Lost Along the Way (7 page)

Jane felt her anger grow at the mention of her leaving the wedding early
.
It wasn't that she hadn't wanted to celebrate Cara's marriage; it was that she couldn't celebrate Cara's marriage to
him.
By the time Cara and Reed got engaged, Jane had no doubt whatsoever that Reed wasn't the nice guy he pretended to be. The more carefully she'd watched him, the more sure she'd been that he was really a huge asshole. She'd tried to keep her feelings to herself, but it had become harder and harder to keep her mouth shut, and by the time the engagement party rolled around she'd felt like she was going to explode. Jane saw the way he treated Cara. He ordered for her at restaurants, answered questions directed to her in conversations, started to buy her expensive clothes so he could control what she wore. Reed didn't want a wife. He wanted a German shepherd that would obey his commands, and it was so obvious to Jane that she couldn't understand how Cara didn't see it, too. After their fight at the engagement party it had seemed totally ridiculous for her to stay and watch them dance and celebrate at the wedding with a huge fake smile plastered on her face. So she'd left. She told herself it wouldn't have mattered anyway, but her early exit had probably severed the last real thread holding their friendship together. It was something she regretted. Maybe she should have just sucked it up, tucked her venom for Reed away in her clutch, and pretended to be thrilled for her friend. But she couldn't. Jane had never been good at keeping her true feelings hidden. She was
well aware that she had made more than her fair share of mistakes, but she wasn't going to let Cara criticize her for things she hadn't done. “I did show,” she said softly.

“What?” Cara asked. “What do you mean you did show? To the funeral? No you didn't.”

“Yes I did. I stood in the back and left before the recessional because I didn't know if you'd want me there, and I was worried that my showing up might somehow upset you even more than you already were. Maybe I should have stayed. I swear, I thought I was doing the right thing. If I'd known that you'd wanted me there, I would've stayed to talk to you. You gave a beautiful eulogy.”

“Thanks,” Cara said, tears welling in her eyes again. “She couldn't believe that our friendship had devolved into this.”

“Me neither. I can't believe what life has done to us.”

“Before she died, she begged me to reconcile with you.”

“You're kidding,” Jane said. She stared out the window, wondering if Cara's mother had orchestrated this entire thing, and if she'd somehow sent Jane to this house to fill the void she'd left in Cara's life. “It's like she knew this was going to happen. She always had answers for everything.”

“Maybe.”

“It's just so weird because I've been thinking so much about you lately. Last year I found a ski jacket I thought you'd really like. I almost sent it to you for your birthday, but I wimped out. I didn't think you'd want to hear from me.”

Jane's confession was met with a silent shrug and a raised eyebrow. She was saddened to realize she couldn't interpret Cara's nonverbal cues anymore.

“You believe me, don't you?” Jane asked. It was a silly question to ask, but she suddenly felt she needed to be sure.

“I don't know what to believe anymore. I don't know you, Jane. I knew the girl buried inside you. I haven't seen her in a long time.”

“Neither have I,” Jane admitted with a sigh.

“Do you miss her?” Cara asked the question Jane had been asking herself a lot lately.

“I'm starting to.”

“I'm sorry, but I have to ask. What's with the boobs?” Cara asked, cracking a slight smile. “They're so . . . huge!”

“Birthday present,” Jane answered, looking down at the D-cup silicone sacs attached to her rib cage. She hated them, not just because they were too big for her body, not just because they made sleeping on her stomach impossible, but also because they reminded her of Doug and everything that was wrong with her life.

“Your husband bought you boobs for your birthday?”

“Yup.”

“They look . . . uncomfortable,” Cara said. “You don't have the frame to carry them.”

“Last winter I walked out of the gym with my shirt wide open and I had no idea. I couldn't even feel the cold air hitting them.
That
was uncomfortable, let me tell you.”

Cara laughed. “I so wish I could've seen that.”

“It was mortifying.”

“You look tired. No amount of Botox can cover that up.”

“So I've learned.” She sighed.

Jane looked around the room. It was perfectly neat, which wasn't surprising. Cara had always been a stickler for cleanliness and order. What surprised her was that everything was colorless. Cara used to love color: bold patterns, bright nail polish. This home was beautiful, but it was sterile. Two white couches were
covered with white and beige pillows, and camel-colored cashmere blankets were neatly folded over their backs, begging someone to curl up under them with a book or a cup of tea or a glass of wine. The carpet covering the hardwood floor was cream with a tan diamond pattern and looked like no one had ever stepped foot on it. Polished end tables supported the weight of heavy crystal lamps and antique lacquered boxes. Other than their wedding photo, there wasn't a single picture of Cara or Reed in this room. In fact, so far, she hadn't seen a single picture of either of them in the entire house. Jane had a feeling that Cara was probably able to convince people that Reed didn't like pictures, or that age had made them camera shy. They wouldn't be the first people approaching middle age who decided to steer clear of high-definition lenses, but Jane knew Cara too well to ever believe that.

