You Knew Me When (8 page)

“Laney's sleeping.” I stated the obvious, because that's what I do around boys, apparently even Grant. I say things there's no reason to say just to fill empty space.

“I gathered.” He smiled, revealing a dimple at the center of each cheek, and then got a serious look on his face. “You shouldn't let her push you around.”

“She doesn't push me around.” I was instantly defensive.

“Kitty.” He tipped his head, and his wavy dark blond hair fell to one side. He was just as tan as Laney and it looked really good. I imagined what it would be like to kiss him for a brief moment, and then shook the thought from my mind. “Laney pushes everyone around. The more you let her, the more she does it. You haven't noticed?”

“I guess.” I glanced down at my feet. Laney had painted my toes a bright pink and the polish was already chipping. I resisted the urge to pick at it.

“I'm not trying to make you feel bad. I just know how she can be, and I think you should stand up to her a little more.”

“Maybe.” I didn't want to fight with Grant, especially since he was kind of right, but I also felt the need to stand up for Laney. “She's a really awesome friend to me, even if she is a little bossy.”

“I'll take your word for it.” He got up and walked toward the open kitchen. “Want something to eat? I'm kind of hungry.”

“Sure.”

“Soda?” He called across the room. I wanted to shush him, but it was his house, so I just nodded.

“Here.” He handed me a Coke and sat next to me on the couch. “I didn't mean to insult you. We're friends too. Right?”

“Yeah.” I'd never thought of it that way.

“Good.” He smiled, revealing the dimples again. I felt a blush creep up my neck and spread across my face like a contagious rash. Thank God it was dark. I'd never had a male friend. “Wanna watch? I think Coach Fox is gonna lead the Screaming Eagles to victory.”

“Okay.”

I'm not sure how long we sat there, arms resting next to one another's, sharing a big bowl of buttery popcorn. All I know is that when Laney found us asleep on the couch the next morning, she didn't look happy.

L
aney peeked out her bedroom window at the maudlin sky with its dense, murky clouds dipping so low you could almost touch them. The backyard appeared muddy and slick from an aggressive overnight drizzle, and the gathering clouds threatened to downpour without warning. She cracked the window just enough to inhale a quick gust of cool air, letting it fill her lungs and infuse those parts of her body that still felt betrayed by the early arousal. It was a typical November morning in Manchester—chilly, damp, at times depressing. But today held promise, dismal weather notwithstanding.

At two o'clock she was scheduled to meet Luella Hancock's lawyer for the reading of Luella's will. Even the thought of it gave her a swift jolt of energy. She'd spent the week since receiving the lawyer's letter mourning Luella's passing. It had hit her harder than she'd expected and certainly harder than Rick would have imagined. He'd known Luella only peripherally, and while he understood Laney's history with her—long days spent swimming in her pool during the summer season, high teas on brisk fall afternoons, and hours devoted to erecting tall snow sculptures in her expansive backyard come wintertime—perhaps he didn't get that their relationship was infinitely more complex, in light of one common denominator: Kitty.

Over the past few years, Laney had barely seen Luella at all, save for a chance meeting around town or at the supermarket. After Laney's father had died six years ago, her mother had moved from their family home to a smaller property down the street from her and Rick. It was only four miles from where she grew up, but somehow those four miles made all the difference. Each time Laney had bumped into Luella, looking every bit as exquisite as always in her tailored cashmere coats and mink stoles, Luella had invited her for an afternoon tea or to bring Gemma and her friends by for a swim. And Laney had always replied with an optimistic yes. Regretfully, her optimism hadn't translated into action—life always seemed to get in the way. And she and Luella had grown farther and farther apart over time.

When Laney had delivered the news of Luella's passing to her mom, Carol had been predictably surprised—it was a rare circumstance for information to flow from Laney to Carol. Typically, Carol was privy to this sort of hot-off-the-press item first, through the Manchester gossip mill. Later that day, her mom had called back, armed with the knowledge that Luella had passed away comfortably in her sleep, and they'd shared a collective sigh of relief.

If Laney was being honest, she and Luella had never been that close. Nothing like Luella and Kitty. They'd had a uniquely resilient bond that could, in some measure, be attributed to their mutual losses—Kitty's mother, Luella's husband, and the children Luella had never been able to conceive on her own. It had taken years for Laney to truly understand the fundamental role Luella had played in Kitty's life. She'd been more like a surrogate mother to her than the mysterious albeit munificent neighbor she'd been to Laney. Still, Luella had named Laney in her will, an act that afforded Laney endless satisfaction. If only Kitty knew.

