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I nodded.
“You’re going through a traumatic experience right now with this custody thing. You’ve had your privacy violated, you’ve been made to feel unsafe…” She wrinkled her nose a little. “Do you see where you might be a little shaken up?”
“Yeah.” I wiped my eyes. “Do you have any Kleenex?”
“Yeah, here.” She reached into her push-up-bra-assisted cleavage and pulled out a little plastic travel pack.
I pressed my fingertips to my forehead. “Oh my god, Mom.”
Though the pain in my chest hadn’t exactly eased, laughing at her ridiculousness did lower my full-on panic to hyper-wary jitters.
“I think we should cancel the shopping for today. We probably need to be back at the house, where you have security.”
“There’s no security at your house.” My heart picked up speed again.
“They’re not going to be following me. I have nothing to do with the situation. Besides, we have an alarm,” she reminded me. “Let’s go pick up Molly.”
I didn’t want to scare the girls, so I acted as normal as possible in the car as I typed out a message to El-Mudad.
If you’re not in the house, get in the house. I want the place on lockdown. Don’t let Olivia out of your sight. Can’t explain in front of the girls. On our way home.
“Is everything okay?” Rashida asked quietly.
“Everything is fine.” I shook my head as if dismayed at my silliness. “That was just really upsetting. Are you guys okay?”
They stared at me in silence.
Great. They were traumatized, and I had no idea what I should do.
After her lesson, we picked up Molly, explained that we needed to go back to the house, and ended up landing back in Sagaponack just as Neil roared up in his white Ferrari that made me think of 1980s detective dramas. As we touched down, I noticed visible security guards walking the lawns and paths. We almost never even noticed our security, usually.
“This is like if the president has a heart attack, and they put the veep in the basement bunker,” Molly said. I couldn’t tell if she was judging me as though I were overreacting or just making an observation until she turned to me and said, “Amal got me into Armando Iannucci. But isn’t this a little bit of overkill?”
“You can’t be too careful,” Amal said. “People threaten to kidnap rich people’s kids all the time.”
Neil had warned me about that when I’d been reluctant to hire security for our property. “Jesus, when you were little, all I had to worry about was someone picking you up off the side of the road.” Mom crossed herself.
The golf cart was waiting for us, and we piled on, reaching the front door just as Neil killed the engine and jumped out..
“What’s happened? Why are all the security guards out?” he demanded, jogging over to catch up with me.
“It’s an abundance of caution,” I said quietly. “We need to speak privately. Away from the kids.”
“Come on, girls,” Mom said, leading them into the house.
I studied Neil’s profile as he watched them go inside. His pulse was visible below the sharp angle of his tense jaw. He gave them time to get ahead of us, then put his hand on my arm.
“What’s going on? Is it Olivia?” He started into the house on a mission.
I followed, hoping he wouldn’t upset the girls. “She’s with El-Mudad.”
“She’s with your mother,” El-Mudad said as he emerged from the living room. “We met her at the door.”
I ran to him and threw my arms around his neck. Finally, away from the girls, I could dissolve the way I’d wanted to since Bergdorf’s. Not in a panic attack, but an emotional release of sobbing, sweating, snotty tears.
R.I.P. your Versace loungewear, babe.
Bewildered, it took him a moment to close his arms around me. “Sophie, what’s happened?”
Neil hurried to my side, as well, drawing us both in and kissing the top of my head.
“It’s Laurence,” I hiccupped out. “He hired someone. She’s been following us for months.”
Neil’s posture stiffened.
“The lawyer warned us that it might happen,” El-Mudad said, soft and calm in the face of what was bound to be a hurricane of emotion at any second.
“That son of a bitch,” Neil said under his breath. His tone chilled me. I’d only been afraid of Neil twice in our relationship. Once, when he’d thrown a wine bottle at the wall during a fraught discussion of his rape, the other when he’d shouted threats at me from his gurney in the ER shortly after his suicide attempt.
There were many times I’d been afraid for Neil. But there was no vulnerability or desperation in him now. He was simply enraged.
In a flash of inspiration, I realized that to keep him from doing anything rash, like call and threaten Laurence–or anything else that might land him in jail–I would have to keep talking in as much detail as possible.
