Page 49

BARBARA

G ino sped up and whipped by my house.

“What on earth, Gino? Take me home.”

He shook his head. “There was another car in the driveway. Mr. Cardello was very clear. I’m only to drop you off if it’s safe.”

I twisted in my seat, craning my neck toward the house. “Yeah, but…” I squinted, but Gino had already turned the corner. “I’m pretty sure that was my sister’s car.”

He glanced at me in the rearview mirror from under the brim of his driving cap. “You’re sure?”

“Not one hundred percent. I didn’t get a good enough look, but I think so.”

Gino slowed for a moment, then turned the block sharply. “Okay, I’ll drive by again. If it’s her and it’s clear, I’ll drop you off.”

“You know this is all so unnecessary.”

“Maybe, but orders are orders.”

He coasted toward the curb, the engine idling low as we approached my house.

Plain as day, Edith’s sky-blue Cadillac sat in the driveway, its whitewall tires and chrome accents gleaming under the late afternoon sun.

The car looked like it belonged there—unruffled, poised, as if it had nowhere better to be. I let out a relieved sigh.

“It’s her,” I said. “You can stop.”

Gino pulled to the curb and parked. I reached for the door handle, but his voice stopped me.

“Mrs. Evans, let me walk you inside.”

I turned to him, exasperation clear on my face. “Gino, really. This is my family.”

He removed his cap and ran a hand through his dark hair. “I get that. But until Mr. Cardello says otherwise…”

I slumped back in my seat, defeated. “Fine.”

Gino walked around the car and opened my door, offering a hand I reluctantly took. As we moved up the walkway, his head stayed on a constant swivel, his sharp eyes scanning every window, every car, and every shadow.

At the front porch, he stepped aside but stayed within arm’s length, his presence a silent but solid wall between me and whatever danger he thought lurked nearby. I fished my keys from my handbag and unlocked the door.

“Barbara!” Edith’s voice rang out before I even stepped inside. “Please tell me that’s finally you.”

“Yes, it’s me.” I turned back toward Gino to thank him, but he didn’t move. He lingered at the threshold, stance still firm, as if waiting for an all-clear that hadn’t been given.

“Where have you been?” Edith’s voice cut through the air, sharp and frantic, as she stormed toward me.

Frankie was perched on her hip. She was as striking as ever, but worry lines were carved into her forehead.

“I’ve been calling for hours!” Edith’s eyes flicked to Gino, assessing him in an instant before locking back onto me.

“Who is this?” she asked, suspicion creeping into her voice.

“He’s just leaving,” I said, my tone measured. “Thank you, Gino.”

He hesitated a moment longer before giving a short nod. He turned and walked down the steps slowly, deliberately. I closed the door behind him.

Edith shifted Frankie to her other hip and looked at me expectantly. “Where have you been?” she repeated, her tone calmer now but still urgent.

I took a deep breath. “I was at Victor’s,” I said, bracing for the inevitable lecture. “It was all spur of the moment.”

“Barbara,” Edith started, then stopped. She set Frankie down gently and kissed his forehead. “Go play in your room, sweetheart.”

Frankie toddled off, casting a curious glance back at us. His small footsteps disappeared down the hall.

I crossed my arms, already weary from what I knew was coming. “Why are you so bent out of shape?” My voice came out sharper than I intended. “You knew I was spending the weekend with Victor. You and I arranged it, for Pete’s sake.”

Edith rubbed her temples, closing her eyes for a moment. She inhaled deeply, then exhaled, slow and measured. When she finally opened her eyes, they weren’t angry. They were soft. Sad.

“Barbara, it’s not that. It’s…” She let out a breath through pursed lips. “Something happened.”

A prickle of unease ran up my spine. “What do you mean?”

Edith swallowed hard. “Mother had a heart attack early this morning.”

A pause, thick and suffocating.

“She’s gone.”

The service was nicely done—all the right readings, songs, and prayers. My brother, Bill, delivered the eulogy. He spoke of a caring and compassionate mother who loved and nurtured and gave the best childhood a boy could ask for.

Maybe my siblings got the lion’s share of her maternal compassion, but by the time I came around, she was all dried up.

The church was packed. All of Los Angeles society turned up to attend Agatha Montgomery’s funeral.

Notably absent, however, was Congressman Milton Montgomery—Daddy.

The official excuse was his work on the statehood commission in Hawaii.

The real reason, murmured in hushed voices between pews, was much less dignified.

