Page 21 of Old Money
“ H ey, stranger, what are you doing home?” Theo leans out of the kitchen, a sandwich in his hand. “Guys, look who’s here.”
Isaac and Simon come out of the dining nook, Simon with a Joker-smile of jelly on his face.
“Hi!” I say, loud and cheery, feigning pleasant surprise. “What are you doing home? All of you?”
“Um,” Isaac says portentously, stifling a grin. “No swim camp today. We got sent home.”
“Davey Holland diarrheaed in the pool!” Simon bursts out. “It was so—”
“That’s okay, bud!” Theo interjects.
Theo and Jules take turns on days like this: snow days, sick days, diarrhea-pool days.
It’s a fair-share parenting policy they adopted from Ruth Bader Ginsburg and her husband.
Theo makes a point of saying so in every interview—adding that no one gave Ruth extra credit for picking up her kids occasionally.
“We’re doing PB&J,” says Isaac. “Want one?”
“Absolutely,” I say, dropping onto the couch.
“I’ll make it!” Simon yells. The boys run into the kitchen, jars banging on the counter.
“What’s up?” Theo asks, taking a bite of his sandwich. “Everything okay?”
I peek into the kitchen.
“Patrick,” I mouth to Theo. His face freezes, midchew.
“They were at the club—he and Susannah. The Yateses too.”
“Wow,” he says, sitting.
That’s nothing , I think, recalling the rest of my morning: the family, the text, Liv Yates on a horse. That’s not even the headline.
Isaac brings me a lopsided sandwich and a handful of potato chips piled on a plate. He sets it on the coffee table, along with a glass of ice water.
“ God that looks good,” I say, meaning it.
Isaac and Theo snicker at each other as I pick up the water and gulp it gratefully down.
“Can I get the mail, Dad?” Isaac asks, and Theo nods.
“I call the paper!” Simon shouts, bolting for the door, determined not to be left out of anything, chores included.
“Did you talk to them?” Theo asks.
“Only Susannah. It was pretty fucking awful.”
“Damn, I bet it was.”
Simon and Isaac come bounding back inside, swinging the door open too hard. It slams against the wall. We both wince and Theo swears under his breath.
“Come on, guys, we talked about this.”
He sighs and goes to assess the damage.
I put my plate on the coffee table and sink back into the couch, relieved for a moment of semisolitude.
If I still have a job tomorrow, I’ll go to it.
If not, I’ll make my appointment at the police station.
I still can’t believe they approved my request. Sure, they ratted me out to Jamie at the same time, but still.
There’s got to be another catch. It doesn’t seem—
“Wait,” I say, sitting upright. “Theo, wait.”
I get to my feet. But I’m too late.
Theo stands beside the open front door, holding the newspaper. He walks slowly back to the couch, his eyes still on it. He drops it on the coffee table.
Public Notice: Briar’s Green Police Department has processed a request filed by A. Wiley under the NYS Freedom of Information Law (Article 6, Sec. 84–90).
“Theo,” I begin, but he stops me with a hand.
“God, you know what?” He looks at the paper, surprised, almost smiling. “I was thinking, What’s she doing at the club? What’s the plan there? Because obviously, there was a plan.”
Now he looks at me.
“Okay, Alice? I wanna be clear about the obvious part. Even the boys know you’re not here for some temp job.”
I stay quiet, keeping my cool. Although I don’t have much left today.
“But it never occurred to me you’d go back to the cops,” Theo says, hardening. “Those cops.”
“I didn’t want to worry you,” I say, and Theo gives a gasping laugh.
“Well, good news, I’m a hell of a lot more than worried now,” he says, taking a seat. “I think I’m getting close to scared, to be honest, so how about you just tell me. Please. Please tell me what you’re doing here.”
“I’m just—” I reach for the words. “I’m looking for information. About Caitlin, and what happened.”
“Right, I got that much.” He snorts, eyeing the paper. “And what are you planning to do with it?”
I look at him.
“Tell?” I turn my hands up in a tired shrug. “Get Patrick charged? Get the case reinvestigated properly, somehow?”
“Uh-huh.” Theo nods, his knee bouncing. “So, to get a case reopened, you need novel or compelling evidence. Legally compelling, I mean. It’s extraordinarily rare. And when it does happen, it’s all over the press.”
“I don’t mind, Theo.” I shake my head. “I’m telling the press anyway. I’m going public as the witness.”
Theo’s knee stops. He tilts his head, searching me. I hear my own words repeating in my head, my voice so light. I don’t mind . I’m going public . As though I’m the only one involved—the only one affected.
“So, you thought this through before you came here,” Theo says, putting the pieces together. “You know they’re going to have eyes on you, right? Now that this is public?”
I nod.
“Which means they’ll have eyes on this house,” he concludes.
I nod again, my chest caving in beneath a wrecking ball of guilt.
“Well, that’s rotten, Alice,” Theo says simply. “This whole thing is ridiculous and rotten as hell.”
I hear the boys spatting in the bedroom, Isaac telling Simon to quit it. Their voices are so, so small.
“I’ll go,” I say, looking into my lap. “I’ll go to the Inn—today.”
“No. I’m not kicking you out,” he says, a tired look on his face.
“Not because you’re my sister—that’s why I insisted before.
We insisted. Now I’m insisting because if you walk out of here, I’ll be up all night waiting for the phone to ring.
And I’ve already spent half the nights of my life awake, worrying about you.
You here is bad. But you out there is worse. ”
He stands, ending the conversation.
“Okay,” I mumble. “I guess. If you think that’s best.”
“What’s best, Alice, is you back in the city,” Theo says, then catches himself.
I watch him consider taking it back, and then decide not to.
“Get away from the club and all those awful, legitimately dangerous people. If you really give a shit about me—my kids, my family, the only family you’ve got left—that’s the best thing you could do. Second best is staying here.”