Gloria kissed Ramón on his cheek on her way to the door. “We’re going to the gym. And after that, maybe some shopping. We’ll be gone for a few hours. Remember to lock the door behind us,” she said on her way out.
I felt a little wistful as I watched them get into Norma’s car. It was easy to picture Vero and me twenty years from now, coping with our own changes of life as the kids moved out and our hormones rebelled against us. I smiled to myself, imagining us in our own yoga pants and hoodies, climbing into our car with our giant water bottles, on our way out for an afternoon together while we fought off hot flashes and bladder incontinence. It was a far cry from what we were usually doing when we donned black athletic gear in anticipation of an unknown number of hours in a car without a bathroom. I was struck by a pang of uncertainty as I wondered if Vero and I would get the chance to grow old together, like Norma and Gloria, or if we would see each other only during visiting hours while she served out her prison time. Her trial was in less than a month, and we’d made only scant progress toward figuring out who really took the money.
My phone vibrated with an incoming call. Sylvia’s name flashed on the screen. It was the third time she’d tried to call me in the last hour without leaving a voice mail. Experience told me if I didn’t answer it soon, she’d hop on a train to Virginia and show up at myhouse. I couldn’t do that to Nick. Especially not while Sylvia had bets riding on the color and cut of his undergarments.
I excused myself from the room to take the call.
“What’s wrong now?” I asked Sylvia as I headed upstairs and shut myself in the bathroom. “Is it really too much to ask that I take a few days off to handle some personal business?”
“You’re a celebrity now. There is no personal anymore. Just business, Finlay. And, thanks to your neighbor, business is booming!”
I could practically hear her rubbing her hands together. “What now? My boyfriend’s underwear wasn’t enough?”
“A social media storm is brewing. Apparently, Stacey was on her way home from her kid’s school play last night, and she saw a gorgeous woman leaving your house after dark.”
“I’m sure it was just my sister.” But even as I said it, I knew that wasn’t the answer. Stacey had been my neighbor long enough to have seen my family members coming and going over the years. She had probably even met my sister during one of Delia’s birthday parties.
“Your sister’s not that gorgeous, Finlay. This woman was hot! Andmysterious,” she added in a sibilant whisper to illustrate her point.
I felt a flicker of unease. Mrs. Haggerty had called me once to tell me a similar story about my ex-husband. The scar from that memory still ached if I poked at it hard enough. But Nick was not Steven, I reminded myself. I trusted Nick. This was nothing I needed to worry about. “So, Nick had a visitor. It was probably just a babysitter, Sylvia. Regardless, it’s no one’s business who she was.”
“Apparently, it’s everyone’s business. Hashtaghotcopcrotchwatchwent viral, only now it’s taken on a whole new meaning. Stacey’s followers have all mobilized to identify the mystery woman. They’relike your own personal army, Finlay! The local followers are staking out your house, trying to get a photo of her. The nonlocal ones are all on standby, ready to share and repost any pics. It’s all very exciting!”
“It’s also a huge violation of Nick’s privacy!”
“I’m sure he’s willing to take one for the team if it means growing your fan base. That is, if he’s still on your team when you get home. I followed the hashtag and subscribed to Stacey’s feed, so I’ll be the first to know if the status of your situationship changes. Don’t worry, I’ll text you anything you need to know.”
I sat down on the toilet lid and pressed a hand to my eyes. “You always do.”
“Oh, and one more thing,” Sylvia added. “I Zoomed with Mrs. Haggerty during visiting hours at the penitentiary yesterday. That manuscript she’s working on is really coming together. You know, the suburban tell-all about all the juicy things that have happened in your neighborhood? It has all the elements of a bestseller: a high-concept hook, a dramatic setting, a great cast…”
I sensed a but coming.
“But the woman refuses to write a sex scene, Finlay. She says describing the act is vulgar and unnecessary to the plot. Can you believe it? You know how important those scenes are! We need this book to be big, and we’re never going to hit a bestseller list if Mrs. Haggerty keeps closing the bedroom door before we get to all the good stuff.”
“What do you meanwe?” I failed to understand what any of this had to do with me.
“I’m so glad you asked. I thought maybe you could visit Mrs. Haggerty at the penitentiary and give her some pointers. Or better yet, just write a couple of chapters for her. Nothing crazy, just a few pages of heavy petting, some thrusting, and a little cunnilingus. Everybody loves cunnilingus. It really moves some books.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m not going to write Mrs. Haggerty’s sex scenes for her.”
“Fine, you don’t have to write them. Maybe just give her a little confidence boost. You know, jog her memory a little. She’s probably just nervous because it’s been so long since she last did the deed. Tell her writing sex scenes is like riding a bike—it’ll all come back to her. She just needs a little inspiration, like you did,” she reminded me. “You were rustier than a piece of old farm machinery, and look at what a few rolls in the hay with Nick did for you!”
“We’re not having this conversation.”
“I’m not saying you need to let her borrow your boyfriend. Maybe just bring her some magazines or an instructional video—”
“I’m not smuggling porn to my elderly neighbor so she can read it in her prison cell.”
“You’re right. That was a terrible idea. If she gets caught with contraband, they might extend her sentence, and I need her to be out of that place in six months so we can start planning her book tour. I agree, Finlay. That’s a great idea. We’re much better off if you just write the good parts for her. I’ll let you two work out the specifics. Send me your pages as soon as you have something spicy cooked up.”
“Wait… Sylvia, I never said—”
Sylvia disconnected.
“I’m afraid to ask whatthatwas all about.”
I pulled my face out of my hands and glanced up to find Vero peeping at me through the crack in the door. “How much did you hear?”