Laney wandered into the bathroom and cranked the shower lever all the way to hot. She stripped off her nightgown and stepped into the torrid stream of water, allowing it to beat against her sore muscles. A quick shampoo and shave, and she was toweling off, then slipping into her most professional-looking outfit—charcoal gray wool slacks, which she'd scored at the Ralph Lauren outlet sale, a button-down mahogany silk shirt she'd had for way too long but still felt so luxurious against her skin, and old black heels specifically suited for crappy weather. She swiped blush across her cheeks and dotted her lips with a pinkish gloss. There was no time to dry her massive heap of hair, so she just squirted a generous amount of gel in her hands and raked them through her tangle of messy, wet curls.

“Morning.” Laney moseyed into the kitchen.

“You look nice.” Rick kissed his wife on the lips and handed her a mug of coffee.

“You're my hero.” She sat down at the kitchen table and poached a piece of bacon off his plate. Laney marveled at the fact that Rick's internal clock woke him naturally at six a.m. every morning and that he took great pleasure in jumping out of bed, sometimes going for a run, and often making the two of them very elaborate breakfasts, especially for the middle of the week.

“So today's the big day?” He sat down across from her, placing a tomato and Swiss cheese omelet with three slices of crispy bacon in front of her. “Bon appétit.”

“Thanks, but I'm not that hungry.” Laney picked at the bacon.

“I don't believe it.” He shook his head incredulously. “In fact, I don't think I've ever heard you say those words.”

“Very funny.” She coiled a section of hair around her middle finger. “Nervous excitement, I think.”

“Listen, don't come back with less than a million. Okay?” He tried to lift a slice of bacon from Laney's plate, and she swatted at his hand. “What? I thought you weren't hungry. Not to mention that one of mine mysteriously disappeared.”

“I don't even know if she left me money. For all I know, it could be a dress or a couch or something.” Laney cut into the omelet. “Has Gem made an appearance yet?”

“No, but I heard T.I. blasting in her room earlier, so she's up.” Rick wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin, and Laney smiled. He'd never lost his boyish good looks. It was so unfair how men seemed to only get better with age. Rick's once full head of thick, dark brown hair was now punctuated with specks of white, and there were some perfunctory lines around his arrestingly clear blue eyes, but they only served to make him more handsome.

“What's T.I.?” That was another thing about Rick. He was shamelessly in touch with teenage pop culture and lingo. Sometimes it felt like he and Gemma were speaking a foreign language. And forget their e-mail exchanges with the LOLs and the LMAOs and the TTYLs. Now there was a T.I.?

“T.I. is a who. A he, actually.”

“Silly me.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Can I go by HM?”

“What's that?” Rick laughed.

“Hot Mama.”

“If you'd like, but I prefer MILF.”

Laney looked at him perplexed. “Go ahead, tell me.”

“Mother I'd Like to Fuck.”

“Shut up!” She slapped his arm. “Is that for real?”

“The realest.” Rick wrapped his arms across his chest and puckered his lips in a gangster pose.

“It's official. You're too cool for me.” Laney finished her omelet and stood to bring both of their plates to the sink.

“I guess you got it down.” He motioned to her empty plate.

“I didn't want to insult the chef. I hear he's a badass.”

“Oh, do you, now?” Rick crept up behind her and grabbed her around the waist, turning her toward him. “I've got to run, but I love you.” He kissed her gently on the lips. “More than anything.” He kissed her again. “And I'll see you tonight. Call me after the lawyer. I'm seriously curious on this one.”

“Yeah, that makes two of us.”

•   •   •

Panting,
Laney burst through the front door of Newman, Brink & Oliver. Tina had given her a hard time about leaving Oasis, even though Laney had told her a week ago about the meeting and had sworn she'd be back within the hour. How long could it take to read a will? Still, Tina was Tina, and Laney knew she was afraid of running the salon without her. On her way out, she'd handed Tina a lined pad and red pen and said, “Write everything down on this. Appointments, phone messages, and any other issues or problems. I'll deal with it all when I get back.” Tina had nodded like an obedient child. And Laney had reminded herself to ask about that raise she so deserved. Unless, of course, she was about to become a millionaire. It had crossed her mind. The delicious satisfaction of quitting her job at a time when Tina was most vulnerable—she'd just fired Annie, the new receptionist, along with two manicurists and three hairstylists.

“I'm here to see Richard Newman.” Laney let her purse fall to the ground and pulled her hair off her neck. Despite the freezing and inclement weather, she was still perspiring. She'd had to sprint four blocks from the Donna Karan outlet parking lot, the only spot she could find in the vicinity. She'd driven by the law office twice, to discover that they had room for only seven cars, most likely the three lawyers, two secretaries, one receptionist, and one paralegal who worked there.

“In regard to?” The receptionist didn't bother looking up from her paperwork.