“I hate to do this to you, but I have to go out to dinner tonight. Reed is picking me up here at eight,” Cara said, shifting in her chair.

“Don't apologize. It's not like you knew I was coming. You don't sound too happy about it, though,” Jane said. She'd hoped they would stay up and talk. She'd hoped Cara would explain the bedrooms and the lack of photos. She'd hoped Cara would tell her that she had been right all along.

“I haven't felt much like socializing lately, to be honest. I have to get in the shower and start getting ready. You should go to bed early, and we can pick this up in the morning. Make yourself at home while I'm gone.”

“That actually sounds pretty amazing. I remember when I didn't even go out until eleven. All I want to do is sleep, to be honest,” Jane said, not realizing how absolutely pathetic that was until she heard herself say it out loud. It was almost like a confession. “I have pills to help take the edge off.”

“Sleeping pills are addictive. You shouldn't rely on them too much.”

“I know, but I don't really care right now. I have bigger problems to deal with and I feel safe in bed. I know once I get out of it, I have to contend with the press, and the rumors, and the accusations, and the overwhelming self-hatred for being inadvertently involved in something that hurt so many people.”

“This must be hard for you,” Cara said. Jane looked up to see if she was being sarcastic, but she wasn't. Cara now seemed understanding, even sympathetic. It had been a long time since anyone had been either of those things toward her.

“The hardest part is being alone. I don't mean without a husband. That, I could handle. I mean just alone. The only person who will even speak to me without wanting to spit in my face is Hector, the maintenance man in the building. Once they evict me, I won't even have him.”

“I'm speaking with you now.”

“Yeah, but you looked like you wanted to spit at me when I first showed up, too.”

“I'm over it.”

“Thank God,” Jane said. She reached out and grabbed Cara's hand. It felt cold. “Thank you for letting me stay here tonight.”

“You're welcome.”

“What time will you guys be home?” Jane asked.

“Not late if I can help it, but it's hard to say,” Cara said. “We won't leave until Reed has had enough scotch and small talk and not a moment before.”

“Well, I hope Reed doesn't mind my staying over,” she said.

Jane tried to ignore the uneasy look that crossed Cara's face.

C
ara hated socializing with the people who traveled in Reed's circle. Especially the women. They all had names like Bitsy, Buttons, Tiffy, or some other ridiculous moniker that made it impossible to take them seriously, which wasn't actually much of a problem as they rarely had anything serious to say. Tonight, she and Reed were having dinner with Cody Miller, Reed's squash buddy, drinking comrade, and oldest friend from his boarding school days at Exeter, and Cody's wife, Tabitha. The thought of it was almost as horrid as the idea of having to somehow explain to Reed that Jane was sleeping in their guest room. She felt like the ceiling and the floor were compressing like a vise and trying to flatten her, but there was no way around it.
This is the life I built,
she reminded herself.
It is what it is.

They rode most of the way in silence. By the time they valeted the car, Cara was no closer to telling Reed, but maybe that was for the best. Maybe the news would go over better after he'd had a few drinks and relaxed.

“I don't want this to be a late night,” Cara said as they entered the restaurant, even though she knew it was pointless. She couldn't think of any seamless way to tell Reed that Jane was at their house, and the anxiety was making her jittery.

“Stop fidgeting,” Reed snapped. He was already annoyed with her, and they hadn't even sat down. Reed pushed his way through the crowd and ordered them both drinks at the bar. When he
handed her a glass of white wine, she had to hold it with both hands to keep the glass from shaking.

“What is the matter with you?” Reed asked. “Why can't you hold still?”

“I'm sorry. I'm just not really up for this,” Cara answered.

“You're never up for doing anything!” Reed said. She didn't feel like explaining to him for the millionth time that she wasn't ready to be social yet, that she was still very much mourning her mother and wanted to stay home, alone. “Here they come,” he said as he caught sight of Cody and Tabitha entering the restaurant. “Smile, and pretend you're happy to be here, would you please?”

Cody waved as he pushed his way toward the bar, Tabitha scurrying after him, glancing around the room to see who else was in attendance. Cody's hair was still wet from a shower, and he wore khakis, a cashmere sweater, and his usual Stubbs and Wootton shoes. The initials
CM
were monogrammed in yellow thread on the black slippers, so that no one would ever again mistake Cody's Stubbs and Woottons for their own and accidentally take off with them. That had happened once, at the annual Fourth of July beach barbecue down on the Sound, and for months afterward he'd inspected the footwear of every man at the club in an attempt to identify the thief and have his membership revoked. The slippers were never recovered, but Cody swore he would never be the victim again, and it would be a brave man who'd steal shoes that were emblazoned with someone else's monogram.

