“You saw Leo last week?” Bea said.
Jack didn’t know how to respond. Every time he’d met with Tommy or one of the potential buyers for Tommy’s statue, he’d lied and told Walker he was meeting with Leo. “I, uh, I don’t know exactly when I saw him last—”
Before he could assemble some kind of sentence, the buzzer rang. Three short beats, followed by two long, just the way Leo always rang the bell. Jack’s shoulders slumped in relief. Bea stood so quickly she banged into the table and the water glasses rattled. Nora and Louisa straightened and looked at the door expectantly. Walt poured a little more olive oil on his plate for dunking bread.
“Oh, thank God,” Melody said as Walker moved to the door, wiping his hands on his apron. “He’s here.”
CHAPTER THIRTY–FIVE
When Walker opened the door and Stephanie crossed the threshold, the disappointment on everyone’s face was nearly comical. Jack began blathering immediately, wanting to know where Leo was and saying something about Melody’s daughters running into Leo buying drugs the very first weekend he’d been out of rehab.
“Is he in the park now?” Jack said, hands on hips, speaking to her as if Leo were her truant child. “Is he buying cocaine this very minute?”
“Excuse me,” she said. “Where’s the bathroom?”
“Is Leo coming?” Bea asked.
Stephanie covered her mouth with her palm, shook her head and ran to a small wastebasket in the corner, bent over and started retching. The room quieted and everyone reluctantly listened until she was done. She picked up the small container and calmly walked down the hall to the bathroom. Rinsed out the basket. Washed her hands and put a small dab of toothpaste on her finger to freshen her mouth. All the while trying to process what Jack had just said. Leo in the park, buying drugs, the weekend of the snowstorm. She walked back into the living room where everyone was quiet and concerned looking and seated around a long table that looked like something out of a magazine. Walker must have done it.
“The table is pretty,” she said to him with a shaky smile. “Sorry about that spectacle. I usually have time to get to the bathroom.” She sat on the edge of a chair and unzipped her purse.
“Are you sick?” Bea said.
“Not exactly.” Stephanie opened a pack of sugarless spearmint gum. “Happy birthday, Melody.”
“Do you know where Leo is?” Melody asked hopefully.
“Not exactly,” Stephanie said. “That little incident in the corner is because I’m pregnant. Leo’s the father. I haven’t seen him in two weeks.” She placed a crumpled plastic gum wrapper on the table next to her and held the pack of gum out to the table. “Anybody want a piece?”
THE NIGHT HAD DEVOLVED FROM THERE. Melody hustled her daughters away but not before Stephanie got the play-by-play of them seeing Leo in the park. It was hard to fathom how he’d been doing anything else but buying drugs, flat out on his back, way uptown where he didn’t need to be, where—she remembered—he’d always gone to meet some guy named Rico, Nico, Tico, whatever. That very first weekend! The weekend she’d conceived. The weekend she had opened her door to him and asked him not to do drugs.
Stephanie was still sitting at the abandoned table next to Bea, who poured them both champagne. “No thanks,” Stephanie said, pointing to her stomach.
“Really?” Bea said. “A baby?”
“Really,” Stephanie said, not even trying to hide her pleasure. From the kitchen they could hear Walker’s uncharacteristically raised and furious voice, “If you weren’t spending that time with Leo—who were you with?”
“What’s going on in there?” Stephanie asked.
“I’m not exactly following,” Bea said, “but it doesn’t sound good. Something about Jack lying about seeing Leo. Has Jack been out to Brooklyn?”
Stephanie thought back to the morning she’d stayed home to do a pregnancy test and how when she was standing at her upstairs window, stunned, she’d spotted Jack walking down the street. She’d hidden in the back bedroom and ignored the doorbell. “No,” she said. “I haven’t seen Jack in years.”
More raised voices from the kitchen. A slamming door.
“I guess we should probably leave,” Bea said.
“Yeah.” Stephanie wrapped the baguette she’d been gnawing on in a napkin and put it in her purse. “For the subway,” she explained, apologetically.
