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“But none of those things turned out to be the problem. They were just distractions. The Greens. Tricia running away. When therealtrouble was something else entirely, something that happened a long time ago.”
“What?”
“Jackie was banging Larry Leopold,” says Agnes.
“Thank you for that summary, Mrs. Kaminsky,” says Jane.
“Well, that’s what your mother told me.”
“And the strange thing is, it was news to Rick,” I tell Jane. “He never knew about it. All these years later, you’d think it’d be long buried and forgotten.”
“So how did it come out now?” Jane asks.
“I don’t know. But I think Rick hired that guy in the white van to investigate Larry. That must be how he found out the truth.”
“What guy?”
“Didn’t I tell you about him? There’s been a white van surveilling the Leopolds’ house. I’m guessing he’s a private detective. I think he must’ve confirmed Rick’s suspicions and that’s why Rick showed up here tonight, to finally have it out with Larry.”
“What about Jackie? Has anyone talked to her yet, made sure she’s okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. I called her and she’s fine. But she says Tricia still refuses to come home.” I shake my head. “What a mess.”
“Come on, Ma. I’ll walk you home. You want me to stay and spend the night with you?”
“Why?”
“For the company? This must’ve been a pretty traumatic experience.”
Agnes laughs, “Does your malooktraumatized?”
Jane pauses and for the first time in a long time, my daughter looks at me. I mean, reallylooksat me. All her life I’ve just been Mom to her, the woman who cooked and cleaned, who bandaged her scrapes and cheered at her T-ball games. Does anyonereallylook at their own mother? We’re justthere,as reliable as gravity. But tonight, Jane seems to see something else, someone else, and she reaches down to help me to my feet.
“No, you don’t look traumatized,” she says. “But you do look like you could use a drink.”
“I’ll have one with her,” says Agnes. “I got scotch at home. The good stuff.”
“Jane, I’ll be fine,” I say. “I’m just gonna go home.”
“You sure?”
“You heard Agnes. I’m a superhero now.” I look at my neighbor. “You said you’ve got the good stuff?”
“The very best.”
“Well, okay then,” I say.
We start walking back toward her house and Agnes says to me: “You know what, Angie?”
“What?”
“It’s good to be talking again.”
