Lost Along the Way (6 page)

J
ane glanced around the immaculate grounds of her friend's suburban home. The bays and harbors of the North Shore of Long Island were packed with boats and yachts, old money families mingling with financiers and lawyers who looked after the old money and became rich from it themselves. Cara's house was exactly as Jane remembered it from years ago—a large brick colonial that was both classic and comfortable-looking. White shutters encased large windows across the entire façade in perfect symmetry on either side of the red front door. Hedges ran along the perimeter of the property to separate the house from the neighbors, something that Jane had a hard time understanding. No matter how large a Manhattan apartment is, you're still sharing walls with your neighbors. So hedges for a property that was already acres wide seemed redundant. Jane paused at the bottom of the walkway that led from the sidewalk to the front door as she watched the cab pull away and head back to the concrete jungle that was intent on eating her alive. She felt herself struggle to take her first step, knowing she wouldn't be welcomed with open arms, and worse, knowing that she didn't deserve to be. She listened to the birds in the trees and watched the kids down the block riding their bicycles in wobbly circles in the road, and didn't miss the irony that Cara was living the exact life Jane had spent the last twenty years trying to avoid. She had barely pressed the doorbell before the door opened and Cara stood in front of her, slack jawed and bewildered.

“Hey,” Jane said with a weak wave. It had been years. She had no idea where to start, but hello seemed as good a place as any.

“‘Hey'?” Cara repeated, staring at her like she was an alien and not someone who used to borrow her bathing suits. “That's what you have to say to me?” She peered at Jane again, and Jane knew immediately what she was thinking. Cara had been one of the prettiest girls in school (though she either truly didn't know it or truly didn't care), with hazel eyes that flecked gold or green or auburn depending on what color shirt she wore, bouncy hair that didn't require a straightening iron, and skin that never needed makeup. She was the quintessential all-American, natural girl who never needed any help enhancing what she was born with, whereas Jane now had so many fillers in her face she basically looked like a wax figure. She was sure Cara was horrified by the implants and wondered how long it would take her to ask about them. In fact, she was surprised it had already taken this long.

“I always found it to be a good ice breaker,” Jane joked. There had been a time when Cara had loved Jane's ability to laugh at any situation. She realized that that was probably no longer the case, but falling back into her old role made her feel less uncomfortable about seeking refuge in a friend she hadn't seen in years.

“What are you doing here? You haven't been here since before you eloped. Eight years ago.”

“I know. It hasn't changed a bit. Neither have you,” Jane said. She meant it, but she was afraid she came off as insincere.

“I wish I could say the same,” Cara answered. She stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind her. Jane didn't expect to be welcomed with a bottle of champagne, but the icy insult caught her off guard.

“How have you been?” Jane asked. She couldn't believe how
nervous she felt—how this woman had become a stranger. For a second she wondered if maybe she was wrong to assume that her old friend would want to help. Maybe too much had happened between them. Jane's heart ached as she tried to prepare herself for the possibility that Cara, like everyone else in her life, might turn her back on her.

“Spare me the pleasantries, Jane. Why are you here? What
,
did your elitist friends in the city ditch you when they discovered that your husband is a white-collar criminal?”

“Basically.” It seemed silly to lie, especially since she'd just paid seventy dollars she didn't have on cab fare to get here. Still, it wasn't easy to announce how pathetic she'd become, especially not to Cara. The last thing Jane needed was to give Cara yet another reason to say her four favorite words:
I told you so.

“Gee, couldn't have seen that one coming.”

“You don't have to look like you're enjoying watching my life implode on the news, Cara. I've paid plenty for my husband's sins. I don't have any money. I don't have any friends. And I'm about to be evicted from my apartment. I've begged the feds to give me access to something so that I can get out of there and start over, but they weren't interested in helping me. I feel like I'm drowning and I don't know what to do.” Jane choked on her words. Asking for help wasn't easy, and having her oldest friend look at her like she didn't recognize her wasn't making anything easier. If someone had told her this would happen to their relationship, she never would've believed it. Not ever. Not for anything.

