After #3
Gretchen nodded. “Yes, it’s a mess,” she said. “Tu hermana?” Lita sometimes called her sister when there was a big project. And getting everything back in order definitely fit the bill.
Lita nodded gravely. “Sí, sí.”
Gretchen still didn’t speak much Spanish despite several genuine attempts with Duolingo—which was somehow slightly racist, according to Elizabeth.
Simply employing Lita was also apparently racist, or so Elizabeth had proclaimed in high school—though neither Richard nor Gretchen could understand how paying someone far above market rate and providing health insurance and other benefits like vacation days could possibly be a bad thing.
It was true that the language gap meant Gretchen’s conversations with Lita were limited, and that did always seem a little wrong.
However, at the moment, her limited Spanish meant Gretchen was spared having to explain why the apartment was in such a state.
Instead, Gretchen excused herself upstairs, glancing down at her new watch.
Gaudy, it was gaudy. Gretchen had pushed the thought away when she first saw it because it had seemed cruel and ungrateful.
But even after all these years of living with great wealth—partly earned by him!
—Richard did still occasionally stumble in this regard. It was cute, most of the time.
Of course, none of this would have happened if Richard hadn’t gone on the trip to begin with, and the watch was a reminder that it was Gretchen who’d eventually acquiesced.
Richard and “the boys”—as he liked to call his college group—took an “adventure trip” nearly every year, hadn’t missed one since graduation.
And Richard was certainly capable of such activities, even in his mid-fifties.
He was an experienced hiker—Patagonia, the Alps, the Dolomites.
And he was fit: He’d run the New York City Marathon twice, the last time only a few years ago.
And after all he’d been through as a child, he was calm and resourceful, exceptional in an emergency.
But Kilimanjaro was next-level, and Gretchen blamed Brooks.
The whole thing had been his idea. Gretchen and Richard knew a couple who had made it within spitting distance of the summit only to have the husband suddenly felled by mountain sickness.
He had stopped breathing right in front of his poor wife, who apparently hated hiking and had gone along only to be a good sport.
“No” had been Gretchen’s unequivocal response when Richard had first floated the idea. She’d even snapped the newspaper she was reading for emphasis. “Absolutely not.”
Richard had not backed down. And so Gretchen had argued with him, making a point of mentioning their friend who had died and subtly reminding him that—as the wife—she would have the deciding vote.
So it was in their world: happy wife, happy life.
All the husbands in their circle respected that rule, even the cads.
And Richard was not a cad. He was one of the good ones. No, he was a great one.
And yet, Richard had seemed out of sorts ever since he’d been promoted to co–head of investment banking at Goldman Sachs ten months before.
After all his hard work, he’d finally reached the very top—the pinnacle from which there was realistically nowhere left to ascend.
And, somehow, this had sucked the wind from his sails.
Gretchen had gathered that maybe he needed something else to conquer, and so here was this mountain.
Richard hadn’t said that. But Gretchen was his wife. Sometimes she knew him in ways he didn’t know himself. And so her answer had been yes in the end. To love someone that deeply you had to be willing to tolerate all kinds of risk.
Gretchen checked her absurd watch again.
Eight-forty a.m. She needed to get going: Oppy’s assembly.
She was never late. She couldn’t be late, or Cassandra would know that something was wrong.
And Gretchen was still hoping her children might never have to know about this mess.
Anyway, things were going to be fine. Things were fine.
All of this was nothing more than a nuisance.
A shower. That was what she needed. A shower always made everything better.
—
Afterward, standing at one of the two sinks in their vast en suite bathroom, Gretchen saw herself in the steamy mirror.
She looked awful, even after washing her face and using every single face cream and potion known to man.
Puffy and exhausted, if not downright ill.
No one would be mistaking her for Grace Kelly today—a compliment she’d heard regularly since she was a teenager.
Cassandra would definitely know there was something wrong.
Her oldest child had a nose for trouble.
As a little girl, Cassandra could predict bad weather for a month’s-end birthday party with meteorological precision.
In fact, all her children were that way—highly attuned.
Perhaps there should have been a certain comfort in this.
Friends and relatives often pointed to it as a sign of their collective intelligence.
But it was also exhausting. Gretchen had occasionally longed for children who were far more oblivious. It would have allowed for a much greater margin of error.
Gretchen put some moisturizer on her hands and rubbed them together.
They were bonier and bonier with each passing day.
Maybe she didn’t look as bad as she thought she did?
Exhaustion could blur how one saw things.
Makeup would make an enormous difference, she told herself.
