luminous. Nataly’s frame was crude and artless in comparison.
“I saw it in Venice and thought of you,” Celeste said.
Nataly set her teacup down noisily. They turned towards her. “Really? Oh, come off it.” Celeste looked at Nataly as if not understanding the language. Then she turned back to their mother. Nataly stabbed a scone with a small butter knife, spread the clotted cream thickly over it, added raspberry jam, swallowed without tasting and choked on her mouthful. It was Sylvia who patted her back, pressed a glass of ice water on her and ultimately walked her towards the ladies’ lounge where Nataly could clean her sheer blouse of the spray of half eaten food.
“So you’re against me too,” Nataly said, wiping her shirt with a wash cloth. The wet cloth left white fibers and an unattractive smear of water behind.
“For a baby sister, you sure got the baby role down. Look, nobody’s against you. Be a big girl and put on a pretty face. While you can,” Sylvia winked at her.
“Don’t you see what Celeste’s doing?” If Sylvia asked Nataly what she thought Celeste was doing, Nataly wouldn’t know how to explain it. It was just a humiliating feeling that Celeste was, was—what? Winning. Celeste was winning and Nataly had lost. But lost what?
“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this,” Sylvia said. “I am Switzerland. I’m not going to say a bad thing about Celeste to you, and I’m not going to say a bad thing about you to Celeste.”
“I’ll bet that news will go over well with her.”
Sylvia held Nataly’s hands and said. “Nataly, I already have two children. You need to grow up.”
“What about Celeste? She needs to grow up.”
“I’m talking to you.”
Mercy looked around the table at her daughters: Celeste with her spiky brown hair and serious eyes. Sylvia, the curvy mama who had given her grandchildren, Nataly, the artist, the minx. Their windowside table was filled with a view of the terrace. The marine layer obscured the beach and the sea beyond. It didn’t matter to Mercy. Where your heart lies, there lies your treasure also. Her treasure was seated at this table.
“Where would I be without you three? You are my life.”
Later, after Nataly escorted their mother home, Sylvia accompanied Celeste to the bar. “A neat trick,” Sylvia said, “that both of you could spend an entire hour talking without addressing a kind remark to one another. Remind me to not do that on my 60th.”
Celeste turned on her bar stool to face Sylvia. “Miriam and Becky will always talk to each other.” She leaned forward, hugging her sister.
“Listen to me,” Celeste said into Sylvia’s ear, more forcefully than she had intended. “You have to promise me, whatever I say—whatever I say—you won’t stop talking to me. You won’t shut me out of your life. Promise me.”
Sylvia pulled back. “It’s that bad?”
“I want to know I can tell you the truth, and you won’t punish me for it.”
“Oh my God, Celeste, what did you find?”
“I don’t know where the money is. I don’t know what he did with it. And that’s not good.”
Chapter 2
After their drinks, Sylvia drove ninety minutes north to pick up her daughters at Tamara’s. Her back and stomach were beginning to ache. She wasn’t willing to take more pain meds on top of the glass of wine Celeste had ordered for her, hoping to soften the news. By the time she stepped out of the car, she was aching too much and too stiff to walk without crouching forwards. Tamara opened the door, waiting.
She was tall and elegant and wore a fashionable wrap around her shoulders. She reached out to hug Sylvia.
“You should have let them spend the night. They’re upstairs, asleep.”
Tamara released her and looked at her carefully. “You look like shit. What did the bastard do this time?”
Sylvia wanted to laugh, but only managed a small snort. “It’s what he did last time.”
“You want a glass of wine?”
“Tea,” Sylvia said, sinking into a soft armchair and waiting as Tamara fussed in the kitchen. “And aspirin,” she called out.
Sylvia closed her eyes and thought how blessed she was to have a friend who knew the worst thing about her and loved her anyway. Tamara brought in a tray with a small glass of water, a couple aspirin and a large blue and white mug.
Sylvia held the mug between her hands to warm them. And said, “‘The soul’s freedom’” and waited.
Tamara scrunched up her face. “Friendship. Anna Akhmatova.”
Sylvia smiled. Russian poetry, literature was one of their deep connections, their lawyer husbands a more superficial one. Jack liked to point out that he was all mergers and acquisitions, while Tamara’s husband was a mere litigator. Perhaps she could close her eyes, stay here with Tamara and never worry about a thing. Tamara would find a way to make it work. Tamara could move easily from wearing her power jewelry and spearheading a capital campaign for their children’s school to dancing in a track suit with the banda music at their park. Everything came naturally to Tamara. Sylvia felt as if she had to watch Tamara and the other mothers at their school, the other people at the park, to see how things were done, and then act as if she had everything figured out.
“How am I going to survive while you’re in Israel?”
“Passover’s months away. Don’t worry about it now. What did Celeste say?”
“Not months. A little over one month. Stop trying to make me feel better about it.” Sylvia sipped at the tea. Excellent, of course. “She can’t figure out what he’s done with the money. She thought I was going to hate her for giving me the bad news.” She looked at her friend and saw that Tamara was reserving judgment. “Don’t you think that’s a little ridiculous?”
Tamara raised her eyebrow. “I don’t know if that’s ridiculous. What did you tell her about Jack?”
Sylvia glanced across at Tamara, “Nothing. All she knows is that the money is missing.”
Tamara nodded. “I see she’s not the only one afraid of losing a sister.”
Sylvia struggled against the lingering pain to sit upright. “You promised,” Sylvia said. “You promised, Tamara, and if you can’t keep that promise, tell me now.”
Tamara kneeled beside the armchair and held Sylvia’s hand between hers.
“I will keep it because I love you, but it’s not right.”
“Nobody ever needs to know. Ever. You don’t understand. It would change how they look at me, think of me. Don’t, don’t, don’t let that happen.”
“And