THE NIGHT ALL THOSE YEARS AGO that Pilar had lectured Stephanie about the stages of grief and written them out on a napkin, she’d sat at the bar after Pilar left, moping. She’d drawn a little sad face on the napkin next to acceptance. The bartender, who’d heard it all and more than once from Stephanie, scratched out the sad face and in its place he drew a tiny red bird, wings spread, flying over the ocean, surrounded with glowing marks like one of Keith Haring’s radiant babies.
For a long time she’d kept the napkin in her purse. Then in a kitchen drawer. Then it got put away in a box somewhere and when she’d sealed that box with packaging tape she thought she was through.
Stephanie was thinking about the bird as she disembarked the subway and walked home after the birthday dinner that wasn’t. For years whenever she’d had a pang about Leo she would imagine the napkin and the little red bird packed away in a box deep in her basement. As she strolled down her street among the stately homes and warmly lighted front windows, she thought of the napkin and the meaning she’d always attached to the image: Leo flying away from her, heading straight out to the ocean, unburdened and free. She thought about how grateful she was for her life, her house—emptier now, but not for long. She thought about the small back room that she’d turn into a nursery and how it would be summer when the baby was born and her garden would be in bloom. She’d have to replace the tree that had fallen during the storm so the baby could look out and watch the seasons pass. She thought about the napkin again and realized she’d been telling herself the wrong story all these years. Leo wasn’t the red bird, she was—ecstatically darting over the church spires of Brooklyn, heading home, expectant but unburdened. Free. Her incentives had finally changed.
PART THREE
FINDING LEO
CHAPTER THIRTY–SIX
This time there was no tea or coffee or little butter cookies or imperious Francie (who, upon hearing that Leo had gone missing, sighed and said, “Oh, he’ll get sick of roaming and wander back. He’s a Long Islander at heart.” As if she were talking about one of her border collies). This time, it was just the three Plumb siblings and George, who wasn’t even sitting down, that’s how eager he was for the meeting to be over.
“Even if I knew something,” George was saying, hurrying to add, “and I don’t. I don’t know anything. But even if I did, Leo is my client and I probably couldn’t tell you.”
“But you don’t?” Melody said, surprising herself by hitting what sounded to her like the perfect caustic, disbelieving note. It was so perfect, she tried again. “You don’t,” she said, drawing out the syllables a bit too much this time. Still. Not bad.
“I don’t. I swear to you, I don’t. But again, Leo is my client—”
“We all understand attorney-client privilege, George,” Jack said. “You don’t have to keep saying it.”
“Well, then—respectfully—why are you here?”
“We’re here because your cousin—our brother—has essentially fallen off the face of the earth,” Bea said. “He’s vanished and it’s worrisome, to say the least. We want to try to figure out where he is and if he’s okay. What if he needs help?”
George pulled out a chair and sat. “Look,” he said. “I don’t think Leo needs help.”
“You do know where he is,” Jack said.
“I don’t. I have my suspicions. I could make an educated guess. But I don’t know anything for sure.”
“Then how do you know he doesn’t need help?” Melody asked.
George rubbed both sides of his face with his hands vigorously, inhaled deeply, and exhaled. “At one time, Leo had
money that Victoria didn’t know about. An account in Grand Cayman. To be clear, I don’t know this as his attorney. He mentioned it years ago when he first opened it and, you know, I thought it was not a bad idea, given how things started to go with Victoria, to keep some money separate.”
“And you hid it during the divorce?” Jack said.
“I didn’t hide anything. Leo filled out the asset sheets, I asked if they were truthful, he said yes. He didn’t list an offshore account and I didn’t ask.”
“How much money?” Jack said, evenly.
“I don’t know,” George said.
“Enough to have paid all of us back?” Jack asked.
“At one time, I believe there was enough in there to have paid you all back. But now? Who knows. It’s Leo. He could have spent that money a long time ago.”
