Fuck what he’d said. At eight, she’d call Deb. Eva.
Phoebe caught sight of the photo rendered to art hanging in the hall. Crystalline water and turquoise sky served as a backdrop for the family portrait from Greenwich. Phoebe took the silver frame off the wall. She fixated on Jake’s eyes—bringing the picture so close the image pixilated—searching for a clue. The kids were barely out of diapers when the picture was shot. Were Jake’s crimes already in motion?
She appeared love struck. In two dimensions, she gazed at Jake as though he were God, while he stared at the camera.
“You know what your problem is?” her sister had asked whenever Phoebe seemed surprised by some Jake transgression in those days. “He put stars in your eyes when you were too young, and you still haven’t shaken out the glitter. Sweetheart, the gold’s supposed to fall out by the end of the first six months. Eighteen tops, and that’s only if he’s away in the army.”
Deb had been right. Phoebe always stayed the girl who’d sinned and been rescued by Jake.
Phoebe, steaming full mugs in her hands, banged the bedroom door open with her knee.
“Wake up.” She placed Jake’s coffee on the nightstand, centering it on the oversized bronze coaster.
He blinked as she opened the curtains. “What time is it?”
“Six thirty.”
“Did the kids call?”
“No.” She sat on the wing back chair facing his side of the bed. “I need to tell Deb.”
Jake drained half the cup as he always did with his first swallows and then threw back the covers. “No.” He stomped to the bathroom.
“She has to know!” Phoebe yelled through the door. “So she can sell her shares.”
Jake stormed back into the room, his face red and tight. “Don’t be a moron. There’s nothing to sell. There aren’t any ‘shares.’ It would be a withdrawal from a dry account. I can’t handle the redemptions already in line.”
“How about the main business? Can’t you handle a withdrawal there? What will Deb and Ben do? Everything they have is with you.”
“You really aren’t getting it. There is no money. Nothing, except for the checks I wrote. She’ll receive one, but I can’t give the full amount to—”
“We’ll sell the Greenwich house. Give the money to—”
Jake sank on the bed. “Phoebe. Houses aren’t spare gold bars you can turn in for cash, and even if we could, what do you think? That Deb and Ben will keep this secret? That they won’t call their kids, their friends—”
“She’ll stay quiet if I ask.”
Jake sat beside her, taking her hands until she pulled away. “No one keeps a secret like this. Don’t worry. I only need a few days. Deb and Ben are on the list for a check. When I meet with Gideon, he’ll help me figure out the next step.”
“Why, Jake? What was this for?”
He avoided her eyes. “I always thought I could make it right.”
“Why would you even start? So we could buy shit? Expensive furniture?” She strode to the walk-in closet and flung open the doors. “Shelves of shoes and racks of dresses? You became a thief for this crap? You sold your soul for houses?”
“I’m taking a shower,” he said.
“You’re really going to work?”
“Of course. What did you expect?”
“But . . . the kids?”
“Kate and Noah will be at the office.”
“You think so?” Against all odds, she was ready to believe him.
“I’m positive,” he said. “I promise. I’m gonna fix this. There’s gotta be a way out.”
Phoebe dragged herself to make Jake’s breakfast as he showered. Would the kids be at work? They were so close, the four of them. Unusually so, seeing or speaking to one another daily. For Kate and Noah not to answer her calls indicated disaster.
She reached for her favorite red bowl—once her mother’s—cracked two eggs and tried to calm down, whisking beat by beat.
Dissociate.
Heat the omelet pan.
Using the paring knife, she sliced a pat of butter directly into the stainless steel. Screw the Pam spray. Once the butter melted to the perfect edge of sizzling, she slipped in the beaten eggs.
She stood immobile as the edges of the eggs thickened and turned puffy. Water stopped running in the bathroom. No matter how expensive the paint or thick the old plaster walls, pipes ran through them, and sounds bled out.
She lifted the corner of the omelet, impatient to fold it. Toss the eggs on a plate. Throw herself into a second shower and wash off her fear with stinging hot needles of water.
A buzzer startled her as cheese bubbled from the fold. She looked at the clock as though it might provide an answer. Almost eight.
Noah!
Kate would be getting the kids ready for school, but Noah could leave the house early. He’d always been the forgiving child. “Don’t be mad at Mommy,” he’d plead when she and Kate had their mother-daughter fights during the teenage years.
She pressed the speaker button for the intercom to the lobby. “Yes?” She smiled, anticipating hearing Noah’s name.
Anthony, the weekday man on the desk, announced himself and then said, “Two gentlemen are on their way up to see Mr. Pierce.”
“Men?” She clutched the edge of the counter. “Who? You let them up?”
“Um, they’re with the law, ma’am. They had badges.” Anthony’s typically even voice rose. “They didn’t ask; they just went.”
She released the speaker button. “Jake!” she called. When he didn’t answer, she screamed full blast, “Jake!!”
Within moments, he ran into the kitchen, wet hair slicked back, thin bare legs peeking from beneath his robe. “What’s wrong?” He looked around as though expecting an explosion or fire.
“The police.” Fear blocked her throat and chest. She struggled to speak through the thickness. “The police are here.”
“Police?” He whipped his head in both directions, as though men hid behind the stove, under the counters. “Where?”
“On their way up. Anthony just called.”
“What the—”
The front bell chimed, followed by a rap on the wooden door.
“Get the door,” he ordered.
Phoebe pulled her robe tighter. “They’re here for you. You answer it.” She ran toward their bedroom, hearing muffled words float up as Jake opened the door. Phoebe listened as she yanked jeans and a sweater from the closet. Please God, let the children be all right. Tell me what to do.
She picked up the phone and dialed Jake’s office.
“Connie, it’s Phoebe.”
“Hey, hon. You guys left so early last night I didn’t say—”
“Are the kids there?” Phoebe rubbed the edge of the bedspread.
“Haven’t seen them. Want me to check?”
“Please. And if they’re not there, could you find Theo?”
She waited for what seemed like hours until her brother-in-law came on the line.
“You okay?” Theo asked. “Connie said you seemed panicky. What’s wrong?”
“Are the kids there?”
“Not since they left with Jake yesterday.”
“Have you spoken to them?”