The Nest(84)

“Of course you will,” George said, attempting to soothe.

“I mean, I’ll be broke and we’re going to have to sell our house and tell the girls there is no college fund and I guess we’re genetically connected to a sociopath—” The tears started flowing again and when she spoke, her voice was choked, “But I’ll be fine!”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Jack said, “we’re probably losing our summer place.”

“It doesn’t make me feel better,” Melody said. “Why would that make me feel better? I feel absolutely horrible for all of us.”

Jack tried to console her. He wanted her to pull it together; he hated displays. “It’s just an expression, Mel. I mean that I know how you feel. I do.”

“I’m worried this is my fault,” Bea said. She told them all about her story, how it was based on the night of the accident and how she gave it to Leo to read, wanting his approval. “Maybe if I hadn’t done that, if I’d just thrown it away—”

Jack interrupted. “Don’t. This isn’t anybody’s fault. This is who Leo is.” What he didn’t say out loud was that he knew who Leo was because he was that person, too. He’d always seen too much of Leo in himself. Maybe not quite as bad as Leo (Leo Lite, for once and for always), but close enough to know that if he had a big bank account somewhere and could get on a plane and disappear, he might do it, too. “Leo has always been this person. Self-preservation at all costs.”

“What about Stephanie?” Melody turned to George. “She’s pregnant.”

“Shit,” George said, clearly surprised. “Did he know?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Shit.” George sat and tapped his pen on a legal pad, it sounded like tiny bullets firing. “We could hire a private detective. People do that. We could try to trace his steps and see if we can find him.”

“Then what?” Melody said.

Nobody spoke.

“Let me make some calls,” George said. “One step at a time. Let’s just see if we can track him down.”

“God. My eyes are going to be so swollen tomorrow,” Melody said, pressing her lids with her fingertips. “I feel nauseated.”

“Can we have a minute alone, George?” Bea asked. “The three of us?”

“Absolutely,” George stood, looking like a kid who’d just been let out of detention hours early. “As much time as you want.”

Bea dunked her hand in the water pitcher and grabbed a fistful of ice, wrapped it in a cloth napkin, and handed the makeshift ice pack to Melody. “Here. For your face.”

“Thank you,” Melody said, leaning back in her chair a little and pressing the ice to her eyes. She started humming. Jack rolled his eyes at Bea, who motioned for him to zip it.

“Relax,” Melody said, sensing Jack’s disapproval through shut eyes. “This is Sondheim.”

“I didn’t say a word,” Jack said.

“You didn’t need to.”

“Sondheim?” Jack asked. “I approve.”

“Hooray,” Melody said.

They sat listening to Melody hum for a minute or two, something from West Side Story. “Sondheim didn’t actually compose that show,” Jack said. “He wrote the lyrics—”

“Jack?” Bea cut him off. “Not now.” She stood and smoothed her skirt, cleared her throat. “Listen. I have an idea. A proposal. I don’t need my share of The Nest. I’m okay right now. I’m not going to lose my apartment, I don’t have kids with immediate financial needs. Leo has obviously forfeited his claim. So if you two split what’s there, the $200,000, that should help, right?”

“No,” Melody said, removing the soggy napkin from her eyes. Her mascara was smeared, her nostrils red. “I’m not taking your money. That’s not fair.”

“But I want you to,” Bea said. “We can call it a loan if that makes you feel better. A no-interest, no-deadline loan. I know it’s not enough for either of you to completely resolve the loss, but it’s something.”

“Are you sure?” Melody said, quickly calculating that Bea was giving them one entire year of tuition—more if it wasn’t a private school, which, increasingly, did not seem to be in the cards. “You don’t want to take some more time and think about it?”

“I’ve thought about it a lot in the last week. I don’t need more time.”

“Because if you’re sure,” Melody said, “yes, it would help.”

“I’m sure,” Bea said, visibly pleased. “Jack?”

“Yes,” Jack said. “I consider it a loan, but yes.” The extra money wasn’t enough to completely extricate him from his mess, but it might—just might—be enough to buy time for the house or maybe to get Walker to start taking his phone calls again. “It won’t be quick, but I’ll pay you back.”

“Okay,” Bea said, sitting back down, pleased. “Good. Good! This is progress. And if George can find Leo, I’ll go and talk to him.”

“He won’t find him,” Jack said. “And even if he does, nothing will change.”

“I can try,” Bea said. “I can try to change things.”