Best Friends Forever

7

Three Years Earlier

I knew by then that Kat and Howard were very wealthy. Kat drove a sporty new Porsche convertible with creamy leather seats. Her clothes were all impeccably cut and clearly not purchased at The Gap, where most of my wardrobe came from. The bag she carried was probably worth more than my car. And she had already disclosed that her house wasn’t in the town of Jupiter, where I lived, but on the far tonier, far more expensive Jupiter Island.

But Kat was my friend. My very good friend, the person I was starting to confide in even more than my husband. When I received the email from the publisher to tell me that they wanted to publish my book, I had called Kat before Todd. Although, to be fair, she’d been far more excited for me than my husband had been. The difference in our respective net worths shouldn’t have mattered. It didn’t matter. All it meant was that Kat was quicker to pick up the lunch check and more likely to splurge on a nice bottle of wine for us to share.

But then I saw where she lived, and I realized just how different our lives really were.

Todd pulled our Volvo wagon into the crushed-stone driveway, the tires crunching on the gray gravel. We got out of the car and stared up at the building in front of us. The house, which would more accurately be called a mansion, was certainly impressive. It was white stone and built in a U shape around a neatly manicured front courtyard featuring elaborate topiaries. It had casement-style tile windows and a red Spanish tile roof. A detached garage, which looked more like a stable and was large enough to store five cars, was set off to the right of the driveway.

“Holy cow,” Todd said, staring up at the house.

“Is that your professional assessment of the architecture?” I teased.

“I think the whole point of that house is for people to look at it and say ‘Holy cow.’ It isn’t exactly subtle. I wonder who designed it.”

“You don’t know whose work it is?” Todd had an encyclopedic knowledge of the architects behind much of the real estate throughout South Florida.

“No, but it’s a fantastic example of the Spanish Colonial Revival style,” Todd said. “It’s really very nicely done. Look at the detailing around the windows.”

We walked up to the front door, an enormous wood-and-glass affair surrounded by a decorative casing nearly two stories tall. I rang the bell and realized suddenly that I was nervous. Why? I wondered. Was it about meeting Howard? Or were my nerves jangling because I wasn’t sure Kat and Todd would like one another? But then I heard footsteps echoing against a hard floor and the front door opened.

Howard Grant wasn’t at all what I had pictured. For some reason, I had envisioned Kat’s husband as a tall, fair man with broad shoulders and a cleft chin. I had no idea where I’d gotten this mental picture, since as far as I could remember, Kat had never described her husband to me.

The real Howard was of average height and very slim. He had thick dark hair speckled with gray, an aquiline nose and deep-set brown eyes. He wore a black T-shirt and slim-fitting dark blue jeans with soft, expensive-looking brown loafers. When he smiled at us, the expression didn’t reach his eyes.

“Howard Grant,” he said, holding out his hand to Todd.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Todd Campbell.”

Howard looked at me but did not offer his hand.

“I’m Alice,” I said. “Kat’s friend.”

“Right. The author.” Howard spoke the word ironically, as though I didn’t quite qualify to be called one. I had been predisposed not to like Howard, and so far, he wasn’t doing anything to change my mind. But before I could respond, he had turned. Walking away, he called back over one shoulder, “Come on in and let me know what you like to drink.”

Todd and I exchanged a look. Todd mouthed, What the fuck? which made me laugh and feel a surge of affection for my husband. We did not always have an easy marriage, it was true, but these moments of connection were our saving grace.

We followed Howard through the airy, expansive foyer with marble floors and soaring ceilings. The exterior of the house had been over-the-top, but the interior was austere and curated—more like the K-Gallery. This was especially true when we reached the living room, which featured two black chesterfield sofas, a pair of low-slung white leather chairs and a few tall sculptural potted green plants. It was clear that the furnishings, while lovely, had been left intentionally understated so that the art was the star of the room. I was still not well versed in modern art, but even I could appreciate the visual impact of the large colorful canvases that hung on every wall.

