by Joy Fielding
“Something to think about,” Brad said, leaning against the steering wheel and watching as the two women disappeared inside Scully’s gym.
“You’re here awfully early,” Jan exclaimed as Lily preceded Emma through the door.
Emma caught the look of uncertainty in Jan’s heavily blue-shadowed eyes, as if the older woman was considering asking her name and whether she might be interested in taking out a membership. “It’s Emma,” she said before Jan had a chance to embarrass them both again.
“Of course you are,” Jan said. “How are you? Did Jeff give you the mug?”
“He did.” Had Jan noticed her trophy was missing? Did she suspect Emma might have taken it? Maybe she should confess right here and now, apologize profusely, beg Jan’s forgiveness, try to explain. Except how did one explain the unexplainable? “Unfortunately, the mug is why I’m here,” she said instead. “We had a slight accident.”
“Her son thought the mug was so special,” Lily took over, “he decided to take it to show-and-tell this morning, and on the way to school, he dropped it.”
“Of course he did,” Jan said, as if this were an inevitable fact of nature. “So you’d like another one?”
“I can bring it back later,” Emma offered.
“Don’t be silly.” Jan reached behind the counter, handed Emma another mug. “Tell him to be more careful with this one.”
“He’ll guard it with his life.”
“You’d better get going,” Lily advised her.
“You’re not coming?”
“I start work in an hour. No point going back and forth all morning. We’ll talk later,” she said as Emma reached for the door.
“Sure thing.” Emma stepped outside, waving good-bye as she cut through the parking lot to the bus stop, relieved to be on her way. Was that another blue Thunderbird in the corner of the lot? she wondered as a bus pulled to a stop in front of her. She mounted the bus’s steps, fumbling in her purse for the correct change. When she looked back, the blue car was no longer there and probably hadn’t been there at all, she decided. She obviously had blue Thunderbirds on the brain.
“You’re late,” Dylan said when she located him in his classroom several minutes later. “You said ten minutes.”
Emma apologized and handed her son the mug. He immediately disappeared inside his classroom without so much as a thank-you hug. She was almost halfway down the hall when a woman’s voice stopped her.
“Excuse me,” the voice called after her, a level of urgency echoing down the corridor. “Excuse me. Mrs. Frost?”
Emma turned around just as Dylan’s alarmingly earnest teacher, Ms. Kensit, reached her side. Annabel Kensit was one of those people who always seemed to be moving. She had short, dark hair and small, dark eyes, and spending more than a few seconds in her company always made Emma nervous.
“I’ve been hoping for an opportunity to speak to you,” the young woman was saying, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She was approximately Emma’s age but looked barely out of her teens. Emma wondered why everyone was suddenly so anxious to speak to her. Had Dylan’s teacher been in Marshalls yesterday too? Was she here to demand an explanation?
“Is everything all right?” Emma asked warily.
“Everything’s fine. It’s just that we haven’t talked in a while, and I’d been hoping to see you at the last parent-teacher meeting.”
“Yes, I’m sorry about that. I wasn’t feeling very well.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Ms. Kensit’s small eyes flickered momentary concern. “I trust everything’s all right now.”
“Yes. Everything’s fine.”
“Good.”
“Is there a problem?” Please don’t let there be a problem, Emma prayed silently.
“Not really. I just thought there were some things we should discuss.”
“Such as?”
“Well, Dylan’s such a sweet little boy, but he gets himself so worked up about every little thing. Like this morning. He was so anxious when you were late.”
She couldn’t have this conversation now. She didn’t have the time or the stamina. And while she was tired of all the lies, the sad reality was that she was even more terrified of the truth. The truth would do nothing but complicate things further, make matters that much worse. The prospect of confronting her demons and confessing her sins was simply too daunting. It was better, and certainly easier, to keeping running, keep hiding, keep pretending. The truth held too many consequences. And Emma had never been very good at consequences. Maybe, eventually, she’d find the courage to stop running, to be the woman she’d been chasing all these years, a woman who was unashamed of her past and confident of her future, a woman whose present was alive with possibilities, who didn’t need exaggeration and embellishment to be proud of who she was. But for now she had to go home and pack her suitcase, finish what she should have finished last night. “I’m sorry, Ms. Kensit. This isn’t a great time for me.”
“Oh, dear. I’m sorry. Do you think you could spare a few minutes when you pick Dylan up this afternoon?”
“Absolutely. I’ll see you then.” Why not? Emma thought. She might as well book all the appointments she didn’t intend to keep for the same time.
She saw the old blue Thunderbird as soon as she turned the corner onto Mad River Road. It was back in its former spot in front of Mrs. Discala’s house, and as Emma drew closer she saw that there were two people sitting in the front seat. What were they doing here? Was it possible they’d been following her? Had they returned to stake out her house? Maybe they were undercover police officers, here at Jeff Dawson’s request. Or worse. Maybe they were here because her whereabouts had been discovered. Maybe whoever was sitting in that car was here to take her son away.
