My simple support seems to give Lucy strength. Her shoulders loosen a little, her posture improves; she makes eye contact. “I’ve met her for lunch a few times. She spends money like she doesn’t want it, taking me to the most expensive restaurants, ordering the priciest item on the menu even when I don’t think she’d like it. She wears designer clothes and takes no interest in them. She’s perfectly composed, perfectly cool, no warmth whatsoever.”
I pick my laptop up, balancing it on my knees, and make some notes. I already have questions, but I don’t want to interrupt her flow.
Lucy pauses for a sip of her drink. “If I ask about her husband, she gives me platitudes. The only time there’s any emotion is when I inquire about his work. Then she freezes up, and can’t change the subject fast enough.” Her lips press thin. “I think she needs help, and I don’t know how to give it to her.”
It seems Lucy’s finished her story, for she looks at me with such naked hope, yet there’s a tightness around her eyes as if she expects me to say no.
“What is it you’re asking me to do?”
“I don’t really know,” she says honestly. “I don’t know how this works.”
Fair. “Let me rephrase. When you think of yoursister, what is it you want?”
“I want to know she’s safe. That she’s acting like that because… she wants to.” Her fingers tighten around her cup. “I don’t think she is.”
“Do you think this isn’t her choice? Do you believe her free will has been compromised?”
Lucy hesitates. “I’m not sure. I’ve tried to ask her, and she assures me she’s… fine.” The word carries her unqualified disdain.
“Why do you think she isn’t?”
The answer comes quickly. “Because that’s not her. The woman she is now… it’s not Amelia.”
“Can you be specific?”
“She never laughs. She rarely smiles. Amelia was full of life.” Lucy winces, as if hearing the past tense in her words. “What she’s become… it’s like all the color has been sucked away.”
“Thank you for being clear.” I type a note. “May I return to the subject of her husband?”
“Ask whatever you want.”
“Have you met him?”
“After the wedding, once. Not since then. They eloped, you see.”
I add another note. “What can you tell me about him?”
“He’s very senior, about forty. She’s much younger than he is. Rich, of course. Cruel.”
My eyebrows come up. “Cruel?”
Lucy gives a slight shake of her head. “I’m not sure why I said that. It’s just my impression and everyone always tells me to stick to the facts.”
“Well, I’d like to hear your impression, if you don’t mind.” I give her a brief smile. “Why do you think he’s cruel?”
“Something in his eyes, in the way his mouth curls. In the way he looks at Amelia. He… creeped me out.”
“Thank you.” I’m not sure whether to trust her instincts, or wonder if it’s envy or resentment. But I’m leaning toward the former. “What else can you tell me about him?”
“Not much. That was one time, weeks ago.”
“Do you know what his role is at Northbridge?”
“No. Amelia never talks about it. It’s like he’s never even there.”
“Does it bother you that you don’t know anything about him?”
Her head comes up quickly, her response vehement. “Hell yes.”
