Billy nodded and plopped down on the couch. “That means we will be under more of a microscope.”
“Welcome to the fishbowl, as we call our personal lives.” As I said it aloud, I knew what I had to do.
Jamie
When it became clear I wasn’t going to get more than a quick text here and there from Ford, I decided to go out for a run. I’d moped for a day and then knew this was his modus operandi. I’d survived once before; I’d survive again. Not even Val’s “give him time” speech convinced me to do anything but forget him.
After double knotting my shoes on Sunday morning, I stepped out to the gray skies and a town car idling in front of my house. I tried not to look at the car, knowing it was someone from the Conway family. I wasn’t sure how I knew, but I did. Busying myself with turning on my music and bounding down the steps, I attempted to ignore the daunting vehicle. My hair was in a low ponytail and a baseball hat covered my head, my running glasses on my eyes. I wore baggie sweats and a T-shirt, keeping my curves concealed. Maybe no one would recognize me.
As soon as I made it to the sidewalk, the door to the car opened, and Beatrice Conway exited. Her husband no longer at the hospital, she had no reason to be there, so I thought the chance of running into her was over. Apparently not.
“Jamie Silver,” she addressed me, dark sunglasses on her face despite the gray skies.
“Hello,” was all I gave her.
“Ms. Silver, I’m sorry to inconvenience you, but it’s come to my attention that you’ve reacquainted yourself with my son.”
“I’m sorry, but I was leaving on a run. If this is about the hospital, you can reach me during work hours, Monday through Friday.”
She whipped her glasses off and lasered her eyes on me. “I don’t think your boss would like to hear you’re turning away one of your biggest donors, if not the biggest.”
How dare she? It was like Stillwell all over again with these people trying toout richme. That was what I used to say to my mom about everyone but Ford. She’d tell me to ignore it, but Beatrice Conway was not someone to be ignored.
“I’m not turning you away, but today is my day off. Thanks for stopping by…”
“As you know, my husband’s memorial is this week. Friday. So, this is the only time I had to stop by, as you say.”
She cleared her throat and I stilled.
“I remember seeing you around the house all those years. You’ve grown up and made something of yourself, but that doesn’t mean you get to stick your claws in my son. Please do me a favor and stay away. And we will stay true on our promise to expand the wing.”
“We? Ford made the donation.” I didn’t know why I was justifying any of this to her.
“Anything Ford does is a ‘we.’ That’s how our family works. You should know that. Thanks for your time.”
She didn’t wait for a response. She turned around, her driver jumped out to open the door for her, and she slid into the town car way more gracefully than I cared to admit.
Turning my music back on, I took off on a run, cursing Beatrice Conway and her pencil skirts.
About halfway through the run I thought about my boss emailing to say I needed to represent the hospital at the memorial. I’d try to beg out of it. Funny how life worked: my boss threatened my job security if I didn’t go, and Beatrice just threatened the same security if I did go.
Finally deciding endless miles were not going to make me forget the mess that was my life, I went home and finished the ice cream Ford had left and watched sappy movies.
I sat in the back, hoping to not be noticed, but then he turned to his left and our gazes collided. He raised an eyebrow while sitting in the front, off to the side. Billy was on his left, closest to me, and Scott on his right. Beatrice was such a joke. She thought she could control everyone around her. Bearing witness to their family sitting there—dabbing their eyes with tissues, their professionally applied makeup not running, and sniffling in unison—I knew money and power couldn’t buy happiness.
I focused on the front of the room as several dignitaries spoke about Ford Conway Jr. He was a wonderful man when it came to the law, but not when it came to his children—although they didn’t speak about the latter.
I recalled last night, when Ford had called with a million apologies and excuses. Interviews, family obligations, and Billy had occupied all his time, making it impossible for him to connect with me. I didn’t know whether his mom told him she visited me or not. I suspected not, but I wasn’t going to be the one to spill the beans. Yet something buried deep inside me wouldn’t allow me to tell Ford he’d been wrong to blow me off again. When he was feeling at his lowest, he’d showed up and spent the night. And then, poof—he was gone again. It wasn’t easy to admit I’d made the same mistake, twenty-some years after the first. Shameful that I had aged but not learned.
I tried to assuage myself. Ford’s father had passed away. Ford was a lifelong friend. He was my only friend from growing up. The list of excuses I’d created for him went on and on—even when he’d spoken the final blow, over the phone.
“I have to head back to California this weekend. Preproduction forSuper Lady,” he’d said as if I understood what that meant.
I was stuck on him not having the decency to do this song and dance routine in person. All I could eke out was, “Good luck to you.”
If he picked up on my rejection, he didn’t let on. He’d followed up with, “Ryan, my assistant, will be in touch regarding the donation and get the details on my board appointment.”
“Okay. Again, sorry for your loss,” was all I said. I didn’t mention my job requiring me to be here today or how I wasn’t supposed to address him, according to his mother. I hung up, grateful I’d already finished the ice cream and hadn’t purchased more.
