Elin Hilderbrand - Silver Girl

“Hey,” Toby said, as she approached. “Meredith, come here.”

She went to him. He was the same person-sandy hair, green eyes, freckles-but he was new to her.

He seemed nervous, too, but with all of his experience with women, this was impossible.

He said, “Are you walking all the way home?”

She nodded.

He said, “Have you seen Connie?”

“No,” Meredith said, gazing down the street. “She went somewhere with Matt.”

“I don’t know why she doesn’t just tell my parents about him,” Toby said.

“It’s because he’s…”

“Jewish,” Toby said. “I know. But my parents won’t care.”

“I told her that,” Meredith said. “She doesn’t listen.”

Toby put both his hands on Meredith’s shoulders. “She doesn’t listen to you? Her best friend?”

Meredith looked at Toby. This was, for sure, the first time she’d ever seen him. Everything had changed. She shook her head, pretending that she was caught up in the drama of Connie and Matt Klein, though she couldn’t have cared less. Just as she was wondering if she should take a step closer to Toby, he pulled her in, as if for a friendly hug.

“Meredith,” he said into her hair. Then he said, “Sorry about the pool. About pulling on your suit, I mean.”

She could feel his erection again. Again, she thought about health class, Judy Blume, what she had heard other girls say. She was sick with desire. “Oh,” she said. “That’s okay.”

He fumbled with her head, like it was a ball he was trying to get the correct grip on. Then he had one hand on her ear, and he was kissing her, deeply and desperately. And she thought, Oh, my God, yes! Yes!

They stood against the tree kissing for twenty minutes? Thirty minutes? They kissed until Toby’s hands fell to her hips, he pulled her against him and groaned, and he played with the bottom edge of her sweatshirt as if considering whether or not to lift it, and although Meredith was thinking, Yes, lift it, lift it, she pulled away.

She said, “I really have to go. I have a long way to walk.”

He said, “Will you go with me tomorrow night to see Animal House?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Just you and me?” he said. “A date.”

“Yes,” she said.

He smiled at her and she saw his teeth, straight and white. She had known him through three years of braces and rubber bands. She had known him when his teeth fell out and he left them under his pillow for the tooth fairy. She waved and backed away and he said, “I’ll pick you up at seven!”

“Okay!” she said. And she ran all the way home.

But then Connie was mad and wouldn’t speak to Meredith on the phone. Meredith considered calling the O’Brien house again, asking to speak to Toby, and telling him the date was off. But Meredith couldn’t make herself do that. She was in the grip of a romantic and sexual urge that wouldn’t be denied. She liked Toby, and Connie would have to wrap her mind around that. Connie had Matt Klein; they had gone to third base, or nearly. Connie couldn’t have Matt and expect Meredith to have nobody; that was unfair. Meredith was sorry it was Toby, but this was a matter of the heart, one beyond her control.

Meredith’s eyes drifted closed. It was a welcome change to be thinking about something else, even if that something was Toby O’Brien. Sailing in Annapolis, seducing in Anguilla. At Connie’s wedding, Meredith had been close. At Veronica’s funeral, even closer. But Meredith hadn’t allowed herself to get sucked back in. She had been lucky.

When Meredith woke up, Connie was lying in the chaise next to her, reading.

Meredith thought, Oh, thank God. She came back.

They went for a walk on the beach.

Meredith said, “I was thinking about Nadine Dexter and Wendy Thurber. Do you remember the night of Wendy’s pool party?”

“Wendy who?” Connie said.

Meredith didn’t say, I was remembering the night I first kissed your brother.

Meredith said, “I’m going in the water.”

“Suit yourself,” Connie said. “It’s too cold for me.”

Later, they took outdoor showers, and Meredith put on white shorts and a navy Trina Turk tunic, refugees from her Hamptons closet circa 2007. She went downstairs with her hair still damp. Connie was pouring herself a glass of wine. It was five o’clock. A day hadn’t passed that quickly for Meredith since long before Freddy’s arrest-but this mere thought triggered a heaviness. She pictured Leo and Carver with plaster dust sugaring their hair and clothes, sitting on the wide front porch of the imaginary house, drinking a beer. They were okay, Meredith told herself. They were fine.

