Contact the author! read a little smile button. Brendan clicked. It gave an email address and a publisher’s street address. Brendan was not a great communicator. It made him tired to think of composing a message for email or paper. He clicked on Books and read some jacket copy. Under the author photo on one of the book jackets was a single line informing him that Calvin Vinesett lived in New York City and Deer Isle, Maine.
Brendan loved to time himself using the Web. Sixteen seconds to find Calvin Vinesett listed in the Manhattan white pages.
In the morning, all the girls were going wedding gown shopping.
Brendan had not known there was such a thing, but now that he did, he planned to be far away and safe. He told his mother he was going into the city for the day to meet friends.
But Brendan was not meeting anybody he expected to like.
He had phoned his own researcher, thinking maybe he could learn something about Michael/Mick, but the guy hadn’t even known there were other researchers. “I bought you three expensive dinners!” he yelled at Brendan. “And Calvin Vinesett won’t even pay me. He won’t even answer my emails!”
Nothing about this book made sense. Not the frightening chapter about Frank and Miranda. Not the stalking of Janie. Not the title. And certainly not refusing to answer emails from your own researcher.
Brendan yelled, “Jodie! You know how to reach Janie’s roommate?”
“Eve?”
This research stuff was a snap. He hadn’t known the girl’s name and Jodie gave it to him right off. “Yup. Eve. You got her phone number?”
“What do you want to call Eve for?” Jodie yelled back.
“Ideas for wedding gifts,” yelled Brendan, who had not previously considered the possibility of getting his sister a present.
“My cell phone’s on the kitchen table!” yelled Jodie. “She’s on my contact list.”
“What’s her last name?”
“Janie says she doesn’t use it. She’s just Eve.”
Okay, just Eve, thought Brendan. Let’s talk.
He used his own cell. “Is this Eve? This is Janie’s brother Brendan.”
“Oh, hi, Brendan! I can’t wait to meet you and everybody else and see Reeve. I’ve never even met Reeve! It’s such a kick! Janie says at the bridal mall she’s just going to pick up dresses for all the bridesmaids at one time, right off the rack, and the day of the wedding we just hope for the best! I know it will be the best. We’re all so excited!”
“Yeah, me too. Listen. I wanna corner that creep. The Michael guy.”
“Good idea. Just remember you can’t get in any trouble yourself because the wedding is too soon and you can’t be in jail or anything.”
“You mean I can’t chain him to the bumper of my truck and drag him through the city?”
“What he deserves,” agreed Eve. “No. You can only scold him from a distance.”
“Where’s he live?”
“East Village. Hang on. I’ll get the address. I always thought he was shifty. Want me to come along? I have a few things to say to him too.”
“No, but if you have a photo, send it to my cell so I can identify him.”
“Done,” said Eve.
New York City was an easy trip from New Jersey. Before it was light the next morning, Brendan took the earliest available commuter bus. Manhattan never failed to excite him. There just was no place on earth like it. Even at dawn, it was hopping. His heart leapt and he was grinning.
It was seven-thirty when he found Michael Hastings’s building on a slightly iffy block. Rents were high, according to the ads in real estate agents’ windows, but not killer high.
Eve didn’t think Michael was a college student. She thought he had a job somewhere and had lied about that, too. Jobs usually involved leaving your apartment in the morning. Brendan hoped that a man who lived in Manhattan also worked in Manhattan, and did not need to leave home before seven-thirty. A guess based on nothing, since Michael could work nights, or not at all, or be back home in Iowa or wherever he came from. Eve had forwarded the photograph Janie had sent to Sarah-Charlotte, and which Sarah-Charlotte sent on to Eve. It turned out that Sarah-Charlotte and Eve had had several Janie conferences over the last two years, which Brendan thought was a little iffy, girlfriend-wise, but then who understood girls?
Michael/Mick looked like the kind of guy they cast in movies as the thin thoughtful type. No muscle, no brawn, no guts. But sensitive.
Brendan despised that in a person.
One hour and eighteen minutes later, Michael/Mick walked out of his building.
