by A. J. Carton
Once again, Emma raised the question. How well do we know each other? Even our own families, not to mention those whom we think are our closest friends.
Emma pulled a little leftover Trapanese sauce out of the refrigerator. It was Jack’s favorite dish. She had planned on calling him when she got home, to see if he wanted to share a quick pasta dinner with her.
She glanced at the clock. Too late now.
Her computer still sat on the kitchen counter. Before heating the leftover sauce, she lifted the lid. Then she thought for a moment.
Her opened Facebook page stared back at her on the screen. “Friend Requests.” “Dan Worthington.” And to the right of his name, two boxes: “Confirm;” “Delete Request.”
Emma clicked the “Confirm” button and, for some reason, held her breath.
Chapter 11: Wednesday – Conflict of Interest
Wednesday morning, Emma woke up to a phone call from Steve.
“Hey, Emma. Hope I’m not calling too early. Did you get my email?” he began.
In fact, Steve wasn’t calling too early. Emma glanced at the time on her cell phone. It was 8:30. Also, in fact, she was still asleep when her phone rang, having spent a restless night. Why do I feel so frazzled? She’d asked herself in the middle of the night unable to relax and fall asleep.
Too many competing emotions. That’s what Emma told herself before taking an Advil PM at 4:00 a.m. Joy and excitement about the birth of the new baby. Anxiety about the book deal. Irritation with Steve. Concern about the murder. And now, Dan.
That’s the problem, she realized. That’s the emotion I cannot name. After twenty plus years, how do I feel about Dan?
“Hi. Are you there?” Steve’s voice interrupted her.
She pinched her arm to wake herself up and cleared her throat.
“Hi, Steve,” she answered. “I haven’t got your email yet; but no, you aren’t calling too early. What’s up?”
“I know I sound a little desperate, Emma; but frankly, I am,” Steve replied. Then he added without a pause. “I really need your help. I’ve been swamped with the Esquivel immigration hearings all week. I’m on my way to Alameda for another one today. And I scheduled meetings on the Gomez case down south Thursday and Friday. The point is, I’m still hoping you can help me out with that. No one else from the office can go.”
Of course, Emma reminded herself. Steve is calling about the murder investigation. Steve’s trip to Coachella to prove Curt Randall killed Santiago Gomez. Emma kicked herself for not getting back to Steve about it sooner.
“Sorry, Steve. I can’t go. I’m a volunteer, remember?” she replied. “I can’t just drop everything…”
“Because of Piers, right? Conflict of interest stuff,” Steve cut in. “Look, Emma. I’m sorry about my reaction the other day. I get it. I see the bind you’re in. But here’s the thing. I know about the conflict of interest. It’s out in the open. We’re waiving it. I need help. I need to find answers to the same questions Piers is asking. Who killed Gomez? I know Piers has hired some fancy investigators to look into it. I need to satisfy myself about a few things before we file the wrongful death suit.”
Steve paused. When Emma didn’t answer he continued. “You know I trust you, Emma. To keep an open mind, no matter what. I need that. So please, drive south with me tomorrow and let’s see what we can dig up. We’ll talk more when I get back to the office later this afternoon. OK? Oh, and I need someone to interview Gomez’s cousin this evening. The one who found Santiago’s body. I can’t. It’s my wife’s birthday and I promised her I wouldn’t miss the party. If I do, all hell will break loose…”
Emma bristled. Darned if Steve didn’t bring up his wife’s birthday. Of course she wanted to help him with something like that. But her mind was too fuzzy for a rational reply. Besides, she was still mad at Steve for his comments about Piers and Porsches.
“Steve, look,” she replied. “I can’t commit to a trip now. But I’ll think about it. I promise. We can talk more this afternoon. When you’re back from Alameda.”
“Around 4:00,” Steve replied.
“See you then.” Emma hung up the phone.
She went downstairs to her kitchen to make coffee, but abruptly decided to check Facebook, instead. She started to log on at the dining room table, her heart filled with equal parts of anticipation and dread. Before she clicked the log in button, however, she stopped herself. Her hands were shaking. She returned to the kitchen, made coffee and sat down to think while it brewed.
