“You didn’t,” I said, putting my free hand over hers.
Mom breathed a long, relieved sigh. “Edward,” she said after a moment, “was an imperfect man. He made a lot of mistakes. But like I said … he had a good heart. And I’m so lucky that he left me with the best of him.”
She ran her knuckles across my cheek and smiled. I smiled back, thinking that maybe, in his own way, my father had tried to give me the best of him, too.
A car stopped in front of our house—Tina’s BMW with the top down and Dierks Bentley blasting loud enough for me to hear him all the way on the porch.
“What’s she doing here?” I asked.
Mom rocked the swing again. “I gave her a call after I talked to Kitty. Tina agrees it’s best for you to go back up north, and she wanted to come by to help me convince you to go. She even offered to drive you to the airport tomorrow.” She smiled and sifted my hair through her fingers. “You’re lucky, Savannah … those are some real good friends you’ve got there.”
I clutched Mom’s hand, watching Tina head toward the house. It would be so much easier to go back to New York now, because even though most of Team Savannah were staying in Charleston, they’d be on my side no matter where I was.
“You didn’t have the courage to visit New York years ago,” I said, “but you’ve changed since then, Mom. I’m sure you can do it now … and I’ve heard there’s no place like Manhattan for Christmas.”
She gave me a wink. “I’ve heard the same. And I sure would like to see for myself.”
“Hey,” Tina said, walking across the porch. She was in shorts and a loose tank top, and there was a white square taped to her arm. She noticed me looking at it and smiled. “It’s a nicotine patch. I’m finally taking your advice.”
“Finally is right,” I said. “And my next bit of advice is if you’re considering college, you should think about schools in New York. I do believe Manhattan owes you another chance.”
She mulled that over as the sun washed across her face.
“Well,” she said, “I reckon I’ll give it some thought.”
Twenty-four
Kitty picked me up in a limousine from a small airport on Long Island and said she had a surprise: We were going to a resort spa in the Hamptons, because after everything we’d been through we deserved two full days of pampering.
Not long after that, I was inside an elegant hotel room with a king-size bed, a private terrace, and a view of the water. Kitty’s room was across the hall and she knocked on my door a few minutes later, saying we’d better hurry because we were scheduled for massages and facials and hairstyling.
I was so blissfully relaxed after having my back rubbed and my skin exfoliated that I thought I might doze off when my hair was being washed. I closed my eyes while a beautician slathered me with conditioner and kneaded my scalp.
“Savannah,” Kitty said. “How’d you like a change?”
I glanced to my left, where she was sitting in a chair identical to mine with her head bent backward into a sink. “I think I’ve had a lot of changes lately,” I told her.
“True … and that’s why your new life deserves a fresh look. I’d love to see your hair a few shades lighter … and a little shorter.”
I used to be against changing the superficial, but after what had happened at The Plaza I wasn’t going to ignore Kitty’s fashion advice. Maybe I could fit in and still stand out as an enhanced version of me. So I took a deep breath and agreed, and soon I’d changed from golden wheat to sunflower blond—which matched my natural shade from my younger years—and my hair fell just below my shoulders and framed my face with razor-cut layers that accented my features in the most flattering way. Several inches of hair had fallen to the salon floor, but I didn’t miss them at all. I felt lighter, like I’d let go of something I didn’t need anymore and was ready to move on to better things.
I felt the same way that afternoon when I walked beside Kitty into an airy restaurant with lots of natural light in the town’s village.
“Lessard, party of three for lunch,” Kitty told a woman at the front desk, and I gave her a quizzical look that made her smile. “The reinstatement of my maiden name isn’t official yet. But I’m using it anyway.”
I nodded and we followed a hostess carrying menus. “I don’t blame you. But that’s not why I’m surprised. Who’s the third party?”
Kitty bent her elbow tightly around mine as we neared our table, like I might bolt if she didn’t. Then she gestured toward a petite woman with light-brown hair cut to her chin, wearing a white blouse and beige pants. “It’s Caroline,” Kitty whispered in my ear.