“Glass of wine?” Connie asked.

Meredith decided she would have a glass of wine; maybe it would help her sleep.

“White or red?” Connie said.

“White, please,” Meredith said. She didn’t want to think about the Ruffino Chianti, their usual table at Rinaldo’s, Freddy saying, Here comes your poison, Meredith. Freddy didn’t approve of Meredith drinking, and he rarely, if ever, drank himself. He didn’t like losing control, he said. Of course, he hadn’t always felt that way. He had been a social drinker in college and young adulthood, and then, as his business grew, he had transitioned into abstinence. Now, Meredith knew that you couldn’t lie and cheat and drink, because what if you let something slip? What if you let the facade crumble? She thought of Freddy throwing back those three shots of Macallan and how shocked she had been. She had known something was wrong then, seventy-two hours before the rest of the world knew. Freddy had turned on her with wild eyes; she had seen the desperation. She thought, We’ve lost all our money. But so what? Easy come, easy go. Freddy had then pulled Meredith into the bedroom and had pushed her down and taken her roughly from behind, as though it were his final act. Meredith remembered feeling raw and panicky and electrified-this was not the perfunctory lovemaking she and Freddy had engaged in for the past decade or so (its lackluster nature owing to the fact, she had assumed, that he was preoccupied with work)-she remembered thinking, WOW. They were ruined perhaps, but they still had each other.

That was what she’d thought, then.

Connie handed Meredith a glass of chardonnay and said, “You can go out to the deck.”

“Do you need help with dinner?” Meredith asked.

“Don’t tell me you’ve started cooking?” Connie said.

“No,” Meredith said. And they laughed. “I ate from cartons every night after Freddy left.”

The words “after Freddy left” echoed in the kitchen. Connie poured a stream of olive oil into a stainless steel bowl and started clanging with her whisk.

Meredith said, “I’ll go out.”

She stepped onto the deck and took a seat at the round teak table. She hadn’t heard from Burt and Dev; she never knew if that was good or bad. The sun spangled the water. Let’s say good. She might be going to jail, but she wasn’t going to jail today.

Out in the water, Meredith saw a sleek, black head, then its body and flippers undulating through the waves. Then she saw a second dark form, moving less gracefully. Meredith squinted; she was wearing her prescription sunglasses, which weren’t as strong as her regular horn-rimmed glasses.

She called out to Connie. “Hey, there are two seals today.”

“What?” Connie said.

Meredith stood up with her wineglass. She poked her head through the sliding door.

“There are two seals today.”

“Really?” Connie said. “I’ve never seen two before. Only one. Only Harold.”

“I saw two,” Meredith said. “Harold found a friend.”

She smiled at this.

When Connie checked her cell phone in the morning, she saw that she’d missed a phone call during the night. There was no message, just a clattering hang up. Connie checked her display, then gasped. The number itself was unfamiliar, but it was from the 850 area code: Tallahassee. Which was where Ashlyn practiced medicine. So had Ashlyn called, finally, after twenty-nine months of silence? Connie’s hopes were coy, afraid to show themselves. The call had come in at 2:11 a.m., but this told Connie nothing. Ashlyn was a doctor, and doctors kept absurd hours. Connie checked the number again. It was the 850 area code; that was certainly Tallahassee, and Tallahassee was where Ashlyn now lived. So, it was Ashlyn. Was it Ashlyn? Connie was tempted to call the number right back, but it was still early, not quite seven. Should she call at eight? Ten? Should she wait and call tonight? A call at two in the morning might mean Ashlyn was in trouble. Connie decided to call right back, but then she caught herself. This was an opportunity she couldn’t afford to blow. She would wait. She would think about it.