“Luella Hancock's will. I have a two o'clock appointment.” Laney's erratic breathing tapered as she removed her damp winter coat. The rain hadn't let up all day, which just made everything more difficult.

“He's on a call. Take a seat. I'll let you know when he's ready to see you.”

“Sure, thank you.” Laney was somewhat relieved to have a moment to pull herself together, even though Tina would probably kill her if she was gone for more than fifty-nine minutes and fifty-nine seconds. She hung her coat on a hook by the door and sat down in the first empty chair. There was only one other woman waiting, seated on the other side of the small room. Laney hadn't noticed her at first, but she did now. It was impossible not to. The woman was impeccably turned out in crisp black slacks, a creamy cashmere sweater that hugged her slender frame, and heels so high they were practically stilts. Laney couldn't make out the woman's face, since it was buried in her iPhone, on which she was typing furiously, but she did notice her diamond studs—more like diamond rocks, really. Her black hair was fashioned into a stylish shoulder-length bob, and it sparkled much like her earrings. This woman couldn't be from Manchester. No one dressed like that in Manchester. Laney surveyed her own outfit and frowned. She'd felt a little glamorous all day in her favorite silk shirt, since she usually wore a uniform of old black pants and a plain white cotton button-down to work, but now she felt more like the dumpy stepsister.

She stared at the woman for a few minutes, wondering what it would take to look like her. She was dying to see her face and, even though she dreaded Tina's temper tantrums, she kind of hoped the woman would get called in first.

“Ladies, Mr. Newman will see you now,” the receptionist yelped from behind her desk, without moving an inch. Laney stood up, as did the woman, who—for the first time—lifted her head. Laney looked directly at her, pausing for a moment to place the familiar face, and then it hit her, nearly knocking her back into her seat.

“Kitty?” Laney's heart punched at her chest and she felt slightly dizzy.

“Laney.” Kitty smiled coolly, submitting to a perfunctory acknowledgment.

“Through the door, second office on the left, ladies.” The receptionist pointed, oblivious to the standoff right before her eyes.

“I guess that's us.” Kitty tucked her black lizard clutch under her arm and strutted through the door, holding it open for Laney, who followed like a robot, too shocked to say or do anything else.

“Come right in and sit down,” Richard Newman announced, as soon as they appeared in his doorway. He was an older gentleman, very polished-looking in a navy suit, pinstriped shirt, and a red bowtie. Just what Laney would have expected in the way of Luella's lawyer. His office was small but neat, with a large wooden desk that took up almost the whole space and matching wooden shelves packed with law journals. A collection of diplomas and awards hung on the stark white walls, along with a few photos of his family—his wife, their kids, and their kids' kids. But Laney paid no attention to any of it.

Very quickly, her shock had spooled into a fiery ball of anger, which was now rankling in the pit of her stomach, ready to erupt. How
dare
Kitty come back after all these years? How
dare
she come back for the sole purpose of cashing in on Luella's death? The same Luella whom she hadn't bothered to visit for more than a decade. Fine. So she looked good. Amazing, actually. How had it not crossed her mind that Kitty could be here? And why hadn't she put on a little more makeup this morning? Not only did she have to sit right next to Kitty under a halogen lamp, but she had to do it looking like crap.

“Thank you for traveling all the way from New York, Kitty.” Richard Newman smiled pleasantly.

“It's actually Katherine.”

Laney snorted.

“My apologies. Is that your full name?”

“Yes.” Katherine folded her hands in her lap and crossed her legs.

“Oh, really?” Laney couldn't quell her acidic tone, nor did she try to.

“It is now.” Katherine nodded decisively.

“Is that a legal change?” Laney challenged.

“It might as well be. I've been going by Katherine for more than ten years.”

“Whatever.” Laney rolled her eyes and hugged her purse to her chest.

“Neither here nor there,” he chimed in. “Shall we get on with it?”

“Yes, absolutely.” Katherine motioned to the stack of papers in his hands.

“Right, then.” Richard Newman launched into paragraphs of legalese, reciting them so enthusiastically, it was as if he were reading a toddler his favorite bedtime story. He detailed what money Luella had left to her beautiful church, St. Ignatius, what money she'd left to the very grateful town of Manchester for the construction of an elaborate park and playground, and so on, and so on. It appeared she'd thought of everyone and anyone who'd had an impact on her life. Vintage Luella.

“Excuse me,” Laney interrupted as politely as she could, given the awkward context. “Would it be possible to get to the part about me? It's just that I have to get back to work.”

“I suppose,” he said, turning to Katherine for consent, and she nodded. “Well, ladies. It seems this is your lucky day.” He cleared his throat, as if waiting for a drumroll. “Luella has left the two of you her home and everything in it.”