sheep, enumerated the
reasons why my temptation had nothing to do with Percy Stahl:

I was confused. About Dave’s secrets and my family’s secrets.

I was, to be honest, a little tipsy.

I was far from home.

Percy wasn’t the main event; he was a mirage, a classic textbook distraction from
the tumult of the summer. I was just grateful that nothing more had happened.

NO ONE HAD
thought to turn on the air-conditioning, and the green bedroom was hot, stuffy and
bright when I woke up on top of the covers, in my clothes. First thing, I called Dave
and got his voice mail. “The house is great.” I tried to sound casual. “But it’s weird
without you. See you tonight.”

I opened the door to the hall slowly just in case Percy was lying in wait, curled
up on the floor outside my room. He wasn’t. The doors to all the bedrooms were swung
open and filled with sunshine, the beds made as if no one had slept there.

Under the hot spray of the shower, my brain lingered on the glow of that instant immediately
after the cracked tree branch. I cooled the spray, dousing the thoughts in ice-cold
water until they calcified into guilt. I’d been about to kiss someone not my husband,
and now I was replaying it for kicks? I barely recognized myself. I stood under the
cold water long after the shampoo was out of my hair and its sharp grapefruit scent
was gone.

Downstairs, the kitchen was neat as a pin. Barefoot, I walked outside, hopping down
the warmed stone path until I saw Sloane and Giovanni in the hammock, cuddled up against
each other. I turned around to go back in the house just as Giovanni yelled, “Sleeping
Beauty!”

“Hi.”

“It’s eleven thirty!” Sloane sat up on her elbows. “People in offices across the land
are about to break for lunch.”

“Some people somewhere are already on their commute home,” Giovanni added.

I walked closer. Their feet were intertwined, making a V formation with Bandito sleeping
between them. I was surprised he was big enough to not fall through the hammock gaps.
“Are you hungry?”

“I’m all right. Be careful.” I pointed up. “A branch broke off last night.” Their
eyes lifted up lazily, in unison, but they didn’t move.

“The beach is wonderful,” said Giovanni. “We were there until midnight and were the
only ones. Quogue is . . . We need something to rhyme with Quogue. Quogue is grand.”

“We’re going back there today,” Sloane said.

“Seriously, you guys. Move. A branch broke off when Percy and I were out here.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Sloane said.

“Have you guys seen Percy?”

“Selena called. She beckoned and he left to go meet her.”

“Who’s Selena?”

“One of his . . . people,” Giovanni said. “Percy always has a lot of people. And they’re
always female people. And they’re always, like—what’s the word?”

“Needy?” I said.

“No, no.” Giovanni scratched his head. “When you’re a model, but more. Not just a
mere model, a . . .”

“Supermodel!” said Sloane.

“Yes! Supermodel,” said Giovanni. “They’re all supermodels.”

My throat closed up a little at that. “Is he coming back?”

“No. He’s out for the weekend.”

They were annoying me, both of them. “I need to go,” I said. Sloane sat up, perturbed.
“Back to the city. Today. You can stay here.”

“No.” Giovanni smiled his sunny smile. “The city is grand as well. We’ll go back with
you.”

I was walking through the kitchen when I saw the note folded on the toaster.

Paige,

Thanks for letting me stay. Someone from my office will be in touch next week with
work updates.

P

Someone
will be in touch? It was a good-bye note, and I read it with relief and crumpled
it, tossing it in the trash. Home. I just wanted to be home. I wanted to bury my head
in Dave’s shoulder and smell the fresh laundered smell of his shirts and forget that
I’d ever met any other human being.

“We’ve spent more time cleaning and neatening than being here.” I wasn’t sure how
long Sloane had been in the doorway.

“Like I said, you can stay.”

“I didn’t mean that, but—why the sudden move to leave? Is it coming from Dave?” Her
tone was accusatory.

“No, me. I’m not some rag doll. I miss him. And some clients really need to meet tomorrow.”
Actually, I had been the one to e-mail the Jacobys, but Sloane didn’t need that information.

“Oh my god. You are too much.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Nothing.” Sloane met my eyes. “I promise not to say I told you so whenever we find
out about the bad shit he’s involved in.”

“You sound like you
want
him to be involved in bad shit.”

“It’s not about what
I
want.”

“Exactly. And if I think about what
I
really want”—I stabbed my finger against my chest so hard, the knuckle buckled—“maybe
I shouldn’t be looking so hard for something that will wreck my marriage.”

“That sentence,” she said, “had too many words. Like you’re trying to convince yourself
of something.”

