“Write about love. Apologize.”
Phoebe took a sip from the brandy snifter, sifting through her jewelry as Jake wrote. She slipped an antique diamond bracelet into a baggie with the rope of pearls Kate treasured.
She held the engagement ring Jake had bought to replace the tiny diamond chip she’d originally worn. Gleaming, from Tiffany’s, and perfect. She didn’t add it to the pile, nor did she put it on. Only things from long ago seemed appropriate to send.
She picked up everything her mother had once owned. The locket she’d removed from her mother in the hospital with the familiar clouded pictures of her and Deb. After the funeral, Phoebe hadn’t taken it off for months, rubbing the worn gold as though her attention might alleviate her guilt at having loved her father more. The cool metal heated in her hand.
She took out her own pad and began writing letters, first to her son and then her daughter.
Dear Katie,
Most of all, I want you to remember I’m not angry. You shouldn’t even think I could consider that, but guilt can haunt a child, even a child as adult and capable as you.
You made the right decision. Take good care of Amelia and Zach. Most of all, take care of you. I’ve treasured you since the moment I held you, my sweet child. You and Noah are first in my heart always, though I suppose, if that’s true, you’re wondering why I’m here, and not with you and your brother. This will probably not seem like enough justification—considering what he’s done to everyone—but I just couldn’t bear the idea of Daddy being alone. For better or for worse, right? And does it get worse than this?
Phoebe went back and crossed out the last line with a heavy hand. Of course it got worse than this. Death. Illness.
Daddy and I have been together since we were practically children. I don’t know how to walk away. Believe me, if I didn’t know you and Noah had each other and your families, I’d never leave you alone.
Okay, enough. Sounds like I’m asking you to feel sorry for me, right? But, sweetheart—I had a wonderful life until now. You and Noah are anything and everything a mother could dream of having for their children. Being grandma was the second biggest joy of my life—having you and Noah, was, of course, number one.
What else could she write to her girl? How could she say good-bye without making her sad forever? Phoebe didn’t want to send Kate paper so tainted with shame and self-pity that her daughter’s only option would be burning the letter.
You and Noah can start over. You’re both young and smart. There is nothing so big here that you can’t make a good life. This is all new and awful, but the horror will pass, no matter how hard that is to believe. You got a raw deal, but what is, is, at this moment. Your children are treasures. Zach is more than wonderful. The skills you possess are beyond pride-worthy. Hold your head up. You did nothing.
Don’t wear your father’s sins.
Love always and forever,
Mommy
CHAPTER 30
Phoebe
Phoebe slid her mother’s locket into a padded envelope. Tears blurred her vision as she picked out a few more meaningful pieces from the pile of gold and silver jewelry. She reached back for the necklace, scrabbling for the gold as though searching for a lost limb to touch it once more. For one moment, she prayed her daughter could gather comfort from these trinkets and, in the next, she questioned her sanity at the thought.
Was this what Jake stole for? Shiny relics? Baubles to hang around her neck, dangle from her ears?
Look at me! Look at my wife! I made it! I’m a big shot! Jake obsessed about hitting the big time since high school—and he’d spun stories just as long. How many dinner tables did she decorate while watching guests drink up his bullshit about catching a giant fish or the time he spent a summer building houses in Haiti?
Haiti? Jake would have added air conditioners to the deck at their Greenwich home if it were possible. That’s how much he hated humidity. And he loathed fish.
Phoebe squirmed at his performances, rolling her eyes when they got home, but everyone loved his jive. The more powerful he became, the more they wanted his stories. “Pretty soon, you’ll have them believing you discovered America in a past life,” she said as they drove home from some event.
Turned out he’d reeled her right in with all the others.
Jake came in and dropped his box of watches on the kitchen table.
“Are you going to give them to Manny to mail?”
Phoebe finished the inch of brandy left from the generous amount she’d poured before writing the letter. “I’ll mail the jewelry myself. The letters we’ll leave here for the kids.”
“Let me know if you need anything. I have a little something put away.”
So Jake kept his own knippel. Maybe he stuffed his old shoes with thousand-dollar bills.
They had not spoken about money since his arrest. He never asked how she paid for groceries or the cable bill, or if they cut off her credit cards—which they hadn’t, but they could. Not that she used them. Hate and naked curiosity from shoppers drilled her with every can of tuna she put in her cart. Better to transact fast using crumpled knippel bills.
Sometimes the exhaustion of making herself as small as possible made her want to walk into D’Agostino’s and fill a basket with tins of lobster and caviar. Imagine those headlines.
Jake handed her the letters he had typed on his old IBM Selectric and shuffled back to his study. The television came on. Phoebe didn’t worry about what he’d say to Kate—always considered his perfect child—but she needed to read what he wrote to their son.
Dear Noah,
What can I say that would make any sense? I have no excuses, no good reasons. I fell deeper and deeper, while convincing myself I’d find a way out. I never meant to hurt anyone. I don’t know how it got so bad. I’m surprised I didn’t have a heart attack from worry. At least I held to my vow to always keep you and Kate (and, of course, Mom) out of it. Of course you can’t forgive me, but please, don’t ever blame your mother.
I love you very much. You three were the most important things in my life even if you can’t believe that now. I simply boiled myself a little bit at a time—slow enough that by the time I became red hot, it was too late to jump out. Though I tried. Believe me, I tried.
This wasn’t what I wanted. You are a good boy, and I am so proud of you. I wish you could have gone until forever being proud of me.
Love,
Dad