Best Friends Forever

by Margot Hunt

“By tomorrow?” I repeated. My voice sounded high and sharp, so I drew in a deep breath to steady myself. “That seems awfully harsh. I’m very sorry the payments are late, but the children have been going to your school for years. Surely you can grant us an extension, at least until I figure out what’s going on. There must be a mix-up somewhere.”

  “I’m sorry, but it’s impossible. We’ve already given you several extensions,” Principal Douglas said.

  I hung up and sat down shakily at the kitchen table. I had precisely one business day to find six thousand dollars to pay to the school, and I had no idea what was going on. What had happened to the tuition money we budgeted each month? Why hadn’t Todd paid the bill? Why had he told me he had?

  I picked my phone back up and dialed Todd’s number.

  “Hey.” He picked up after one ring. Wherever he was, it sounded noisy. I could hear ambient music and background voices.

  “Where are you?”

  “Work,” he said. “Why?”

  “It sounds noisy.”

  “Oh, well, actually I just stopped by a Starbucks on my way back to the office,” Todd said.

  “Then why didn’t you just say you were at Starbucks?”

  “I did.”

  “No, you said you were at work.”

  “I guess in my mind I am at work. Just stopping for some caffeine in between the job site and the office. Did you call for a reason?” Todd asked, now sounding irritable.

  It was this, his petulant, touchy tone, that cut through the fog of disbelief and sparked my anger.

  “Yes, actually,” I said. “I just got off the phone with the school.”

  Todd hesitated. “Is everything okay?”

  “No. No, it’s not. Apparently we owe the school nearly six thousand dollars. Apparently we haven’t made a single payment since the beginning of the term. And apparently you’ve known about this but for some reason neglected to tell me.” I bit the words out.

  Todd went silent. The background music—a dreary female vocalist crooning along to a lackluster guitar accompaniment—seemed to swell louder in my ear.

  “Hello?”

  “I’m here.” Todd took a deep breath, and when he spoke again, his voice sounded strange, as though it had been hollowed out. “I haven’t known how to tell you.”

  “Tell me what?”

  There was another long pause. “I lost my job.”

  “You... Wait, what? When did this happen?”

  “Stop shouting.”

  “I’m not shouting. I’m... Jesus.” I struggled to contain my emotions. “When did this happen?”

  “Three months ago.”

  Now it was my turn to go silent. I stared down at the table, focusing intently on the grain of the light pine wood. There was a scatter of toast crumbs left over from breakfast and a white circular ring that meant someone had set a cold glass on the table without using a place mat or coaster. I tried to remember the tip for getting water stains out of wood. Was I supposed to rub it with mayonnaise? Or was that the trick for removing candle wax spills?

  The shock seemed to be having an odd effect on me, because all of a sudden, my anger and fear had drained away. It felt like I was floating in a bubble, safe and self-contained. It was almost as though I’d had the sense that something was wrong, had been tensing for the blow to come for months, and now that it was finally revealed to me, I could relax. It was impossible to solve any problem without knowing all of the facts, no matter how unpleasant they might be.

  “Alice?” Todd’s voice was insistent in my ear.

  “What?” I still stared at the water ring.

  “Say something.”

  “What have we been living on for the past three months?” I had quite a few students I was tutoring regularly, but the money I made was laughably small. We didn’t have any savings to speak of. What few valuables we owned had not disappeared from the house. But the power was still on and my debit card had not been rejected at the grocery store again, so money was coming in from somewhere.

  Todd hesitated again, which made me brace for information I didn’t want to hear.

  “I cashed out my retirement account,” he said quietly.

  I could no longer hear the wailing music and suspected that he had stepped outside of the Starbucks.

  “You have to pay a penalty for cashing out early.” I swiped the crumbs off the table and onto the floor.

  “I know, but...I didn’t have a choice.”

  He didn’t have a choice? That wasn’t true, I reflected. He’d had lots of choices. Like, for starters, the choice he’d made not to tell me he’d lost his job.

  “How much do we have left?”

  “Not much.”

  I exhaled, closing my eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I kept thinking I’d get another job. I’ve gone on a few interviews. They all went well, but... I just need some more time.”

  “We don’t have more time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The school said that if we don’t pay our bill by tomorrow, Liam and Bridget won’t be allowed to stay at the school.”

  Todd was silent. Suddenly the bubble was gone, and my anger was back. My hands were starting to shake, and my body had gone simultaneously hot and cold, which was an odd sensation. Even so, I sensed that the feelings I was experiencing now weren’t anything in comparison to what I would be feeling later, tomorrow, the following week, when I’d had time to process it all. But in the midst of that anger, I had just the slightest twinge of compassion. I knew Todd hadn’t kept this hidden because he enjoyed deceiving me. No. He’d done it because he’d felt scared. Helpless. Humiliated.

  It just wasn’t a good enough excuse.

  “I have to go,” I whispered.

  “Alice, wait—”

  But I didn’t wait. I disconnected and dropped the phone on the now crumb-free table. I buried my face in my hands, bracing my elbows against the wood. Panic, hot and acidic, flooded over me.