After the funeral, I stood in the receiving line with Edith and Bill, mechanically expressing our gratitude to each person who filed past. “Thank you for coming,” I said. “We appreciate your condolences.” The words had become a chant, stripped of meaning through endless repetition.

Usually, Edith was the one to stand out from the crowd—to buck the norm, as it were. But this time, it was my turn. Edith and Bill both stood dressed in traditional, conservative funerary black. I wore a crisp white dress with a wide lapel and a red satin sash about the waist.

The procession dragged on, a parade of solemn faces blurred together, each offering the same rehearsed condolences.

These were Mother’s people—social climbers and hangers-on, the lot of them.

Their faces were familiar but not friendly.

I’d seen them all at various galas and fundraisers throughout the years, offering the same false smiles and whispering the same veiled gossip.

“Thank you for coming,” I said to Mrs. Hargrove, our mother’s oldest friend and the most insincere person I’d ever met. “It means so much to us.”

“The world is a poorer place without Agatha,” she declared, her lips pursed in brittle, well-practiced sorrow. Her gloved hand clamped over mine, squeezing too hard, as if grief could be transferred through sheer pressure. “Be strong, Barbara.”

I nodded, polite but unmoved, resisting the urge to roll my eyes as she moved on to smother Edith. Be strong. As if fragility were my problem.

I glanced sideways at Edith, who dabbed at her damp eyes with a neatly folded handkerchief. She had real tears, real sorrow. I envied her that.

Guilt gnawed at me like a persistent rat.

How many daughters had stood where I stood now, gasping for breath beneath the weight of their loss?

A bond so deep that its severing should leave me shattered.

But I wasn’t shattered. I wasn’t even cracked.

I waited for the sorrow to consume me. But all I could muster was a dull, emotional flatline.

Half an hour later, the crowd had thinned enough for me to see the exit. My mind drifted to the glass of wine I’d pour once I got home, to the hot bath that would wash this whole insincere mess away.

The last of the mourners shuffled past, and I allowed myself a brief moment of relief. But then I saw Frank, standing back from the line with his hands in his pockets. My heart skipped—not with joy or dread, but with pure surprise. I hadn’t expected him to come.

He approached slowly, almost cautiously. “Hello, Barbara,” Frank said, his voice cutting through the murmurs of lingering guests. He stood a few paces away, as if unsure of his welcome.

I straightened, my surprise morphing into a guarded curiosity. “Frank.” My voice was polite but edged. “What are you doing here?”

He shifted on his feet, uncharacteristically uncertain. There was no arrogance, no sharp retorts or accusations. Just quiet, unassuming sincerity.

“I always liked your mother,” he said simply. “I wanted to pay my respects.”

The words landed softly. I hesitated, thrown off balance by the unexpected sentiment. “That’s…kind of you.” The response felt inadequate, but it was all I could offer. “Thank you.”

We stood in uneasy silence for a moment. Edith and Bill had slipped away. Frank’s curly blond hair had grown out a bit, less tightly wound than usual, and there was a softness in his eyes that disarmed me.

“How is our son?” Frank asked, breaking the silence. His eyes met mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw something deeper in them—concern, perhaps.

“He’s fine,” I said. “He’s down in the church nursery. I thought a funeral would be a bit much for him.”

“I agree,” Frank said. He glanced around, searching for something to anchor his attention, then exhaled slowly and tucked his hands back into his pockets. “Funerals are hard enough on adults.”

I nodded, not knowing what to say. The silence between us stretched, taut and fragile. In the past, Frank’s presence had been predictable—sometimes comforting, sometimes suffocating—but now it felt like uncharted territory.

“Barbara,” he started, then hesitated. “I’m sorry about your mother. I know you had a complicated relationship, but…she was still your mother.”

The softness in his eyes made my chest tighten. This new, gentler Frank was unsettling, and I had no idea what to make of it.

“Is there something you want, Frank?” I asked, more sharply than I intended. The tension of the day had frayed my patience, and his newfound tenderness left me unbalanced.

He studied me, and I braced myself for whatever bombshell he might drop. “I’ve been thinking,” he said slowly. “About us. About the future.” He paused, letting the words hang in the air like dense fog. “I’m okay with moving forward now.”

“Moving forward?”

“With the divorce,” he clarified. “If that’s still what you want.”

I stared at him, searching for the true motive behind this sudden shift. Weeks ago, he was desperate to keep me. Now, he was handing me an exit. “Why the change of heart?”

