Confucius Jane (39 page)

“It probably tastes like lime,” she said, only to find herself on the end of Priscilla's withering glance. She was getting testy. That was a good sign.

At that moment, the door opened to admit her father holding a large paper bag. “Don't touch that tray!” he exclaimed. “I had a real lunch delivered from Gramercy Tavern.” With a flourish, he opened the bag and withdrew a plastic carton. “Your favorite, my love—the carrot soup.”

“Oh, how wonderful.”

Her full smile made her look so carefree, and Sutton's heart ached as she dutifully deposited the tray on the windowsill to make way for the feast her father had brought. He certainly was playing the part of the hero. As she watched him pull up a chair and begin to arrange the food, she resisted the urge to remove her glasses and rub her gritty eyes. She hadn't slept the night before. Every time she had started to drift off, Celeste's words had returned to jolt her back into wakefulness.

“I seem to recall you particularly enjoying the lamb, Sutton. Was that right?”

“It smells great. Thanks.” She took the box and opened it. He had remembered well—the lamb was her favorite. But today the sight and smell of the food turned her stomach.

Reginald helped Priscilla fully elevate the back of her hospital bed so that she could lean forward to partake of the meal. Once she was settled, he tucked into his own. Between bites, he rambled on about the spring schedule at Lincoln Center, describing a new opera and wondering whether Priscilla might want to see it. Sutton, meanwhile, was having trouble believing what she was hearing. How could he be blithely chattering about the fine arts when he had blackmailed at least three women into having abortions? And in the next breath, he could rail against stem-cell research on his television program.

“Are you all right, Sutton?” His voice shattered her troubled introspection. “You've been quiet today.”

“Just a little tired,” she said, forcing her voice to not betray her mood.

“You should go home and sleep,” Priscilla said. “I'm fine here with your father.”

Sutton wanted to scream at her that she wasn't—really, she wasn't. But no. Celeste had confided in her. She had to honor that, and keep the secret with which she had been entrusted. “I'd like to stay for a little longer. It's great to see you doing so well.”

“Speaking of which, shall we discuss tomorrow?” Reginald smiled at Priscilla. “It will be wonderful to have you home again. Maria has been absorbed in a cleaning frenzy as she prepares for your arrival.”

Before her mother could respond, his pager sounded, its shrill tones echoing off the walls of the small room. He quickly silenced it and stood, his face apologetic. “A pediatrics consult. I'm so sorry.”

“Of course, dear. I hope it goes well.” Priscilla actually blew him a kiss.

“Good-bye, Dad.” When the door closed behind him, Sutton moved into the seat he had vacated. “Are you finished, Mom?”

“Yes, I think so. It was very good. So kind of your father to provide such a delicious meal.”

“Yes, that was nice of him.” Sutton cleared all the containers and stuffed them back into the bag, wishing it were as easy to shove her anger and resentment down deep where it wouldn't have a chance to spill over.

Then again, maybe it should. She wouldn't betray Celeste's confidence, but maybe she could find a way to warn her mother. This might be her best chance—her only chance—to suggest to Priscilla that she had options other than burying her head in the sand. Summoning her courage, she took a deep breath.

“Mom, can I ask you something?” When Priscilla met her gaze, Sutton spoke before she could think better of it. “You know you don't have to just forgive and forget what Dad did, right? You can take legal action if you want. I'll help you.”

“Legal action?” Priscilla paused in the act of reaching for the magazine on her nightstand.

“Divorce.”

“Sutton.” Her mother's tone was identical to the one she had used on the rare occasions when Sutton had misbehaved as a child. “I do not want a divorce from your father. Yes, he has made mistakes. But we all make mistakes. What's important is not what we did, but how we move forward.”

“But what if there's more? What if we don't know the full extent of what happened? Do you really want to—”

“Sutton!” Her mother's voice was sharper than she'd ever heard it, and her mouth was pinched in clear anger. “Enough. This conversation is closed. Forever. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes.” Sutton gripped the armrests of the chair, silently squeezing out her frustration. “So … would you like me to read some of that magazine to you?”

