Page 70 of Old Money

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?

Chapter Thirty-Two

“Iwondered if I’d run into you.” She speaks so softly I can barely catch a word over the music.

“Why are you here?”

“Wow. Nice to see you?”

“Likewise,” I deadpan. “What are you doing here?”

Susannah’s shoulders drop and she looks at me wearily.

“I’m not staying, okay? I only have ten minutes. Can you just—I’m too tired to do this tonight.”

The guy on the bar stool beside mine turns at the wordtired, and immediately slides off his seat, gesturing for her to take it. I expect her to protest, but she smiles sweetly and accepts the seat.

“Is it going to be like this all summer?” Susannah asks, smoothing the hem of her dress.

“Probably.” I shrug. “I think this is just how it is now.”

“That’s really sad.”

I say nothing. She’s right. Our friendship still aches like a phantom limb. It just never occurred to me that she felt it too.

A server pops up behind the bar, holding a bottle of red wine.

“Refill?”

I hold out my cup automatically.

“You too?” he asks Susannah.

“No,” we both say automatically, surprising the server. “She’s allergic to red,” I add.

Susannah eyes me, perturbed at me for remembering. One sip and she breaks out in silver-dollar hives.Trust me, I think at her.I wish I could forget too.