You Knew Me When (10 page)

“G
et you somethin' to drink, doll?” The waitress hovered over Laney's left shoulder, smacking her gum rhythmically.

“I'll take a glass of white wine, please.” Laney didn't look up. Her focus remained strictly on the entrance to the Falcon Bar. The last thing she needed was to be caught off guard again.

“Pinot or Chardonnay?”

“Chardonnay, thank you.” What she really wanted was a cold, dark, frothy beer, but Kitty—or Katherine, whatever her name was—would probably scoff at her for being so predictably plebian. She checked her watch. It was nearly six, and she was prepared to be annoyed if Kitty showed up even a minute late. Was her time more valuable than other people's? She'd certainly implied as much in the lawyer's office.

Laney was still reeling from the entire experience. She'd gone back to work directly after and had been unable to concentrate on anything, which had irritated Tina. Of course, Laney hadn't divulged a single detail about her meeting. Although it had been tempting, for once, to be the one bragging rather than listening to Tina go on and on and on about the many luxuries life afforded her. Still, she knew better than to give Tina any more information than she absolutely needed. She'd made that mistake once before, when she'd told Tina about a specific coat at Ralph Lauren she'd had her eyes on for Rick's Christmas gift. When Laney had gone to the store later that day to make her purchase, the saleswoman had informed her that another woman—fitting Tina's description to a T—had already bought the last one. She hadn't bothered asking Tina about it, but she had learned her lesson. God knows what Tina would do if she found out that Laney was about to come into a large sum of money. She'd probably try to sabotage it in some way, for fear that Laney would up and quit. Unfortunately, while five hundred thousand dollars was a lot of money—more than Laney had ever imagined she'd have access to—it was not enough for her to kick back and live off for the next sixty years.

When she'd told Rick, he'd been shocked at first, unable to believe that she wasn't screwing with him.
This is life changing,
he'd said.
This will put Gemma through college and more.
Then she'd explained the stipulation.
Who cares?
had been his response.
We're talking about a heap—no, a shit-fucking-load—of money.
That had made her anxious and a little resentful.
I care,
she'd insisted.
I'm the one who has to work with the bitch.
They'd gone back and forth for the better part of an hour. In typical fashion, Rick had tried to be sympathetic, even helpful, suggesting ways she and Kitty could work out their differences. Then came the kicker of all kickers, when he'd actually said,
Perhaps it's time to forgive and forget.

This had sent Laney into a tailspin. How dare he insinuate that it was that simple! Kitty had betrayed her at a time in her life when she'd needed her more than ever. She'd abandoned their friendship in order to pursue her own selfish needs. Worst of all, she'd never, at least not sincerely, attempted to apologize or right her wrong, not that Laney would have been receptive to it. Still, no real attempt had been made, and that was all that mattered to her.

After Laney's rant, Rick had apologized, though it had seemed hollow, more like an effort to placate her than a legitimate expression of remorse. He didn't understand. No one understood. How many times had her own mother told her to call Kitty? Or to write her an e-mail.
If you don't mend this fence, you'll regret it.
She'd heard it so often she wanted to punch someone. If anyone had fence mending to do, it was Kitty. Kitty with her fancy clothing and her fancy high heels and her fancy attitude. Why was it that the one time something truly amazing happened, Kitty had to sabotage it by being so integral to the equation that Laney had to depend on her, the very last thing she wanted to do?

“Here ya go, doll.” The waitress returned with her glass of wine, and Laney drank half of it in one sizeable gulp. “That kinda day, huh?” She blew a bubble and let the gum smack against her face, lapping up the stringy pieces with her pierced tongue.

“Something like that.” Laney checked her watch again. Seven past six. The nerve. The absolute fucking nerve. She picked a straw out of the canister on the table and pulled off the paper, folding it methodically as small as she could and then letting it spread like an accordion. The Falcon Bar at the Equinox belied the overall mien of the hotel—it was more seedy than sophisticated, with dim lighting veiling sticky, dark wooden tables adorned with uniform caddies bearing old sugar packets and outdated maple syrup. An old-fashioned bar extended across one side of the room, lit by two multicolored stained-glass lamps hanging from rusty chain links. And a shabby pool table occupied the far corner for those townies who wanted to cue up while paying top dollar for a pint, just so they could say they'd thrown a few back in the company of the affluent tourists who swooped in and out of Manchester in their Mercedes SUVs and Bogner ski suits.