Before she could move, Priscilla picked it up herself. “I can read it perfectly well on my own, thank you,” she said frostily. “I'm sure you're very busy. Perhaps you should go attend to your own affairs.”

That was as clear a dismissal as Sutton had ever heard. She stood, bent over the bed, and briefly kissed her mother's forehead. “I'll see you tomorrow, then.”

As she left the room, she glanced over her shoulder. Priscilla held the magazine close to her face, a testament to her failing eyes. The sympathy Sutton felt at the sight was dwarfed by her irritation and hurt. Why couldn't her mother see that she was trying to help? Why didn't she want to know the truth? Why was she content to be manipulated and hoodwinked and deceived, repeatedly, when she deserved exactly the opposite from the man she had built a life with?

Sutton walked quickly down the corridor, opting for the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. Her patience was in tatters and her mind in turmoil. She had tried so hard to make her peace with the fact that her mother needed her, and to stand by her family even though it meant sacrificing her dreams. She'd been convinced it was the right thing to do. But what if she had been wrong? Priscilla wanted an obedient, close-lipped version of her, and Reginald, by trying to bully her into doing what he wanted, was only employing a milder form of the coercion he had used so viciously against Celeste.

Jane had been right.

The realization stopped her in her tracks on the second floor landing. The stairwell was empty, and her quick breaths echoed noisily. As though it had been yesterday, she flashed back to their last conversation.
You don't have to give up what you want. You can follow your dreams.
Jane had been so passionate in her conviction, and so desperate to convince Sutton that she didn't have to abdicate her own desires for her family.

At the time, it had been easier for Sutton to convince herself that making those sacrifices was in everyone's best interest. But now, after she had watched her mother willingly step under the cover of her father's long shadow, she was certain of one thing: she didn't want to be a pawn in his game. Which meant her first priority was to go downtown, tell Jane she had been right all along, and apologize profusely for making such a mess of everything.

Suddenly invigorated, she hurried outside, already concocting her reconciliation speech. Jane wouldn't turn her away, would she? No. Jane had always been willing to listen. Jane would hear her out. And if groveling ended up being necessary … Sutton smiled at the thought of what that might entail. The stretching sensation in her cheeks made her realize just how long it had been since she had felt or expressed any kind of happiness.

Jane made her happy. That was the truth, pure and simple. Jane made her happy, and all Sutton had done in return was to string Jane along while weighing the pros and cons of their relationship against the other facets of her life—her career, her family, her perception in the public eye. Well, no more. Once she persuaded Jane to listen to her, she was going to make some clear promises about what Jane could expect from her: namely, behavior befitting a real girlfriend.

Girlfriend. She smiled again as she raced down the stairs into the subway. An elderly man walking up the other side looked at her in consternation. She didn't care. She was going downtown to confess to Jane that she had been wrong about her family, wrong about her priorities, wrong about what she needed. That she didn't want to live a stilted, atrophied life under her father's thumb. That she refused to let anyone dictate her choices. And that one of those choices was Jane herself.

The subway ride was interminable. To keep from going crazy, Sutton closed her eyes and visualized what she was about to do. She didn't want to call Jane or send her a text message—those could too easily be ignored. Instead, she would go to Confucius Fortunes and either find Jane there or discover her whereabouts. And if she came face-to-face with Jenny or Min … well, that conversation would be uncomfortable, but she would soldier through it and prove to Jane's family that she had her best interests at heart.

When the train pulled up at Spring Street, she was the first one out of the doors. The stairs were a blur beneath her feet, and she didn't stop to catch her breath upon emerging from the station. Instead, she darted across the next intersection before the flashing red hand could block her passage. Only when she turned on to Baxter did she slow her pace, not wanting to be out of breath when she greeted whomever was at home in the Chao apartment.

The lights in the windows of Noodle Treasure came on just as she drew level with the restaurant. Maybe, once she and Jane had properly made up, they could share a late dinner of soup and dumplings. Then again, they might be making up until long after Mei and Benny had closed for the night. That would be all right. They could return tomorrow. Or go back to Golden Unicorn for dim sum.