I never would have known. She looked so much better and a lot less sour without the harsh makeup and the glasses and the jagged black bangs. Her complexion had improved, and I thought she’d probably taken Virginia’s advice about seeing a doctor to help her skin. I also thought she was surprisingly pretty without that disguise she’d been lugging around.
Kitty had clearly decided to be a fairy godmother again and to give both of us a makeover, but that was the only thing that made sense. Nobody was holding a gun to Caroline’s head, so why had she agreed to have lunch with me?
Kitty spoke into my ear. “Caroline and I are still friends. As devastating as Ned’s philandering was, I won’t let myself stay angry, because he isn’t worth it. But she’s furious.”
That didn’t explain everything. Kitty pulled me toward the table, where I sat beside her and opposite Caroline while a ceiling fan spun above our heads.
I stared at her over a small arrangement of hydrangeas. “You look nice,” I said.
Caroline’s olive-green eyes widened and she touched the ends of her hair. She didn’t thank me, and she seemed surprised, and I wasn’t sure if it was because she was shocked that a compliment had come from me or if she wasn’t used to flattery in general.
“I guess you weren’t expecting to see me,” she said.
I shook my head. “I thought you were mad because of—”
“I was. But I had it all wrong. And you knew that.”
I looked between her and Kitty. “I already swore I didn’t post that picture of you.”
“Right,” Kitty said, lifting a glass of water. “What you didn’t tell us was who did.”
I swallowed. “Nobody knows. It was probably a hacker.”
Caroline raised a freshly plucked eyebrow. “A hacker named Ainsley Greenleaf. You’re too smart not to have figured that out.”
My pulse sped up and I started to sweat inside the cool restaurant. “I don’t know what—”
“Savannah,” Kitty said, cutting me off as she reached into her purse and pulled out a sheet of paper. “After the dust settled, I remembered I’d asked Ainsley to show you how to access Femme’s social media sites. When I put that together with Ned dumping her, she became our main suspect. I contacted her father, and he got her to confess that she was the one who spread the picture of Caroline through your account at work. Mr. Greenleaf wasn’t exactly pleased, considering what good friends he and Edward were. I must say I was merciful … I spared him the part about his daughter sleeping with my husband. He only knows what she did to Caroline, and he made her write an apology to both of you.”
Kitty put the paper down in front of me, but I didn’t need to read it. The relief of vindication was enough. “Other than telling her father, you’re not going to do anything to her because of this, are you?” I asked. “She did a terrible thing, but she’s young and foolish and she has such high aspirations—”
“Is that why you didn’t tell us it was her?” Caroline said.
I heard forks scraping dishes and glasses clinking. A waiter came to take our drink orders, and when he left Caroline was staring at me, waiting for an answer.
I sighed. There was no way out. “Yes,” I admitted. “It was.”
Caroline nodded slowly. “Well,” she said after a long pause, “I guess I have to admire you for that … and for keeping my personal life
private when I’d given you every reason not to.”
The waiter returned with Coke and sparkling water and a glass of wine that Caroline swigged and plunked down on the table before she started talking again. “I’m glad you told Kitty about Ned. Just because he’s my brother doesn’t mean I’ll excuse that misogynistic playboy shit. And to answer your question about Ainsley … I’m settling for the apology. Her father’s disappointment in her is enough payback for me.”
I agreed, watching her sip wine. “I’m glad you’ve accepted her apology. I don’t condone what she did … but you really should be more careful what you say to people.”
She stopped drinking and stared at me over her glass. “Point taken,” she said finally. “Looking on the bright side … Ainsley did me a favor. Now that my mother knows, she’s starting to deal with it. I think what she was most upset about was that I kept the truth from her. Maybe I didn’t give her enough credit to begin with. But we’re talking again, and … I’m just happy I don’t have to pretend anymore.”