Glib
. It irritated me that she could be that way about my marriage. I turned away and
picked up the tote bag that was on the counter.
Glib, glib, glib
. I didn’t say it, though. What was the point of fighting with Sloane?

She stood there for a second. “We’re ready to leave whenever you are.”

On the drive home, Giovanni sat in front, which the two of them had probably orchestrated.
He tried to keep up a friendly banter about various things none of us cared about—surfing,
the Mets, which he insisted on calling the New York Mets—but eventually he gave up,
turned on the radio and for the rest of the trip sang the wrong words to pop songs
under his breath.

As soon as we parked, Sloane mumbled something about going to a Szechuan restaurant
in Flushing and did I want to come. They looked relieved when I demurred, and vanished
almost immediately after leaving me with Bandito.

I turned my key in the lock at five o’clock, assuming I’d have the place to myself
for several hours. But Dave was already home, sitting on the couch, legs up and crossed
at the ankle. I immediately wondered what had happened this time.

“You’re back!” He uncrossed his ankles and bounded up.

“What is this?” I asked.

At the same time he said, “You have the dog?”

My voice had more edge, so he yielded to me. “Why are you home?” I tried not to sound
as accusatory.

“I missed you.” He gently eased Bandito’s carrier off my shoulder and unzipped it.
The dog hopped out and promptly curled up on the rug. “You don’t look happy about
that.”

It was a wonderful thought—that for the past two hours he and I had been making our
way back home toward each other with the exact same purpose and now, after weeks of
disruption and guests, we were finally alone together. This was the moment when we
could put an end to the madness. We could erase all the confusion of the past few
weeks.

I probably should have swallowed that flash of anger I felt—a snap so crisp I could
almost hear it, like that branch breaking off the tree. “Am I supposed to infer that
all these days when you’ve been working so hard, you haven’t missed me?”

He got that expression on his face indicating he was riding out a tidal wave in an
inner tube. “No, you’re supposed to infer that on those days I had a mountain of work
that I couldn’t put down.”

“That’s so helpful, Dave. Telling me what I’m supposed to infer. How on earth would
I use my brain if I didn’t have you to direct me?”

“You want me to go back to work right now?”

“Of course not.”

“You want me to stop meeting my obligations so I can come home at four every day?”

“No. I’m not usually even home at four.”

“I don’t get why you’re mad.”

“I want you to stop lying.” I was sure my face appeared as startled as his did because
I couldn’t believe it was out there—not a question, an accusation.

“Paige.” He stepped closer, hands up in surrender mode. “Still?” I nodded. “I’ve told
you everything I know. What’s the problem here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why are you so stuck on thinking that—out of nowhere—I’d start lying to you?”

“Not out of nowhere.”

“I told you I’d never do it again and I haven’t. The worst thing about this hasn’t
even been the suspension. It’s been finding out what you think I’m capable of, like
I’m this amoral hulk of ambition. Or, maybe worse, this pathetic little lamb.”

“Maybe we should go talk to someone.”

“What, like a therapist?” I was offended by his incredulity. “We don’t need that,
Paige. You need to open your eyes.”

“I’m trying.”

“Think about the past few weeks. Sloane appearing, staying with us. Meeting this Giovanni.
Your parents acting insane. Your having more free time than usual. I shouldn’t have
to tell you this: you always get a little whacked-out when you don’t work enough.”

That list doesn’t even count my mother’s journals,
I thought.
That’s not even factoring in Percy. And Selena the beckoning supermodel
.

“You look like you’re about to cry.” Dave spoke in a kinder tone. “Do you have any
cash?” Jarred, I rolled my eyes and reached for my wallet. “I’m running down to the
newsstand to buy you your magazines—you know,
Oh My God That Happened!
and
Buy This Dress Now
and
Famous People Looking Like
Crap
?”

“That’s not what they’re called.”

“They might as well be.” He touched the sides of my weak smile with his thumb and
forefinger and made his voice campy, dramatic with schmaltz. “Love means sometimes
I know what you need better than you know yourself.”

I read about a Disney star’s rehab stint for “exhaustion,” a movie star’s inability
to lose the baby weight and a married singer’s rumored affair with a stripper. I had
all but forgotten about the tension between us when Dave got into bed. “Do you feel
better?”

“Much.” I switched off the light, reached out and circled my hand around Dave’s bicep.
I didn’t imagine Dave was Percy or anything, but I could still hear his voice golden
in the darkness and feel the sway of the hammock. I drove him from my mind as I responded
to Dave’s kiss, my mouth opening to the warmth of his like we were both reclaiming
our apartment, each other, our lives.