Brendan fell into step. Brendan was gratifyingly taller and stronger. The guy moved away from him. Brendan sidestepped right along. The guy glared. Brendan glared back. “So I’m Janie Johnson’s brother,” he said. “You and I need to have a talk.”
Michael brushed his pretty dark hair off his pretty forehead. “I’m busy. I have to go to work.”
Brendan shouldered him against a building. “You’re going to be late.”
“You can’t stop me from going to work!”
“I’d love to stop you. Or we could get a cup of coffee and you can talk.” The roughness in Brendan’s voice was no act. His smile began to shiver and he could feel himself losing control. He reminded himself of Eve’s warning.
“Fine,” said Michael nervously. “Whatever.” New York was packed with diners and coffee shops. Michael darted into one. He perched on the outer edge of a booth and Brendan sat opposite him.
Brendan ordered bacon, three eggs over easy, rye toast, and potatoes.
Michael ordered coffee. He added sweetener. His hand shook.
“You stalked my sister,” said Brendan. He had not expected to feel such anger that somebody had hurt his sister. Especially this sister. “Start with your reasons. How did you hook up with Calvin Vinesett? Did Calvin Vinesett tell you to stalk my sister?”
“Look,” said Michael. “Calvin Vinesett just told me that Jane never gave interviews and I had to think of some other way to get information.”
Never, not once, had Brendan heard anybody call his sister Jane. It was creepy, as if they were talking about somebody else. “He told you this by phone?” asked Brendan.
New York diners had the fastest service in the world. The waitress put his plate in front of him. Brendan dug in.
“We’ve never talked,” said Michael. “Just emailed. He’s reclusive.”
“The guy lives right here. How come you didn’t just get together?”
“He’s got a lot of health problems and doesn’t get out much and that’s why he hires researchers. He doesn’t want that known because his readers expect him to be on site.”
Brendan had leafed through, but not read, one of Calvin Vinesett’s bestsellers. The guy used the first person a lot (“I met her a total of seventeen times at the jail”). That was all lies too? “I need to know about every email Calvin Vinesett sent you and every email you sent him.”
“That’s private.”
Brendan saved the part about the truck and the chains for later. He leaned across the table, pointing with the tines of his fork. “My family plans to charge you with criminal actions. Stalking, to be precise. If you can prove you were an employee doing a paid job, that might help you.” This was nonsense and he hoped Michael was too nervous to notice.
“Nothing I did was criminal!” protested Michael. “It was just fun. We had a good time. Jane can’t pretend she didn’t have a good time. I’m the one who’s hurt. She was two-timing me! She decided to marry somebody else one weekend after we broke up!”
“How do you know that?”
“Facebook, how do you think?”
“Who on Facebook?” demanded Brendan.
Michael grinned in a snarky way. “Eve posts everything and I still have access to her.”
Brendan texted Eve to unfriend Michael Hastings. “What did Calvin Vinesett think of the information you sent?”
“I didn’t have much to give. Jane wouldn’t talk about her
past. But he was very interested that the money Jane inherited from her grandmother was paying for college. He wanted to know the details.”
“You and I are going back to your apartment,” said Brendan. “You’re going to print it all out for me.” He took money out of his wallet. He ate three huge mouthfuls and then wrapped the last piece of toast around the last strips of bacon to take along.
“I don’t have time for that,” said Michael.
“Michael, you’re obviously very proud of your nice little suit and your smooth skin and your cute hair. You won’t be when I’m done.”
“I’ll call the police!”
“Go for it. How do you think they’ll react to your stalking?”
“You can’t prove anything.”
“I’m also going to call your employer and explain why you’re late. Because you’ve been arrested for stalking.”
“You can’t do that! Anyway, you don’t know where I work.”
Brendan was on a roll. “You think you’re the only person who can follow somebody, Michael?”
“All right, all right. There isn’t anything worth looking at. I didn’t find out anything. He only paid me once. He said nothing else was worth payment. I spent six weeks on your sister for nothing!”
