Page 57 of Old Money
I sit and take a bite of my Pop-Tart, making a pondering face.
“Okay then. If it’s cool with your dad, I’m in.”
“Of course it is,” says Jules, and I turn to see her curious face.
I guess Theo hasn’t said anything about the newspaper. Or the conversation that followed—the one where he said if I really cared about him and his family, I’d leave town altogether. He and I have barely spoken since. Thankfully, we’ve both been out of the house so much that no one’s had a chance to notice that things are a little weird.
Jules punches buttons on the dishwasher and it turns on with a swoosh.
“Tuesday,” she says, watching me. “You’ll be there, right?”
I nod. I guess I have to. Skipping the fundraiser would make things ten times weirder.
Remember, Mom used to say.This is just a chapter. Not the book. She’d remind us of this whenever we got bogged down in some petty school drama or struggled through a class we loathed. It might feel all-consuming, but in a matter of weeks—months at most—this chapter would pass, and we’d be onto the next. It never felt true in the moment, but she was always right.
I tell Jules I’ll clear up the breakfast so she and the boys can head out for early camp drop-off. I promise Simon we’ll watch an awesome movie, and make a note on my phone, reminding myself to tell Jamie I can’t do the Martha tonight. Until Simon mentioned it, I’d completely forgotten I was hanging with the boys so Jules and Theo could go out for their anniversary (I’d also completely forgotten their anniversary). I feel a guilty prickle as I tidy the kitchen and bundle up the trash—filled to the brim with take-out containers. I hadn’t noticed until now, but I guess things have been more hectic than usual these past couple weeks.
I leave for work, hauling the trash and recycling to the bins at the end of the driveway before I go (another thing I haven’t been helping with). My car (the one they’ve loaned me indefinitely, for free) is parked on the street just beside the mailbox. The front is hanging open like a tongue, the inside piled with what looks like a week’s worth of mail. I reach in and pull it out, cradling the small stack of envelopes and catalogs in the crook of my arm. I dump the pile on the passenger seat—I’ll bring it in later, I’ve got to get going. That’s when I see the two pieces on top: one, a wide, decorative envelope, and the other a sheet of white paper—no envelope or postage at all.
I lift the envelope first. It’s thick and ivory colored, hardly any signs of travel on it. Then again, it hasn’t traveled far.It’s addressed to Jules and Theo Wiley. The return address says “Joyce” and lists the address of Susannah’s childhood home, where her parents still live.
It’s a wedding invitation.
I look at it, not feeling a thing.
I see black lettering. I hear cicadas. I smell oil on the pavement.
I drop it on the pile, my brain whirling into overdrive, producing possibilities, desperate to find a reason: a mix-up or an oversight. Maybe Susannah’s parents sent it by mistake. Maybe it’snota wedding invitation somehow?
I lift the sheet of paper next, my mind still on the invitation. The paper is folded in half, crisp and unwrinkled as though it’s only just been left in the mailbox. I unfold it and see there are only three words written on it, printed in blocky capitals. When I read them, I forget the invitation entirely.
TAKE CARE, ALICE.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
July Fourth, 1999
The night was moonless and deep dark. I could barely see the slate steps in front of me as Caitlin and I trekked down the rear path, away from the clubhouse. I remember the roar of the party behind us, growing fainter as we descended the hill. I remember wishing I was there, even if I was in trouble.
“Done!” Caitlin called to me.
She stood at the bottom of the steps, her white dress like a beacon in the darkness. She raised her arms, triumphant, one kitten heel in each hand.
That was the dare I’d given her: to walk down the rear path barefoot. Not exactly daring, but I was losing steam. It seemed like hours had passed since the Macarena.
“Might be easier if you took your shoes off too,” said Caitlin. “The grass feels amazing actually.”
I shook my head.
Caitlin extended a chivalrous hand as I neared the bottom.
“Mademoiselle?”
I wobbled on the last step and she grasped my wrist. The alcohol sloshed in my stomach.
“Okay there, babydoll?”
“I’m fine.”