“You asked the feds for a favor and were denied? I wish I could've seen the temper tantrum you threw when you heard the word ‘no.' You always had a way of throwing your toys out of the pram in spectacular fashion when you didn't get your way.”

Jane was trying to remain calm and keep her temper in check. It wasn't unreasonable for Cara to be angry with her for showing up at her house, but she had underestimated just how angry she'd be. It was becoming very clear that this visit was just the latest in a very long list of bad decisions Jane had made lately.

“Look, I'm not saying that I've done everything right, and quite honestly, if that's how high the bar is to stay friends with you then I was never going to clear it anyway. You don't have to be a bitch about it.”

“You still haven't told me why you're here.”

“I'm here because I've been trapped in my apartment. If I go outside I'm literally chased by paparazzi with cameras who think that splattering the image of the moron wife who didn't know any better across the front page will sell papers. I'm here because I'm afraid my lungs are starting to shrivel up due to lack of fresh air, and I'm here because I need to see someone who knew me before I was
his
wife. I need to get out of the city, Cara. I'm afraid I'm going to literally lose my mind if I don't. I'm here because I need to be around people who know me—who really know me.”

“You're here because you need something. Some things never change.”

“Fine. Forget it. I thought maybe you'd be willing to help me.”

“You're unbelievable. All these years go by without a word from you and you show up here and expect me to jump for joy? You have no idea what's going on in my life, and you don't even care. You still think that everything is about you. The sheer fact that you came here expecting me to feel
bad
for you, to feel
pity
for you, is just another sign of how completely out of touch you are with reality.”

“Fine, Cara. I'm sorry I bothered you,” Jane said, surprised
at her own tone of voice. She'd had enough of people insulting her. She'd rather wrestle Mrs. Cooper and the entire co-op board than put up with this shit. She was alone in this. She'd have to figure out a way to go on relying on no one but herself.

Jane spun around and started to walk down the block. It was probably a mile into town, where she'd have to wait at the train station for the next westbound train to shuttle her back into the city. She hadn't reached the curb yet when she heard Cara clear her throat.

“Jane, wait,” Cara called after her.

Jane slowly turned around to stare at Cara, standing in the doorway of her beautiful, probably unmortgaged home wearing jeans and a white shirt, and swallowed a lump in her throat.

“What?” Jane shot back, regretting her decision to show her vulnerability.

Cara fidgeted with the strand of pearls at her neck. “Where will you go?”

Jane hesitated a moment, then shrugged. “I don't know. I'll figure it out.”

“Stay here. For tonight at least. It's getting late and it's cold, and . . . I can still be mad at you without turning you out on the street.”

“Don't do me any favors,” Jane said, knowing full well that this was exactly the favor she'd sought in the first place.

“Please, Jane. Just come inside. You can crash in the spare bedroom.” Cara opened the door and stepped to the side, giving Jane room to enter. Jane trudged up the walk, hoping Cara could somehow hear her say
thank you
and
I'm sorry
to herself without actually having to say them out loud. Her dislike of Reed had ultimately been what had come between them, but she was willing to admit she'd been wrong. Years later, they were still happily married, they
had a beautiful home, and as far as she knew, Reed was on the right side of the law. Jane had misjudged him. When the time was right, she'd tell Cara that. She'd tell her that she was just trying to protect her, but she had gone about it all wrong. She'd tell her that she should've kept her mouth shut and been on time for her engagement party and been supportive and happy for her back then. She'd tell her all of it—if Cara would only give her the chance.

She dropped her bag on the floor next to the console table just inside the foyer. The spindled staircase circled up from the right of the entry, a grandfather clock ticking away quietly in the corner.

