Lost Along the Way (26 page)

“That's true,” Meg agreed, stifling a laugh. “You guys do keep me very busy, not to mention, if I had a baby, there'd be no place to put Jane's wine. Babies drink a lot of milk and I don't think I'd have enough room in my fridge.” Meg held her credit card up in the air for the waitress and she quickly returned to take it.

“See! There's another bright side,” Jane said.

“You guys, seriously, this isn't funny. I have nowhere to go,” Cara said, the moment of levity crushed by her realization that Reed's patience had worn out.

“Can we please worry about this tomorrow? We were having such a nice day,” Jane said.

“Ignoring your problems won't make them go away. You should know that better than anyone,” Cara said.

“That's true. But addressing them now does all but guarantee to ruin our day. Come on. Let it go for now, and we'll deal with it tomorrow. So he took away your credit cards? Big deal.”

“I'm so angry I could scream. I am so pissed off at him, and pissed off at myself, and pissed off at the world in general. I want to hit something. I swear to God, I just want to hit something!” Cara said, a little louder than would be considered acceptable for a public lunch conversation.

“Oh, I know!” Jane said. “Want me to find a tennis ball machine? Remember when you were pissed at Mark and we broke into the courts and you nailed tennis balls at the fence? You felt great after that! I will find you one. There has to be a country club out here I can break into.”

Cara laughed, which Jane considered a huge victory. “Oh God, I'd forgotten about that. We had fun that night.”

“We had a lot of fun nights,” Jane added.

“I still think I'm lucky I didn't get tetanus,” Meg said, which caused the whole table to giggle. “No one cared that I injured my butt.”

“I'm serious. It's been a while since I've wielded bolt cutters. I will do it for you, Cara. Because I love you.”

“Thanks. I miss that girl,” Cara said. “Teenage me had fire. She had confidence. She knew what she wanted. She'd be so disappointed to meet me now.”

“Stop it. We'll figure this out. You still have some money in the bank, right?” Jane asked.

“Just a little,” Cara admitted.

“That's all you need. We will figure out the rest,” Jane replied.

“Aren't you the optimist today? What happened to you?”

“Rising from the dead has given me a whole new perspective on life. You learn to not sweat the small stuff,” Jane said with a smile just as she caught sight of Sheila out of the corner of her
eye. The brat from the coffeehouse had her cell phone aimed directly at them and was snapping pictures from two tables away. “Oh, hell no!” Jane screamed as she jumped up, knocking her chair over in the process.

“You want to take pictures of me for cash, huh? It'll be a cold day in hell before anyone makes money off me and my misery, sister!”

Before Sheila knew what was happening, Jane pounced on her and ripped her cell phone from her hand. Before Meg knew what was happening, Jane tossed it to her, like they were playing a grown-up version of monkey-in-the-middle, while Sheila helplessly looked on. Meg wanted nothing to do with the phone, mostly because she was pretty sure that Sheila was stronger than she was and would probably be able to take her down. So she turned and threw it to Cara. If a fight broke out between Cara and Sheila, smart money would bet on Cara every time.

“Catch!” Meg said as the phone went flying through the air. She glanced around at the other ladies having lunch, who were leering at them for the second time in an hour, and made a mental note to never return to this restaurant for lunch. Probably not for dinner either, but definitely not for lunch.

“Give me back my phone, you psycho!” Sheila yelled as she ran toward Cara. Unfortunately for Sheila, she'd picked the wrong day to mess with this particular group of women. Cara calmly dropped the cell phone into the ice bucket that had held their wine bottles for the duration of lunch. They watched as it drowned in the icy water.

“You just destroyed my personal property!” Sheila screamed.

“It's quite annoying when people get in your personal space,
isn't it?” Jane said. “Maybe you should think about that next time you want to take a run at me!”

“Listen,” Meg said calmly, trying to keep the situation from spiraling into a different level of crazy. “I'm a friend of Nick's, and he told me how you'd already planned to sell photos of Mrs. Logan for your own personal gain, which is not only an invasion of her privacy, but also just plain creepy. Plus, I don't know how the local celebs would feel about a trigger-happy girl working in the coffeehouse where they go in the morning for bagels and caffeine wearing pajamas and no makeup. So assuming you want to keep your job, I suggest you buy a new cell phone and stop bothering people who have nothing to do with you. Otherwise, I'll make sure your boss, your parents, and the editors of the local newspapers know what you're up to in order to make some extra cash, and you can kiss your summer tips good-bye forever.”

“Now get out of here before we break more than your cell phone,” Cara said.

“I think you just found your fire again,” Jane said as Sheila stormed out of the restaurant.

“I'm really sorry for the disruption!” Meg said to the waitress as she quickly signed her name on the credit card receipt.

