"What's going on?" I ask, taking a seat.
I'm sweaty and my skin is salty and right after I sit down, I get up again to grab something cold to drink from the fridge.
Mom continues to wait. She has her hands folded in front of her like a Cobra waiting for the right moment to strike.
For a second I think that everything that she's been doing up until now is just an act, a joke, and she's going to tell me something terrible about Jacqueline and forbid me from seeing her again, as if she could.
But the longer I sit here and the more time she has to gather her thoughts, the more that the tension between us builds.
"$200,000 is missing from your trust fund," she finally says, glaring at me, her eyes unblinking, steadfast.
My breath gets lodged in the back of my throat. There it is. I wasn't able to come up with the money in time and she found out about it.
"You don't seem very surprised," she says.
I nod.
"Tell me why."
Her voice is demanding and clear, but not angry, except that it is. She doesn't get loud when she's angry, she gets quiet, the anger building somewhere under the surface.
"Borrowed it," I say, "for something important."
"What?" she says, her back completely straight.
Her hands are still intertwined.
She doesn't flinch, she doesn't move. She barely breathes.
"It's a private matter. I needed the money, so I took it. I'm going to put it back."
"You had no right," she snaps. "That money's not yours. It's my trust fund. You don't have access to it until you've married someone of appropriate standing."
"Like Marguerite?"
"No, the opposite of Marguerite," she says without lowering her voice, not caring whether or not my brother or his wife can hear her.
"Look, I'm going to put the money back, okay? Don't worry about it."
"I will worry about it. It's my money that you took and I need to know what it's for."
I hesitate. She has developed such a good camaraderie and almost friendship with Jacqueline and I don't want to jeopardize that.
I had no idea how she could react for the impulsive thing that I did, but I don't want to risk it either.
"I'd rather keep that private," I finally say.
I don't explain, I don't hesitate.
I don't go any further into any part of it.
"I expect the money back."
"I know, and I'll get it back to you," I add.
"I expect it back in a week."
"No, impossible."
"How long do you need?"
"It was an emergency."
"An emergency? What happened?"
"I can't explain." Finally, she's talking to me like a person.
"I expect the money back by the end of the month and if you don't have it, I will go to the police."
My heart skips a beat. From any other mother it would just be a threat, but from her, I believe her.
She takes care of her finances personally, making sure that every dollar and every penny is there and where it's supposed to be.
She knows exactly how her investments are growing and which ones are diminishing and need to be reinvested.
"Can't you just trust me?"
"No. You could have gone to a casino for all I know. I want you to put it back and I want it to be back in that account. This isn't just about me, Dante. This is your money. I'm protecting it for you to have in the future and you will not disobey me because there will be consequences and I will sue you. I will call the police. The district attorney is a friend of mine and someone I play tennis with."
That is the harshest threat of all. My mother has friends in a lot of high places and even though a normal mother complaint about her son would probably not go anywhere, hers does exactly for that reason.
"Now go," she says, sitting up even straighter. "I don't want to see you right now.”
I'm being sent away for doing something wrong like a child.
I guess I did do something wrong, but it was for a good cause and this is my money after all.
The only thing that weighs heavily on my mind now is where the hell I'm going to come up with two hundred grand in the next month.
28
Jacqueline
I walk back to the cottage. My mood is as bright as the blue sky. The air is salty and full of humidity, poofing up my hair that I try to tame by sticking it in a ponytail.
I know that we had some differences, but she's going to be happy for me. Everything with Dante is working out.
I love how comfortable we feel with one another. I never want to be that girl that is constantly thinking ahead, but I can't help myself, but if I were to take this job in Seattle for him, what if I were to do this investigative project?
What would it be like for him to visit me? Thinking of all that, I feel my stomach flutter with anticipation, excited and happy and just looking forward to the future, something I haven't done in a while.
When I get to the gate and walk up to our cottage behind the main house, I don't see anything different at first, but as soon as I get inside, things change.
There's a darkness that hangs over the place and it's mainly because it looks like no one has been here since I left. Allison went to the party at The Redemption but she would have come back by now.
Even if the party went all night, I'd find her sleeping in a room, tuckered out, exhausted, probably very hungover but not gone. Her clothes are still here, the dress that she was going to wear isn’t.
I crack my knuckles and tap my fingers nervously on the sides of my thighs. Where could she have gone? What if something happened?
No, don't overreact. Maybe she's just trying to teach you a lesson.
"Yes, that's a very real possibility," I say out loud.
I gave Allison quite a scare by forgetting to tell her where I was when I was really with Dante. Who's to say that she's not doing the exact same thing now? Perhaps she is.
I walk around from the living room to the bedroom to the bathroom and back again. I pace like a caged tiger. What can I do?
I call Dante who promises to be here in a few minutes since I still don't have a car. The only problem is that I don't really know where to go. I open my phone, I remember her sending me something about the party about a month ago.
I search and find the address. Okay, good, good. I look it up on Google Maps and find that it's about five miles away and a mansion right on the water.
When Dante arrives, I fill him in on all the details.
"So you have no idea where she is?" he asks.
"This is where she went.” I show him the directions and I put them on speakerphone so that he can hear them as he drives.
I feel how frantic my voice is when I tell him about her not being here and I realize that perhaps this is a much bigger deal than I even thought it was.
"I'm sorry, I'm just really freaking out," I say, trying to catch my breath.
My lips are dry and peeling in parts and I desperately need something to drink but I have to get to this house. I have to find out what, if anything, happened to my friend.
As we drive around, we drive past Main Street and the groups of teenagers and families are walking around with smiles on their faces and I cannot feel more disconnected from them.