It’s Always the Husband. Michele Campbell

spotted it, however. Kate and Aubrey stepped away from the bar. A moment later, Victoria announced that dinner was served, and Jenny turned toward the dining room with relief.

      “You’re saving my ass. Dad loved you,” Kate said, catching up with Jenny as they moved into the dining room.

      “Don’t drink,” Jenny whispered urgently.

      “Huh?”

      “Just don’t drink anything alcoholic, not a drop, not for the whole night.”

      “But I’m hungover. Hair of the dog.”

      “I can’t believe I have to tell you this. The plan is working. Don’t ruin it.”

      In the dining room, the chandelier sparkled, casting a warm glow over the crystal stemware, fine china, and lavish flower arrangements. Each setting had a place card, and Jenny was disappointed to see that the three of them were seated next to the little Eastmans at the far end of the table, presumably to act as impromptu babysitters if the need arose. Jenny had hoped to be closer to the seat of power at the head, the better to continue her conversation with Mr. Eastman. She hadn’t had time yet to make clear to him that she planned a future on Wall Street herself. The questions had been on the tip of her tongue when dinner was announced – did his firm hire interns, and could she forward a résumé? – but she hadn’t gotten them out. It was a lesson. Never hesitate; never put somebody else’s interests (especially Kate’s; she had enough advantages already) ahead of your own career advancement, or the moment would pass you by.

      The upside was that, sitting in Siberia, Jenny could relax and enjoy the spectacular food and setting. The second she lifted the silver spoon to her lips and tasted the lobster bisque, she forgot to be disappointed. It was Popsicle orange and silky-smooth, tasting of cream and sherry and the sea. She savored every drop, remembering to tilt the bowl away from her to catch the last bit rather than toward her, as the etiquette manual she had pored over in preparation for this trip instructed. She was sad when the soup was done, but then the main course arrived. Back home in Jenny’s house, they had roast turkey with all the sides, American and Puerto Rican both. Every Thanksgiving, there were sweet potatoes with marshmallows on top, stuffing that came from a box but tasted delicious, green bean casserole doused in onion soup with lots of cheese and fried onions, and then tostones, rice and beans, because they all loved that food, so why not? She felt a twinge of homesickness as the waiter set a plate of rarefied tidbits before her, but it vanished with her first bite. The turkey had been prepared en croûte, a tender breast wrapped in puff pastry and delicately seasoned. It was accompanied by spicy cranberry compote and two fluffy vegetable purees, one of sweet potato, the other of asparagus, both heavenly. Jenny knew what the dishes were only because of the dainty calligraphic menu that sat before her in a silver holder. She loved looking at this menu, and wondered if they would mind if she took it home. This must be what it was like to be the queen of England, or damn close anyway. She’d put up with grief from a scary dad and a jealous stepmother, in exchange for a life like this. But of course, if Keniston Eastman were Jenny’s father, he wouldn’t be angry with her. She would never give him reason to be.

      As she ate, Jenny feasted her eyes on the beautifully appointed dining room. The windows were tall and elegant, framed by blue silk drapes with elaborate tassels. By far the most impressive feature of the room was a hand-painted mural that covered all four walls, depicting New York City in an earlier time, complete with sailing ships, and a family in eighteenth-century garb picnicking beneath a tree. Looking closer, Jenny saw that the family bore an uncanny resemblance to the Eastmans. It was them, she was certain – Keniston, Victoria, and their three towheaded monsters, enjoying a lovely spring day in the eighteenth century. But Kate and her half sister Louise were nowhere in sight. The artist had omitted them. They didn’t live in this house, and apparently they weren’t worthy of preserving in paint. Officially, they weren’t part of the family.

      At the end of the meal, the other guests departed, and Jenny went up to Victoria and Keniston, thanked them profusely, and offered her services to help clean up.

      “That’s not necessary,” Victoria said.

      “But it’s a lovely offer,” Mr. Eastman said. “I’m glad you’re rooming with my daughter. If only some of your attitude would rub off on her.”

      Jenny blushed. Kate, who had been moving toward them, smiled.

      “Isn’t she awesome, Dad? I told you, I’m on the right track now. Look who I’m hanging out with.”

      The heavy black eyebrows drew together. “It’s not so easy, Katherine. Come into the study. We need to talk.”

      Kate’s face fell. As her father led her away, she glanced back over her shoulder at Jenny with a sick look.

      It was an hour later when Kate found them in the library. They’d changed into their pajamas, and were hanging out on the sofa with the door half closed, looking at fashion magazines, afraid to make a sound.

      “We have to go,” Kate said, her makeup streaked from crying. “I’m not sleeping under his goddamn roof tonight.”

      “What happened?” Jenny said.

      “That bastard,” Kate said, her jaw set.

      “Did he cut you off?” Jenny asked.

      “God, no. Leave me destitute? People would know, and it would reflect badly on him. But you should’ve heard the way he talked to me. I can’t stay here after that.”

      “Kate,” Aubrey protested, “it’s after eleven o’clock.”

      “I don’t give a shit what time it is,” Kate said.

      Jenny saw that Kate was beyond consoling. “If we hurry, we can make the midnight train,” she said. “It’s a local, it gets into Belle River at six thirty tomorrow morning.”

      “The dorms are closed till Sunday,” Aubrey said.

      “I’ll call my parents,” Jenny said. “They can meet us at the station. You can both stay with me.”

      “Thank you,” Kate whispered, drawing Jenny into a deep hug. “You always know what to do. You’re the best. Just absolutely the very best friend, ever. Aubrey, you too, my little lamb, I love you to pieces. Get over here. What would I do without you guys?”

      Aubrey joined in the hug. The three of them stayed there holding each other like that for a long time, and Jenny thought that even if sometimes she hated Kate, and sometimes she got incredibly frustrated with Aubrey, she also loved them more than she’d thought it was possible to love friends, ever.

      “Promise me,” Kate said, and Jenny realized that Kate was still crying.

      “What?”

      “We’ll never let anything come between us. Not a guy, nothing. We won’t hurt each other. We won’t screw up this amazing friendship.”

      “Of course we won’t, silly. We love each other too much for that,” Aubrey said, tears standing out in her eyes.

      “Do you promise?” Kate said.

      “I promise,” Aubrey replied.

      Kate turned to Jenny. “You, too. Say it.”

      “I promise I won’t let anything come between us,” Jenny said.

      She meant it, and yet Kate’s urgency left her uneasy. You didn’t demand a promise like that unless you had a premonition of bad things to come.

7

       Present Day

      In June, Kate moved back to Belle River after twenty-two years away.

      It was unseasonably hot for early summer, and the afternoon was as oppressive as her mood, with airless streets, black skies, and wilted flowers under dusty maple trees. The clouds opened just as Kate pulled up in front of the ugly brown