Page 69 of Old Money
I stood still, observing in a dreamlike state: Caitlin kept trying to pull free, bending forward and throwing her weight back, then angling sideways to knock him off balance. She was taller and agile, but he had her by the wrists and from the sounds she was making, I could tell she was both hurt and frightened.
I could hear him too, grunting and gasping as he strained to drag her back toward him, and then a furious bark that might’ve been an expletive as he let go of one arm and grabbed her other one in both hands. He jerked the arm upward and turned, rotating her with him as he forced her upright. She stumbled toward him with a piercing cry of pain.
Not dancing. Not fighting either. It was an attack. Patrick was attacking her. I knew it for sure now, seeing his face: his white teeth gritted, his sharp jaw tensed. His eyes were so open, so unnaturally wide that even from where I stood, I could read intent in them. It was simple recognition—some ancient instinct in me that knew the look of lethal threat. He was trying to kill her.
With her free hand, Caitlin shoved Patrick in the chest, and he roared into her face with feral rage. Stunned, she faltered, her muscles slackening, and in that instant, Patrick brought his fist down across her face. The crack was so loud, it echoed.
I started running. I ran without thinking, heading for the patch of trees on the steepest part of the hill. This little groveserved as a deterrent, urging people to stay off the treacherous slope and use the path instead. I’d sprinted through it countless times; Susannah and I used to race against each other, to see who could make it through fastest without falling. I knew I could make it to the pool quicker that way. But I also knew that I was already too late.
Chapter Thirty-One
Iarrive 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 lookamazing.”
“I look like Posh Spice!” I laugh, glancing at the crowd behind her—all shorts and ponytails. “I thought ‘casual’ meant, like,businesscasual.”
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 aband?” 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 IpromisedI’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 toreach 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.