“Don't say you're sorry. You're not sorry. She started it!” Jane said, still shooting eye darts at Sheila as she hurried down the block.

“I'm a little bit sorry,” Meg said, holding her fingers up an inch apart. “Just a little.”

“I think we should go now,” Cara said, fishing the phone out of the bottom of the bucket and throwing it in her purse. “I'm going
to keep this. I don't want to risk her being able to pull something off it.”

“Smart. Thank you,” Jane said.

“No problem. Now let's go. I need another drink, and I can't afford to have one here,” Cara said as she made her way toward the front door.

And that was yet another something they could all agree on.

I
t was Tuesday afternoon and Cara hadn't heard from Reed once since she'd left the house four days ago. He'd never called to find out where she went or sent a text asking what prompted her to leave or begged her to come back in a carefully worded e-mail. He wasn't planning on sweet-talking her into coming home; he was planning on humiliating her and forcing her to come back whether she wanted to or not by cutting off her credit and debit cards. When they returned to the house, Cara immediately sprinted upstairs to her room and grabbed her cell phone from the top of the bureau, knowing that she'd have a message. She stared at the text on her phone and her head started to throb. She wondered if Jane had any pills left. She was so going to need them.

Friday is Neal Booker's birthday party. Cody picking us up at 7. Come home. Now.

Typical,
Cara thought. He didn't care that she had run away from home to God knows where with God knows who, but he'd be damned if he was going to have to show up to a social commitment alone. Reed had spent his entire life upholding the legacy of his family's name, and he'd die before he let Cara disgrace that. She didn't know what she was going to do, or how she was going to get out of this, but she knew one thing with absolute certainty: there was no fucking way she was going to that party.

She'd never liked charades and she was done playing along.

She padded downstairs in her socks and found the girls sitting in silence at the kitchen table with mugs of coffee. Cara knew that they didn't know what to say and were waiting for her to speak first. She collapsed in the chair next to Meg and took a sip from Jane's drink. Then she gagged and had to control her urge to spit the coffee back into the mug.

“Oh my God, what is in this?” she asked.

“Whiskey,” Jane answered unapologetically. “Today we need the hard stuff.”

“Who puts whiskey in their coffee?” Cara asked.

“Irish people. That's why it's called Irish coffee. Though the better question is: Who puts coffee in their whiskey?” Jane asked.

“That's disgusting,” Cara said, reaching to take another sip. “Hand it over. You're right, today I need the hard stuff.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Meg asked.

“What's there to talk about? I need to figure out what I'm going to do about going home,” Cara said quietly. “I knew this was going to happen eventually. My little mini vacation is over. I got four days of happiness and now I have to face the fact that I can't hide here forever, especially without a line of credit. I'm thirty-seven, not sixteen. I'm too old to just run away from home with absolutely no clue as to what I'm going to do next.”

“Okay,” Meg said. “What do you want to do? You can't go back there. I can loan you money if you need it.”

“I honestly have no idea what I'm going to do! That's the problem. It's not really about what I want anymore. I know I don't want to go back, but I can't keep hiding.”

“You're not hiding. You're on vacation from your problems,” Jane said.

“It's crazy, isn't it?” Cara asked as she absentmindedly stared out the window.

“What's crazy?” Jane asked.

“That this is even an issue. On paper it should be easy. I'm in a horrible marriage that makes me miserable, I don't have any children—I should be able to just pack up and leave. But he's my husband. I can't just skip out one day and never go back like some angry teenager running away from her parents.”

“Why not? What do you have there? Clothes? You can buy new clothes. Get a lawyer, file for divorce, and see him in court,” Jane said. “You can send for your stuff.”

“It's not that simple. I called the bank. We had a joint checking account and he's transferred almost all of our funds out and into an account he controls. I don't have any money. I let him put everything in his name.”

“What about the money from the sale of your mom's house?” Meg asked.

“There wasn't that much. By the time I paid off the mortgage and the taxes and her medical bills it was almost all gone. I put what little there was left into our joint account and now he has that, too. How could I have been so stupid?”

“You weren't stupid. Why would anyone think it was a bad idea to have a joint checking account when they got married? You couldn't have prepared for this and it's not your fault, but you can do something about it now. I know it won't be easy, but you can't go back there,” Jane said, surprised at the wisdom in her words. “I know I'm the last person who should be telling anyone how
to move on with her life, but for some reason it's always easier to give other people advice than to take it yourself.” She paused. “Why is that anyway?”

“My life is completely intertwined with his,” Cara said, ignoring the question. “I mean, look at me! I'm living out of a travel bag. I have a few pairs of jeans and some sweaters. I'm not going to pretend like this is some Underground Railroad stop on my way to freedom. What if there is no freedom? My whole life is with that man, in that house, and I can't just leave everything behind. My mother's jewelry is tucked in the top drawer in my bedroom. Every picture I have of her. They're all there.” She started to sob.