“Hey there, guys,” he said, tugging at the cuff of his shirtsleeve until it matched the length of his sweater. “I'm sorry we're late. Tabitha couldn't find anything to wear, despite the fact that she
has a walk-in closet larger than a New York City apartment. Explain that to me!”

“No problem at all!” Reed said, showing more affection for his buddy than he had for his wife in years.

“It's nice to see you,” Cara lied as she leaned in so he could kiss her cheek.

“Another good day at the office?” Cody asked after the hostess had escorted them to their usual table in the back corner of the room. “Stock market was up again. If this keeps up it will be a banner year.”

“I know. I reallocated some money into a few riskier assets. I'm liking the returns I'm seeing, but I think there are some better opportunities out there. It never pays to be conservative,” Reed replied, loving any conversation that had to do with money and his acumen for making it.

“Tabitha seems to think we need to start worrying about our retirement. Do you believe that? I'm thirty-eight years old. Maybe she's planning on me retiring at fifty but I sure as hell am not. I have a long career in front of me—unless, of course, she kills me in my sleep. Maybe that's her master plan.” Cody laughed. “She'll probably dress me in a suit and push me down the stairs so she can collect double indemnity on my life insurance or something.”

“I love when you talk about me like I'm not here even though I'm sitting right next to you,” Tabitha joked, though Cara didn't think that it actually bothered her at all. “It was just a suggestion. I don't know anything about
business
. I saw something about it on a talk show and thought I should mention it—that's all! Cara, do you think I'm being ridiculous?”

Reed smiled and sipped his scotch. Cara knew that Reed
thought Cody was a fool for letting his wife weigh in on business decisions. Reed had once told her that he suspected Cody's willingness to include Tabitha on financial matters when she knew nothing about numbers was exactly why his trust fund wasn't what it should've been. Reed would be damned if he was going to make the same mistake. No one would ever be in charge of his finances except him.

“Cara doesn't care much about the finances,” Reed answered for her. “She lets me handle the money and she handles the household. That's how it is in our marriage.”

“Ours too. But that doesn't mean I can't have an opinion!” Tabitha added. “I called you yesterday, Cara. I haven't seen much of you lately.”

“I'm sorry! I've been so busy. I'm dealing with my mother's estate, and I haven't had much spare time.” The truth was, Cara wouldn't have called Tabitha back no matter what was going on in her personal life, because all Tabitha ever wanted to do was gossip about the women around town. She considered knowing exactly what was going on with people to be some kind of neighborly responsibility.

“It's no problem at all! Listen, you know how I don't like to spread gossip, but I drove by your house on my way home from the gym today and I could've sworn that I saw you outside on the front lawn talking to . . .” Tabitha glanced furtively around the room to make sure no one was listening, and then motioned for her and Reed to lean in closer. Cody could barely lean over at all because he had a potbelly so large it made bending at the waist nearly impossible. “Jane Logan,” she whispered.

Cara's smile froze on her face. It had never occurred to her that in the few minutes she and Jane were outside, someone might
have seen them. Reed tried very hard to seem unfazed, but she could tell that his insides were roiling at the mention of Jane's name. “That's ridiculous,” Reed said, forcing a tight smile and shooting Cara a look that meant she was supposed to play along. “Cara doesn't know Jane Logan. That woman is holed up in Manhattan somewhere until the feds can figure out how to exile her from the island. I assure you that whoever you saw Cara speaking to, it wasn't Jane Logan.”

“It was just someone asking for directions. I didn't get her name, but I don't think it was the woman from the papers, no. Sorry to disappoint you, but my life's not that interesting!” Cara joked, praying that her act was convincing. Reed was obsessed with what the men at his stupid club thought of him. If Cody caught on that he had the wife of a felon hanging out at his house, Cara would never hear the end of it.

“I didn't think so!” Cody added. “I told Tabitha she was being crazy. Her brain is so saturated with images of that woman from reading every tabloid in the supermarket that she now thinks she's seeing her in real life.”

“I guess you're right,” Tabitha said. “She really did look like her, though. It was uncanny!”

“Tabitha, I promise you that my wife is not cavorting around town with criminals,” Reed said firmly.

“Anyway, what else is new with you guys?” Cara asked, well aware that Reed was all but glaring at her from across the table.

“Not too much,” Tabitha said. “What time do you want us to pick you up next Friday? I think a party is just what you need to lift your spirits, Cara.”

“Friday?” Cara had no idea what Tabitha was talking about, but that wasn't surprising. Reed kept the social calendar. He told
her where she needed to be and at what time and she'd show up. “I'm sorry, what's next Friday?”

