Mother May I(26)

“I’m fine,” I said.

Marshall said, “Something’s off. Talk to me.”

A female figure turned onto our small path, blocking my view. The light was behind her, making her a curvy silhouette. My heart leaped up into my throat. Was it the daughter, come to shoo me home?

I grabbed Marshall’s arm, saying, “Shhhh,” trying to drag him backward.

“What are you . . . ?” he said.

I let go, ready to run for the entrance, my heart galloping, but the woman called out, “Bree?”

I recognized her voice. It was Gabrielle Baxter.

Gabrielle was not the daughter. She couldn’t be. I’d met her parents at a party. They were black and sophisticated and quite well-off. The old woman I’d seen was white, and she didn’t have a posh, rich-person’s accent. Plus, the mother had told me they’d been unable to get in to see Spence. Gabrielle saw him every day.

“Are you hiding from Gabrielle?” Marshall whispered.

“No.”

As she came to join us, I shifted so I could still see Spence. He was trying to charm the Clausens, leaning in to tell an animated story, but he looked downright sick now. He paused and swayed, and Mr. Clausen looked concerned. God, I hoped I hadn’t overdosed him.

“Hey, Marshall,” Gabrielle said.

“Evening, Gabrielle.” Marshall took his puzzled glance off me to greet her with an easy smile.

She turned to me. “I’ve been looking for you. Janice said you were heading out this way. I’m so glad I caught you.”

“I can’t stay. I’m on the way to meet my Lyft.”

“I only need a minute.” She looked anxious.

This was about Spence, I thought, my heart sinking. It had to be.

I had a sudden urge to tell her, Don’t sweat it. I just roofied him, and however uncomfortable he made you feel, I bet something worse is coming for him.

“Maybe tomorrow you could call me,” I said instead. “If you want to talk privately.”

Marshall asked, “Should I give you two a minute?”

“No,” Gabrielle said. She touched his arm lightly. “Marshall knows.”

They were friends, I realized with a small shock. Marshall, who had gotten colder and colder toward me, was close with Gabrielle.

“Oh, this is about . . .” Marshall inclined his head back toward Spence, who was now waving an expansive hand a little too close to Mrs. Clausen’s face. He looked like he was assuring them that he was fine. He did not look fine.

Gabrielle nodded. “She saw. So it isn’t my word against his anymore.” She turned back to me, chin up, almost challenging me, her hands twisting together. “If you’re willing to back me up, that is.”

If Marshall knew, then the inappropriate behavior I had seen in the Orchid Center was not an isolated incident. I ought to be shocked by this, and outraged, determined to make it stop. If Gabrielle made partner, she would be only the third woman to reach that pinnacle. The first African-American woman. Spence was putting all that at risk, using his seniority in ways that made me sick. If she spoke out, the blame would fall on her. Even post-#MeToo, the good-ol’-boy network was strong at old, established firms like this one. But right now I was busy watching Spence for my own reasons. Tomorrow, once Robert was safe home, I would care.

Gabrielle, her voice fierce, said, “This stuff with Spence, it’s all him. He started it after things got bad with Charlotte. I want you to know I never flirted with him to get ahead, I never—” She broke off, but I knew what she meant.

“Of course not. I never thought that,” I assured her. I should help her, but all I wanted was to get away and look at the cheap phone, see if the mother had texted me some new instructions. She might need me to intervene and separate Spence from the Clausens. I had to make sure all went well for them, so that it would go well for Robert. “But I can’t really talk about this now.”

Her lips curved down, and she blinked. Disappointed but not surprised. Spence worked so closely with my husband that talking to me at all had been a risk. Now she thought I was shutting her down, taking his side.

Marshall saw it, too. “Bree will back you. She’s just sick,” he explained. For all that he’d been so cold, he knew me well enough to know this and to vouch for me. It did my aching heart some good.

“Oh. Nothing serious, I hope?” Now she wasn’t sure what to think.

“Just a bug. But I’m desperate to get home,” I said. “Can we talk next week?”

She glanced at Marshall, and then she smiled, genuine. “Yes. I’d appreciate that.”

I smiled back as best I could. The world refused to stop spinning, and all these things did matter. I simply couldn’t care about them now.

Movement from the green. I looked back to Spence in time to see him double over in a fast, jerky spasm. He looked like a puppet with all his top strings cut. He vomited, violently, splashing Mrs. Clausen’s shoes. She let out a loud cry and stepped back. Behind them the party was a moving backdrop, people turning and shifting, trying to see what was happening.

Gabrielle and Marshall stared, too. She froze, but Marshall started toward them. Lightning fast, my hand shot out and grabbed his arm.

“No!” I said. I should never have given Spencer all three capsules.

Spence straightened, but he could not keep his balance. He went reeling sideways, with Mr. Clausen reaching out almost comically, bounding forward to try to catch him. Spence slammed into the small bar. Bottles tumbled and fell in a chiming of glass on glass, and the bartender scrabbled, trying to catch them and right them.