“I’m just flying down for the day, Reeve,” his father had said. “The flight from here to Charlotte is only an hour and a half. I’ll rent a car at the airport and drive to your office. You and I will have lunch, that’s all. I won’t interfere with your workday. No tours of Charlotte. Just lunch.”
“But Dad—”
“My flight lands at ten-thirty-one. I’ll get a taxi and I’m guessing I’ll be at ESPNU around eleven-thirty.”
Reeve was crazy about his father. He wanted to be just like his father, except different. But he knew why his father was coming down with such urgency. Dad wanted Reeve to be strong and loyal and steady and kind and generous, just like Dad himself—and a bachelor.
Dad was coming to talk Reeve out of it. He might even be coming with a bribe.
Reeve dreaded this.
On the phone, it was easy to be flippant with Lizzie or sweet but stern with his mother. In person, facing his father, he was going to have trouble.
He did not want a confrontation, especially over Janie, whose company he wanted so much. The wedding was for her. Living together was for him. He pictured driving home after work, running up the stairs to his second-floor apartment. Opening the door. And Janie would be standing there, smiling at him.
What could be more wonderful than somebody glad to see you?
He told everybody in the office that his dad was coming for lunch, and everybody wanted to meet him and had restaurant suggestions. His dad was a handsome, fit former athlete, and when he arrived, it went perfectly, because he was a people person and knew his sports and said all the right things. Reeve was proud of his father, and of his colleagues, and then they got in Reeve’s car and Reeve looked straight ahead, careful to have no eye contact.
He drove to the restaurant he’d chosen and parked in the shade, so the car wouldn’t be so stifling when they came out. He didn’t think he could eat, which would be a new experience. His dad touched his shoulder. “Let’s just sit here and talk before we go in, son.”
Reeve nodded. He didn’t want to let his father down. But Janie came first.
“I’m here on assignment,” said his father quietly.
Reeve stared through the windshield at fat green mounds of tropical grasses.
“I didn’t accept the assignment,” said his dad.
Reeve risked a glance. His father looked very emotional. Reeve couldn’t tell what the emotion was.
Dad handed him a check. “This is what we spent on Lizzie’s wedding, and it’s what we gave Todd when he got married, and it’s what we will give Megan when she gets married.”
Reeve stared at the check. “You spent that much money on Lizzie’s wedding?”
“Yup. Tough old attorney Liz wanted the splashiest, most expensive wedding on earth.”
“I guess so! Dad, I know Mom wants you to bribe me out of marrying Janie, and this is more money than I could ever save up. But—”
“It’s not a bribe to stop you, Reeve. It’s a boost to start you. I’ve always been impressed by Janie, but now I’m really impressed. She’s not getting married to have a wedding gown and a reception. She’s getting married to have you. My son. No, this is a precelebration check. For you to spend as you choose.”
Reeve mentally divided it up. I can buy Janie a ring! She can pick out furniture. I can pay off my car! And even take a honeymoon. Well, if we ever find a weekend I’m not working. “Dad,” he said.
“Yeah, don’t get mushy on me. I hope this is the kind of place that serves bacon burgers and onion rings. Your mother doesn’t let me have grease or salt. I’m counting on you to give me a one-meal vacation from the rules.”
Janie had taken the train up to Connecticut and spent the night, sleeping on the foldout sofa at the Harbor. Miranda did not want to come wedding gown shopping. Her excuse was, she couldn’t leave Frank for so much time. “Mom, the whole point of assisted living is that they assist. The Harbor is packed with aides who will make sure Frank is fine.”
“I don’t feel up to it, honey.”
“Oh, Mom, I know it’s hard to share being mother of the bride, but you are the mother of the bride, and the bride wants you to have some of the fun! This will be fun. You need fun! How much fun are you having here at the Harbor?”
Miranda ended up laughing.
