The Never Never Sisters (28 page)

“I thought I was being helpful. I was maybe a little too enthusiastic, trying to force
things. Sorry. It’s awkward.”

“You really have nothing to apologize for. You’ve been great. You’re great.”

“I think you’re great.” She said this quietly. “I wish I’d tried harder to reach out.
Before now.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I guess I thought you’d reach out too. I didn’t realize what a number they were doing
on you back here, that if you brought up my name, you’d get reprogrammed.” She moved
her arms like a robot. When I made a noise of objection, she moved her robot arms
in surrender. “Let’s agree to disagree. I’m just glad for this summer.”

“Me too. On the whole,” I said, “it’s amazing how
not
awkward it’s been. With us. If not with Mom and Dad.” She was silent, studied. “But
maybe that will just take more time.”

She made a face. “I’d much rather keep this about us. I’m sure you don’t want me to
go there.”

“Go where?”

“I saw them only because I figured that was the easiest path to you. I don’t understand
how you’re all so much in each other’s business. But”—she held her hands up—“to each
his own. I don’t particularly need to pretend to be close to them and their motley
band of shopping buddies.”

“What is the deal with you guys?”

“I can’t stand the hypocrisy.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t really hate them. I mean, Franklin is harmless, if a complete nonentity,
but what I can’t stand is everyone’s sheepdog devotion to her. You know how growing
up, she was all—family this and family that. Family’s the most important thing?”

“Yeah.”

“She talks such a big game about loyalty, but then she goes and does whatever she
wants.”

“Like?”

“Like enrolling me in that school.”

“I don’t think she really
wanted
to. And isn’t that how you got sober?”

“Yes, I lucked out. But it was halfway across the country.”

“I read her journals. I think the decision killed her. But she thought it was best
for you.”

She shrugged.

“Is that really it? You’re mad she sent you away? You were self-destructing, from
what I understand.”

She set her jaw. “I really didn’t want to tell you this. You’re so blindly obedient
when it comes to her. No offense.”

“Tell me.”

“So when you were reading her journals, you never came across anything about another
guy?”

“I did. Nothing tawdry. She talks a lot about one friend. Someone called G.”

“Maybe. I don’t know his name.”

“What about him?”

“One night, this was just before I left, I was out late. I was with a group of friends,
and we were walking by the Friendly’s on Sycamore. And I saw her car. It was about
ten o’clock at night, so I walked closer and knocked on the window. She was in there
with a guy. A much younger guy. And I know she saw me because she got all shocked,
her eyes were like”—Sloane stopped and arranged her features in a catatonic look—“and
she pulled away from him, but he didn’t get the memo, so he kept trying to continue
whatever disgusting things they were doing—the windows were all fogged—and she kept
pulling back and finally I just left.

“The next morning, she’s sitting at the breakfast table with Dad. He’s reading his
paper, clueless as ever, and she looks me square in the eye, asks me where I was last
night and how was it and that was it. She’s a total fraud.”

I imagined my teenaged self upon seeing that car just as Sloane had. I would’ve crumbled.

“You’re disgusted too.” Sloane sounded triumphant.

“Not really.”

“You’re not?”

“I’m sure I would have been disturbed to see it, but . . . a fraud? Isn’t that harsh?”
G. had offered Vanessa something to get her through that year, and she’d grabbed onto
it. I couldn’t have understood that at sixteen, but now I could imagine: G. with Percy’s
face, in jeans.

“The definition of a fraud is someone who pretends to be what she’s not. I’d say it
fits perfectly.”

“It’s not that black and white.”

“She lied. To my face. Not just about how important family is, but about what she
was doing that night. You thought I asked good questions about you and Dave?”

“All your therapy-inspired questions? Yeah.”

“Trust me. I’ve spent a lot of time on this exact issue, going over and over it with
various experts. What I can’t get over is how she expected to know everything about
me—where I was going, what I was doing, the mileage on my car—and the whole time she
was lying.”

It was funny; I’d thought the very same thing a few weeks ago when I first saw the
journals. “Not lying. Just not telling you about one part of her life.”

She snorted. “What’s the difference?”

“This is what I’ve learned this summer: There are going to be hidden facts, right?
You can’t know everything about a person, so you base the relationship on what you
do
know.”

“So what do I know?”

“She was trying to act in your best interest. She was having a confusing, horrible
year. How about me? It’s a fact that I was awful to you on the boat, but you know
that I care about you and you’re able to get over it.”

“That’s, like, the worst example ever. You weren’t lying to me. You were being honest,
if a little cranky. Look at the Dave stuff. It’s not like you felt good about the
possibility of his lying to you.”

“But he’s my
husband
.”

“And she’s my
mother
. We’re very different in what we expect of people.”

“How?”

“You’re willing to twist things around. You accept whatever anyone tells you is true—Dave,
Mom, Dad, to the extent he says anything. You just kind of go into your little box
and stay. Your own little doghouse.”

“Doghouse?”

“That wasn’t the best image. I just meant—you’re obedient. You stay in a little sectioned-off
portion on the edge of someone else’s property. I haven’t even been back that long,
but already I can tell that your whole life is Vanessa-sanctioned. She practically
picked your husband and your apartment and that horrible decorator.”

