Page 110 of Old Money

Her face is full of something. Anguish? Fear? It twitches at her eyelids and the corners of her mouth.

“What doesn’t?”

“Never mind, just—” She turns away sharply, eyes shut tight. “Just try to remember that. Yes?”

I search her face another moment, then nod.

“Good,” she says. “And watch where you step.”

Aunt Barbara lets the door close with a thud. Before I turn back to the driveway, I heard her lock the dead bolt.

Chapter Forty-Seven

“Just checking in,” says Jamie. “Home yet?”

I’m sitting in standstill traffic on the bridge—the same place I’ve been for an hour.

“No.” I prop my elbow onto my open window, faintly woozy from gasoline fumes. “There’s an accident or something. I’m stuck.”

Half the cars have cut their engines. Arms swing idly out of windows, snippets of chat and podcasts drifting through the heat. The sun hangs low in the sky behind me, rose-gold rays bouncing off the rearview mirror, filling my vision with sunspots.

“Sounds about right,” says Jamie. “You should see the scene here. It’s like the whole village came home from vacation at once—and brought half the eastern seaboard with them.”

Behind him I hear the familiar clutter of voices, and the kitchen door swooshing open and shut as servers bustle past.

“It’s barely cocktail hour, and we’re overrun,” he continues. “Brody kicked all the kids out to eat on the lawn—which was genius, actually. We’ve got so many out-of-town guests, we had to bust out the reception chairs early.”

I turn, gawking at the cars around me. Oh God, is that what I’m stuck in? Their wedding traffic?

“Guess that’s it for the lull,” I grumble, dropping back againstthe sticky seat. “And they’re all just hanging out, drinking martinis? Is anyone even talking about Alex?”

Jamie makes a nervous, chuckling sound.

“Not now!” he says—an answer, and an order.

“Of course not,” I mutter.

“So, the way it’s looking, I’ll be here all night,” he says. “I’ll have to skip the Martha.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s— Don’t worry about it.”

Guilty relief settles over me. The last twenty-four hours have been exhausting enough. The last thing I want to do is talk through it all, even with Jamie.

“I know we really need to talk. It’s just—”

“Jamie, it’s fine. It’s work.”

There’s a clang and a holler in the kitchen behind him, underscoring my point.

“Shit, that’s the dishwasher again.” Jamie sighs. “I gotta go, but—how did it go?”

I open my mouth to answer, and my breath catches. My eyes spill over with sudden, stinging tears.

“Not great,” I warble. “She gave me a bunch of bullshit and threw me out.”

“Whoa. You think she lied? About the call or—”

“Yes.” I nod, swiping my red, running nose. “She lied, I’m almost sure of it. And I don’t know why.”