Howard headed for a large and well-stocked glass-and-chrome bar cart set behind one of the chesterfields.

“What can I get you, Todd?” Howard asked. “I have a fantastic twenty-five-year-old Glenmorangie whiskey.”

Todd did not drink whiskey. His drink of choice was almost always beer, with an occasional glass of red wine with dinner. But he smiled, squared his shoulders and said, “That sounds great. Thank you.”

I had a feeling there was some sort of a man-test at work, where whiskey was a line that had been drawn in the sea grass rug.

Howard had poured them each a glass of whiskey but hadn’t yet asked me for my drink order when Kat strolled into the room. As always, Kat was impeccably dressed, tonight in a long red strapless sundress that set off her smooth shoulders and pale arms.

“Alice!” she cried, folding me into a hug. Then she turned to Todd and smiled. “And you must be Todd. Unless, of course, Alice decided to pick up a date for the evening.”

I could tell that Todd was charmed by Kat, and also that he hadn’t expected to be. I suspected that he wanted to categorize Kat as a “bad influence,” a snake charmer who seduced his wife away from her domestic life into wasting time and money over long, gossipy lunches. But if there was one word that could entirely sum up Kat’s character, it was that she was, more than anything else, charming.

“Don’t tell me you started pouring whiskeys for you and Todd before you got Alice a drink,” Kat exclaimed, turning to her husband.

Howard winced and said, “Oops,” while Kat turned to me with an exasperated sigh.

“He always does this. He makes sure the men have drinks and leaves us women to fend for ourselves,” Kat complained.

Howard gave a theatrical eye roll. “Women,” he said in a mock-withering tone. “Can’t please them.”

I knew we were supposed to take the exchange as witty banter, a cocktail-hour performance for our benefit. But I sensed a real simmering antagonism behind their words.

Howard and Todd found some common ground over a discussion of professional tennis, of which Howard was also a fan. While they debated the merits of Nadal versus Federer, Kat and I slipped off to the kitchen, which was another huge space featuring dark cabinets and a dramatic marble island with gold stools lining one side. A wonderful aroma of cooking food mingled with the smell of exotic-scented candles burning on the counter.

“Your house is amazing,” I said, looking around in wonder.

“Thank you.”

An older woman wearing a tan uniform came into the kitchen. She was small and plump and wore her short gray hair feathered back from her face. I shouldn’t have been surprised—of course, anyone who lived in a house like this would have domestic help—but Kat had never mentioned having staff.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Kat,” the woman said in accented English.

“Marguerite, this is my friend Alice Campbell,” Kat said. “Alice, this is Marguerite Sampson, our housekeeper.”

Marguerite smiled and nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too.”

“If you don’t need anything else, Mrs. Kat, I’m going home.”

“No, thank you, Marguerite. Good night.”

“Have a good night, Mrs. Kat.”

Once the housekeeper had left, Kat smiled at me.

“Mrs. Kat?” I teased.

“I know, it’s so silly. She’s been with us for fifteen years, and for fifteen years, she’s refused to call me Kat. Anyway, I hope you like short ribs. I’ve never made them before, but the butcher swore they would be easy and delicious. He was right on the easy part, at least. I just plunked them in the oven hours ago and haven’t touched them since.”

“They smell fantastic,” I said.

Kat pulled a bottle of chilled Pouilly-Fuissé from the enormous stainless steel refrigerator. She poured us each a glass.

“Cheers!” Kat tapped her wineglass against mine. “I’m so glad you came tonight.”

“Thank you for inviting us,” I said. “It’s such a treat to have someone cook me dinner.”

“Todd isn’t at all how I pictured him.” Kat pulled out a plate of cheese and crudités from the refrigerator and put it on the counter. “He’s much taller than I thought he’d be.”

“Really? That’s funny. I was just thinking the same thing about Howard.”

“But Howard’s not at all tall! What, did you think he was a midget?” Kat exclaimed.

I laughed and relaxed. “No, actually he’s shorter than I thought he’d be. I just mean I’d pictured him differently. For some reason, I thought he’d be blond.”