  We’d had money problems for years, had become pros at juggling bills and unexpected expenses, but Todd’s regular income had given us some security. What would happen now? How would we pay for our mortgage and our groceries? And where would Liam and Bridget go to school on Monday? We had opted to enroll the children in Seaview Country Day, even though we’d barely been able to afford it, because of how favorably it compared to the local public school system. And it certainly wasn’t a decision based on snobbery. We were zoned for the worst public middle school in town. Just last week, there had been a stabbing there. An actual stabbing.

  But now we wouldn’t have a choice.

  I laid my hands flat on the table and forced myself to draw in several deep breaths, not to panic. True, this was a problem, but like all problems, it had a solution. Todd would get another job. I would find more tutoring work.

  I suddenly remembered my conversation with Todd all those months ago, when he’d sneered at the idea of working for Kat’s father. Was that a possibility? Or did asking Kat to put in a good word for Todd, perhaps even to set up an interview for him, cross the line of what one could reasonably ask from a friend? Even a friend as close as Kat.

  My phone rang again, startling me. I assumed it was Todd calling me back and was just trying to decide whether I wanted to take the call when I saw the caller ID. It was Kat, almost as though she’d known I was thinking about her. I accepted the call and lifted the phone to my ear.

  “Hey,” I said, trying to adopt a tone of casual nonchalance.

  I didn’t want Kat to know how upset I was. I needed time to think through all the murky layers of this latest catastrophe before I talked to her about it. What if she agreed to set up an interview for Todd and he refused to go on it? That seemed insane. Surely he would not be so picky or so dismissive of the so-called cookie-cutter houses Wye
th Construction built in the face of this looming financial disaster. But then again, I would never have thought my husband would lie to me for several months about losing his job. Maybe I didn’t know him at all.

  “What’s wrong?” Kat asked. “You sound weird.”

  I cleared my throat. “I’m fine. Maybe I’m coming down with a cold.”

  “Alice, I know you. I can tell there’s something’s wrong. What is it?” Kat pressed.

  And then I surprised both of us by bursting into tears.

  * * *

  An hour later, I was at Kat’s house, sitting on the back patio by the pool. It was still warm out—not unusual for Florida in October—but the sticky heat of the summer had passed. I closed my eyes and tipped my head back, enjoying the feel of the sunshine on my face.

  “Here you go,” Kat said, appearing with a chilled bottle of white wine and two glasses. She poured a generous glug of sauvignon blanc into each and handed one to me.

  “Thanks,” I said. I took a sip. It was delicious, of course. Kat had wonderful taste in wine.

  “Now, what’s going on?” Kat sat in one of the large wicker chairs, tucked her feet underneath her and looked at me intently. Her attention was absolute.

  “I don’t know where to start.”

  “You don’t want me to sing that song from The Sound of Music about starting at the very beginning,” Kat joked. “I have a terrible singing voice. It’ll just make you feel even worse.”

  I smiled weakly and looked out at the Intracoastal. The water changed color depending on the currents or the amount of pollution seeping in from Lake Okeechobee. Today the water was bright aqua and rippled with sunlight. A large motorboat puttered slowly by. The passengers were lounging on deck, drinks in hand. They all looked as though they had no worries in the world. Of course, they might have been looking back at Kat and me reclining outside Kat’s beautiful house, thinking the same thing. Everything looks better from a distance.

  “It’s embarrassing,” I finally said.

  “More embarrassing than finding out your husband is having an affair?”

  I shrugged helplessly. “In a way. I don’t know how to quantify the different levels of humiliation.”

  Kat took a sip of her wine and fixed her startlingly bright blue eyes on me.

  “You can tell me anything,” she said. “You and I will always keep each other’s secrets safe.”

  So I told her. All of it. I told her about the call I’d gotten earlier that day from Principal Douglas, about Todd losing his job and not telling me about it, about our myriad of money troubles that had suddenly become as large as a gaping chasm ready to swallow us whole. Kat listened attentively without interrupting.

  When I finally ran out of words, she shook her head.

  “You have had an incredibly crappy day. I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” Kat said.

  “Thanks.” I exhaled loudly. “And thanks for listening. It helps. I don’t know why, but it does.”

  “Probably because you needed to get it out. You can’t keep things so buttoned up.”

  I nodded, acknowledging the truth of this. I’d always been self-contained and had never related to the modern confessional culture. I didn’t want to know everyone’s emotions the moment they felt them. Like those drama queens who posted regularly on Facebook—“Having a tough day. Please send hugs!” or “I hate toxic people. I can’t say more than that here, but it’s time I start putting myself and my own needs first.” I found this oversharing repulsive.

  And though talking to Kat meant my problems weren’t weighing as heavily on me as they had earlier in the day, there was also something present that hadn’t been there before. A faint, oily sense of shame. I supposed it was the price I paid for my own oversharing. I didn’t care for it at all.

  “Now the question is, what are you going to do?” Kat asked.

  “I don’t have a choice. I’ll have to pull the kids out of Seaview and enroll them in public school.” My voice was calm, but my stomach clenched painfully.

  “You can’t do that.”