“All right, doll. Holler if you need a refill.” The waitress continued to the next table, where an older couple who'd mistakenly wandered in, thinking the establishment would reflect the rest of the property, were surveying their surroundings dubiously.

Laney looked at her watch again. Six ten. Enough was enough. She wasn't going to sit around, wasting her time waiting on Kitty. Gemma would be home from her after-school activities by now, and there'd be plenty of homework for Laney to supervise, not to mention that she was responsible for dinner tonight, since Rick was out with the boys. She swallowed the rest of her wine and signaled to the waitress for a check, rifling through her purse for her wallet. If Kitty still wanted to meet, she'd have to apologize first and then work her busy schedule around Laney's. How disrespectful could someone be?

“Thanks, doll. You have a good night, now.” The waitress set the check on the table and winked. Laney slapped a ten-dollar bill down, cursing under her breath that she could have had a decent bottle at home for the same amount, slung her purse over her shoulder, and turned to walk out the door, to find Kitty standing right in front of her.

“Going somewhere?” Katherine smiled smugly.

“You're late.” Laney didn't return the smile, smug or otherwise. “My time is valuable too, you know.”

“Of course it is.” Katherine motioned toward the table, and Laney sat back down. “I apologize. I was on a conference call I couldn't escape.”

“Whatever.” Laney let her purse drop to the floor. “As I said, I can't stay long, so should we figure this out?”

“Thought you were leavin', doll.” The waitress reemerged.

“Guess not.”

“Anything else for you and your friend here?”

“She's not my friend.” Laney smiled tightly, and Katherine rolled her eyes.

“All righty, then. You nonfriends want anything to drink or eat?”

“I'd like an iced tea, please. No sugar and just a little ice.” Katherine nodded definitively.

“I'll have another Chardonnay.” Laney wasn't usually much of a drinker, but the first glass had gone down too easily and her body was still clenched in torment.

“Comin' right up.”

“So, how are you?” Katherine folded her hands on the table in front of her, predictably composed in a periwinkle cashmere wrap sweater and the same spangled diamond studs she'd been wearing at the lawyer's office. Laney had considered wearing her own diamond studs, the ones Rick had bought her for Valentine's Day. She saved them for special occasions, not that this qualified as anything special. Still, if Kitty's hadn't been three times the size and clearly her everyday earrings, Laney might have broken them out in an attempt to impress her. So much for that.

“I'm fine.” Laney wasn't interested in small talk and she intended to make that evident from the get-go.

“And your family?”

“Fine.”

“You have a daughter, right?”

“Yes, Gemma.” Laney knew full well that Kitty knew full well she had a daughter. They may not have spoken in twelve years, but Kitty was still tied to Manchester, albeit loosely, through her father.

“Pretty name.” Katherine smiled again, and Laney studied her face for a brief moment. It was remarkable, really. Kitty was barely visible behind Katherine's radiant skin, glaring white teeth, and expertly applied makeup. If not for her piercing green eyes, Laney may not have recognized her. She knew, courtesy of the Manchester gossip mill—her mom, Luella, and Laney's dad—that Kitty was extremely successful in the cosmetics industry and that she was unmarried, but beyond that Laney had learned nothing more. She'd once tried to Google Kitty after a late night out with Rick, having returned home in a martini-induced haze. But the one thing she'd been unaware of, the key to Kitty's anonymity online, had been her name change. There'd been only one Kitty Hill who'd surfaced and she was a high school sophomore living in Hawaii.

“Thank you.”

“And you and Rick?”

“Still together.”

“Unbelievable,” Katherine mused.

“Well, I guess some people honor their relationship commitments,” Laney snipped.