“Come with me,” Cara said. “We can put your bag in the spare room.” Jane followed Cara up the stairs, and tried very hard not to be shocked at how strange it all felt. When they were little they used to walk in and out of each other's houses without even ringing the doorbell. Now she felt like she was standing in a museum or something, afraid to touch the grass cloth on the wall, nothing feeling familiar. They walked past the master bedroom, and Jane peeked her head in and saw the large leather headboard and stark white sheets, a huge flat-screen TV, and two pairs of men's lace-up dress shoes sitting in the corner next to a StairMaster. They continued down the hall and passed another bedroom, the bed once again covered in white linens, with a large overstuffed chair sitting in the corner. It wasn't the color palette that made Jane look twice, it was the assortment of objects on the bureau under the window: a bottle of perfume, a hairbrush, a porcelain dish holding bangle bracelets, and next to it all, in a large silver frame, the old black-and-white picture of Cara's mother that she recognized from Cara's childhood home. She also noticed a pair of slippers sitting neatly next to the bed and a book on the nightstand, next to the alarm clock.

When they got to the end of the hallway, Cara opened a door and ushered Jane into a third white bedroom. This room had a four-poster bed with a white duvet, white curtains on the windows, and a small bureau with a lamp resting on it.

Before Jane opened her mouth to ask Cara if someone else was staying in the second bedroom, she caught herself. There were no other guests.

Cara and Reed were sleeping in separate bedrooms.

It hadn't occurred to Jane when she decided to parachute into Cara's life that things might be anything other than perfect. Now she felt like she had stumbled into something Cara didn't want her to be a part of, and she understood, a little bit at least, why Cara was so angry when she showed up unannounced.
I was right!
Jane thought.
I was right, I was right, I was right!
She realized that she shouldn't feel vindicated by discovering that her friend's marriage wasn't perfect, but she couldn't help it. Oh man, it felt good to know that her instincts weren't completely wrong. She may have drastically misjudged her own husband, but she had Reed right all along.

Jane pretended she hadn't noticed anything. “Thank you so much for this,” she said as she gazed out the window at the backyard. There was a large oak tree in the corner of the property, and for a second, Jane inadvertently smiled. A long time ago, in a life now far, far away, Jane used to climb trees like that in her own backyard. She'd swing from the lower branches and scrape her legs on the bark as she shinnied up the trunk, trying to climb higher than the squirrels running along the limbs with abandon. She'd loved the view—the tops of the houses across the street, the giant hill that led down to the brook running behind the train tracks. It had been a very long time since she'd thought about that.

“It's not a problem. Maybe a good night's sleep will help you find a way out of this mess,” Cara said.

“I doubt it, but it will probably help the bags under my eyes. That'll have to be enough for now.”

“Come downstairs, I'll make us some tea.”

Jane was hoping for something slightly stronger than tea, but she had a feeling the only other options would be decaf coffee or orange juice. She felt around in her bag for her bottle of Xanax, relieved that she never left home without it.

Downstairs, Jane sat at the kitchen table and watched as Cara filled the kettle with water. From the cabinet above the microwave, Cara removed a box of Entenmann's crumb cake and cut two fat squares from the slab before carefully closing the box and returning it to the shelf. She placed the cake on white china plates and dropped two herbal tea bags into matching mugs. When the water boiled, she filled the mugs and brought the snack over to the table. It was as if she were doing ballet, a choreographed routine she performed all the time, silently, efficiently, dutifully. When she finally sat down next to Jane and stopped fidgeting with her pearls, Jane decided it was time to at least try to bridge the canyon-sized gap between them.

“I'm so sorry about your mom, Cara. She was a really great lady. And she made some mean chocolate chip cookies. How are you holding up?”

Tears welled in Cara's eyes. “You heard?” she whispered.

“My mom told me. She called me as soon as she heard.”

“And you didn't come to the funeral? I assumed when you didn't show, it was because you hadn't heard. My mother always loved you, Jane. You and Meg both.” Hearing the pain in Cara's voice hurt her, but before she could speak, Cara continued.
“I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm surprised. You were one of my bridesmaids, but you showed up late to my engagement party and then left my wedding early to go hang out in a bar somewhere. I shouldn't expect anything else. At some point, allowing you to continuously disappoint me is my own fault.”