“Neal Booker's fiftieth birthday party! You're coming, aren't you?”

Cara stayed quiet as she watched Reed purse his lips in a tight smile. Neal Booker was the club president, and one of the most influential board members of the golf club Reed was hoping to join down in Palm Beach. His birthday party was likely to be the event of the season, if not the year. Missing it would be akin to social suicide. The only thing worse would be for Reed to show up alone.

Cara thought back to a cocktail party she'd attended a few years ago, where she'd had the misfortune of having to listen to Neal Booker share his views on the current attitude of young men at Yale, where his son was a sophomore.

“We drove up to New Haven last weekend to take Tuck and his friends out to dinner,” he'd said as he'd sipped his Tom Collins. “Not a single one of them is dating anyone seriously, and none of them seem to care. None of these kids are concerned with their futures or understand that the good women are going to be snatched up quickly. They only care about the next piece of ass that walks in front of them. I don't get it.” Cara distinctly remembered wondering how she was going to make it through the entire party listening to guys like this spew such nonsense all night long.

“I don't have kids, so I can't really say,” Reed answered. “But they're still young. They have plenty of time.”

“That's the problem. They
don't
have plenty of time. Because other, smarter young men will realize that they need to get the quality women before they're taken. He's at Yale, for God's sake.
The girls there are smart, well-bred, and beautiful. Why would you waste the opportunity to nail one down? Do they think they'll have better luck with some twenty-six-year-old who's probably contracted a venereal disease at community college who they'll meet in a bar somewhere?” Neal's features were rigid, the grooves in his forehead deep enough to swipe credit cards. Cara found him to be a serious man who worried an awful lot about things that didn't matter. Still, to Cara's horror, Reed wanted to befriend him. Neal's connections were wide and vast, and Cara knew that Reed hoped to benefit from them.

“I don't disagree with you. I met my beautiful wife in college in Maine. I knew enough to snatch her up before anyone else got to her. Best decision I ever made,” Reed said as he wrapped his arm around her waist. It drove Cara crazy that he always referred to her in the possessive, and never introduced her to anyone by her name. It was a subtle way of asserting his ownership of her. Reed knew she hated it, and continued to do it anyway.

Cara never forgot that conversation. It was the perfect example of why Reed was so obsessed with making sure that Cara kept up appearances. He wanted to be viewed as a certain type of man, and that man had to be married to a certain type of woman, and showing up without her at the birthday party was the fastest way to remove himself from Neal's good graces. Not an option. He was planning on applying to the Palm Beach golf club next year, and he would need Neal's recommendation to ensure his acceptance.

“I'm sorry, of course we'll be there,” Cara said. She heard the word
we
come out of her mouth and once again felt as if she were drowning. There hadn't been a true
we
for a very long time.

She stopped listening as Cody began to drone on about the gift
he and Tabitha had gotten for Neal. He mentioned something about a new putter or maybe private golf lessons, about some exotic bottle of scotch he'd had imported from some distillery overseas, about the new blazer he'd purchased from Barneys in the city just for this specific occasion, and about how he was debating getting a new pair of Woottons because the thread on the initial
C
had begun to fray. Cara nodded politely as Cody, Reed, and Tabitha continued their pointless banter, hearing the rest of their conversation as clearly as Charlie Brown would hear his teacher.

“We'll pick you guys up at seven. Be ready! We don't want to miss the cocktail reception. I hate when people arrive late for parties. Punctuality is a gentleman's calling card. Don't you think?” Cody asked.

“Cody, sometimes it's perfectly acceptable to be fashionably late. After all, it takes time for us ladies to get ready for a big event. Isn't that right, Cara?” Tabitha teased.

Her last statement cleared Cara's ears quickly. “Of course! It takes some of us longer than others,” she joked.

“Oh, please. You always look fabulous! It will be fun. I think a night out will be good for you; don't you think so, Reed?”

Cara didn't know anyone whose mourning period had been shortened by a birthday party. Instead of finding Tabitha's suggestion friendly, she found it insensitive and irritating. Tabitha should be giving her an out, saying that it was perfectly acceptable if she wasn't up to attending the party, not encouraging her to put on a happy face for the fiftieth birthday of a man she hardly knew. Tabitha was one of those women who thought that every problem in life could be solved with a pretty dress or a new shade of lipstick.

“I do. I think a night out among friends is exactly what she needs,” Reed answered.

“Great!” Cody said. “We have a car service grabbing the four of us. No sense pretending we all aren't going to get more than a little inebriated at the party.”

“Good thinking,” Tabitha added, already on her way to being more than a little drunk tonight as well.

“Last time I drove home after having a few, I dinged the mailbox pulling into the driveway. Tabitha let me have it for a week. Lesson learned on that one.”