“Or he could have doubled it,” Jack said. “He had enough money to take off. It had to be a decent amount.” Even though he’d told himself over and over that Leo had money hidden, he was stunned.
“I would agree with that assessment,” George said. “But I’m guessing, just like you are.”
“You were right,” Melody said to Jack. “You were right all along.”
“This is so messed up,” Bea said.
The three Plumbs looked at one another, lost in their confusion, trying to process a betrayal much more significant than the one they’d been dealing with mere minutes earlier.
“I don’t understand how this happened,” Melody said.
“It’s not hard,” George said. “Anyone can open an account like that. It’s perfectly legal—”
“I’m not talking about banking!” Melody snapped at George, who leaned back as if she’d slapped him. Melody’s face fell. She started crying. Bea poured everyone water. For many agonizing minutes, the only sound in the room was Melody hiccuping and blowing her nose. “I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I’ll be okay.”
“Of course you will,” George said, attempting to soothe.
“I mean, I’ll be broke and we’re going to have to sell our house and tell the girls there is no college fund and I guess we’re genetically connected to a sociopath—” The tears started flowing again and when she spoke, her voice was choked, “But I’ll be fine!”
“If it makes you feel any better,” Jack said, “we’re probably losing our summer place.”
“It doesn’t make me feel better,” Melody said. “Why would that make me feel better? I feel absolutely horrible for all of us.”
Jack tried to console her. He wanted her to pull it together; he hated displays. “It’s just an expression, Mel. I mean that I know how you feel. I do.”
“I’m worried this is my fault,” Bea said. She told them all about her story, how it was based on the night of the accident and how she gave it to Leo to read, wanting his approval. “Maybe if I hadn’t done that, if I’d just thrown it away—”
Jack interrupted. “Don’t. This isn’t anybody’s fault. This is who Leo is.” What he didn’t say out loud was that he knew who Leo was because he was that person, too. He’d always seen too much of Leo in himself. Maybe not quite as bad as Leo (Leo Lite, for once and for always), but close enough to know that if he had a big bank account somewhere and could get on a plane and disappear, he might do it, too. “Leo has always been this person. Self-preservation at all costs.”
“What about Stephanie?” Melody turned to George. “She’s pregnant.”
“Shit,” George said, clearly surprised. “Did he know?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Shit.” George sat and tapped his pen on a legal pad, it sounded like tiny bullets firing. “We could hire a private detective. People do that. We could try to trace his steps and see if we can find him.”
“Then what?” Melody said.
Nobody spoke.
“Let me make some calls,” George said. “One step at a time. Let’s just see if we can track him down.”
“God. My eyes are going to be so swollen tomorrow,” Melody said, pressing her lids with her fingertips. “I feel nauseated.”
“Can we have a minute alone, George?” Bea asked. “The three of us?”
“Absolutely,” George stood, looking like a kid who’d just been let out of detention hours early. “As much time as you want.”
Bea dunked her hand in the water pitcher and grabbed a fistful of ice, wrapped it in a cloth napkin, and handed the makeshift ice pack to Melody. “Here. For your face.”
“Thank you,” Melody said, leaning back in her chair a little and pressing the ice to her eyes. She started humming. Jack rolled his eyes at Bea, who motioned for him to zip it.
“Relax,” Melody said, sensing Jack’s disapproval through shut eyes. “This is Sondheim.”
“I didn’t say a word,” Jack said.
“You didn’t need to.”
“Sondheim?” Jack asked. “I approve.”
“Hooray,” Melody said.
They sat listening to Melody hum for a minute or two, something from West Side Story. “Sondheim didn’t actually compose that show,” Jack said. “He wrote the lyrics—”
“Jack?” Bea cut him off. “Not now.” She stood and smoothed her skirt, cleared her throat. “Listen. I have an idea. A proposal. I don’t need my share of The Nest. I’m okay right now. I’m not going to lose my apartment, I don’t have kids with immediate financial needs. Leo has obviously forfeited his claim. So if you two split what’s there, the $200,000, that should help, right?”
