True Places(95)

He repeated the address. “What’s there?”

“Please just find out whatever you can. I’d really appreciate it.”

“You got it.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you later.” She winced at the sound of her voice, too breezy. In person they might be less awkward, but she wasn’t counting on it. She hoped Whit would accept what she had been thinking about, her next steps, as he would put it, but she couldn’t count on that either. Suzanne couldn’t remember the last time she’d decided anything without her husband weighing in and felt as though she were trying out for a role for which she would never be chosen.

“I’ve missed you,” Whit said.

Her voice faltered. “See you soon.”



The housekeeper answered the door, cleaning caddy in hand, even though Tinsley was only steps away in the parlor, reading a magazine on the sofa with her back to a rain-streaked window. Iris had elected to stay in the car. Suzanne said she’d only be a minute.

Tinsley closed the magazine and waited for Suzanne to come to her. “Thank goodness you’ve come to your senses at last.”

“Hello, Mother.”

Tinsley snaked her head to look past Suzanne. “Clara? Clara!”

The housekeeper appeared in the doorway. “Yes, ma’am.”

“She probably heard the door, but would you tell my granddaughter her mother is here.” She spit out the word mother as if it were a bitter lemon pip from a drink of iced tea and turned her focus to Suzanne. “Brynn will undoubtedly tell you that as much as we love her company, your father and I simply could not allow her to stay.”

“I don’t even know exactly why she’s here, but why make her leave?”

Tinsley blinked once slowly and sighed. “I don’t have time to look after a teenager, Suzanne. That should be obvious.” She glanced toward the hall and lowered her voice. “Especially not one with a rap sheet.”

“Really, Mother? A rap sheet? I’m not going to argue that Brynn didn’t make mistakes, but you and I both know that’s not why you won’t let her stay.”

Her mother raised her eyebrows, politely curious. “Do tell.”

“You might enjoy doting on Brynn, but you don’t like being a mother. You never have.”

Tinsley adjusted the diamond pendant at her throat. “At least I never ran out on you.”

“True.” Her mother looked up, uncomfortable with the admission. Suzanne reached for the most sincere thing she could say, and said it without vengefulness. “You needed me too much.”

Tinsley sighed. “Perhaps.”

Brynn came into the room. She wore sweats, an old T-shirt, and no makeup. Suzanne was alarmed at how drawn her daughter’s face appeared. Brynn dropped her bag and threw her arms around her mother, hugging harder than she had in a very long time.

“Can we go?”

Suzanne planted a kiss on her daughter’s cheek. “Sure.” She addressed Tinsley. “Thanks for letting Brynn stay, Mother. Do you and Dad have time tomorrow? There’s something I want to talk with you about.”

“I’ll see you on Sunday for brunch. We can talk then.”

“Sunday?”

Tinsley looked heavenward. “Mother’s Day brunch, Suzanne. At the club per usual.”

Suzanne had completely forgotten. She pictured her family around a table, surrounded by her parents’ friends and their families, everyone dressed smartly, the mothers sipping Bellinis while the children squirmed and the fathers itched to be released onto the golf course. She could feel Brynn staring at her, waiting for her to confirm that life would continue as it always had.

“The club might be too much for Iris, and for me, to be honest. Let’s do it at our house. I’ll take care of everything.”

Tinsley opened her magazine and recrossed her legs at the ankle. “If we must.”

Suzanne had expected more resistance. “Thanks, Mother. I’d still like to talk tomorrow, though.”

She raised her head, acknowledging her curiosity. “It’ll have to be first thing. We’re extremely busy. Nine sharp.”

“Nine sharp it is.”





CHAPTER 42

Whit drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he neared home. He thought he knew his wife but had not been able to get much from her phone call, other than news. She sounded calm enough, but he had no clue where he stood with her. They had to talk—he accepted that—but what he most wanted was to skip over the talking and return to what they’d had before. It wasn’t mature, it wasn’t even rational, but it was what he wanted.

When he saw the Navigator in the drive, he let out the breath he’d been holding. He left his car, strode to the house, and let himself in. He didn’t call out. He closed the door softly and listened, his throat tight. Low voices came from the kitchen. Suzanne and Brynn. He stood still, squeezing the handle of his briefcase and half closing his eyes, indulging himself in the fantasy that this was just a day like countless others in which he returned to his house, to his children, to his beautiful wife, whom he cherished and who loved him back. Unable to make the fantasy last, Whit placed his briefcase by the entry table, ran his hands through his hair, and headed to the kitchen.

Suzanne, Brynn, and Iris sat at the breakfast table surrounded by deli-wrapped sandwiches, chip packets, and drinks.