What is the matter with me? she asked. What am I afraid of?
She answered her own question. Maybe I’m afraid of losing control. I did it once before and it broke my heart.
But Dan was my soulmate, she replied. The only man I was sure I could happily spend the rest of my life with.
So why worry? she reassured herself. If he writes back, I’ll either pick up where I left off with the love of my life. The handsome architect who dumped me – Emma had to admit he had dumped her – and ran home when his wife decided she wanted him back. Or I won’t. Either way, we’ll both survive. We did before.
The coffee was ready. Emma poured herself a cup, topped it off with milk and grabbed one of Claud’s biscotti. Then she returned to the dining room and clicked on her Facebook page.
Yes. There was a message. Her heart skipped a beat. It was from Dan. This one was private. It read:
Hi Emma,
I know this sounds crazy. All those years ago, we both agreed that I’d never break up my marriage over you. But Kim’s gone – this time for good. She moved to Santa Fe with a guy she’s been seeing for years. I guess I just didn’t want to know.
The divorce is final. No more screwing around this time. The kids are madder’n heck, but, at 35 and 37 I guess they – we – will all survive. They are fine. Alice has two kids of her own. John’s an architect now in D.C. Ha! What a surprise!
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve picked up the phone to call you since I transferred to the Denver office so Kim and I could try to rebuild a life together. But I knew it wasn’t fair. I didn’t have anything to offer you.
Now I can’t help hoping that maybe I do. I’ve never forgotten you. You don’t forget your soulmate once you are lucky enough to find her
I can’t believe I found you on Facebook. Or that you are living in Blissburg, CA. I always thought you were an urbanite like me, a committed city girl. I know things change. And by the way, congratulations on the new career. I’ve been reading about your cooking on the Internet.
Listen, Emma, I REALLY want to see you. To see if, finally, things can work out the way I always thought they were meant to. I know. Too bad we didn’t figure all this out years ago, before we let other people steal our hearts. But maybe better late than never.
Just name a date. We have a $150M arena in San Jose that brings me to northern California twice a month. Say the word, and I’ll be on my way to Blissburg. How wonderful that sounds!
VERY VERY TRULY YOURS,
Dan
Without even realizing it, Emma started to cry. She wiped her nose on the sleeve of her muumuu. She didn’t even try to dry her eyes. It was the message she’d been waiting for. Waiting for over twenty years. But instead of being happy, the message had made her sad.
Don’t rock the boat! It takes a long time to get happy! a voice warned inside her head.
Emma sipped her coffee staring at the screen, wondering what to do. Then another message popped up on her screen. “Hey, we’re friends on Facebook! Lunch? The Trough? Noon?” It was Jack Russo.
Emma felt her stomach lurch. Something was still bothering her. What is it? she asked herself again.
But this time she knew the answer. It was Jack. Jack Russo was what was bothering her. She and Jack had been carrying their relationship around like Humpty Dumpty for almost a year. Now she was afraid – more afraid than she wanted to admit - that Humpty Dumpty was about to fall apart.
She quickly accepted Jack’
s lunch invitation.
Then she emailed her boss, Steve. “I’m good to go tomorrow. We’ll talk later this afternoon.”
Finally, without stopping to think any more about it, Emma posted a private message for Dan.
Hey Dan,
Great to hear from you. I mean it. And of course, I’m sorry about you and Kim, but I hope it is all for the best.
I have to be out of town for a few days on business. When I get back, we’ll figure out a time to meet.
Meanwhile, lots of love and thanks for getting in touch.
Emma
She was about to post the message when she thought of something. She revised the second to the last sentence to read. “When I get back, we’ll figure out a time and place to meet.”
Then she let the message go.
Emma wasn’t sure why, but after working for an hour or two on her book, she took more care than usual dressing for her lunch with Jack that day. She ironed her green and blue flowered Liberty print blouse – a gift from Julie – took a clean pair of loden green slim jeans out of the closet and slipped her feet into an old pair of two inch Ferragamo heels. She even put on a little mascara and eyeliner to highlight her pale blue eyes.
