“A lie? What do you mean?”
I explain: her weird deception about the showcase, plus Billy’s intel about the missing money and necklace. As I speak, Gabe’s brow furrows in obvious concern.
“Is that who you were talking to after I went to bed?” he asks.
“Yeah. I was texting with him but it seemed easier to speak on the phone.”
His brow wrinkles even more. “Jesus.”
“I know. I’m a little concerned by it.”
“No, I mean Jesus, I can’t believe you were calling up a friend in the middle of the night to try to dig for gossip about my brother’s new girlfriend.”
I was not expecting this reaction. “Gabe, it wasn’t in the middle of the night—and it’s not idle gossip. I found it really odd that she would lie that way, and I wanted to look into it a bit more—for Nick’s sake.”
“Hannah probably just forgot the show. Or she’s embarrassedabout her performance and didn’t want to discuss it. As for the missing money, I wouldn’t trust anything Billy Dean tells you.”
He’s never liked Billy. Not for a second.
“I know he can be a jerk, but he doesn’t have any reason to make this up, Gabe.”
“Maybe not,” he says. “I just hate the way he flirts with you in front of me. Regardless, Hannah seems nice enough, and I don’t see the point in focusing on some old rumor.”
Wow, I’m getting nowhere fast.
Obviously sensing my frustration, Gabe gives me a wry smile. “Besides,” he says, “you know as well as I do that in a month, Nick will be dating someone totally new.”
“Fine,” I say reluctantly. “I’ll drop it.”
“Thanks for understanding. I want everything to be as harmonious as possible this week.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s just been so long since we’ve seen Blake and Wendy, and Nick’s been hard to pin down lately, too. Plus, since Marcus and I need to talk to Dad about work stuff, I want him in a good mood. He gets on edge if he thinks there’s any sibling friction.”
“Okay,okay, I’ll let it go. What are you planning to do for the rest of the morning?”
“Henry wants to swim now, so I told him I’d play lifeguard. You want to join us?”
“This afternoon, for sure. I should work on my play for a little bit now. And get a walk in before lunch.”
“See you later then,” he says. He plants a quick kiss on my lips and springs up from the couch.
As the door shuts behind him, I reflect that he’s probably right, that just as I thought earlier, this might be the last time we ever see Hannah. She’s not worth the mental energy I’m devoting to her.
I grab my laptop, wander outside, and settle at the table on the small patio. Though my play’s been accepted into the festival, I still have the opportunity to fiddle with it, and I need to make sure the dialogue is as strong as possible and do some work cementing the theme.
The stakes of the festival are high for me. After I arrived in the city straight out of college, I managed through a combination of luck and hard work to land some TV commercials, a bunch of under-five parts on television shows, two small roles in limited-run off-Broadway plays, and a ton of roles in off-off-Broadway productions. Those were held in so-called black box theaters—where the minuscule audiences are almost entirely composed of the casts’ blood relatives and friends, many of whom probably wish they were someplace else—but I was able to work pretty consistently and felt like I was on a bit of a roll.
But several years ago, it became clear, to my utter dismay, that my career was stalled. Yes, it’s a brutal business and I’d seen pals from college bag it altogether, but I also knew plenty of people who were working, especially with so many opportunities opening up in streaming. Was the problem because at twenty-nine I was no longer an ingenue? In my world you can never be sure. Rather than collapse into a heap on my apartment floor, however (which I wasbrieflytempted to do), I began seriously going after the voice-over work. And I also decided to start writing plays. If I can makesome headway as a playwright, it will garner me respect and possibly jump-start my career.
I know my play’s amusing—the judges stressed that—but I want to guarantee it’s more than a sketch. A good play, even a short one, needs an arc with a central question at the core, and I feel I still need to crystalize my question.
But as hard as I try, I can’t seem to focus this morning. Because I’m having a hard time shaking my conversation with Gabe.
Maybe Hannah really didn’t steal the money and the necklace. But what if shedidand stealing is a regular habit with her? What if she were to steal something from the house here, something of real value to the Keatons? I think of all the cherished items they’ve brought back from their travels, as well as the miniature sterling silver animals by a British artist Claire collects. And since the rooms have an enchanting, unfussy dishabille—cashmere throws tossed on sofas rather than folded neatly, books splayed on chair arms—it might be days before anyone noticed something was missing.
But above all, there’s Nick to consider. Even if this is a short-term thing for him, there’s still a chance he could end up hurt.