“Oh, no, I’ve never gone for blond men.” Kat gave a humorous shudder. “Or redheads. No offense, because your hair is gorgeous. But it doesn’t translate well to men.”

“Really? I’ve actually always been attracted to redheads,” I admitted. “And Scots.”

“And kilts on men?” Kat teased.

“I draw the line at men wearing skirts.”

“Good Lord, what are you two talking about?” Howard asked as he strode into the kitchen. Much like his wife, Howard’s pace was a few notches faster than average. I wondered if they were both naturally quick walkers or one had influenced the other over the course of their marriage. “Tom, watch out. Our wives are talking about men in skirts.”

“Todd,” Todd said, coming in behind him.

“Right. Todd. Sorry.” Howard picked up a slice of cheese and popped it into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed it before turning his intense gaze on me. “I can’t believe your husband is such a tennis fan and he’s never been to the Miami Open.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“It’s a huge tennis tournament held every year down in Key Biscayne. All the top players go. I never miss it,” Howard said. “Kat’s father’s company has a box there.”

“Your father owns a company?” I shouldn’t have been astonished, but I was.

Kat had mentioned her parents to me only in passing. I knew they lived nearby, but I didn’t think she’d ever mentioned what they did professionally.

Howard had just bitten into another slice of cheese, and my question clearly caught him off guard, since he nearly choked. He coughed and hammered at his chest with one fist.

“Are you okay?” Kat asked. Her tone was casual as she poured a glass of water from a carafe on the marble countertop and handed it to her husband.

“You don’t know who Kat’s father is?” Howard asked, ignoring his wife’s question but accepting the glass of water. “How is that even possible? He’s Thomas Wyeth.”

The name sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it. I wondered if he could possibly be an artist or maybe a writer. But, no, I didn’t think an artist would have corporate box seats at a tennis tournament.

“You’re a Wyeth?” Todd asked.

He had clearly caught on sooner than I had. In fact, he was staring at Kat, his mouth agape. It was almost as though she had been unmasked as a celebrity, like a member of the English aristocracy or a Kennedy.

“No, she’s a Grant,” Howard said irritably at the same time Kat smiled and said, “Guilty as charged.”

Howard and Kat glanced at one another. Howard seemed annoyed, but Kat merely arched her eyebrows and looked amused.

“You don’t mind me being a Wyeth when it comes time to use the company’s box seats,” she said lightly.

Howard opened his mouth as though he wanted to say something, but then thought better of it. “Of course I don’t mind. Don’t be ridiculous,” he said.

“I’m sorry. I feel like I’m playing catch-up,” I said. “Is your father famous?”

Kat let out a peal of laughter. “No, he’s not famous,” she said. “He just owns a construction company.”

“But he is actually famous,” Todd said.

“You only know his name because you’re an architect,” Kat said, patting Todd’s arm.

“No, my dear, he probably knows the name because your father is worth... What is he worth these days? Has he hit a billion dollars yet?” Howard asked in the same ironic tone he’d used to offer whiskey to Todd.

Kat rolled her eyes at me. “Not even close. He’s not Bill Gates,” she said.

“He’s not far off,” Howard said under his breath.

Kat shot her husband a sour look. “It’s tacky to talk about money.”

“Yes, you’re always quick to tell me how much I need to work on my manners,” Howard retorted.

Suddenly it all became clear. Kat wasn’t just wealthy. She came from capital-M Money. The sort of money that doesn’t last just a lifetime but through multiple generations thereafter. It would be nothing to a multimillionaire to set up his daughter in a Palm Beach art gallery. Just a carrot to tempt his headstrong bohemian daughter to return home to South Florida.

I had never thought of myself as a covetous person and firmly believed jealousy was wasted energy. There would always be someone with more than you, any way you chose to measure it—intelligence, beauty, wealth, talent, happiness. Even so, it was hard not to look around the beautiful home of the woman who was quickly becoming one of my closest confidantes, remember the pile of unpaid bills on my desk at home and not whine silently, It’s not fair. Of course, life wasn’t fair. But sometimes the sheer magnitude of the unfairness could stick in your throat like a bitter pill.