Connie stepped out onto the front deck. There was low-lying fog, typical of early July: How many times had the town had to cancel the Fourth of July fireworks? Ashlyn! Connie thought. Was it possible? Connie was going out to get muffins and the newspaper from the Sconset Market, a pleasant errand, and now she would think about Ashlyn, a phone call out of the blue.

Connie didn’t see the envelope until she had kicked it off the porch and down the stairs. What was it? She picked it up. Manila envelope, closed with a gold clasp, nothing written on it, thin and light, nothing particularly sinister, but Connie got an awful feeling. She thought, Don’t open it! She thought, Anthrax! But that was ridiculous. This was Nantucket; it was a placid, foggy morning. She thought, An envelope dropped on the porch? She thought, Something from the Tom Nevers Neighborhood Association. They so often left her out because she was a summer resident, whereas most everyone else lived here year-round, but they’d remembered her this time. Potluck dinner or a community yard sale.

She opened the envelope and saw there was a photograph inside, a glossy color photo, five-by-seven, of Meredith, wearing her navy tunic and white shorts, standing on Connie’s back porch, holding a glass of wine.

Connie shivered. She looked out at her front yard and thought, What is this? Who put this here?

She looked at the photo again. It had been taken the night before. Meredith was turned toward the sliding door and she was smiling.

All day they passed the photograph back and forth between themselves, and when one or the other of them wasn’t looking at it, it sat on the dining table like a time bomb.

Meredith had blanched when Connie showed her the photograph. Someone had been out there taking her picture, but where? Meredith thought it was the same guy they’d seen by the Dumpster in the alley behind 824 Park Avenue-he must have followed them all the way from the city!-but Connie made her see this was unlikely, if not impossible. It was someone else.

“The only way they could have gotten that shot of you was from the beach,” Connie said. “Did you see anyone walking on the beach?”

“No one,” Meredith said.

“Or it could have been taken from the water,” Connie said. “Did you see anyone in a boat? Or a kayak?”

“I saw the seals,” Meredith said. “That was what I was smiling about, remember? Harold had a friend.”

Connie said, “Harold’s ‘friend’ was a photographer in a wet suit. Is that possible?”

“Oh, God,” Meredith said. She approached the sliding glass doors, then backed away. “You know what scares me?”

Connie wasn’t sure she wanted to know. What scared Connie was the whole thing. Someone taking the picture, someone leaving it for them on the front porch. A person trespassing on her property. Meredith couldn’t stay here. She had to go. The whole thing was chilling. Someone was watching them.

“What scares you?” Connie asked.

“If it was just the paparazzi, they wouldn’t have left the photograph for us. They would have published it, and we would have woken up this morning, and it would have been splashed across the front of the Post. HAPPY HOUR FOR MRS. DELINN.”

“So if it wasn’t the paparazzi, who was it?”

“Someone who wants me to know they know I’m here. One of Freddy’s enemies. The Russian mob.”

“The Russian mob isn’t real,” Connie said.

“There were Russian investors who lost billions,” Meredith said. “There are a lot of people who want Freddy’s head. And since they can’t get to Freddy, they’re coming after me.” She looked at Connie. “I’m putting you in danger.”

“No,” Connie said. “You’re not.” But she was. She had to go. Connie racked her brain. Meredith had made it clear that she’d lost everybody else in her life. But Connie had friends. Maybe she could ship Meredith quietly off to Bethesda? She could live with Wolf’s brother, Jake, and Jake’s wife, Iris. Iris was a know-it-all busybody. She had a degree in psychology from the University of Delaware and she was constantly expressing concern over others’ “general state of mind,” and especially Connie’s, since Connie had recently lost her husband and her daughter and, in Iris’s estimation, wasn’t doing terribly well. Connie would take great pleasure in inflicting Meredith on Iris, but she couldn’t bring herself to inflict Iris on Meredith. There was Toby? God, no, that could backfire in any one of a hundred ways. Plus, if Meredith left, Connie would be alone, and the absolute best thing about the past two days was that, for the first time in years, Connie hadn’t been alone.