“She didn’t, Sloane. I respect her opinion, sure, but I made those choices.”

Her dark eyes were skeptical. “After all my years of therapy, I know exactly what
I need from the people close to me. I need to be able to trust them. If they screw
up, that’s it. Game over.”

“But don’t you miss—”

“What? No, I miss nothing. It’s called self-preservation.”

Giovanni came back into the lobby, waving his Ziploc bags, and sat on the arm of Sloane’s
chair. “We should leave at seven thirty.” He looked between us. “Which is in twenty
more minutes. What am I interrupting?”

“She’s just telling me I live in a doghouse,” I said.

“And she’s telling me I’m unforgiving.”

“Oh.” Giovanni appeared concerned until we both started to laugh, and Sloane stopped
short.

“You’re going to make it work with Dave, I assume.”

“I think the whole thing might have been more about me than him.”

“How?” Sloane shook her head. “He got suspended from work and lied about it.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Shut up,” said Sloane.

“I know you don’t like that answer, but it is my life—”

“No,” said Sloane. “I mean, shut up and watch. What’s the name of the firm, Dave’s
firm?”

“Duane Covington.” As I said it, the anchor said it too, and I stared at the screen’s
red banner:
Breaking News: Agents Raid Duane Covington, elite Midtown firm. Sources link these
arrests to the government’s investigation into Mission Fund. Details to follow.

“Holy shit,” I said as Sloane and I grabbed each other’s arms. “Holy shit.”

“I SHOULD CALL
him, right? I should call him?”

Sloane and Giovanni nodded dumbly, and Giovanni said, “Maybe try?”

I dialed, my hands shaking. It went straight to voice mail. “No answer.”

They didn’t look surprised.

“Should I call Dad? No, Dave would hate that. Should I call a lawyer? What should
I do?” I texted him:
R u ok?

“He would be able to call you, right?” Giovanni frowned. “I mean, he’d get a phone
call if . . . They always say you get a phone call.”

“Let’s change our flight,” said Sloane. She nudged Giovanni. “We’ll stay.”

“Of course.” He stood up, pulled out his phone.

“Stop. I’ll be okay.”

“Don’t be a martyr.”

“Really. I’ll be fine. I’m fine. It would just make things weirder if you’re here
when this all . . . falls out.”

They looked at each other, and I could tell they were imagining the awkwardness of
staying at the Lincoln as their almost-stranger brother-in-law was run through an
indictment process. Sloane nodded slightly.

“I’ll be fine. This is—it’s not totally unexpected.” My head felt like it could float
away. “Maybe I’ll just—maybe I’ll figure out—”

“Call Percy,” said Sloane.

Giovanni was nodding. “Percy. He’ll know what to do.”

“So would Dad. Or one of Dave’s friends from law school.”

“But maybe, for Dave’s sake,” Sloane said, “you want to keep it as quiet as possible
until we know something concrete.”

I scraped my teeth over my lower lip. She was right. I would start with an apology
for that night in the hammock, but when I dialed Percy’s number, the phone went to
voice mail on the first ring and I hung up. “He didn’t pick up,” I explained to Sloane
and Giovanni, who were looking at me expectantly.

“Call him again,” said Giovanni. “Leave a message.”

I left things vague and polite, telling Percy that I was sorry to bother him and that
I had some questions on some new developments. As soon as I hung up, my phone made
the breaking-glass noise that meant I’d received a text. We crowded around; it was
from Dave.

Fine. Things crazy here tho. So much work! Will be home v. late, not for dinner.

“What the hell? What. The. Hell?”

Sloane covered her mouth.

“He’s probably just trying to protect you,” said Giovanni.

“He thinks I’m an idiot. He thinks I can’t handle this news.” Sloane bit her nails,
as though she had to shove something—
anything
—in her mouth so as not to scream about what an asshole he was. “That’s ridiculous.
I can totally handle this.”

They nodded vigorously:
Yes, you can!

“Okay,” I said. “We’re going to share a cab. First stop, Duane Covington. Then on
to JFK for you guys.”

“Really? You’re going there?” Sloane looked like she thought this was not such a good
idea.

“Not to do anything stupid. I just want to observe. To see for myself what’s going
on.”

The sky was peach colored when they dropped me off across the street from the GM Building.
The cab couldn’t get closer because of the glut of white vans around the plaza. Past
the vans was a layer of reporters—their makeup so heavy I could see blush streaks
from fifty feet away—and inside their circle of cameras was the story: a steady stream
of agents trailing in and out of the building, those on return trips carrying hard
drives and files.

I sat on the fountain and watched the action from across the street, counting the
exterior windows up to the twentieth floor. Was Dave there, watching the carnage?
I worried about the things to come: having to convince him to testify against whoever
had dragged him into the scandal; the length of his sentence; what it would be like
to see him in that orange jumpsuit and, oh god, would he be shackled? I scanned the
crowds for signs of anything familiar. I visualized going to court and sitting in
the front row. I could—I would—do it, just like Mrs. DeFranza had.

