Until the Day I Die(69)
37
ERIN
Jess settles back, eases out her legs on the stone floor. “My mom and dad met at a sit-in in Greensboro, North Carolina. Like it was not enough that they were making history sitting at a lunch counter, but also they were falling in perfect, fairy-tale love. And then they had my brother and me.”
I nod.
“Both of us crush it academically. Both of us”—she sighs—“head to the Ivy League, then naturally, get our MBAs. And then, in no time, we’re taking our rightful place in the Wall Street firms of our choice. Sister Jess, at J.P. Morgan in New York. Brother Matt, not at J.P. Morgan, but still a respectable bank.
“Things seem good. I’m moving up, up, up, but Matt isn’t. He’s just sort of stagnating in no-man’s-land. For a while I feel sorry for him, until reality hits me. Or rather, I hit a ceiling of my own. I’m not going any higher; that much has been made abundantly clear from every executive I encounter on the top floor. So here we are, the golden children, disappointing our parents, the ones who taught us we could and should change the world.”
“That’s a lot of pressure to be under.”
She nods. “All parents want their kids to do better than they did. But how do you top sticking your foot up the ass of Jim Crow?”
“Good point. So what happened?”
“Two years ago, we were back home in New Orleans. After dinner—and one too many drinks—Matt told me why he seemed so chill with his dead-end job. He had been stealing from his company for months. Little amounts here and there, accumulating quite a tidy sum. He dumped the money in an offshore account and nobody ever had a clue. And then he stopped.”
Her eyes go unfocused.
“They never caught him, and, I don’t know, I couldn’t quit thinking about what he’d done. How smart he was, and what a fool I was, still thinking I had to play by the rules. Anyway, on that same trip, I happened to meet a woman. Married, in town on business.” Jess hesitates. “She was stunning. Smart as hell and southern. Body to die for. I don’t know. It was the right time, I guess. The perfect storm of where I was in my life and where she was in hers.”
“Was her relationship an open one?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think so. And you can judge. I’m not proud of what I did; just know that I was in love, so to me, it felt right, at least on some level. Anyway, after that weekend, she went back home to her husband, and I went back to New York. But we talked every day. Texted, Skyped, the whole deal. I was overwhelmed . . . engulfed. In love.” She sighs again. “And that’s probably why I ignored all the warning signs.”
“Warning signs?”
“She didn’t want me to come to her. She always flew up to see me. And . . . I know I shouldn’t have . . . but I introduced her to my parents. I didn’t tell them she was married. They would’ve hated it. I just wanted them to know who I loved.”
The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up. Something is coming, I can feel it. Something very, very bad.
“I’m pretty sure she had somebody else, I mean, other than her husband, in addition to me. She was just that type—always scanning the horizon for the next best thing. But she insisted she didn’t want us to break up. She told me if I’d just be patient we’d end up together, and I believed her. She’d come to town, and we’d have this amazing time. Then she’d go back to her husband—or whoever—and ignore my texts for a couple of weeks until she decided she needed to see me again.”
“Seems cruel,” I say.
Jess nods. “When we were together she was so attentive. Completely present. She had this way about her. Made me feel so safe and loved. I wanted to tell her everything. My struggles trying to be the good daughter. My drinking. I even told her what my brother had done.” She laughs. “That got her interest. She asked some very specific questions. Like, she-might-be-planning-to-try-it-herself specific.”
Alarm ripples through me for a second time.
“That was January. Spring and summer, everything seemed fine. Then, in late July, we had a fight. A big one, about her husband and the other person she was sleeping with. She made this crack about how I was disloyal because I’d told her about Matt’s crime. I got scared, then. Made her swear she wouldn’t say anything to anyone. She just laughed. She said why would she rat on Matt when she’d been implementing the plan at her own company since the spring. It was me, she said, who couldn’t be trusted to keep the secret.
“About two weeks ago, she came to New York and everything seemed back to normal. She was affectionate with me, acting romantic, making promises. She wanted to go out to this new place, this bar in Tribeca where a bunch of celebrities were supposed to hang out. We went, had a couple of drinks. Then things got hazy. Next thing I know, I’m waking up on Prince Street with nothing. My purse was gone, all my credit cards and phone and keys. Even my shoes were gone. And I didn’t remember a thing.”
My alarm has ramped up another level. “She roofied you. Did you report her?”
“I should have. I was angry. And it was so wrong, what she did. But I just . . . I couldn’t bring myself to get her in trouble.” She studies her blood-encrusted nails. “I called my parents. And in approximately twelve hours they were in the city, putting me on a plane to Hidden Sands. For my drinking problem.”