There it was—the front door of Confucius Fortunes. Feeling her palms begin to sweat, Sutton squared her shoulders, and pressed the buzzer marked
CHAO
. Her heart thudded erratically against her ribs as she waited for someone to respond.

“Hello?” The voice was slightly distorted by the speaker, but still recognizable. Min.

“Min, it's Sutton. Is Jane there?”

Silence. Sutton drummed her fingertips against her legs as she waited. After several seconds, she jammed her thumb against the buzzer again. Anger surged to the fore, trumping her nerves. In no universe was she going to let a petulant teenager stand between her and Jane.

“What do you want?” Min's voice reemerged from the speaker a moment later.

“Min, I know you're mad at me. But I really need to talk to Jane. Please.”

“You can't.”

“Don't you think you'd better let her be the judge of that?” Sutton knew she sounded testy, but she couldn't help herself.

“Don't talk down to me!” Min's disembodied voice fired back. “You broke her heart and then she left! It's your fault!”

“She left?” Sutton's mouth was suddenly dry. “Where did she go?”

“Brazil.”

An instant of confusion gave way to understanding: Brazil, where Jane's parents were currently stationed. “Did she say when she's coming back?”

“Yes, but I'm not going to tell you.”

“What? Min!” Sutton rang the bell a few more times, but to no avail. Finally, she let her hand fall. “Damn it.”

For a moment, she looked longingly across the street. If she walked through that door, would Mei give her the cold shoulder? Suddenly unwilling to risk it, she turned back the way she had come, toward her apartment. Her chest felt like a deflated balloon. All that anticipation and all those plans, wiped out in the span of mere seconds.

Guilt filled the empty spaces pushing against her chest until it was hard to breathe. Jane had fled the city. She was clearly hurting—even worse than Sutton had thought. Her phone probably wasn't working in Brazil, so Sutton couldn't text her. And Jane had blocked her on social media, so she couldn't get in touch that way, either.

The only thing left to do was wait. She hated waiting, but at least it afforded her the opportunity to plan. Jane would return to New York—Min had been clear about that much. When she did, Sutton would be ready to fight to get her back. By whatever means necessary.

 

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-ONE

S
UTTON WAS ABLE TO
wait all of three days before impatience trumped her reluctance to return to Chinatown. Even the Xanax couldn't quell her anxiety anymore—every time she felt herself dozing off, a spike of panic would set her heart to racing, waking her up. The persistent insomnia had made her increasingly frustrated, exhausted, and emotional. No matter how she tried to distract herself, her brain wouldn't stop concocting plans for how to find Jane once she returned, and to convince her that her change of heart was sincere.

The problem was, without Jane's return date, every plan was vague and aimless. She needed information, and to get information she needed to have a real conversation with one of Jane's confidantes. Min was a lost cause, but surely Sue would hear her out. Wouldn't she?

After racing through her notes from the day's rounds, Sutton left the hospital and walked south and west toward Red Door Apothecary. A hot wave of shame flooded through her when she realized she hadn't been back to the store since the night she had broken off her relationship with Jane. She'd been so wrapped up in her own drama and misery that she had barely paid any mind to Sue's plight, despite having indirectly been the cause.

Her steps faltered as she realized just how much she had to apologize for. Maybe it would be a better idea to go and see Sue only when she was back in Jane's good graces. But that put her right back in purgatory, unless she dared to try her luck with one of Jane's other family members. Flashing back to Min's rejection, she shook her head and forced herself to continue moving forward. Regardless of what happened with Jane, she owed Sue an apology. And there was no time like the present.

But when she walked into the store, Sue was nowhere in sight. Giovanni stood behind the register, looking as gangly as ever in a button-down shirt whose sleeves were too short by an inch. Sutton wondered what he had heard about her, before she realized she was letting herself feel intimidated by the opinion of an eighteen-year-old. Resolutely, she marched across the room. He looked up at her approach, eyes going wide behind his glasses.