“Why would I leave? Because of Bob?”
“Lily,” he said. “Lily, come on. What do you think is going to happen when he comes home? It’s going to be, you’re going to be living under siege. The Post has been running pictures of him practically every day. Coming out of the lobby. The building’s on Park, right? The apartment?”
She remembered one of the first headlines, the one Jackson had sent her the day after it happened: “DAMN IT, D’AMICO.” She knew it had been a real crowd pleaser, not least with her boyfriend.
But that had seemed like it might be all. She’d been bracing the kids, that first morning—the morning she hated to think about—for some cataclysmic shift in their daily routines. Homeschooling, a more secluded house somewhere in another state, whatever it would take. But nothing had happened. She’d prepared herself for flashbulbs when she walked up to the house in the morning, reporters’ stubby fingers reaching out toward Madison every time they walked through the streets of Greenwich. She’d imagined herself shepherding the children through their days like an underqualified bodyguard. But none of this had come to pass, and her initial bewilderment had given way to genuine awe when she considered how much Bob must be paying to make sure this didn’t happen. The black sedans must be everywhere in their neighborhood, their drivers the human equivalents of an electric fence, heading the intrepid truth seekers off at the pass.
“I can’t leave,” she said. “It hasn’t been as bad as I thought it would be, but there’s a lot going on. They think someone tried to break into the place on Park. And she gets hate mail, you know. Isabel. She’s in her office on the phone with their lawyers all day, because apparently he refuses to meet with anyone yet. And she’s got to gather the hate mail every day, which means some of these people actually have access to their home address.”
“So he’s waiting and maneuvering. He’s figuring out his best bet. You could learn something, Lil. You’re the one always telling me you’re watching him to learn more about how he got where he is, aren’t you?”
“He’s a pretty employable guy, Jacks. I’m guessing he’ll be able to find another job.”
“Well,” he said, “no, maybe not. I mean, you should hear how the DealBook guys are talking about this. People are talking about actual prosecution, Lily. If you wait too long, you won’t even be able to get another nanny job out there on the Gold Coast. Nobody’s going to want to touch anyone near that name.”
“Don’t be a drama queen,” she said.
Jackson raised his eyebrows in dismay, but he’d resumed slurping his noodles, and she took advantage of his full mouth.
“He did the best he could with the information they had at the time,” she said. “Everyone loves risk takers when they’re right. And everyone loves Monday-morning quarterbacking, especially when it’s a rich guy they’re second-guessing. But one man doesn’t create a tsunami. People are just obsessed right now because it’s a good story. It’s just rumors. It’s going to blow over.”
“Jesus,” he said through the food. “Listen to you.”
“In some ways, I mean, he’s suffering more than anyone else. His long-term financial interests, if you look at it that way, they’re completely aligned with all the other shareholders. No one wanted that bank to succeed more than he did. If he’s such a villain, why didn’t he sell off his stock? He still owned millions of shares, millions, when they had to file. He’s got to be in as much pain as anyone.”
Her boyfriend stared at her. He had stopped chewing.
“Lily, come on.”
“He must know it could get worse,” she mumbled. “You think he’s not in pain? Trust me, he loves those kids. He’s in pain.”
“How would you know?” Jackson croaked, having finally swallowed his food. He was still watching her, his face slack with amazement. “You haven’t even seen him yet.”
“You don’t understand,” Lily said. She dipped her spoon just below the surface of the soup, then spun it around and brought it back up for air. “He was a lifer there. It was the only place he ever worked. He was a lifer.”
“Who gives a shit,” Jackson barked. “You don’t owe this man anything. You’ve already proved your loyalty, trust me. You don’t have to be a lifer, Lil.”
“I’m not there because of what he can do for me,” she said, but even as she spoke she could hear how thin her voice sounded.
“Okay,” he said, “we can stick to the party line. But I know you, and you aren’t stupid. You know as well as I do what a reference from him will do for you, down the line.”
They ate the remainder of the ramen in silence, constantly jostling their neighbors to hold on to their counter space. When the cashier left an oil-stained scrap of paper by their place mats, the receipt, Jackson slid his arm back into position around her waist. It was that wheedling sort of affection, the kind you both use to stave off the explosions you know are waiting for you in just a few hours, or even minutes.
“You’ve got this, right?” he asked her, and she took out her wallet.
THAT NIGHT SHE HAD HER HANDS in the sink, submerged nearly to the elbows in the soapy, scalding water. There was something satisfying about this feeling, satisfying in a way that weighted you to the ground. Knowing that your hands would be chapped and abrased when you drew them back, that you were aging them with every moment you let them float in the harsh water without the thick rubber gloves Isabel was always urging you to use.
She knew the gloves would help, knew it was silly to refuse them—they were hardly an extravagance by the standards of this house. But when Isabel had first waved them at her, Lily had been able to think only of her own mother. Of the fragile lines that arced from her nostrils to the corners of her mouth when worry cinched her features together. Her mother had always tried to get her to wear gloves like that while she did chores, and Lily had always refused. She couldn’t refuse her own mother and not Isabel. There was no logic to this argument, but it was what Lily thought when she looked at them.
She lifted one hand from the sink and was examining her own knuckles, red and angry, when Isabel came into the kitchen. Or, to be precise, when Lily glanced up to see Isabel’s reflection in the dark window, leaning against the kitchen door frame with performed ease, propping the swinging door open with one foot. Lily yelped and dropped the glass she was holding. A plastic one the boys used, thank God, but still. She hadn’t seen Isabel for days and she didn’t like it that, when they were finally in the same room again, her boss had caught her in the midst of incompetence.
“Jesus, sorry. How long have you been standing there?”
“Not long.” Isabel crossed to the sink, letting the door swing shut behind her. She stood beside Lily and stared down into the suds, as though she’d been called over for a consult.