Page 9 of The Runaway

“As it should,” Heather says, sounding angry. “None of my ex-husbands are alive, but if they were, I’d like to think they wouldn’t use anything they knew about my past against me.”

“You’d be amazed what men will do when their political power is on the line,” Sunday says, glancing Heather’s way. “If you were never married to a man who doesn’t mind treating you like an expendable resource, then you’re a lucky woman.”

Marigold’s eyes flare as she shakes her head. “The public has no right to know your secrets or your past, Sunday, no matter what they try to make you think. You have to stop him. Can you get a legal injunction?”

Sunday gives a soft, disbelieving laugh. “No. It doesn’t work like that. My only choice is to beat him to the punch somehow.”

Heather crunches on a piece of cauliflower dipped in a creamy herb-ranch dressing. “Any idea how you’ll do it?”

“I think the only way to win against your own past is to confront it head-on.” Sunday holds her drink in both hands as she looks at the water. “I’m going to have to tell my own secrets before he does.”

Ruby pulls a face; she knows what this will cost Sunday on a personal level, and she understands firsthand what it means to take a hard look at the parts of your life that you’d rather tuck away in the back of a closet.

“Sounds like we’re sort of dealing with the same things,” Ruby says to her friend. “And through my work with Dexter so far on the book, all I can say about it is that being forced to peel back the layers of your life—even the ugly ones—can be a little bit cathartic.”

Sunday looks unconvinced. “There’s stuff that I truly wanted to leave behind—I never wanted to talk about it with anyone. Not my kids, not myself, and certainly not the world at large. Don’t we all have things like that in our pasts?”

Ruby, Heather, and Marigold all look lost in thought as they contemplate their own lives.

Heather is the first to break the silence. “I once took money from a church offering plate.” The other women’s heads all snap to attention. “I was nineteen and living in New York, trying to make it as a dancer, and I got kicked out of my apartment. I had nothing. I tried sleeping during the day in libraries or in the changing rooms at Macy’s, but I could only do that for so long. So I was in this little church one day that looked like it had been there for centuries, and when no one was looking, I took a fistful of cash from the offering plate as it went by.”

“Heather,” Ruby says gently. “We all know that’s technically ‘wrong,’ but what is the church if not a haven for those in need? You did what you had to do to survive, and if you believe in a higher power, then I think you can agree that you’ve been forgiven by now. You were just a kid, and it was purely out of survival.”

Heather’s eyes fill with tears. “Thank you for saying that. I never told a soul about it—none of my husbands, none of my friends, not my parents or siblings…no one. And I did go back to the church on a trip to the city with my second husband and I left a check that covers what I took by about fifty times over. I know I made my amends with that church, but I’ve never forgiven myself for doing it in the first place.”

“Honey, you can forgive yourself now,” Marigold says earnestly. She sets her plate on the railing in front of her and holds up both hands. “Listen to this, ladies. In the spirit of coming clean, I’m going to tell you the thing I most want to leave in my past.” She takes a deep breath. “Once, when I was modeling and just getting started, I completely sabotaged another girl who was competing for the same job as me.”

Sunday is staring at Marigold with her mouth open; Heather is waiting for someone to tell a secret more mortifying than the one she just revealed.

“It’s true,” Marigold goes on. “We were both about eighteen and living in Paris in what’s called a ‘model’s apartment,’ which is usually about four to six girls sharing a place to sleep, and we were up for the same campaign for a big shampoo company. The agency called and left a message that we were supposed to be at a certain place for the final casting, and I hid her portfolio under the towels in the bathroom and gave her the wrong address. I completely bombed her chances.”

“Did you get the job?” Ruby asks, waiting eagerly for the outcome just like the other women.

“I most certainly did not,” Marigold says, sounding prim. “And I didn’t deserve to. It was one of the first times I truly experienced karma, and I can tell you that I got the message immediately. But regardless of me not getting the job, I’ve always felt terrible about it becauseshemight have gotten it, and I ruined both of our chances for a gig that would have paid the bills for the better part of a year.”

“Okay, that’s pretty savage,” Ruby says. “As for me, I think the worst thing I’ve done is to ignore Jack’s mistress when she reached out to me. She tried to get to me through my lawyer, and she tried to get in touch by email, but I shut her down every time. It wasn’t until she showed up at Marooned With a Book this summer that I realized I really should have just faced the music sooner.” She stops talking for a minute, remembering Etienne Boucher and her twelve-year-old son, Julien, standing there in front of her. “I think that ignoring the fact that there were other human beings affected by Jack’s choices was one of my bigger mistakes, and I’m not done paying that bill yet.”

“How so?” Heather asks.

Ruby shrugs. “Our paths will cross again. When she gave me that letter that Jack had written, I was still ready to push her and her son out the door and be done with them for good, but that’s not how it works. Her son and my daughters are siblings, whether I like it or not, and Etienne—that’s her, and I rarely say her name out loud, so don’t get too used to it—Etienne and I most likely have more unfinished business. I’m just not sure what it is yet.”

Everyone looks at Sunday, waiting for her to unburden herself, should she feel like it. But instead of speaking, she picks up one of Heather’s Rice Krispie treats and takes a big bite. They wait while she chews, licks the marshmallow from her thumb and forefinger, and looks at all of them.

“Well, the worst thing I’ve done is way worse than all of that combined,” she says, wiping her hands on her linen napkin. “And I feel fairly certain that if you stick around, you’ll hear all about it soon enough. If you can face your fears and talk to Dexter North about all of your dark stuff, Ruby, then I can go home to Tangier Island and deal with mine. So stay tuned, ladies. My turn is coming.”

Marigold lifts her glass in the air in a toast. “You have my word,” she says, “I’ll stay tuned. And no matter what it is, I won’t judge.” She smiles at Sunday. “But if you ever try to steal one of my modeling jobs, I’ll throw your portfolio in the Seine and send you on a wild goose chase around Paris.”

Her joke lightens the mood just enough that the women collapse into a fit of laughter, but when Ruby glances at Sunday she sees that her friend is still troubled. It’s going to take more than appetizers and cocktails and jokes to pull Sunday back from whatever is going on inside her heart, and Ruby knows exactly how she feels.

When the two women make eye contact again, Ruby gives her a private wink. They’ll get through this together, just like they've gotten through so many other things.

Sunday

Dealing with Peter directly is a last resort. Sunday hasn't spoken to him since the last time she saw him, and any back and forth between them thus far has been handled via their attorneys.

But this is different. After the drinks and appetizers at Ruby's, she'd actually spent the night there, sleeping off the excess alcohol in Ruby's guest room and waking up to find that her friend had made bacon, eggs, and strong coffee to get them both over the hump of the morning following a night of drinking, talking, laughing, and crying.

"Call him," Ruby had said, setting a steaming mug in front of Sunday at the breakfast table. "Talk sense into him, Sun. You raised his children and stood by his side through a lot of crap, and he owes you way more than to simply keep his mouth shut about your past."

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