Mom placed her hand on my arm and stroked it comfortingly. “Luckily, it wasn’t as much as your father originally wanted. I’ve always been a bit more conservative where our finances are concerned, but it was enough to derail our plans. Not entirely, but just . . . for the moment anyway.”
Up until now, Adam’s victims had been nameless. Nameless and faceless. It was still unimaginably awful, but not knowing them made it easier to somehow compartmentalize it all. The speeding pace of my thoughts competed with the hammering of my heart. Adam did this to my parents. My mom and dad. All those years we’d visited them for holidays together. All the plans we’d talk about when we’d talk about the future, like taking our children to visit Mimi and PawPaw in Woodbury. It was truly the worst kind of betrayal, and the news of it hit me even harder than the initial knock of the FBI team on our door Christmas morning.
My mind flashed to the $800 bottle of wine, the designer brand names that I started to drop into conversation like they were actual friends, the lavish Upper East Side apartment, the house in Quogue, all of it. Did she think that I was in on it? That I knew what he was up to and turned a blind eye out of self-interest?
“God, Mom, I didn’t know. You have to believe me. Maybe I was naive, but I swear, I had no idea who he really was. What he was really capable of. I can’t believe he took advantage of the two of you. I thought he loved you.”
“And we thought he loved you. And sweetheart, we never—not for one second—believed you had any inkling of what Adam had done. Not only because you were barreled right off your ass just as hard as we were, but more so because you are my daughter and you have one of the very best hearts of anyone I know. As for him? Well, none of it makes a lick of sense beyond sheer greed. Greed and hubris to believe he could swindle so many people and just get away with it.” Mom stood up, licked the pad of her index finger, and dabbed at a rogue crumb from the table before pushing in her chair. “But he didn’t get away with it in the end, did he?” She offered me a crooked brow and a knowing-mom-style satisfied smile.
I lifted my glass in a mock toast. “No, no, he didn’t.”
“We’ll still be able to retire, it just may take another year or two. I promise you, sweetie, we’ll be okay, and I know it may not feel this way now, but in time, so will you.”
I picked up my plate to clear it from the table. Mom took it from me and said, “You look exhausted. I’ll finish cleaning up. Why don’t you head back upstairs and try to get a good night’s rest?”
I carefully stepped over Bernadette, now snoring in a carb coma at the bottom of the stairs, and crept back to my bedroom where Old Rose, her hair blowing in the sea breeze as she climbed up the railing under the night sky, was just about to toss the Heart of the Ocean into the ocean, and Gabe was still sound asleep. I climbed into the bed and nuzzled my way back into the crook of his arm.
Gabe stirred and groggily kissed the top of my head, mumbling, “Did they hit the iceberg yet?”
His eyes were still closed.
“Close to an hour ago. Don’t worry, though, I won’t tell you how it ends.”
He breathed a laugh into my hair and pulled me closer to him, his legs entangling with mine, my cold feet searching his for warmth. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Can’t sleep?”
“No. Maybe. But this is perfect. Can we stay like this? You wrapped around me just like this?” An errant tear slipped down my cheek. I hadn’t even realized I’d been crying.
“For as long as you need me.”
I drew myself into him and closed my eyes as his arms tightened around me like armor, like a shield that would keep the world at bay, at least for a little while.
But the next morning, the world came knocking in the form of a phone call. To my total astonishment and utter delight, I’d received a callback for the title role in the upcoming Broadway production of Marley Is Dead. The question was, though: Was I ready to answer it?
Chapter Twenty-Five
My weekend at home illuminated so much. However, the fact that my parents had been victims of Adam’s too was the very last thing I ever expected. Over all these weeks, as more and more about his crimes became public, I’d managed to convince myself Adam had two sides to him. Like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, there was the mild-mannered gentleman shadowing the presence of an unimaginable monster. The Adam I knew was generous and loving. I didn’t think I’d ever met Mr. Hyde, but maybe I had?
My thoughts darted back to that year we first started dating. I was still auditioning, still trying to get my foot in the door, even though my track record was abysmal, my confidence wavering with every casting agent’s dismissal from the stage. Adam never outright discouraged me, but instead liked to highlight all the ways I could be happier. How he could make me happier.
I didn’t back then, but now I understood all the small but subtle tactics he used to chip away at my dreams, convincing me his were better. But they weren’t. And I could see that now.
On Monday, I returned to the city ready to dive into preparing for my callback for Marley Is Dead. Just like the old days, Charlie generously offered to stay after his shift to help me work through the material.
“Okay, first of all, I cannot believe that you have a callback for Marley. I mean, you’re one of the most talented actors I know, but the fact the phone booth sent you to that audition? It’s really kinda wild,” Charlie said nonchalantly as he swung a stool around to the working side of the counter, now closed. The only people left in the restaurant aside from us were a few bussers finishing up in the kitchen before they too headed out for the night.
“I know, I’m still not sure how the pieces of this crazy phone-booth-mystery puzzle all fit together, so for now, rather than make myself crazy trying to get to the bottom of it, I’ve decided to just kinda go with it.”
“You know what they say, it’s the small pieces that make the big picture, and I’m sure yours will show itself in due time,” Charlie answered thoughtfully. “Half the fun is the big reveal, isn’t it?” He reached across the counter and patted the top of my head. “Ahh, patience, young grasshopper.”
I grunted dramatically. “You know patience has never been ‘My Strongest Suit.’” I sang the last words to the tune of the snappy Aida hit.
“Okay, okay . . . back to your audition. You are ‘not throwin’ away your shot,’” he said, riffing on Hamilton before leafing through the pages I’d set down on the counter.
He was right. I only had two weeks to learn three scenes and two songs, and I couldn’t let myself get distracted by the magnitude of the opportunity or discouraged by nerves.
“The casting director sent these over last night. I haven’t even had a chance to look at them yet,” I admitted as I fanned out the pages I’d printed off from my email message. There was a scene from act one, one from act two, and a monologue.