Emma’s antennae were on full alert as she crossed the street, determined to distance herself from the people in that car as quickly as possible. But something about the way the woman in the passenger seat was sitting, slightly hunched over, her back pressed against the car door, as if she didn’t want to be there, as if she wanted to be anywhere but there, made Emma pause and turn around, her curiosity getting the better of her. She approached the blue Thunderbird, knocked on the side window. “Excuse me,” she began testily as the car window lowered. Have you been following me? Is there some reason you’re watching my house? Did my ex-husband send you? “Is there something I can do for you?” she asked instead.
The woman passenger lifted blackened, swollen eyes toward Emma as the man in the driver’s seat spun slowly around. “Yes,” the man said, his cold smile freezing the breath in Emma’s lungs. “I believe there is.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
“That’s right,” Lily was saying. “Only two hundred and fifty dollars to join, plus thirty dollars a month.” She waited for Jan to chirp in with her reminder about the free mug and T-shirt, but Jan was strangely silent. Lily glanced toward the trophy cabinet, where Jan had been polishing her trophies for the better part of the last forty minutes. “Yes, well, we hope to see you soon. Don’t forget this special offer expires at the end of the month, and includes a free T-shirt and mug.” She replaced the receiver and smiled at Jan, waiting for a visual pat on the back, but none was forthcoming. “Something wrong?”
Jan said nothing. She was staring at the cabinet, as if something terrible had just happened. Or was about to.
“Jan?”
Jan stared at her with blank eyes. “Huh?”
“Something wrong? Jan?” Lily asked again when once again Jan failed to respond. “Is there a problem?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I’m not following.”
Jan looked from Lily to her trophy case and back. “One of my trophies is missing.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve counted them ten times. There should be thirty here. There are only twenty-nine.”
Lily strolled around the front of the desk, joined Jan at the cabinet, did a quick count of her own. “You’
re sure there were thirty?” Jan regularly told people she had so many she’d lost count.
“Very sure. Ten per shelf.”
“Is it possible you took one home?”
“Why would I take one home?” Jan snapped, then quickly apologized. “Sorry. I know you’re just trying to help.”
“Which one is missing, do you know?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out.”
Lily scanned the three shelves laden with lovingly polished awards in various sizes and shapes. She could look at them all day and not know which one was missing, but she had no doubt that Jan would soon figure it out. Jan’s trophies were her children, and she was obviously as protective of them as she was proud.
“It’s not one of the bigger ones,” Jan was saying. “I would have noticed one of the big ones missing right away. So, it has to be a smaller one, not a first-place finish, probably a dish or a bowl.” Heavily shadowed eyes swept across the bottom shelf. “It’s the brass bowl from my second-place finish at the Women’s Bodybuilding Competition in Cincinnati, 2002!” she pronounced, pointing to the small bowl’s former place of honor. “It always sat right here. Dammit. Where is it?”
“You’re sure you didn’t move it to another spot?” Lily asked the question, even though she already knew the answer. Jan hadn’t moved the bowl anywhere. She was as obsessive about her trophies as she was about her daily exercise routine.
“It was right here. It’s always right here. Do you think someone might have broken in last night and taken it?”
“Were there any signs of forced entry?” Lily asked, hearing Jeff’s voice reflected in her question. She decided against asking the more obvious question: If somebody were going to go to all the effort and risk of breaking in, why would they take only a relatively worthless, second-place trophy?
“No. No signs of forced entry,” Jan admitted. “And I had to unlock the cabinet, which means whoever took my trophy had to have a key. God, you don’t think it was Art, do you?”
“What would your ex-husband want with one of your old trophies?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s trying to pull a Gaslight on me. You remember that old movie where Ingrid Bergman’s husband is trying to make her think she’s crazy.”
Lily shook her head. “ ’Fraid not.”
“You never saw Gaslight?” Jan looked almost as horrified as when she’d realized one of her trophies was missing.
“When was the last time you opened that cabinet?” Lily asked.
“The last time I was polishing. Last Monday, I guess.”
“And you’re positive all the trophies were there then?”
“Absolutely.”
The phone rang. Lily returned to the counter and answered it. “Scully’s gym. No, I’m sorry. You have the wrong number.” Lily hung up the phone, deciding not to tell Jan the caller had asked for Art Scully’s.
“Wait a minute,” Jan said suddenly, long, orange fingernails piercing the air. “The phone.”
“The phone?”
“My nephew called me. Your friend, Emma, was here. I was showing her my trophies when the phone rang.”
Lily’s stomach fell into her toes. “When was this?”
“Yesterday. I think she came in looking for you. I said you weren’t here, and we talked for a few minutes, she asked me about my trophies, and I opened the cabinet so she could have a better look. And then Noah called, and I excused myself to talk to him, and she left.”
“And you locked the cabinet after she was gone?”
“As soon as I got off the phone.”
Lily looked toward the floor. Was it possible that Emma had stolen Jan’s trophy in addition to the items she’d taken from Marshalls? But why? Why would she do something like that?
“You think your friend could have done this?” Jan asked, posing the first of Lily’s questions out loud.