I nodded. “I’m with you on that one. I hate pretending, too.”
She smiled in a different way than usual. Her smiles were usually the smug, sarcastic, condescending kind. But this was a genuine smile, and she was looking me right in the eye like we’d actually connected about something.
A cell beeped. Caroline reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone, and read a text.
“Oh my God. It’s from my mother. The driver who hit Dad’s car has been found. She wants me to go back to the city and meet her and Ned at the office.”
“The limo will take you,” Kitty said as Caroline rose from her seat.
“It’ll take both of us,” Caroline said, nodding toward me.
I shifted in my chair. “But if Ned and Virginia will be there … I really don’t belong.”
Caroline grabbed her purse. “You do belong. Mom and Ned will just have to learn to deal with that. After all, Edward was your father, too.”
*
When Caroline and I sat beside each other in the backseat of a limousine that headed toward Manhattan, we discovered that Edward’s name was, once again, everywhere. Caroline scrolled through Web sites on her iPhone, reading out loud.
“Halstead Simms,” she said, “was forty-nine years old and lived in a basement apartment in Bensonhurst, where he was found dead this morning. Neighbors say Simms had battled alcoholism for most of his adult life.”
She kept researching and reading until the limo pulled up in front of Stone News. It was quitting time, people flooded from the building, and the latest turn of events had affected the mob of protesters who were always outside. There were more than I’d ever seen.
“Ignore them,” Caroline said as she slipped out of the car.
I followed after her but didn’t get far. A hand caught my arm, and I looked up at a man with a gray goatee and a Mets baseball cap. I recognized him and the birthmark between his eyes from weeks earlier, when he’d told me that I should rethink where I got my paycheck.
“I thought you just worked here,” he said. “Now I know better.”
I thought I might be in danger, but I stayed where I was. I glanced down at his left hand clamped around my arm and noticed the tip of his index finger was missing.
“You’re right, sir. I’m Edward Stone’s daughter. But he might not deserve the blame for what y’all are protesting about. We don’t know if he’s guilty.”
He let go of my arm and adjusted his hat. “Sometimes,” he said, “people get blamed for things whether they’re guilty or not. People suffer when they shouldn’t.”
What exactly did that mean? He backed away from me and walked off, and I watched him vanish into a crowd until Caroline called my name from the entrance of Stone News. I caught up to her and we rode the elevator to the corporate division, where Ned and Virginia were standing in that conference room with the brass lamps and mahogany walls. They were so blown away by New Caroline that they didn’t seem to notice I was there.
“My God,” fell from Ned’s lips.
“Caroline,” Virginia said. She was in a mauve dress, and her mouth hung open. “You look … you’re just … beautiful.”
She was clearly unaccustomed to using that adjective to describe her daughter, and Caroline seemed equally unfamiliar with hearing it. But she didn’t have time to respond, because Virginia quickly snapped out of her trance and switched her attention to me.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, stepping in my direction. “This meeting has nothing to do with you.”
Caroline got between us. “Please don’t take that attitude, Mother. You know Savannah’s innocent of leaking anything to the media about me, and she’s more than paid for what happened between the two of you at The Plaza. We all have to stop blaming her for Dad’s decisions … and we also have to include her in family business because she is part of the family.”
Virginia’s cheeks indented like she was gnawing the insides. She folded her arms and stared at a lamp across the room as Ned scoffed.
“What about what she did to me?” he asked, walking toward Caroline in his dark suit and leather loafers. “She ruined my marriage.”
Caroline shook her head. “You ruined it yourself. If you had just kept your pants zipped, you’d still have Kitty. But you didn’t want her anyway.”
He tightened his Rolex. “That isn’t true,” he said with his eyes on diamonds that circled the current time.
Caroline studied him for a moment. “Maybe not. Maybe you regret how you treated Kitty and you’ll do better if you ever get married again. But you acted like a single man when you weren’t, and now you can do it legitimately. You should thank Savannah for that.”