* * *

The dinner was fantastic. It did not surprise me that Kat, who seemed to do everything well, was a wonderful cook. The short ribs were tender and flavorful. They paired perfectly with the creamy garlic mashed potatoes and green beans tossed in olive oil and lemon zest. Howard had uncorked several bottles of cabernet sauvignon, which I thought at first was foolhardy—there was no way the four of us would drink through three bottles of wine. That was, until I saw just how much alcohol Howard was able to put away all on his own. He poured himself glass after glass, drinking until his eyes were unfocused and his manner increasingly aggressive.

“I think we should have a toast to Alice on the publication of her wonderful book.” Kat raised her glass in the air.

“Absolutely,” Todd said.

“Oh, don’t. It hasn’t been published yet,” I protested weakly. I did not share Kat’s gift for gracefully accepting compliments.

“And it’s not a novel, right?” Howard asked. His lips were stained red from the wine. “I thought Kat said it was just a book of puzzles for children.”

The truth was, it was just a book of puzzles for children. But something about the way Howard said it rankled me.

“That’s right,” I said, striving to keep my tone neutral.

“It’s a book!” Kat said. “A book that Alice wrote. That’s what’s so exciting. How many people can say they’ve written a book?”

“These days? As far as I can tell, just about anyone,” Howard said with a condescending smile. “Haven’t you ever heard of e-books? Self-publishing? Anyone who ever fancied himself the next Ernest Hemingway suddenly has a platform. Not that any of these so-called writers have actually read Ernest Hemingway.”

Kat looked at her husband coldly. “And what about you? Have you ever read Hemingway?”

The words hung between them in an icy silence, until Todd waded in.

“Alice wasn’t trying to write the Great American Novel,” he said. “She’s a logician. Her book is meant to teach children how to solve logic puzzles.”

I know I should have appreciated his defense. But when I saw Howard shrug and splay his hands in front of him as though he couldn’t be bothered to keep up with the nuances of my career—not that anyone was asking him to—I became irrationally annoyed at my husband. Why did he need to put me into my little box, to put a label on me that Howard would find less threatening?

“I think what Alice has done is amazing,” said Kat, my staunchest supporter. “To you, Alice.”

She raised her glass again and blew me a kiss. I smiled back at her and felt my irritation recede.

Despite Howard’s temperamental mood, Kat rallied to make the dinner a success. I could tell that one of her goals for the evening was to win Todd over. Not that it was hard. Like most people, Todd found it easy to like someone who was nice and funny and seemed delighted to be talking to him.

“So, Todd,” Kat began, topping off his wineglass. I’d already had so much wine, my head was spinning a little. I hoped that Todd would be okay to drive us home. “Are you an only child, like Alice?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Todd said, which made Kat laugh. “Seriously, if you met my younger brother, you’d understand. His greatest accomplishment in life is that he can chug a beer and then burp the alphabet.”

“But that’s an incredibly useful skill!” Kat exclaimed. “You could hire him out as an entertainment for children’s parties.”

Todd chuckled. “That’s an idea. Maybe he can fall back on it if his current career selling energy drinks online isn’t a success.”

“Just the one brother?” Kat asked.

I glanced at Todd and wasn’t surprised to see a shadow cross his face.

“Just one I grew up with,” he said. “I had a half brother from my father’s first marriage. His short-lived and ill-fated first marriage.”

Kat nodded, her expression understanding. She knew all about children who were born of short-lived and ill-fated relationships.

“They were divorced when Brendon, my half brother, was a baby, and it was pretty contentious,” Todd continued. “Afterward Brendon and his mother moved to Georgia, where I guess she was originally from. We didn’t see a whole lot of him growing up. He was eight years older than me, so when he did come to stay for a few weeks in the summers, he didn’t want much to do with me.”