  “I don’t have a choice,” I said. “The elementary school we’re zoned for isn’t so bad, I guess. But the middle school is a nightmare. I’m going to go down to the district office tomorrow to see what our options are.”

  “But the school tuition is the easiest piece to solve,” Kat said. “It’s just money.”

  “Money I don’t have,” I pointed out.

  Kat stood suddenly and, without explanation, padded barefoot into her house. She returned a minute later with a slouchy white leather handbag that probably cost as much as two months’ tuition. She reached into it, pulled out her checkbook and looked up inquiringly at me. “How much do you need?”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “No way. I’m not taking your money. That’s not why I told you all of this.”

  “I know that!” Kat exclaimed. “Think of it as a loan.”

  I held up a hand, warding her off. “Which I’m in no position to repay,” I said. “Not in the near future. Or the far future, for that matter.”

  “I don’t care if you repay it or not. I want to help, Alice.”

  “Nothing poisons a friendship faster than borrowing money.”

  “No, nothing poisons a friendship faster than sleeping with your friend’s husband,” Kat retorted. “Money is meaningless.”

  “It’s not meaningless when you don’t have it.”

  “I know. I’m not trying to be flippant.” Kat sighed. “But I love you. You’re my best friend. And you have some large, pressing problems that I can help solve for you.”

  “No, I can’t accept it. It wouldn’t be right,” I said, holding up both hands, palms facing out.

  “Fine. I know you wouldn’t take it for your own sake. But you have to take it for the kids. What middle school would Liam go to if he had to transfer?”

  I hesitated and then admitted, “MacArthur.”

  “MacArthur?” Kat yelped. “Wasn’t there a shooting there just last week? I could swear I read something about that in the paper.”

  “It wasn’t a shooting. It was a stabbing.”

  “Alice, this is crazy. You need money. I have plenty of money, more than I can spend in my lifetime. And trust me, I’ve tried. Let me help you out.” Kat stared at me beseechingly. “Let me at least write a check to the school. Keep Liam and Bridget where they are, where they’re happy and safe. We’ll worry about the rest of it later.”

  I could feel my willpower begin to buckle. It was true, I wouldn’t take a dime on my own behalf. But I would do anything for my children. Far more than just swallowing my pride.

  “I’ll pay you back,” I said weakly. “I don’t know how or when, but I’ll pay you back.”

  Kat shook her head briskly. “Don’t worry about that now. How much do you owe the school?”

  “It’s a lot, Kat. We have to pay them six thousand dollars by tomorrow.”

  Kat nodded briskly. “I’ll make the check payable directly to the school. That way you won’t have to wait for it to clear your bank.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you.” I watched her write the check, feeling equal parts of relief and shame.

  “Don’t say another word about it.” Kat tore the check off and handed it to me.

  I stared down at it, hardly believing what I was seeing. “This is made out for twenty thousand dollars.”

  “I know. I just wrote it.”

  “But we don’t owe this much!”

  “For now. But presumably you have another payment due next month. And the month after that. This saves time by taking care of the whole year now.” The way she explained it made it all sound perfectly logical.

  “This is too much,” I protested, trying to give it back to her. Kat waved me away. “No, it’s way too much. It’s more than we ow
e for the whole year.”

  “Oh, please. Amanda went to private school. Class trips, laptops, there’s always something. And this way, you and Todd can make a plan to go forward, get back on your feet, without at least this one thing to worry about.”

  I stared down at the check, hardly believing it was real and wondering if I could really accept it.

  “I don’t know,” I breathed.

  “I do,” Kat said crisply. “And it’s done. Now, first, let’s finish this bottle of wine. And then let’s figure out a game plan that doesn’t include killing your husband, as tempting as that may sound at the moment.”

  14

  Present Day

  The sun was dazzlingly bright when we emerged from the Jupiter Island Public Safety Department. I blinked, and as my eyes slowly adjusted, I looked out at the lush green fairways of the Jupiter Island Club. A pair of golfers—one of whom was wearing plus fours—were just teeing off. This had to be the only police station in America set right in the middle of an exclusive country club.

  “Nice day for golf,” John Donnelly said cheerfully. “I wouldn’t mind being out there myself.”

  “I’m not a golfer.”

  “Smart. It’s a good walk ruined, or so they say.”

  “Did my husband hire you?” I asked, turning to look at him.

  “A criminal defense attorney once told me he always instructs his clients that if they’re ever pulled over by the police, they should take out his business card and stick it in their mouth,” John Donnelly said, ignoring my question. “It never fails to surprise me how often otherwise intelligent people make the mistake of thinking they can talk their way out of trouble.”

  “I wasn’t trying to talk my way out of anything,” I said, stung at the mild rebuke. “The police told me they were only interested in my giving them background information.”

  “I hate to break it to you, but the police lie to suspects all the time. There aren’t any rules against it. They can lie with impunity.”

  “But I’m not a suspect,” I insisted.

  Donnelly just looked amused. “Here’s my card,” he said, handing it to me. “The next time the police try to interview you, don’t say a word until you talk to me first. Put it in your mouth if you have to. And plan on coming to my office tomorrow at two.”