“In the guest room,” Jane pointed out. She was trying to make Cara laugh. It didn't work.

“Whatever. It's all there and I'm not going to pretend like it doesn't mean anything to me. It means everything to me.” Cara was shaking. She wasn't someone who was beholden to material things. She didn't care about the cashmere scarves in her closet or the china in the hutch in the dining room. The only things she cared about were the things that reminded her of her mother. They were the only ties to her past and to a time in her life when she felt safe and happy. Those things, and now, thankfully, the women sitting next to her at the table.

“I understand,” Meg said. “I get it, and you're right. You've given up enough for him. There has to be a way for you to get your things back and to get some cash. It's not like you lived off his income. You sold real estate. You earned that money yourself. He can't just take it away from you.” She added, “Maybe you should go to the police.”

“I have an idea,” Jane said, which was never a good sign. Cara couldn't remember a situation that started with one of Jane's
ideas that ever ended well for anyone. “Screw the police. Cara, how badly do you want out of your marriage? Because if you're serious, I think I know a way.”

“What are you talking about? What are you going to do, hire a hit man? Knock him unconscious and throw him in the Long Island Sound?” Cara asked.

“Don't be ridiculous. I've had enough bad press. I don't need to add murder to my résumé. That's exactly the point, though,” Jane said, the familiar glint of mischief returning to her eyes. “I've been thinking about a conversation we had the other day and I'm telling you I have a really good idea. Cara, I want you to get pissed. I want you to figure out where your anger went, and I want you to get it back. No more pity, no more regret, just pure, unadulterated fuck-you anger.”

“I don't get it,” Meg said. “And I don't know if I want to.”

“What's Reed's Achilles' heel? The thing that he worries about most in this world? The correct answer, by the way, should be you, but we know it's not, so just play along. If you wanted to do something to really back Reed into a corner, what would you do?” Jane asked.

“I don't know. Ruin his reputation so he'd be exiled from his stupid club? Let the world know that the guy they think is husband of the year is really an asshole?” Cara answered.

“Bingo,” Jane said.

“And how do you suppose I do that?” Cara scoffed. “Take out an ad in the newspaper?”

“I have a plan. A good one, and it will work. It will definitely work. I think. I'm fairly certain it will probably work. But you guys have to help me, and you have to be willing to trust me. What do you say? Are you in?”

“I'm sorry, I need more information before I agree to anything,” Meg said. “I don't typically like your ideas. I still have a scar on my ass from that fence.”

“It was my idea to come here,” Jane reminded her.

“Hmm. You have me on that one.”

“Reed hates me,” Jane said. “I heard him saying he didn't want me staying at your house because he's terrified someone will think he and I are friends or something. What if people think we're
more
than friends? What if we make people think we're having an affair?” Jane asked. “Do you think he'd give you a divorce if the alternative was letting the whole town see him in bed with Jane Logan?”

“I think he'd rather die than have people think you two were having an affair, no offense.”

“None taken. In fact, I'm counting on it,” Jane said. “Man, I was wondering when Doug being in jail would somehow prove to be a positive in my life, and here we are. I'm going to use my loser husband to get rid of your loser husband. How's that for cosmic intervention?”

“How do you plan on fabricating an affair? It's ridiculous! There's no way,” Meg said.

“I know a way. I swear on our friendship I do. But Cara, you have to be ready to leave, for good. And Meg, I'll need your help. I can finally use all the bad things that have happened to me to do some good. But, you have to be willing to trust me.”

“Okay,” Cara said. “What else do I possibly have to lose?”

“I'm in,” Meg agreed.

“Great. The first thing I need you to do is call Nick. Tell him to come over here and to get out a suit and tie. We're going to need a fake lawyer.”

Cara grabbed Jane's coffee mug and pulled it in front of her. “I'm going to need this.”

“Drink up, buttercup. Are you ready to reclaim your life?”

“Yes,” Cara said. “I'm definitely ready.”

“Okay, then. Here's what we're going to do . . . ,” Jane said.

Meg and Cara hovered over the table and listened intently while Jane told them the single craziest (yet best) idea she'd ever had in her entire life. It might have been misguided, but with Jane and Meg encouraging her, Cara began to feel like she could do anything. She thought about everything she'd been through over the years: her mother's death, explaining grocery receipts, canceled gym memberships, broken friendships, white button-downs and pearls and the guest bedroom, and then one last thought—a surprising one that put her over the edge—her zebra coat.

She loved that thing, and he'd made her throw it away.

And just like that, the anger resurfaced.

She picked up her phone from the kitchen table and responded to his text.
I'll be home tomorrow around noon.

“I'll be there,” she said. Once again she squeezed their hands. “I just won't be arriving alone.”