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Naomie stroked her brow. As upsetting as it was, she wasn’t surprised. Her family was insular in an old-fashioned way—when you were part of the family, they’d do anything for you. The heads of household provided a warm cocoon for family members—spouses, children, siblings—in the form of a lifestyle that reflected the Gagnons’ power and position. But once that connection was severed, you were worse than an outsider, ejected and abandoned to the cold.
Julia continued, voice tight. “So I can’t really contribute financially to the memorial. But I’ll help any other way I can.”
“Not a problem. Chelsea and I will take care of it.” She glanced at the clock on the mantle. “Chris just got home, so I’m going to start dinner and get something over to Susan. I’ll update you when I get back.”
After she and Julia said their goodbyes, she told Chris about Madison.
“Oh, God.” His face dropped. “She’s the young one, right? Unmarried, with some sort of medical bills?”
She nodded, brushing away new tears.
He dropped onto the couch next to her and grabbed her hand. “I’m so, so sorry. That’s awful.”
“It is.” She braced herself for the reaction to what she was about to say. “Her mother is struggling with emphysema and has no money, and now she’s alone in the world. And I know what you’re going to say about our finances, but I can’t stand by and do nothing. Madison deserves a decent memorial service, and Chelsea and I are the only ones who can provide it.”
He nodded, his face blank. “No, I understand. She was important to you. We’ll find a way to make it work.”
Surprise and relief flooded her, and she squeezed his hand. “I promise, nothing extravagant.”
He kissed her forehead and rose from the couch. “How about I make dinner? I can whip up a quick Bolognese, a double batch so you can take some to Madison’s mother. That way you can get started on the planning.”
“You don’t have—”
He held up a hand. “Of course I’m going to do what I can to help. Now let me go get started.”
* * *
As she watched him walk out of the room, guilt stabbed at her. She’d assumed the worst of him and had been ready for a fight, and that wasn’t fair. He was trying, and this was a significant concession. Just last month she’d agreed to cut her spending dramatically, and now she was springing the cost of a memorial service on him on top of all the impending expenses of the baby. No matter how tragic the circumstances, he had a right to protest.
She sighed, and stared over at the stack of work papers. Her work at Beautiful Bouncing Babies wasn’t just an interest or a passion, it was her very core. At the impressionable age of twelve she’d watched Julia almost die due to preeclampsia complications when she gave birth to her only son Ethan; as she got older and discovered the paucity of information and resources available to lower-SES women, particularly women of color, the work had become her life’s mission. But it paid next to nothing.
Chris’s job as an insurance agent wasn’t much better, and their relatively low paired income had been an adjustment for Naomie. No matter how much she cut back, it wasn’t enough. When her parents noticed the changes in her lifestyle, they tried to compensate. Her mother insisted on shopping trips, her father bought her a new Lexus for Christmas, and they both insisted Naomie and Chris join them for family vacations. In retrospect, Naomie should have realized allowing that generosity wasn’t a good idea. She’d seen enough of how her father and uncles ran their families to realize their respect for Chris would be dinged if he couldn’t give Naomie the life she was accustomed to without their help. So when he’d objected, she’d put a stop to it—mostly. Her mother still managed to slip money into Naomie’s purse and to find beautiful brand-new dresses in her closet that she suddenly ‘changed her mind about.’
Most notably, a gorgeous Versace her mother produced before last year’s Christmas party. Naomiehadto wear the dress, her mother insisted, because Naomie’s appearance reflected on the family. The Gagnons ran multiple high-end venues throughout New England with associated party-planning and catering branches, institutions people used for their poshest occasions: weddings, business gatherings, even political events. The main purpose of the party, and other occasions like it through the year, was to dazzle existing and potential clients, make them want what only Gagnon events could give to them. Having their daughter show up in anything less than a show-stopper wasn’t good for business.
Naomi had peered down at the dress, trying to ignore the part of her that very much wanted to take it. And not just the one dress, but the loophole that would allow her to have at least a few of the things she wanted. After all, the family’s money was her money, too—she’d worked hard her whole life helping build the business and still did, pitching in whenever they needed her. And what Chris didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. That wasn’t deception—it was making a marriage work.
She ran her finger across the datebook in her lap, down the notes she’d started jotting about the memorial, and Madison’s face sprung up before her. The shadow of it fell cold over her guilt and struggles. Dresses and parties and whether her mother bought her a dress or her family gave them a car—it was petty and small. Life was short, and what mattered was the people you loved and living every day while you could.
She pressed her empty hand onto her abdomen, hoping to feel a kick.
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
Julia slid her phone onto the counter after talking to Naomie and shook her head at the box she was unpacking in her new, cramped duplex. She was surprised at how surprised Naomie and Chelsea were—how had they not seen this coming? When a pregnant woman and her dog disappear overnight, they aren’t gonna show up in the morning with a box of donuts and a tray of Starbucks.
Maybe it was because she was a decade older than both of them, or because she was a nurse—she’d seen more of life, and certainly more death. But no, she’d known more at fourteen, navigating the rougher parts of Boston’s South End, than they knew at thirty. Money and privilege had sheltered them from the world’s ugliness and struggle their whole lives.
She swore out loud when she reached up to put away a glass—the cabinet was full. She’d stripped down to essentials, but the duplex was tiny. She’d have to shove the extra boxes in the spare bedroom, which would get in Ethan’s way when he visited from the dorms.
She laughed at herself—who was she kidding? Why would Ethan spend the night here when his father’s mansion was just a few miles up the road? This would be the first Christmas morning she’d wake up without him.
Pete was well aware of that.
Fucking prenuptial agreement. Pete wasn’t going to show an ounce of mercy, which was complete bullshit. She’d given him a son despite almost dying from complications, put her own career on hold until his branch of Gagnon Events had taken off, and spent countless hours helping the Gagnons build their upscale-event empire. She’d earned every damned cent of split assets and alimony.
Stop being such a victim, her mother’s voice said in her head.You knew what the prenup said when you signed it. You made your choices.
Of course she had, in response to Pete’s choices. He’d turned into a phantom, his time divided between work, golf, and car-racing. Sure, she’d taken a man as a lover, but his Titleist driver and his Formula-whatever race car werehislovers. They took all his time, money, and affection, and if she hadn’t been so damned lonely she’d never have cheated in the first place. A prenup was one thing when she was an unproven twenty-something who might just want his money. But after all these years and everything she’d contributed, how could that prenup possibly still be relevant?