“No,” Melody said, removing the soggy napkin from her eyes. Her mascara was smeared, her nostrils red. “I’m not taking your money. That’s not fair.”
“But I want you to,” Bea said. “We can call it a loan if that makes you feel better. A no-interest, no-deadline loan. I know it’s not enough for either of you to completely resolve the loss, but it’s something.”
“Are you sure?” Melody said, quickly calculating that Bea was giving them one entire year of tuition—more if it wasn’t a private school, which, increasingly, did not seem to be in the cards. “You don’t want to take some more time and think about it?”
“I’ve thought about it a lot in the last week. I don’t need more time.”
“Because if you’re sure,” Melody said, “yes, it would help.”
“I’m sure,” Bea said, visibly pleased. “Jack?”
“Yes,” Jack said. “I consider it a loan, but yes.” The extra money wasn’t enough to completely extricate him from his mess, but it might—just might—be enough to buy time for the house or maybe to get Walker to start taking his phone calls again. “It won’t be quick, but I’ll pay you back.”
“Okay,” Bea said, sitting back down, pleased. “Good. Good! This is progress. And if George can find Leo, I’ll go and talk to him.”
“He won’t find him,” Jack said. “And even if he does, nothing will change.”
“I can try,” Bea said. “I can try to change things.”
Melody blew her nose, rooted through her purse for more tissues. She had the hiccups. “When did Leo start hating us?” she said. Nobody responded. “How was it so easy for him to leave?” She wasn’t crying anymore, she was spent. “Was it really just about money? Was it about us?”
“People leave,” Jack said. “Life gets hard and people bail.” Bea and Melody exchanged a worried look. Jack didn’t look good, and he wouldn’t talk about Walker or the fight at the birthday dinner. He’d fiddled incessantly with his wedding ring since they sat down. “Besides,” he said, a little brighter now, arms spread wide, “what could possibly be wrong with any of us?”
Bea grinned. Melody, too. Jack laughed a little. And as they sat, trying to muster the momentum to make their way out of the office, they all thought about that day at the Oyster Bar, seeing Leo’s agreeability then for what it really was. Jack wondered how he—of all of them, the one the least susceptible to Leo—could not have been more suspicious about how disarming and humble Leo had been. Bea remembered how
it had seemed that Leo was maybe, kind of, taking responsibility and evincing a desire to make good. How he’d leaned forward and put his palms on the table and looked each of them in the eye—sincerely, affectionately—and told them he was going to find a way to pay them back, he just needed time. She remembered how he’d asked them to trust him and how she’d believed, too, because Leo had lowered his head and when he looked back up at them, damn if his eyes weren’t the tiniest bit damp, damn if he didn’t seduce them all into giving him the slack he probably imagined he’d have to work much harder to obtain. How grateful he must have been in that moment, Melody thought, to discover how little they were asking from him, to realize how eager they were to believe him.
CHAPTER THIRTY–SEVEN
Exactly ten days after the birthday dinner, Walker moved to a new place. He would have left the next morning, but it took him that long to find a short-term rental that wasn’t too far from his office. Until the minute Walker wordlessly lugged two boxes and three suitcases loaded with clothes into a taxi, both he and Jack thought he was bluffing.
The story about the statue had unraveled with stunning celerity the night of the dinner party. After Stephanie’s unfortunately timed announcement about Leo’s disappearance, Walker had pulled Jack into the kitchen.
“If Leo hasn’t been around for weeks, how have you been meeting with Leo?”
Jack equivocated, but that only made Walker assume he was covering up an indiscretion, an affair. Jack had no choice but to explain, and as he watched the color drain from Walker’s face, he almost wished he’d made up some kind of flirtation to confess instead.
Walker had slowly removed his apron and folded it into a neat square. “What you are doing is not only against the law, it’s completely unethical,” Walker said, practically spitting out every syllable.
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