She looked herself over in the full-length bathroom mirror and smiled. Then she grabbed her small black shoulder bag and started walking to the plaza.
When she arrived at The Trough, Jack was already sitting at their usual table in the shade checking his email. Emma knew what was on his mind that day. Their dinner on Saturday. The one she was supposed to cook. The one he’d purchased for $5000 at the Opera in the Vineyard fundraiser the year before. At that price, Emma agreed he had a right to be concerned.
“Hi,” Jack glanced up and smiled as Emma approached the table. “You look terrific. Going someplace special after lunch?” He stood up to pull out Emma’ chair.
The question cut Emma to the quick.
Is he saying I don’t think our lunches are special? she asked herself. The ones he pays for every week?
She knew she’d let her appearance slide the past few months when they were together. Suddenly she felt guilty.
But then, again, she told herself, Jack never acts like he notices.
Now, it seemed, perhaps he did.
“Lunch with you is special,” she answered, blushing at the awkwardness of her reply.
“’The lady doth protest too much,’” Jack laughed quoting Shakespeare.
Emma turned to glance at him and then sat down, too embarrassed to think of a clever reply.
“Do you want some wine?” he asked. “I ordered myself a glass of Sancerre.”
Emma shook her head. “No. I have some work to do this afternoon.”
They studied their menus to fill what seemed like an unaccustomed pause.
After the waiter took their orders, Jack broke the silence.
“So about dinner,” he began. “Sorry,” he paused. “Am I making too big a deal out of this?”
“No. No!” Emma exclaimed. “You have every right to. It’s an expensive dinner,” she laughed. “I really want it to be great.”
For the next few minutes, they discussed the menu: malfatti, veal scallops, green beans, salad and his favorite, Bavarian cream, for dessert. Then shopping – she’d already ordered the veal. The rest, she told him, she’d pick up fresh at the Saturday Blissburg Farmer’s Market. Everything was under control, except for a few things to buy at Pete’s. She’d make the Bavarian cream for dessert the night before.
Jack mentioned that Peppino had already delivered the wine. He would take care of drinks. Celina would set the table. Emma promised to bring flowers.
When they were finished, Jack leaned back in his chair. “That does it,” he said with a satisfied smile. “Emma, we make a good team.”
She shook a warning finger at him. “Save that for the after-dinner drinks,” she said, more nervous about the dinner than she’d let on.
They were drinking cappuccinos when Jack changed the subject. “So,” he squinted his eyes at her tilting his head from side to side, “how’s the cookbook coming? You gonna make the deadline for Christmas sales?”
Emma smiled. She realized that Jack always remembered to ask her about herself. What was on her mind. What she was doing. It was an endearing trait. She wondered if she showed as much interest in him. Aside from talking about his grandchildren, she realized that Jack said little about himself.
“Funny you should ask,” she replied. “I had lunch yesterday with the Buchanons. Guess who was there?”
Jack shook his head.
“The Chinese. Bo, Ho, Fung and Lew. I think I got that right,” she laughed. “Assuming we’re on a first name basis.” She rolled her eyes. “Lexie went off the spool again. Women’s Lib. She said the Chinese were sexist pigs and right she was. All Ho wanted to discuss was his favorite actresses’ melons. Tell me. Is that what these super-important power lunches have been about all these years? Is this what we women have been missing?”
Jack shrugged. “’Fraid so. That and all the dough. But, believe me, things have changed. Look at my daughter. The research she does in her lab is worth billions and she’s taking home a chunk of it. Things may not have changed so much in China, though.
“Here’s the worst part,” Emma continued. “Cheng Bo told Barry that Randall is falling apart over the Gomez investigation. No surprise,” she added, “given the murder charges against him. Paying for his defense costs must be costing him a bundle. Piers won’t talk to me about it – because I work with Steve. But I gather he has his hands full trying to convince Randall not to sell the ranch to HoCo for a song to get some cash.”
