Lost Along the Way(64)
“I actually sold her and Steve this house,” he said.
“Oh, wow. So you’ve known her for a few years? That’s nice. I’m sure she loves having a friend out here to keep her company. I hate to think of her as being lonely.”
Satisfied that the fire had sufficient traction, Nick grabbed his wine off the mantel and sat down on the couch opposite Jane. His eyes searched her, as if he was trying to decide whether he could trust her. She couldn’t blame him. She was pretty sure that until today, he’d never heard of her. “I think she’s doing some real soul searching. It’s best to do that somewhere quiet. We’ve all been there, I guess.”
“Yeah, I guess we have,” Jane said. It didn’t seem like Nick had any idea who she was, which was wildly refreshing. She figured she’d enjoy these moments for as long as possible, because once he placed her, he’d probably never talk to her again. That was the way things had been lately.
“It’s really great to put a name with the face. Meg’s told me about you—about both of you, actually. I didn’t mention it this afternoon when we met because I was caught off guard. I was surprised she didn’t tell me that you were coming for a visit.”
“Well, that’s not her fault,” Jane said with a shrug. “She didn’t know we were coming. We kind of ambushed her.”
He laughed. “How’d that go over?”
“Not well. But she came around. She’s agreed to let us hang out here for a bit. We have to make up for a lot of lost time.”
“Do you think you can do that? With everything that’s happened?”
Immediately, Jane went on the defensive. “Why do you ask that? What did she tell you?”
“Relax,” he said. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, exposing hairy arms and some kind of sport watch that probably worked thirty feet under water. “It wasn’t like that.”
“How could it not be like that?” Jane asked.
“Here. Let me show you something.” Jane watched as Nick got up and went to the bookcase in the corner of the room by a large bay window. He bent down and scanned the leather spines of books that looked like they had been tucked away and left to collect dust. Jane was struck by the number of books Meg had managed to cram onto that bookshelf. Jane had never been much of a reader herself, enjoying the random romance novel or spy thriller or roman à clef when she was afforded the time. She used to say that her busy social calendar and charity obligations prevented her from indulging in the kind of escapism books could provide. Now that she had nothing but time on her hands and needed to escape more than ever, it occurred to her that she still hadn’t bothered to crack open any of the books in her apartment.
Nick removed an album from the lower shelf, a thick, leather-bound mammoth, and for a second, Jane thought about telling him to stop. She assumed the book contained photographic relics of their childhoods—of happier times that were now just distant memories—and she didn’t know if she was ready to see them. She worried that they’d give her yet another reason to pop Xanax like Pez candies, but the intrigue of what he was going to show her prevented her from speaking up.
He placed the album on the coffee table and moved over, motioning for her to come sit next to him. Jane obediently nestled in and watched as he opened it. It was Meg’s wedding album, a monument to the happiest day of her life, neatly organized and immaculately cared for. The leather wasn’t cracked, the pages weren’t yellowed, and unlike Jane’s own visage, the cover was no worse for years of wear. Meg’s wedding was the last time that the three of them had all been together and totally happy, and the flood of memories that suddenly came back to Jane made it hard for her to breathe. The girls in these pictures had their whole lives in front of them, and believed that life would be good to them. The girls in these pictures hadn’t yet been damaged by miscarriages, bad marriages, deception, or despair. If the girls in these pictures had had any idea of what was in store for them, they wouldn’t have been smiling so broadly.
“I can’t believe she has this out here. I actually don’t think I’ve even seen a lot of these pictures.”
“Really? You girls were a good-looking group. How come you never saw them?”
“I don’t know,” Jane lied. “I just never did.”
He began to leaf through the pages. “Meg has shown this to me a few times. She looks at it often.”
“That’s nice. I don’t even have a wedding album. I eloped, and didn’t bother to hire a photographer. Not that it matters now. It wouldn’t really be appropriate to have a large framed photo of my husband and me hanging on the wall at this point, you know?”
“Yeah, I could see how that could be awkward,” he said. So much for his not knowing who I am, Jane thought. She quickly realized that she liked Nick even more than she thought she did, for having the decency to know and not say a word. It really was too bad he was gay.
He turned the page again and stopped at a picture of the three of them, Meg in the center with Cara and Jane flanking her like navy-clad bodyguards. Jane’s eyes went blurry as she stared at the picture. She remembered the day so clearly: how Meg’s mother force-fed them sandwiches, despite Jane’s insistence that runway models and celebrities never ate before events and that it was ridiculous that they were expected to shove down turkey wraps while wearing gowns and expertly applied lip gloss. When Jane thought about it now it was even more ridiculous, as this picture was taken in the pre-Spanx era. Jane hadn’t thought about how the flowers in her bouquet had started to prematurely wilt and how she had choked up on the stems and basically strangled them at the nape to keep them upright. She hadn’t thought about how by the end of the night she and Cara were so drunk that they actually tried to get onstage at the reception and sing with the band. And now here it was: proof that they hadn’t imagined how close they once were. She wiped her hand across her eyes to dry the tears.