Page 113 of Old Money
“Okay,” I reply. “But I think we’re past that, right? Propriety and stuff.”
Her eyes flash at me. I glare back, stung and emboldened. Hopelessness will do that.
“Is that it, Alice?” she asks. “Is there more?”
“Sure. Plenty.”
I shrug.
“Alex Chapman?” I toss out. “Any thoughts on him, or no comment?”
Her face drops slowly, eyes widening.
“Why in God’s name would you—”
“What? He was Patrick’s best friend; you must have known him.”
“I did,” she answers, swift and firm. “Not well, but certainly better than you.”
“But it’s full steam ahead with the wedding plans? What’s Patrick going to say about the best man’s mysterious, tragic suicide?” A macabre thought hits me. “What’s he going to tell themagazine?”
“We’re not doing the magazine,” she spits. “We pulled out,becauseof Alex. Out of respect.”
She lifts her eyebrows at me:Ever heard of it?
“And yes, we’re still getting married. We considered changing dates again but—”
Susannah straightens up again, glancing past my shoulder at the door.
“Actually, no. I’m not doing this with you.” She gives one downcast, decisive nod. “I tried, but I guess that’s that.”
She stands, tucking her hair behind her ears with a tidy flick and reaches for her purse. I watch in silence, both furious and enthralled. Something’s cracked the seal on Susannah’s prim new facade, letting out the real her.
“I’m sorry this has been so hard for you—I really am,” she says, fussing with her bag. “But it’s not actually my problem, and I can’t take it on. I’m going to have my own family. I’m getting married.”
There’s a split-second stumble before her last sentence. Not even a pause—just a slight hitch in her rhythm. You’d have to know her well to even catch it. And you’d have to know her very well to see the subtle change in her face: the slow-motion blink as she briefly shuts her eyes.
To know what it means, you’d have to know her like I do.
“Oh God,” I say. “Susannah, no.”
She freezes, her anger faltering.
I press my face into my hands.
“You said you moved the date up for the magazine, and I just—” I scoff into my palms. “I just believed you.” I thought she’d had a facial.
“Itwasbecause of that,” Susannah insists, an edgy urgency in her voice. “Alice, I’d only just found out about the baby when I saw you at that fundraiser.”
The baby.
I drop my hands, defeated. I thought I’d hit the bottom, but here I am in free fall.Thisis hopelessness.
“Alice?”
I stand, picking up my own bag, my chair squealing against the floor. I’m about to sob or vomit—not sure which, but I have to get out of here.
“You’re right,” I tell her. “That’s that.”