Because underneath it all ran my love for Dave, powerful enough to flood out any disappointment.
I hated how he lied to me, but it was the flip side of the man I married—ambitious
to a fault and with something to prove. What had caused the downfall was also what
I loved about him, and why he complemented me. We could get past it.

This was what had been on the tip of my tongue while talking to Sloane, that forgiving
someone—mining the hurt and pain to find the underlying love—is not a sign of weakness.
It’s a north star. When my phone rang again, I picked up, feeling calmer than I had
in weeks because in some ways, it was a relief to finally know.

“Paige? It’s Percy.”

“I’m so glad you called. I need advice. I’m at Dave’s firm right now. It’s a total
shit show.”

“I was hoping we could meet in person.”

“Okay. Where are you?”

“In my office.”

Perfect. I hoped the location would help clarify that our relationship was professional
only. “Fine. Do you have some lawyers on speed dial?”

“What?”

“Defense lawyers. Watch the news and you’ll understand. I’ll see you in twenty.” I
sent supportive thoughts to the twentieth floor and then to some of the vans in case
he was already there and then, as the sun set to the west of Duane Covington, I left.

Percy suggested, in a solicitous manner that I might have mocked under different circumstances,
that I sit down for our chat. I got the feeling that he was trying to break something
to me.

“It’s okay,” I said. “Whatever you want to talk about, can I go first?”

“Sure.”

“Did you look at the news? The feds are crawling all over Duane Covington, taking
equipment, raiding it, presumably arresting people. Presumably my husband.”

“No.” He typed on his computer and shook his head. “I didn’t know.”

“Does it give any details?”

“No, just that there’s a raid.”

“The freaking news cycle moves so slow.”

“That’s nuts,” he said, glancing at the screen again. “But that’s not what I need
to tell you.”

“What could you possibly need to tell me that’s more important than this?”

He looked down for a split second, and my heart fell. Was it about that moment we’d
had? I wondered how I could best transmit that that was now the farthest thing from
my mind. But then he said, “About what I learned at the book club party.”

“The what party?”

“Annie Poleci’s book club party.”

“It was tonight. I totally forgot.” Percy’s expression said,
Yeah
,
well, I didn’t.
“You went?”

“Of course.”

“Was Annie Poleci there?”

“She was.”

“God, she’s so lucky she wasn’t in the office tonight.”

“Sounds like it.”

“What happened?”

“We chatted, Annie and I. And I learned about her meeting with the human resources
representative. The one who took the notes? You with me, Paige?”

“I’m with you.”

“You want to know what she said? It’s . . . relevant.”

I could hardly see how anything other than the raid was relevant now, but he looked
convinced. “Tell me.”

It was basically a college party. They never even discussed the book—at least not
in the first hour—even though Percy had bought it and actually read it. They drank
beer; they gossiped. It was easy to get to Annie. She was standing in a group of people,
looking bored while listening to a guy going on and on about getting into a little
cage and being lowered into the water to swim with the sharks as if he were on some
National Geographic special. He was getting way too detailed—about the kind of Plexiglas,
et cetera. And Annie just had that look on her face, like
Why am I wasting my night here?

Percy started joking with her and then making small talk. He learned Annie was from
Chicago, that—surprise, surprise—she worked at one of those gargantuan law firms that
eats its young.

He told her that he had a sister who worked at one of those places and hated it—could
never take a vacation, felt like a warm body—and Annie seemed to perk up. He made
up some story about his sister not being allowed to go on her honeymoon at the last
minute. And then Annie said, “At least that was about the work,” in a really cynical
tone.

“Your partners are worse?” Percy said.

“Not always.” Annie had twisted her lips. “But a few weeks ago—I walked in on this
young partner completely glomming on one of his associates.”

“Glomming?” Percy asked, and Annie explained. They were in a stairwell, and the partner
was totally blocking the associate’s path, hovering over her, way too close. He was
saying something—she didn’t hear what—in a really low, menacing voice. And Annie distinctly
saw this guy’s hands on the associate’s ass.

“Harassment?” Percy said.

“Exactly,” said Annie. “It was like walking into a sexual harassment video. I mean,
it was the type of shit I didn’t think would go on anymore. What is this—
Mad Men
?”

I looked at Percy. “Can you check on your computer whether there have been any arrests?”

He looked at me like I was crazy but leaned over and clicked a key, shook his head.
“Nothing.”

“I heard you, yes. You’re trying to tell me that the partner was Dave and that he
sexually harassed someone?”

“Well,” he said, “I think that’s why he was suspended. Think about it, if you fill
in the notes.” He read aloud:
“June 30, Dave Turner/ (complaint by) Annie Poleci. Annie P. saw Dave Turner with
NS? We met for an hour meeting and I immediately notified the corporate dept. (by
phone), Stuben (by phone). We will implement handbook policy
.
”

“So, maybe. This woman, Annie, she sounds like one of those types, you know—overzealous
college feminists that get a rude awakening when they’re out in the real world.”

“You think?” said Percy.

“Oh, I’ve seen it happen, for sure. But even if something like that happened, it would
never be with Dave.”

“It kind of sounded like Dave.”

“Why?”