Good Girls Lie(48)

“Wait. Don’t you want a cocktail?”

He grins and shakes his head. “I only wanted you. Goodnight, Ford.”

He saunters off into the night. Ford closes the door behind him with an exaggerated sigh of pleasure.

Good grief. He certainly knows how to push her buttons and leave her wanting more. Where did he learn all his tricks? For someone so young—it has to be online porn. She doesn’t think he’s sleeping with anyone else, but what does she know? She’s never asked, and he’s never offered.

Besides, dating is reimagined now. With Tinder and Grindr and swiping, sex is free, built to resist commitment and responsibility, often completely disengaged from the act of love. It plays well for her purposes, it’s not like she wants a true relationship with him, for heaven’s sake, but she feels sorry for the girls of Goode as they make their way out into the world. They won’t know any other way. They will let strangers into their bodies and call it freedom.

Ford has had a few serious boyfriends and a few romping partners. She knows the difference between lust and love. She’s resisted marriage, fearing that inexorable slide into the status quo. She was not built for two point three kids and a dog, a house in the suburbs, a nanny for her children. She prefers the writer’s isolation, the romantic aloneness that will allow her observational access. One needn’t experience things firsthand to be a writer, one must only be a keen observer of setting and human nature.

She pours herself another whiskey—it might help her sleep, and she needs her rest to face the alumni association meeting tomorrow. The usual agenda was amended this afternoon to include a fund-raising update. She hopes to hear that a new endowment has been made.

Despite Rumi’s ministrations, she’s still upset about her meeting with Ash. She needs to get it off her mind and move on.

Something about the girl makes her uncomfortable.

She sits down at her desk, reads the few pages she’s written since term started. She hasn’t been working enough. At what point is she going to have to consider a sabbatical to finish the book?

Her phone begins to vibrate. She gives the screen a dirty look, then sighs heavily, pressing the speaker.

“Hello, Mother.”

“Ford, darling! How are you? Not in bed, I hope?”

“Why would I be in bed? It’s past eleven on a school night.”

“Sarcasm has never become you, Ford.”

“Sorry. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing’s the matter, darling. I’m in town and I thought we could have lunch.”

Ford sets her whiskey down with a thump. “You’re in Marchburg? Why?”

“Do I need a reason? I wanted to see you.”

“Are you staying at the house?”

“Where else would I stay? It’s my house.”

Perhaps that explains Rumi’s sudden appearance. The house sits on the edge of town quite near his cabin. He must have seen the lights. He could have warned her, though.

“I thought it would be fun to come for Odds and Evens weekend. I haven’t been here for an event in a long time. I miss it.”

“Really? That might not be the best idea, Mom.”

“Of course, it’s a good idea. I am a Westhaven, and I am still an alumnus of this institution, if you recall. It’s always been open to any alumnus who wishes to join in. Unless you’ve changed the rules?”

“No. We’d be delighted to have you.”

“Excellent. Now, there’s a little something I’ve been wanting to discuss with you. I’m sure you saw the new agenda item for the meeting tomorrow? A vast sum has been left to the endowment by Pearl George, class of ’42, who just passed away. But there’s a stipulation.”

“How vast a sum are we talking about?”

“One hundred and eighty million.”

“Holy cow. Seriously? That will push us over the billion-dollar mark. We’ll be at Exeter’s level. And how do you know about this?”

“Oh, you know how these things go. Little birds. I thought you’d want to know.”

“It’s fabulous news. What’s the stipulation?”

Jude sighs heavily. “The money is contingent on the school going coed.”

“You have to be kidding. An alum from that era wants a coed school?”

“Her husband inherited her estate, and he’s attached this condition.”

“Absolutely not. I will not bend on this matter. I will not allow Goode to go coed. It’s a shame, but we’ve turned down more before.”

She can hear the tick, tick, tick that signals her mother is flicking her nails against the table. “Here’s the thing, Ford. The alumni association wants the money. They want to surpass Exeter and Andover, you know that’s been on the ten-year plan.”

“The plan is to have an all-girls school at the top of the private school endowment list.”

“The goal, though, is to be first on the list. Goode could not only match but overtake Exeter with this bump.”

“No way, no how, Mother. I can’t believe they’ve sent you as their emissary on this. You, of all people, who drilled into me and anyone else who would listen the vital nature of an all-girls environment. You know we’ll lose more than we gain if we go coed. We’d lose every endowment that specified all-girls.”