“I guess so.” Katherine took Laney's prickliness in stride, which only served to annoy Laney even more. “And you're working?”

“Yes, I run Oasis, the spa in town.”

“Excellent. You own it?”

“No, I run it.” If only she owned it. Laney had thought about it more than a few times: all the things she'd change for the better, not to mention she'd treat her staff with respect and give them bonuses at Christmastime, unlike Tina.

“Still, that's a big job.”

“Don't patronize me, Kitty.”

“I'm not.” She shook her head coolly.

“Fine. Whatever.” Laney scanned the room for the waitress. “Where the hell are our drinks?”

“And your parents? How are they?”

“My mom is fine. My father passed away six years ago. But you knew that.”

“I'm so sorry. I believe I did hear something.”
Something
. Laney's chest cinched tighter. Just a little something, her dead dad. Incredible that Kitty could sit here pretending that she didn't know or that, perhaps, just maybe, in between a conference call and a business lunch someone had mentioned that Laney's fifty-five-year-old father—a man who had essentially helped raise Kitty—had suffered a massive heart attack, sinking to the kitchen floor in a quaking heap of agony and desperation while her mom had been right outside in their backyard. But who could really recall? “I should have written your mother a note.”

“I'm sure that would have made everything better.” Laney couldn't help herself, though her blatant insolence wasn't nearly as nourishing as she'd thought it would be.

“Well, I'm glad your mom is doing well. My dad and Hazel seem great. Have you met her?”

“Only briefly in passing.” Laney was waiting. For her to bring him up. But Kitty was assiduously dodging the subject. She'd have to take matters into her own hands.

“Here ya go, dolls.” The waitress reappeared. “One iced tea hold the sugar, light on the ice. One chilly Chardonnay.”

“Thank you.” They replied in unison.

Laney took a swig of liquid courage and went for it. “Don't you want to know about Grant?”

Katherine winced. “I suppose. How is he?”

“Oh, he's great. Fantastic, in fact.” Laney smiled superficially. She'd rehearsed this bit of the conversation, knowing it would drive Kitty mad even if she managed to preserve her poised facade. “He's a very successful commercial real estate developer all over Vermont, and he's had an amazing girlfriend, Michelle, for years. She's practically a gourmet chef.” It was mostly true, at least the part about Grant. Michelle was a sweet girl, perhaps not
amazing
, but certainly nice and easygoing, unlike Katherine. She was also a remarkable home cook, if not a gourmet chef. Maybe they hadn't been dating for
years
, more like a year or so, but whatever.

“So he's not married, huh?” Katherine smiled wryly, her rose-stained lips curling at the corners.

“He practically is. I'm sure they'll be engaged any day.” Grant had never mentioned anything about proposing. “You know how it is these days. Marriage is just a piece of paper.”

“Right, of course.” Katherine nodded soberly, and Laney kicked herself for giving her even a glimmer of hope. Not that Kitty was still interested in Grant, but either way, Laney wanted to make sure she knew she couldn't have him.

“Look, I have to get home. Let's figure this house thing out and get on with it.” Laney took another sip of wine.

“Fine by me.”

“Do you have any suggestions?”

“I do.” Katherine clasped her hands together, leaning her elbows on the table in front of her. “Obviously, I don't live here and I have a very hectic life and job in New York City,” she started. “So I was thinking, what if you sort through Luella's things. You can e-mail me on anything I can help with. And then I'll pay for someone to clean the house and find a Realtor to sell it. How does that sound?”

“So let me get this straight.” Laney was gunning. “You want me to do all the work, and you'll just make a few calls and toss some money around?”

“Well, when you put it like that.” Katherine mocked offense.

“How else is there to put it, Kitty? News flash: I'm not one of your employees.”

“Well, do you have a better solution?”

“Yes, one where we're doing equal work. I can get some stuff done during the week, and you can come up on the weekends.”

Katherine exhaled, outwardly exasperated, and tucked her slick black hair behind her ears. “Laney, I can't come to Manchester every weekend. My work is seven days a week, around the clock.”