Frank shrugged—not casual, not careless, but uneasy. Like a man trying to shake off something clinging to his skin. “I want you to be happy, Barbara. That’s all. I’m not going to fight it anymore. I understand better now.”

“Understand what?” I asked, folding my arms.

“Why you’re unhappy,” he said. “Why you need…something different.”

My suspicion sharpened. This wasn’t like Frank at all. “Frank,” I said slowly, “what’s really going on?”

Instead of answering, he gave me a small, almost wistful smile. “Come with me,” he said, gesturing toward the church doors.

I hesitated, then followed as he walked ahead. He pushed one of the large wooden doors open, and sunlight poured into the dimly lit vestibule, flooding the marble floor with gold. A rush of warm California air greeted me.

Frank held the door open and nodded toward the curb.

A sleek red convertible idled in front of the church.

A young woman sat in the driver’s seat, her dark waves pinned back in a loose, effortless style.

She wore large sunglasses and a lipstick-red scarf around her neck.

Even from this distance, I could tell she was strikingly gorgeous.

I knew before I even asked.

“Who’s that?”

“Her name is Giselle,” Frank said carefully. “She’s…helping me with some things.”

I turned to Frank, who looked like a boy caught stealing apples. So this was it. All his pleading, all his resistance, all the promises that we could fix things…and he had someone waiting in the wings.

“She’s beautiful,” I said, and I meant it. Pain didn’t cut through me—only clarity. “So this is why you’re suddenly ready to move forward?”

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders as if summoning courage. “Barbara,” he said slowly, measuring each word. “I’ve fallen in love with her. With Giselle. We want to be together.”

There it was.

I studied his face. He expected anger, maybe even heartbreak. I felt neither.

“I see,” I said simply, my mind catching up with this new reality. “That was…fast.”

“We didn’t plan for this,” he added quickly, as if that might absolve him. “It just…happened. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” I said, and I meant that too. If anything, his honesty was a relief. “I’m glad you told me.”

Frank glanced back at the convertible, where Giselle now toyed with a cigarette holder, the thin column of smoke curling from the end like a lazy ribbon in the late morning sun. “We were thinking…” he started, then trailed off. I could almost hear the gears in his head grinding to a halt.

“You were thinking what?” I prompted, though I already had an idea of where this was going.

He raked a hand through his curly hair, mussing it further. “We thought it might be easier—for everyone—if we got the divorce done quickly. In Mexico.”

“Mexico?” I repeated, thrown for a loop.

“It’s faster down there,” he explained. “Cleaner. And it’s just as legal as here. We wouldn’t have to wait six months. We could both move on with our lives.”

I stared at him. Frank—the man who did everything by the book—was suggesting this? This wasn’t the Frank I knew. This was someone eager to cut the rope and let go.

“You’re serious.”

“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” He looked at me with those softened eyes again, hopeful, as if I’d see this as the favor he thought it was. “Barbara, I just want what’s best for you—and for me.”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak. Too much had happened in too short a time. Victor’s ominous warning, Mother’s death, the ghastly funeral, and now Frank—once my greatest obstacle—was practically ushering me out the door.

I looked over at Giselle in the convertible. She’d removed her sunglasses and was applying ruby-red lipstick in the rearview mirror. The confidence she exuded was like a heatwave coming off asphalt.

“I see you’re in good hands,” I said, letting my gaze linger on Giselle’s delicate, practiced movements. “Frank, I mean it. I’m glad you’ve found someone. I wish you both well.”

Frank blinked, startled, as if he’d braced for anger or reproach and didn’t know what to do with my quiet acceptance. “Thank you,” he said, and his relief was almost painful to watch. “Barbara, we’ll make this as seamless as possible. My lawyer will be in touch soon.”

“Of course,” I said, my voice even and calm. Inside, a rush of conflicting emotions swirled—anger, relief, sadness, and an odd sense of freedom.

Giselle tapped the horn lightly, and Frank flinched. He turned toward the car, then back to me with an apologetic shrug. “I should go. But…take care of yourself. And our son.”

“I will,” I said.

With that, Frank walked toward the waiting car, his pace quickening as he neared Giselle. She leaned in, whispering something in his ear, her lips curving into an undeniably smug smile. Frank grinned—boyish, carefree, unburdened.

He glanced back at me one last time, but I turned away and walked back into the church.