Lost Along the Way(17)
“Look, I’m not saying that I’ve done everything right, and quite honestly, if that’s how high the bar is to stay friends with you then I was never going to clear it anyway. You don’t have to be a bitch about it.”
“You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”
“I’m here because I’ve been trapped in my apartment. If I go outside I’m literally chased by paparazzi with cameras who think that splattering the image of the moron wife who didn’t know any better across the front page will sell papers. I’m here because I’m afraid my lungs are starting to shrivel up due to lack of fresh air, and I’m here because I need to see someone who knew me before I was his wife. I need to get out of the city, Cara. I’m afraid I’m going to literally lose my mind if I don’t. I’m here because I need to be around people who know me—who really know me.”
“You’re here because you need something. Some things never change.”
“Fine. Forget it. I thought maybe you’d be willing to help me.”
“You’re unbelievable. All these years go by without a word from you and you show up here and expect me to jump for joy? You have no idea what’s going on in my life, and you don’t even care. You still think that everything is about you. The sheer fact that you came here expecting me to feel bad for you, to feel pity for you, is just another sign of how completely out of touch you are with reality.”
“Fine, Cara. I’m sorry I bothered you,” Jane said, surprised at her own tone of voice. She’d had enough of people insulting her. She’d rather wrestle Mrs. Cooper and the entire co-op board than put up with this shit. She was alone in this. She’d have to figure out a way to go on relying on no one but herself.
Jane spun around and started to walk down the block. It was probably a mile into town, where she’d have to wait at the train station for the next westbound train to shuttle her back into the city. She hadn’t reached the curb yet when she heard Cara clear her throat.
“Jane, wait,” Cara called after her.
Jane slowly turned around to stare at Cara, standing in the doorway of her beautiful, probably unmortgaged home wearing jeans and a white shirt, and swallowed a lump in her throat.
“What?” Jane shot back, regretting her decision to show her vulnerability.
Cara fidgeted with the strand of pearls at her neck. “Where will you go?”
Jane hesitated a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll figure it out.”
“Stay here. For tonight at least. It’s getting late and it’s cold, and . . . I can still be mad at you without turning you out on the street.”
“Don’t do me any favors,” Jane said, knowing full well that this was exactly the favor she’d sought in the first place.
“Please, Jane. Just come inside. You can crash in the spare bedroom.” Cara opened the door and stepped to the side, giving Jane room to enter. Jane trudged up the walk, hoping Cara could somehow hear her say thank you and I’m sorry to herself without actually having to say them out loud. Her dislike of Reed had ultimately been what had come between them, but she was willing to admit she’d been wrong. Years later, they were still happily married, they had a beautiful home, and as far as she knew, Reed was on the right side of the law. Jane had misjudged him. When the time was right, she’d tell Cara that. She’d tell her that she was just trying to protect her, but she had gone about it all wrong. She’d tell her that she should’ve kept her mouth shut and been on time for her engagement party and been supportive and happy for her back then. She’d tell her all of it—if Cara would only give her the chance.
She dropped her bag on the floor next to the console table just inside the foyer. The spindled staircase circled up from the right of the entry, a grandfather clock ticking away quietly in the corner.
“Come with me,” Cara said. “We can put your bag in the spare room.” Jane followed Cara up the stairs, and tried very hard not to be shocked at how strange it all felt. When they were little they used to walk in and out of each other’s houses without even ringing the doorbell. Now she felt like she was standing in a museum or something, afraid to touch the grass cloth on the wall, nothing feeling familiar. They walked past the master bedroom, and Jane peeked her head in and saw the large leather headboard and stark white sheets, a huge flat-screen TV, and two pairs of men’s lace-up dress shoes sitting in the corner next to a StairMaster. They continued down the hall and passed another bedroom, the bed once again covered in white linens, with a large overstuffed chair sitting in the corner. It wasn’t the color palette that made Jane look twice, it was the assortment of objects on the bureau under the window: a bottle of perfume, a hairbrush, a porcelain dish holding bangle bracelets, and next to it all, in a large silver frame, the old black-and-white picture of Cara’s mother that she recognized from Cara’s childhood home. She also noticed a pair of slippers sitting neatly next to the bed and a book on the nightstand, next to the alarm clock.
When they got to the end of the hallway, Cara opened a door and ushered Jane into a third white bedroom. This room had a four-poster bed with a white duvet, white curtains on the windows, and a small bureau with a lamp resting on it.
Before Jane opened her mouth to ask Cara if someone else was staying in the second bedroom, she caught herself. There were no other guests.