Lily no longer knew what to think. But she was damn well going to find out before three o’clock this afternoon. “Look, do you think you can manage for a little while without me?” she asked Jan.
“Where are you going?”
Lily pulled open the front door. “To get your trophy back.”
What the hell was going on? Lily wondered as she raced for the bus stop, arriving just as a bus was pulling away from the curb. She ran after it for half a block but gave up when it became obvious the driver had no intention of either stopping or slowing down. She checked her watch, knowing there wouldn’t be another bus for fifteen minutes, then deciding she could probably walk home faster than that. It was probably better this way anyway, she thought, taking a deep breath and deliberately slowing her pace. Walking would give her time to cool down, get her thoughts in order. It wouldn’t do anybody any good if she were to go charging into Emma’s in a fit of temper, accusations flying, explanations demanded. Hadn’t she learned from bitter experience that confrontations were largely ineffective ways of blowing off steam, that they rarely benefited anyone? If she wanted answers, she was going to have to ask the right questions. If she wanted to understand those answers, she was going to have to phrase those questions very carefully indeed.
Lily tried imagining the scene she was about to walk into, as if she were constructing a story: Two young women meet and become friends. They visit each other’s houses, babysit each other’s children, share wine and confidences. And then one discovers the other has been lying to her about almost everything. In short, her friend is not what she seems. But what makes the story really interesting is that the same thing is true of herself.
Lily waited for the light at Stewart to change from red to green, then crossed, wondering how the story would play out.
“You’re here early,” Emma says, panic flashing through her huge, blue eyes. “I wasn’t expecting you until later.”
“This couldn’t wait.”
No, way too melodramatic. Try again.
“You’re here early,” Emma says, clearly flustered by her friend’s unexpected appearance. “I wasn’t expecting you till later.”
“Something’s happened.”
Emma says nothing. She appears to be holding her breath. The two women stand facing each other in the middle of Emma’s meagerly furnished living room.
“One of Jan’s trophies is missing,” Lily says, getting straight to the point.
“I don’t understand.”
“I think you do.”
A long silence, then, “You think I took it?”
“Did you?”
“Of course not. How could you think such a thing?”
“Because you were there yesterday. You were admiring Jan’s trophies. And now one of them is gone.”
“You don’t think it’s possible Jan misplaced it?”
Lily shakes her head. “I might have, if it weren’t for what happened at Marshalls.…”
“I told you that was all a big misunderstanding.”
“Really? What is it I don’t understand?”
“I’m not answering any more of these questions.”
“I think you should.”
“Yeah? Well, I thought we were friends.”
“We are friends.”
“It doesn’t sound like it to me.”
“Emma …”
“No. This conversation is over. I want you out of my house.”
Oh, that’s good, Lily thought. Really good. Start again. Different answers this time.
“One of Jan’s trophies is missing,” Lily says, getting straight to the point.
A long silence, then, “You think I took it?”
“Did you?”
“Yes,” Emma says simply.
Much better.
“Why?”
Another silence. Clearly the answer to this question is not as simple as the first.
“Why did you take Jan’s trophy?” Lily asked out loud. The clothes Emma had stolen from Marshalls, Lily could almost understand, if not justify. Emma had no money, no prospects. She was poor, she was d
epressed, she’d given in to temptation in a moment of weakness. But Jan’s bodybuilding trophy? What could she possibly want with that? Even were she to pawn it, it was doubtful she’d get more than a few dollars. So why bother? Especially when she knew Jan, knew she was Lily’s employer as well as her friend. It was such a betrayal.
Was Emma’s betrayal any worse than her own?
Lily stepped off the curb, into the path of a red Chrysler Sebring. The driver honked angrily, then threw his hands into the air. “Sorry,” Lily mouthed, although the scowl on the man’s face told her he was far from placated. Sorry about a lot of things, she thought.
If she was ever going to stop feeling sorry, she had to start telling the truth.
How could she expect people to be honest with her if she wasn’t honest with them?
Lily’s thoughts returned to the story unfolding in her head.
“You’re here early,” Emma says, standing aside to let Lily enter. “I wasn’t expecting you until later.”
“This couldn’t wait.”
“Look, if this is about what happened at Marshalls …”
“It isn’t.”
Emma regards her quizzically as Lily shakes her head no.
Could she do it? Could she really tell Emma everything?
“Do you think we could sit down?”
Emma leads Lily into her living room. She motions toward her brown sofa, waiting until Lily gets comfortable before occupying the seat beside her. “Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”
“I know you’ve been lying to me,” Lily begins, trying to ease into her confession gradually. “I know you never modeled for Maybelline cosmetics. I know you never sold a story to Cosmopolitan magazine. I’m not even sure your name is Emma Frost.”
“Hold on a second here,” Emma interrupts, jumping to her feet. “Where do you come off—?”
“What you don’t know is that I’ve been lying too.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“I’m not who you think I am.”
No. Stop. Way too trite. You can do better than that.
“What? What are you talking about?” Emma demands.
