Thorns of Truth (25 page)

Mandy shuddered, remembering.

“If it’s about those resumes,” she jumped in quickly, “I set aside the ones I think are worth interviewing. I’ve got them right here.…” She thumbed through the manila files in her organizer and pulled one out, sliding it across the desk so Rose wouldn’t notice her hand was trembling. One of their paralegals, Nancy Chen, was due to give birth in less than a week—but what difference would it make who they hired to replace Nancy if her
own
career was at stake? “My first choice is the guy from Cornell,” she told Rose, forcing herself to breathe slowly. “He seems the most ambitious. Also the brightest. That’s his resume on top.”

Rose quickly glanced through the other resumes. “What about the Haverford girl? Summa cum laude, top ten percent of her class.”

Mandy shook her head. “I counted two typos. Anyone who doesn’t bother to proofread a cover letter can’t be trusted with a contract, right?”

“We’ll know more after we interview them.” Rose tucked the resumes back into their folder and looked up, her expression turning grave. “Anyway, I’m not here to discuss business.” She hesitated, as if uncertain of her footing.

Mandy imagined herself wrapped in a giant blood-pressure cuff, its rubber bulb squeezing. Each heartbeat causing her whole body to swell, and her head to pound.

Yet, when she spoke, her voice sounded perfectly normal. Amazing.

“Let me guess. You’re worried about Drew.” Mandy was concerned about her brother, too, but right now all she could think of was covering her own ass. “Honestly, Rose, if you want my opinion, this will just have to play itself out. If we’re lucky, he’ll wise up before the wedding.”

It worked. Rose sighed, momentarily distracted. “I wish I could at least talk to him. He’s been avoiding me lately. I can’t even get him on the phone.”

“Why not ask him over for dinner?” Mandy suggested. “Make it Friday and I’ll come, too. For moral support.”

Rose seemed to brighten at the idea, but then her face fell, and she replied gloomily, “I already tried that. He canceled at the last minute. I think he was hurt because I didn’t include Iris.”

“So invite her, too. That way, Drew won’t suspect a setup.”

“A setup?” Rose snorted. “As if I’d do that to my own son.”

Rose was right, she thought. Subterfuge wasn’t her style. When she confronted you about something, it was more like a Mack truck. In fact, Mandy could feel it coming at her now, bearing down. Rose was going to say that there’d been talk around the office. People were starting to notice.…

A bolt of alarm shot through her. What would she do without her clients, without this office to come to every morning? What else
was
there?

Then she was struck by an even deeper fear, one that ran below the surface like a fault line:
What if it means I can’t drink anymore?

Her hands, tightly knotted in her lap, were slick with sweat, and she was trembling all over. She laughed her patented Mandy-doll laugh, which sounded high-pitched and mechanical even to her own ears. “You’re a mom, right? Everyone under the age of thirty thinks their mom is out to get them.”

She ought to know. Her own mother was a black belt in that sport. Moving to Palm Beach hadn’t slowed Bernice down one bit. Mandy wondered sometimes if the real reason she drank was her mother; if she was merely blotting out all those painful memories of growing up, Mom criticizing her every move, making her feel dirty and ashamed. Even when she got
her period,
for Christ’s sake.

Mandy remembered vividly the first time she’d gotten high—at a cousin’s wedding, shortly after her parents had split up. She’d been twelve, and everybody had thought it was cute, watching her flit from table to table, finishing off the dregs in champagne glasses. By the time the bouquet was thrown, she’d been so smashed she’d felt as if
she
were flying. It was as if she’d been stumbling around in the dark her whole life … and suddenly here was the key to a magic kingdom, dazzling in its brightness, where the brightest light of all was Mandy herself.

“Drew isn’t the only one I’m worried about,” Rose said, her dark eyes fixed on Mandy. “I don’t know quite how to put this, but I guess there’s no polite way. Your drinking—it’s gotten out of control.”

Mandy felt the world tip sideways. She clutched the arms of her chair to keep from being pitched to the floor. Yet her first instinct was to fight back, to cry out against the unfairness of it.

“Three hundred thousand in billings last year, you call
that
out of control?” she shot back. “If people are talking, Rose, maybe it’s because they need to look more closely at their own records.”

