Peaches spent the next half hour trying to talk him down, or up. He had all these theories, but Peaches found it difficult to care. Somehow it didn’t matter to her one way or the other. Everyone had their foibles. What if Mandy had lied? Maybe she needed to lie. At least she was creative. Pretending to have MS was sort of badass when you thought about it.
She could hear the children leaving for the day and then the teachers. She didn’t want to talk to Stuart Little about his wife anymore. Clearly they needed boundaries. If he wasn’t there to sweep her off her feet and elope with her to Mexico, she wasn’t interested.
“I think you need to talk to her,” she said finally and stood up. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”
She didn’t really have to go anywhere, but she did need some protein and some wine. As soon as Stuart left, she headed to the butcher.
“She is by far my favorite actress. By far,” the older butcher said now as he wrapped up a pile of pork sausages. His horn-rimmed glasses looked expensive. His hair was cut expensively too.
“The Newport steak is great,” the younger butcher told her. “How many people you cooking for?”
Peaches looked into the case at the Newport steak. It was thick and lean, except for a strip of fat on one side. Greg hated steak. He wasn’t a vegetarian, but he ate like one. Liam was almost a vegetarian out of laziness.
“Do you happen to know what’s playing at the movie theater?” she asked the young butcher.
He rolled his eyes. “A bunch of kid stuff. What a waste. Marvel and Disney. They used to show good films there—Tarantino, Woody Allen.”
“I don’t care what people say about the guy. Hannah and Her Sisters, best movie of all time,” one of the other butchers said as he wrapped up a pile of tenderized chicken breasts.
“Or today we have premade shish kebabs. Nice lamb meat. Fresh onion, peppers. All you need to do is grill them,” the young butcher suggested to Peaches. “Four minutes on each side, so they stay pink.”
Peaches didn’t have a grill. It was difficult to focus on the meat. The decision seemed enormous, exhausting. She was so hungry, and she really needed wine. And a vacation. Why was everyone always coming to her all the time, demanding things? She couldn’t hide in Monte anymore either. It had been impounded.
There had to be one decent movie playing. She could buy a mini wine bottle with a screw top, get a sandwich from Union Market, and take them to the movie theater. Even better, she could text Cobble Hill General and tell Dr. Conway she was stressed out and needed “a prescription.”
She studied the glass case, working her phone with her thumbs. “I’ll take the rabbit,” she said finally.
It came wrapped in brown paper tied with white cotton string. “Don’t overcook it,” the young butcher instructed. “Herbes de Provence and radicchio, or blueberries and coriander give it a nice flavor.”
Dr. Conway texted back right away.
I have what you need. Something new, from Corfu!
* * *
The firewood man was fantastic. Wendy’s U-Haul was now full of nicely split firewood, two old doors, and a dismantled picnic table. She had no idea if it was even legal to burn such large items in one’s garden in Brooklyn, but what was the worst thing that could happen? If a neighbor called and complained, Wendy would simply invite them to the party. The more the merrier.
Next on her agenda: fireworks. Much to her frustration, she’d been unable to find any online, even on the “dark web” sites that sold hand grenades and Tasers that Manfred and Gabby had sent her links to. Her name was probably on a watch list now. The FBI, CIA, KGB, and MI5 had probably staked out her office. News of it would trickle back to Lucy Fleur and Wendy would be banned from the building.
Pulled over in the U-Haul in Staten Island, she googled “buy fireworks near my current location.” A single address appeared.
She hadn’t realized how rural parts of Staten Island were. Growing up on the Upper East Side, she’d snobbishly thought of it as a network of landfills and ugly, close-together houses with vinyl siding, but it wasn’t nearly that bad. Winding her way to the fireworks salesperson, she passed pretty brick houses with tree-lined driveways, a horse farm, an apple orchard, and lots of signs to the beach.