She’s never called me “sweetie” in all the years I’ve known her. I don’t think she has any grounds whatsoever to take my son, but I’m terrified. People lie about parents’ actions to get guardianship all the time, and IknowMirabel lies about more than cigarettes.
If anything reeks of a nineteenth-century novel plot, it’sthis.Gaslighting women into thinking they’re mentally unstable in order to take their money, or their freedom, or their children. Even Charles Dickens tried to convince professionals his estranged wife needed to be committed. Thank god it’s not the 1800s. Here, in the twenty-first century, I’m pretty sure I’m more protected now. At least I hope so...
Just to make sure, I try to call Henry, but he doesn’t pick up.
I don’t leave a message. After all, I’d be crazy to take her threats seriously.
Sarah:Whelp! Book contract came in already, but I got the automatic email reply that you’re only sending and receiving letters. Huh?
Me:It’s a weird widow ritual. I’ve had a lot less heartburn.
Sarah:Hmmm... well then, I’ll just overnight it. Sign, return, and be proud!?
Wispy clouds streak across the evening sky as I walk through the East End.
Tonight I’m wearing a black cardigan over my black eyelet dress, black tights, and buckled leather walking shoes. In my previous happily married life, the eyelet dress was for casual dates out with Philip. But I’d wear an elegant wrap instead ofthe sweater, and pink flats instead of walking shoes. I’d show off bare legs and arms and sport cute chunky bracelets on my wrists. Currently, I suppose the widow accessories make me look more like a dowdy Audrey Hepburn.
Since getting off at the Aldgate East tube station, I remember how lively the East End of London becomes at nightfall. With the crowded Spitalfields Market and the colorful street art of Brick Lane and Hanbury Street, the neighborhoods are a hodgepodge of bohemia, grad student culture, pub shenanigans, and pickpockets. I keep my purse strap tight across my shoulders. When I’m almost to our meeting place in front of the Whitechapel Gallery, I pass a tipsy man in a cap tap-dancing on a slow-moving taxi roof. He salutes me, and I automatically curtsy. It’s a strange and delightful interaction.
August stands near the back of our walking tour group. He smiles wolfishly, sexy as always as he hands me my ticket. “Have I told you how stunning you are in widow’s black?”
“Widow’s weeds are just my style?”
“Without a doubt.
“Hey,” August whispers, tugging me away from the loitering group toward a streetlamp. He continues with the magnetic smile, his dimple deepening. “Do you want to try something?”
He holds out a little packet of gummies.
I giggle. Back in grad school, I tried marijuana once. Wes, a few department friends, and I shared a joint through all six hours of the 1997Pride and Prejudiceminiseries. My muscles stopped working, and I couldn’t move off the faded couch sectional. Yet I’d been very bothered by Colin Firth’s sideburns.Does anyone see how they’re crawling down his face?My god, they’re MOVING. They’re really MOVING.I called Ian:Wehave todo something about Colin Firth’s sideburns!
“Come on, don’t tell me you’ve never indulged before?”
“Sure. But it was years ago, and I had kind of a weird reaction.”
“How bloody fun! Come on, then.”
“I don’t know...”
“Oh... come on—all the cool kids are doing it.”
Taking the gummy certainly doesn’t seem appropriate for high mourning. Then again, Victorian widows loved their laudanum. That’s the nineteenth-century equivalent of a grape-flavored gummy, right?
“Sure, why not?” I accept the gummy and swallow, not overthinking this one.
“That a girl!” August says proudly, popping one into his mouth.
I suddenly remember Mirabel’s threat.
“Oh my god!”
I run over to a trash can and stick my finger down my throat.
“Elizabeth, what are you doing?” August asks, alarmed.
I’m gagging, but even though the trash smells like rancid fried fish, I can’t cough the gummy up. My throat just burns and feels scratchy.
I pull my head out of the trash can and start googling. “How long does this stay in your system, August?”