Jack looked over Emma’s shoulder and squinted as though he were thinking. “I just don’t think the old guy did it, Emma. Last time I saw him, which was only two weeks ago, he could barely lift himself out of a chair.” He shook his head emphatically. “Nah. Something else is goin’ on.”
“That’s exactly what Piers thinks,” Emma agreed. “Lots of people hated Gomez. Including the husband of the woman he was seeing and the cousin that Piers says Gomez tried to blackmail...”
“By the way,” Jack interrupted. “I did some poking around myself the other day. About Rob Peters. Curt’s nephew.” He lowered his voice. “The one who’ll lose a bundle if Curt changes his will. It seems Rob’s borrowed a lot of money. On the assumption that he’s the sole heir. Now I hear Rob’s investments are belly up. Some big wine venture that failed. People at the club say he’s goin’ around town bad mouthing Curt. I guess Rob tried to borrow money from him and Curt refused.”
“So you think that’s why he was at the rally? Because he’s mad at Curt?” Emma asked.
“Maybe,” Jack said.
“That doesn’t explain Gomez, though,” Emma replied.
Jack shrugged. “Look. If Peters really is the sole beneficiary of Randall’s estate, he couldn’t have been too happy about the Gomez suit. A judgment in a class action could cost Randall millions. Not to mention attorney fees. Suddenly,” Jack snapped his fingers, “there goes the estate. Depending on how desperate Peters is for money, who knows what he might do?”
Emma nodded. “You mean, kill Gomez to stop the lawsuit, and then frame Curt for the murder?”
Jack threw his hands up. “As far as I can tell, someone is trying to frame Curt. Hey, by the way,” he changed the subject. “You’re on Facebook now.”
“Kicking and screaming,” Emma laughed. “Lexie insisted I join. Nice of you to friend me.”
“I like the photo. From the auction, right?” Jack asked. “That night I met you.”
“Glad you like it.” Emma paused. “Let me ask you something, Jack. Why are you on Facebook? I don’t get it. Why do you want to know all those dumb things people post about themselves? Does a busy guy like you really have time?”
“Not that busy anymore, Emma,” Jack rolled his eyes. “For me, it’s a good way to keep up. With my daughter. With business. With organizations I suppor
t. With friends I left behind on the East Coast.” He laughed. “I’m a sociable guy. My daughter said it would be good for me. And guess what? She was right. Now I’m in touch with people I haven’t seen in years.”
“People you haven’t seen in years,” Emma repeated. “Let me ask you something else,” she paused.
A little voice in the back of her head told her to stop, but she ignored it.
“Did you ever hear from someone…I don’t know…someone out of the blue? Someone from your past that really surprised you?”
Jack was draining the last of his cappuccino. He put down his cup. “Whaddya mean? What kind of surprise? Like a good surprise? Like someone from my past I’d been…I don’t know…hoping to hear from? Like an old girlfriend kinda surprise? You hear of that happening when people go on Facebook. Is that what you mean?” He cocked his head, stared into her eyes and squinted. Like he was trying to read her mind. Then, before she answered, he shook his head. “No, that never happened to me.”
Alarms started ringing in Emma’s ears. She dropped her eyes and blushed.
“Did it happen to you?” he asked.
“What? What do you mean?” Emma stammered. “Did what happen?”
She guessed, by then, her face had turned three shades of red.
“Nothing,” he smiled perfunctorily. “I mean it as a compliment. I’m guessin’ a nice woman like you, divorced for many years, probably has some guys in her past. You never talk about them, that’s all.” He nodded slowly. “You talk about a lot of other stuff. But not that. So I wondered…Me, I was married for almost fifty years – to the same woman. I got nothin’ to talk about. In polite company that is. Nothing except a few one night stands.”
Jack signaled the waiter to bring the check. They sat in silence for a minute while he paid. Then he cast her a sheepish grin.
“I know that wasn’t fair, Emma,” he said. “You got secrets. I got secrets – well, not secrets. Just things I never told you. Like,” he shrugged. “Like about Johnny. That’s not a secret. It’s just,” he sighed. “It’s just something that. Well, let me put it this way. It’s something that, when I moved here, I realized I no longer had to explain.”