“Mandy, this isn’t an indictment. I only want to help.” Her stepmother’s eyes seemed to plead with Mandy.

Never mind that
I
lost Daddy, too.

“Do I look like I need help? Do I act like I’m out of control?” Mandy made a sweeping gesture that took in her entire office, where every slip of paper was accounted for, every file labeled and color-coded, where even the volumes in the bookcase behind her desk were alphabetized. She added frostily, “Rose, I’m sure you mean well, but whoever is spreading lies about me has it all backwards. If I relax with a few drinks now and then, it’s
because
of all I do around here.”

“I know what you’re capable of, that isn’t the point,” Rose persisted. “You’re a good lawyer, Mandy. And a wonderful stepdaughter. Your father wasn’t the only one cheering when you joined the firm.”

“Are you saying I’m letting my father down?” Mandy was quick to assume the worst.

“Thank God your father can’t see you like this.” The sympathy in Rose’s voice was like salt sprinkled on an open wound. As if Mandy were just one more nut case, like Iris. “You think it doesn’t show? I can
smell
it on you. At last Tuesday’s meeting, you were so hung over you were practically falling out of your chair. Even old Gib noticed, and he’s practically blind.”

Mandy sat back, feeling as embarrassed and frightened as a child caught in a lie. But she couldn’t admit the truth—that would have been like giving away the combination to the safe guarding her most precious possession. What she needed more than anything else right now was a shot of bourbon, straight up. Just one. Otherwise, how would she ever manage to get through this?

“I see,” she replied coldly. “
You
can go off the deep end, but if once in a while I have too much to drink, I’m some kind of deadbeat? I loved my father, too, you know. Did you ever stop to think you’re not the only one who misses him?”

“What I
think
is that you need help,” Rose told her. “Mandy, listen. I’m not the enemy, I’m on
your
side.”

“What are you getting at, exactly?”

“I know someone you might want to talk to. Eric. I’ll ask him to dinner on Friday. That way, you two can get to know one another.” She stood up, her expression stern, uncompromising. “I’m counting on you to be there.”

Mandy stared at her for a long moment before crying out, “You wouldn’t treat me this way if Daddy were alive! He wouldn’t have
let
you.”

Rose shook her head, looking pained. “You’re wrong. Your father loved you, Mandy. It would have hurt him deeply to see you this way.”

She closed the door soundlessly behind her. Alone, Mandy slumped forward, dropping her head onto her folded arms. Her outrage had dissolved, leaving her as boneless as a protozoan under a microscope. Down the hall, she could hear a phone ringing … but the noise seemed to be coming from inside her head. An urgent bleating that wouldn’t stop, that she had no way of answering.

With an effort, Mandy pulled herself to her feet. Her face was wet, which surprised her. She hadn’t realized she was crying. Help? She knew of only one thing that could help her now.…

As she drew the bottle out from its hiding place in the credenza, she noted with pride that the paper seal was still intact. See? That proved it. She wasn’t out of control, no fucking way. Otherwise, wouldn’t she have helped herself to a nip before this?

Hadn’t she been extra careful while Daddy was alive? Never more than a glass or two of wine at family dinners. Rose was right about that much—he
would
have been hurt and disappointed to see his little girl like this.

Even around her mother, who was always making snide remarks about Daddy and Rose, Mandy was careful to maintain her two-drink limit. Finding out from his ex-wife that their daughter had a drinking problem would have been worse for Daddy than discovering it himself.

But now Daddy was gone … and things had gotten a little slippery. From now on, she’d just have to make more of an effort. And she could. She
would.

Starting tomorrow.

What she needed right now—more than Rose’s approval, or even her own self-respect—was
this.

The sealed cap, as she twisted it, made a delicious crinkling sound. She brought the bottle to her lips, sweeter than any lover’s kiss, and was dimly aware of a line being irretrievably crossed. There was no turning back. She could no longer fool herself into believing she wasn’t as bad off as those who drank during the day,
at work.

But all that lay far ahead in the future—as unreal as the distant threat of being audited by the IRS would be to someone choking to death
right now.
If she didn’t have this—
just one sip, I promise
—she wouldn’t survive the next hour, much less the rest of the day.