“So you’re not close,” Kat concluded.

“Well, no, we weren’t. Unfortunately, he passed away last year,” Todd said.

“I’m so sorry,” Kat said. “He must have been very young.”

Todd nodded in thanks. I thought he’d end the story there, but the wine was making him verbose. “It was actually pretty terrible. We were there at the time. Alice, myself, the kids. We were all at my parents’ house for Thanksgiving. Brendon was drunk, as he often was, and he fell down the stairs. The fall killed him.”

“Oh, my God,” Kat exclaimed, looking at me. “How horrific.”

“It really was,” I said, shaking my head. I didn’t like to think about that night. “We called the paramedics, but it was too late to save him. I was so worried the children would wake up and see him...well, lying there. Luckily they slept through the whole thing. But it was an awful night.”

“I thought drunks never got hurt,” Howard cut in. On the word drunks, he slurred the r. “That they always walk away from car accidents.”

“It’s hard to walk away from anything when your neck’s broken,” Todd said.

There was a brief moment of silence.

“Why don’t I bring in dessert?” Kat suggested.

* * *

“What an asshole,” Todd said once we were in our car.

“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?”

Todd waved me off, and he did seem sober enough, so I let it go. He pulled out of the drive, sending a spray of gravel in his wake.

“How did those two end up married? They seem like complete opposites,” he continued.

I shrugged. “It happens. Maybe he was less grumpy when they met.”

“Grumpy? Is that what you’d call him? You make him sound like one of Snow White’s seven dwarfs.”

“Well, how would you describe him?”

“I thought he was a dick,” Todd said.

I laughed and leaned back in my seat. “He really was awful, wasn’t he? From what little Kat has told me about him, I certainly wasn’t expecting Howard to be genial. But I also wasn’t expecting him to be so hostile. I got the feeling he resented our being there, and his having to play host.”

“He spent the entire night trying to one-up me,” Todd said. “When I told him I play tennis, he claimed he was good enough to play for his college team. When I told him what I do, he said he’d thought about being an architect but decided he’d make more money in finance.”

Todd’s tone was unusually bitter. I imagined I was not the only one who had been impressed by the size and scope of the Grants’ house, particularly against the backdrop of our current financial crisis. But that wasn’t something either one of us wanted to get into. And even if we had no choice but to discuss our money woes periodically, we rarely addressed Todd’s lack of career success directly. If he was frustrated by the lack of traction he’d gained in his field over the years, he dealt with it by whacking tennis balls. As for me, I didn’t think I was in any position to comment on Todd’s or anyone else’s career failures, considering how I’d unceremoniously left my cushy academic job.

“Howard played tennis in college?”

“No.” Todd laughed. “He just said they tried to recruit him, but he decided he didn’t want to play, which is such bullshit. I think he really just wanted to tell me he went to Yale. Jesus. You know how I feel about people who name-drop their alma maters.”

“I know, you’ve always hated that. I guess future double dates are out of the question.”

“I liked Kat,” he said. “I can see why the two of you hit it off. You’re very much alike.”

This surprised me. “We are? How so?”

“You’re both smart. You have similar senses of humor,” Todd said. He glanced over at me, the streetlights casting an odd green glow on his face. “Why? You don’t think you’re alike?”

“I never really thought about it,” I said. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love Kat. But she’s so much more—” I faltered, trying to think of the right word “—poised than I am.”

Todd let out an incredulous bark of laughter. “You can’t be serious.”

“What?”

“Alice, you are, without exception, the most poised person I have ever met.”

It is not often that your spouse of over a decade can shock you. I’d seen my husband out of his mind with grief after the loss of our daughter. I’d washed out the bowl he threw up into for three days when he had food poisoning. I knew he hated eggplant but loved foul-looking peanut-butter-and-bacon sandwiches. But I never knew he, or anyone else, thought of me as poised. After all, I experienced myself through the maelstrom of my own swirling thoughts and emotions, through joy and grief, worry and hope. I had moments of peace, but I certainly never felt poised.