“All right,” Ned said sharply, rubbing his temples. “I’ve heard enough.”
“Not quite,” Virginia cut in. “I was never a fan of Kitty’s, but that doesn’t mean I condone your behavior, Ned. I’d hoped you’d inherit many of your father’s traits … but infidelity isn’t one of them.”
Ned’s eyes fell to the carpet. He was quiet for a moment as he massaged his forehead and then let out a heavy sigh. “Understood,” he said, raising his eyes to Virginia’s. “But we’re not here to talk about me … the issue at hand is Halstead Simms and whether we believe he was really the driver of the car that hit Dad. So why don’t we all sit down and discuss it?”
“All of us?” Caroline said, tapping her foot.
Ned looked at me and then back at her. “Yes, Caroline,” he said tersely.
We settled into cushy leather seats around the polished table, where I stayed quiet while Ned and Virginia and Caroline debated whether they would accept the case being closed if the NYPD determined that Halstead Simms was responsible for Edward’s death.
“The detective with whom I spoke,” Virginia said, “thinks there’s enough evidence to prove Simms is responsible. He also thinks the forensics will show this man died from alcoholism … or alcohol poisoning … I can’t quite remember what he said.”
Ned pulled his silver pen out of his blazer and began scribbling on a legal pad. “It just seems too easy. There are so many other suspects … and I hate to bring up Senator Caldwell in your presence, Mother … but she and her husband might be two of them.”
Caroline nodded. “So might any family members of the Lake Kolenya victims.”
I thought about the man downstairs. I hadn’t been sure what he was trying to tell me, but it concerned me enough to bring it up. “You’re right,” I said, and everyone but Caroline looked at me like they were surprised that I was really going to involve myself in this conversation. “There was a man outside tonight … one of the protesters … he knew who I was, and he said something strange.”
Ned tapped his pen against the pad. “And what was that?”
“He said people get blamed for things whether they’re guilty or not. I’m not sure what he was referring to, and it could mean nothing. But he might’ve been talking about Edward or Simms … maybe he
knows something we don’t.”
Ned stared at me, his forehead furrowing as if he couldn’t believe my input wasn’t utterly useless. “What did this person look like?” he asked finally, poising his pen against a thin blue line on yellow paper.
“He’s probably in his early fifties. He had a goatee and a Mets hat.”
Ned dropped the pen. “A middle-aged Mets fan,” he said dryly. “That narrows it down.”
I grabbed the pen and the pad. “Reddish-purple birthmark between his eyes shaped like Spain,” I said as I wrote it down. “Tip of left index finger missing.”
I slid the pad toward Ned, who drummed his fingertips against it for a moment. “That might help. You never know. Thank you,” he said finally, which was more than shocking. “I’ll give this to the detective. But if the NYPD closes the case with Simms, we’ll hire a private investigator to keep looking. Are we all in agreement?”
He glanced around the table. Virginia and Caroline nodded, and I considered it a major victory when everybody looked at me as if my vote counted.
*
I stood on the curb outside Stone News a few minutes later, waiting for Tony to pick me up. Summer was dwindling, the sun was setting, and the rash on my arm was starting to heal. A cool breeze flowed through my brand-new hair and I stroked it, feeling a surge of excitement as I listened to familiar city sounds—cars honking, sirens wailing, vendors on corners hawking chintzy souvenirs. You can handle this, I’d told myself on my first day here, and I felt a familiar urge to break into a touchdown cheer when I realized I’d been right.
There was a tap on my shoulder. I whirled around, looked at flowing black hair and olive-green eyes, and caught a whiff of tasteful perfume.
“We’re not friends,” Virginia said. “We’re not anything. But I appreciate that you gave Ned the information about the man you spoke with tonight. Even though Edward and I were divorced and he did things that have given me a steady flow of grief, he was still my children’s father … and if his death wasn’t an accident, I want the right person to pay.”
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