With a low moan that might have been a plea for mercy, Mandy tipped the bottle back and drank.

By Friday evening, she was sober as a parson. Arriving at Rose’s promptly at eight, she thumbed the front-door buzzer. Mandy felt weak—unsteady, even—but she nonetheless wanted to shout it to every passerby, to anyone who would listen:
I haven’t touched a drink in two whole days!
Not so much as a sip of sherry. And yesterday, on her way to the subway, hadn’t she walked a block out of her way to keep from passing Luigi’s?

Yet, oddly, she was in no mood to celebrate.

She felt jittery. Faintly queasy, too. In fact, she’d almost called to cancel … but in the end had decided she’d be damned if she’d slink off with her tail between her legs. What she had to do was put on a show, fake it for all she was worth. Her whole future depended on it—her standing with the firm and in the legal community, her friendship with Rose, her license, once she got this little problem under control, to continue … well,
everything.

The door swung open.

“On time, as usual. And I’m running late.” Rose, looking flushed and wiping her hands on a dark green butcher’s apron, greeted Mandy with a light kiss on the cheek. “Go on up, make yourself comfortable while I check on the roast. The gang’s all here, except Eric.”

Climbing the stairs, Mandy felt confused. Rose was acting as if nothing had happened, as if this evening weren’t some sort of a test. The other day, in her office, had her stepmother’s warning been just that—a mere notice, no more than a minor traffic violation, that she needed to watch her step?

It should have been a relief … but Mandy felt as if the sky were falling and she was the only one who could see it. The only one running for cover. Chicken Little with a monkey on her back. The image caused a mildly hysterical giggle to surface, which she disguised as a cough.

Entering the living room, with its jumble of books and family photos and nautical prints, she felt a familiar tightening in her throat. Everything about this place reminded her of her father—of how Daddy had
believed
in her. Making her feel special, always, even after the boys were born. Rose, too, she acknowledged grudgingly, had gone out of her way to be nice.
I didn’t make it easy on her, either.
A gawky teenager with braces on her teeth and a chip on her shoulder. It was a wonder she’d found anyone at all to love her.

Jay loped over to envelop Mandy in a rib-crushing hug. She yelped, but was grateful for the show of affection, which she badly needed. Though she never would have admitted it, Jay was her favorite. She couldn’t help it—there was something so achingly vulnerable behind those carefully guarded defenses of his. He reminded her of herself at that age, only better-looking.

“Hey, bro, what’s up?” She ruffled his hair, making it stand up in spiky clumps. “New girlfriend—or did last week’s make the final cut?”

He gave an embarrassed laugh and ducked his head. Unlike every other sixteen-year-old male she knew. Jay wasn’t constantly on the make. But could he help it that girls seemed to find him irresistible? That cute redhead he’d dated his sophomore year still phoned regularly. And last summer’s romance with Annalise, the
au pair
for the family upstairs, had resulted in a steady stream of letters and postcards from Denmark.

“Your love life must be pretty boring if you’re so interested in mine,” Jay shot back, treating her to a rare grin.

Mandy thought of Robert … and a shadow fell over her heart. Yesterday evening, after the champagne reception for Cynthia—a white-knuckle test worse than any hangover—she’d risked a late supper at their favorite French restaurant on Madison. But the whole time, she’d been on edge. No appetite, either. Her stomach, like the rest of her, one large contracted muscle.

She’d excused herself early, saying she had a headache, which wasn’t far from the truth. But Robert was no fool, she knew. In the cab on the way home, he’d hardly said a word. No kiss, either. By now, he
had
to have guessed she was hiding something.

Or was she just being paranoid?

Maybe
I’m
the one who should be seeing a shrink,
Mandy thought as Iris McClanahan rose from the sofa to greet her.

Not that you’d ever guess Iris was anything but normal. In a red halter dress that showed off her tanned shoulders, with her butterscotch hair falling loosely down her back. Iris looked as healthy and sunny as the brightest of summer days. Yet what always impressed Mandy most was how
nice
she was. As if it had never occurred to her that another woman might be jealous of her. Or that Rose had invited her simply as a way of twisting Drew’s arm.