Page 36 of Old Money

I arrive at Theo’s fundraiser on time and overdressed, in a crisp, black dress and full makeup. My hair is pinned up in a tight bun, so heavily hair-sprayed that it looks like glazed pottery and smells like a gas station.

“Aunt Aliiiiiiice!” Simon screams, spotting me before I’m even through the revolving door.

He comes barreling across the bustling restaurant, Isaac close behind. I may be on time, but Giordano’s is already packed.

“Guys!” Jules calls, emerging from the crowd. “Hey, guys, easy!”

She looks between the two of them, then pivots to me with a warm smile.

“Sorry, they’ve had three hundred sodas apiece.” She puts a plastic cup of wine in my hand and gives me a careful, one-armed hug. “You made it.”

Jules steps back, taking in my outfit.

“And you look amazing .”

“I look like Posh Spice!” I laugh, glancing at the crowd behind her—all shorts and ponytails. “I thought ‘casual’ meant, like, business casual.”

Jules beams around the room. Even she’s less dressy than I am, in fitted jeans and black ankle boots.

“I know, it’s like a keg party,” she says, grinning. “Wait ’til you hear the band.”

“There’s a band ?” I look around again. It’s not just packed; it’s standing-room only. “Where’s Theo anyway? Signing autographs?”

“He’s in the garbage!” Simon says, and he and Isaac both giggle madly.

“He’s talking to some local news folks out back,” Jules says, pulling Simon toward her for a squeeze. “No room in here, so they’re doing press by the dumpsters. Very glam indeed.”

She nods toward the rear of the restaurant.

“Get some food, okay? Pizza’s in the back, and— Hey, Simon. Simon , give her a minute.”

But the boys have had it with the grown-up talk.

Simon paws at my arm like a puppy, and the both of them start yammering about pizza and the pinball machine, and how I promised I’d show them how to get the bonus ball.

Still talking, they pull me into the restaurant by the wrists.

Jules protests, and I call over my shoulder to her.

“You eat, I’ve got this. I brought quarters!”

Her frown turns into an affectionate smile.

“Super Aunt!” She lifts her cup. “In heels and all!”

The truth is I just want to get away from her. Another minute and she’d notice the hollows under my eyes, or catch a look on my face. Everything okay? she’d ask. And what the hell would I say?

***

I texted Jamie before leaving the airport this morning.

I needed another day off—last-minute, I knew, but he’d understand when I told him.

I sped back to the Alcott and emailed Jeremy, asking if he could get current contact info for my aunt and uncle.

I figured I could budget for one more hour of his time (though every day at the Alcott is another great leap toward my credit card limit).

I knew Barbara and Gregory weren’t on social media, and they made a great effort to unlist their information after Caitlin’s death, hoping to make it harder for the media to reach them.

I knew Theo tried Barbara when Mom was ill, and presumably still had her number—but asking him would only lead to a bigger conversation.

After my big conversation with Alex this morning, I needed a beat before having another one. Especially this one.

I never really got over what Barbara and Gregory did, choosing to side with the village.

The family schism was its own tragedy. For two years after, I would duck down in my seat when we drove past the turn-off to their road, or stopped at the traffic light beside the Little Village Bookshop, where Aunt Barbara used to take me on paperback sprees.

It was a dismal relief when they finally left the village.

They moved across the river—Nyack or somewhere, and got divorced soon after.

I heard Uncle Greg had moved to their ranch in Santa Fe, and eventually remarried.

I had no idea where Barbara was, and I made an effort not to wonder.

I knew it was selfish, but it seemed unthinkably cruel that I’d already lost my father, seen my cousin killed, and now two more members of my dwindling family had walked away willingly.

Theo forgave them faster than I did. The second Isaac was born, he developed an instant, overwhelming compassion for all parents.

He refrained from expounding too much in my presence, but I knew Caitlin’s death had taken on a whole new shape for him: “The idea of my child dying in pain and fear? It’s unbearable.

It actually hurts to think about it.” I got it too, eventually, and my anger burned off.

Barbara and Gregory had lost Caitlin forever.

Given the option, what parent wouldn’t “choose to believe” the less violent version of their child’s untimely death?

Jeremy got me the info in just a few hours.

( These people aren’t hiding. They’re just not on Facebook.

) Uncle Greg’s address is still in Santa Fe, though he and his wife also maintain residences in Provence and Naxos.

Aunt Barbara, however, is still unmarried and still lives right across the river.

Gobsmacked, I pulled up her address on Google Maps.

I could be there in twenty-five minutes—twenty, if traffic was good.

Jeremy had sent both a cell and landline number for her, and I called the cell immediately, riding a molten wave of outrage.

“It’s Alice.” I said to her voicemail, breathing hard. “Your niece? Call me.”

Then I hung up as hard as I could.

***

Hours later, I’m still riding that wave of fresh anger, though it’s finally starting to crash. I perch on a bar stool, sipping my tepid wine and watching Theo wrap up his speech. He stands on a small stage, set up on the side of the restaurant, a row of decorative glass-bottle windows behind him.

“Some see a congressional seat as a step toward higher office,” he says. “If elected, I intend to take my seat and stay there, because that’s where I can be of use.”

I’ve heard variations on this speech before. It’s a good one that’s gotten even better with practice (and professional speech writers).

“I don’t aspire to rise through the ranks of our country’s political system.

Anyone can see that system’s bent. The best I can do is pitch in to help fix it.

That’s what I’ve devoted my whole working life to: trying to help fix it.

Trying—but mostly failing. I’m running for Congress because there, I’ll stand a chance at failing less. ”

On cue, the crowd breaks into applause, and Theo smiles.

“Thank you all for being here. And now, the greatest college band of all-time—” he leans into the mic “—the Xennials!”

He steps aside, welcoming the band. Everyone cheers as they launch into a familiar ’90s pop song—I’ve almost placed it, when something catches my eye to the right of the stage: a baby blue cardigan, layered over a white, tennis-style dress and accented with a tiny pink purse.

She’s dressed like an Easter egg again, but that’s beside the point. What the hell is Susannah doing here?