But every time she lifted the mascara wand, her hand trembled too much to risk going anywhere near her eye.
She settled instead for concealer and lipstick, startling when her phone rang.
Scotty Kaplan. When Gretchen went to answer it, the phone slipped through her fingers and crashed to the floor.
“Hello? Gretchen?” Scotty asked when she finally managed to get the phone to her ear. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, yes.” Her jaw was clenched so tight it was hard to speak. She drove a finger into the muscle, massaging it. “What’s happening? How’s Richard?”
“He’s fine. In great spirits, actually. He was cracking jokes with me.”
“But, Scotty, that’s the way he always—”
“I know, I know—believe me,” Scotty said sincerely. “But I poked around, pressed him. He’s convinced this is going to get sorted out. He’s not looking forward to weathering the storm, but he’s ready for it.”
Gretchen believed Scotty. Or rather she believed that Scotty believed. But part of Richard’s charm was his infectious optimism.
“Has he eaten? Because if he’s not eating, then—”
“He’s eating. He thinks he’ll put weight on in there. That’s one of the biggest benefits of being held at the precinct until arraignment. A lot of sandwiches, but the food’s much better than it will be—so yes, he’s eating and he’s hydrated and he even got some sleep.”
“But why did they arrest him? Was it his statements?”
“No, they didn’t seem to be anyone’s focus. I did have him recant, for what it’s worth. That might not be effective, but I got the sense from Richard that what he said was hardly a confession anyway.”
“Then what is their focus? That witness?”
“They do supposedly have someone who puts him near her apartment. But that alone wouldn’t be enough.” He paused. And there was something so awful about the silence. Finally, Scotty exhaled noisily. “Apparently they also found some kind of evidence at your apartment during the search.”
Gretchen grabbed the counter to steady herself as she looked around the bathroom like she might spot something incriminating still there, something horrifying but in plain sight.
“What evidence?”
“Who knows? It doesn’t matter,” Scotty said dismissively.
“So much of what prosecutors do at this stage is just grandstanding. They weaponize secrecy. Bottom line: They had probable cause to make the arrest even without Richard’s statements, which isn’t great.
But that does not mean they’ve got a fraction of what they’d need for a conviction.
The standards are completely different. And before we even get to any of that, we’ll get Richard out on bail. ”
“Did they say when the arraignment will be?”
“Unfortunately, not until Monday morning. The courthouse has reopened, but now there’s a huge backlog. I actually think that’s not the worst thing. Buys us a little time.”
“He needs to be home, Scotty.”
“Gretchen, this is all going to be okay,” Scotty said.
“I promise. Whatever this— Obviously it’s all some kind of idiotic mistake.
” He hesitated again, but only for a second.
“Full disclosure, I’m a little concerned about how the police ended up at your apartment so quickly.
But something sent them there in less than twenty-four hours.
An eyewitness wouldn’t know Richard’s name, presumably, or his address.
Did any of the officers say anything about that to you? ”
“No,” Gretchen said. “Why would they?”
“No, no—that’s what I figured. I just thought maybe off-handedly a uniformed officer might have…
Sometimes they let things slip,” Scotty said.
“The question didn’t occur to me until after I’d left Richard.
I’ll just ask him next time. Not to worry.
Also, I have a call in to three different criminal defense attorneys; that’s why the time might be helpful. ”
“I don’t understand. You are a criminal defense attorney.”
“If this was insider trading, I’d be your guy. But we need someone who handles murders. Don’t worry—we’ll get someone really good.”
“ ‘Get someone’?” she asked. “Why are you making it sound like we’re auditioning?”
“In a way we are. These violent-crime guys—they like to choose their clients based on the complexity of the case or how high-profile the client is. The press that might come their way. They can afford to be selective.”
“Good Lord.” Gretchen was disgusted. She did not want to be mixing with people who tried to capitalize on others’ misfortunes.
“You should get Elizabeth and Becks home, too.”
“Why would I do that?” One small bright spot was that they were far away from this mess.
“They’ll need to be here for the arraignment,” Scotty said. “Whoever we get to represent Richard, that’s going to be one of the first things they say, I’m sure.”
“Okay,” she said, though she could not conceive of having to contend with Elizabeth and Becks along with everything else. “And thank you, Scotty. Truly.”
“Hang in there, Gretchen.” She gripped the edge of the bathroom counter tighter, as though he meant this literally.
“Maybe try to distract yourself. Get out and take a walk or something. This is going to take some time and patience. But it is going to be okay. All you need to do is hold on, and weather the storm.”