But the next day, Janie had to deal with Reeve’s mother. Mrs. Shields picked up Janie and Miranda early in the morning and the three of them set out for New Jersey. Mrs. Shields had had two weddings in her family—Lizzie’s earthshaking production and Todd’s wedding out West, in which Mrs. Shields’s only participation had been to show up. Happily, her fourth child, Megan, was also making wedding noises. And none too soon, Mrs. Shields felt, since Megan was well into her thirties. Megan, of course, had allotted a year for planning.
Mrs. Shields listed ways in which Janie and Reeve might rethink their own plans.
“What about your college degree?” cried Mrs. Shields. “What about money?”
“I think we can be proud of how mature and sensible our children are,” said Miranda. “Reeve and Janie will make a fine couple and if they struggle financially, didn’t we all, when we were young? As for college, Janie has promised that she will transfer to a college in Charlotte. There seem to be several in the area.”
“But if Janie doesn’t work,” cried Mrs. Shields, “how will they live? Reeve hardly earns a thing!”
“That’s their problem, though,” said Miranda. “Our problem is to decide what we wear to the wedding.”
“And Charlotte!” said Mrs. Shields in tones of disgust. “Who even knew there was a town called Charlotte? When Reeve settles down, I’m sure it will be near home.”
Janie began to see why Reeve liked Charlotte as much as he did. It was definitely a test of her own maturity to drive with her future mother-in-law.
They crossed the George Washington Bridge. Janie texted her sister. Long drive.
Traffic? Jodie wrote back.
No, texted Janie. The company.
Kathleen had called her a “kidnapette,” which sounded like a variety of cheerleader.
The kidnapette grows up, thought Janie, and she giggled to herself.
Jodie could not comprehend the choices Janie made.
Janie actually wanted two mothers, one future mother-in-law, and a sister to go with her to the bridal mall to choose her wedding gown
When it was time for Jodie to choose a gown, she’d go alone. Nobody was horning in on her decisions.
The Shields and Johnson families had lived next door to each other for years, and whenever Jodie visited the Johnsons, Reeve came over. But Jodie had never met Mrs. Shields.
Three more exits, Janie texted. I’m going crazy.
J
ust wait till you’re in some shiny little dressing room where four women want you to pick a different gown. See how sane you’ll be at the end of that, thought Jodie.
Miranda Johnson had been a wonderful hostess whenever the Spring kids visited. It was the most awkward possible situation, and yet it hadn’t been awkward. Mr. Johnson had been a doll. Whenever Jodie caught herself having a great time up there, she used to pout a little and stomp off.
Her brother Brian never exhibited the ambivalence that swept Jodie whenever she was at the Johnsons’. He just enjoyed himself. Brendan had only gone once or twice, having zero interest in missing sisters. Stephen went, but always remained careful and contained.
Inside a family of seven, thought Jodie, are seven completely different lives. You would expect more overlap.
“Are you ready?” yelled her mother, who had been pacing all morning.
“I’m ready!” Jodie yelled back.
They drove to the bridal mall.
Jodie had never been in such a place. An amazing number of wedding gowns were packed in, row after row, aisle after aisle. One side of the immense display room had bridesmaids’ gowns in a remarkable variety of colors, styles, and necklines.
Jodie had just come from a place where there were no choices. If there were stores in Haiti packed full, Jodie had not found them. If there were closets jammed with stuff, Jodie had not seen them. She had been embarrassed by the excess in her two suitcases.
She walked slowly along the rainbow of bridesmaid dresses. Salmon pink, lime green, turquoise, neon yellow. Good colors for beach towels. But a wedding?
Janie sent her a final text. They were in the parking lot.
Three women came through big glass doors and onto the soft pale carpeting. The stout, heavily made-up woman wearing a flower-splashed sweater had to be Reeve’s mother. But who was the small, bent, frail creature on Janie’s arm? Was there some great-great-grandmother Jodie hadn’t even heard of?
No.
That old person was elegant Miranda Johnson.
Life could do this to a person’s body?
What, then, could life do to a soul?
• • •
The onion rings were perfect. The Shields men were into their second pile of napkins and feeling good. Since none of their women were around, they exchanged pleasing belches.