right thing, Bobby.”
He let go of her hand and got up from the table. He went over to her and knelt beside her, putting his arms around her small body. She started crying, seemingly unable to stop. “I tried so hard to keep you, and you tried so hard to love me, but it just wasn’t meant to be,” she said, her voice barely audible.
He put his head on her shoulder and began to cry. “I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath, a shudder. “You were always my best friend.”
They held each other for a long time. He had tried to love her and, in a way, he did love her, but he had never been in love with her. And now that he was in love with somebody, he knew what that felt like and was sure that he never felt it with her.
She stopped crying long enough to get up and clean off the table. After years of attending to her father’s needs, both at home and in the bar, she was always in constant motion, always picking up, wiping tables, washing dishes. He told her to leave everything. She turned and laughed. “Old habits.” Christine had been a virtual scullery maid in her father’s Upper West Side bar before marrying Bobby and escaping. Her nervous habits ran from obsessively wiping countertops until they gleamed, to washing the same stemware over and over. She came out of his kitchen. “You should take a shower. That will give me a chance to get myself together before we go get the girls.”
He stood for another minute, stuck in place. Now that he had a chance to move forward, he didn’t know what to do.
Chapter 13
I spent the night at Max’s because it was closer to Chelsea Piers and I didn’t want to face a drive home after a few martinis. I got out of bed and took a shower, using some kind of exotic shower gel and shampoo that came out of a dispenser shaped like a flower. When I was done, I got out and dried off, running into Max’s bedroom naked and rooting through my overnight bag to find an outfit to wear home; I was determined to catch the 10:20 local to Dobbs Ferry and I had to rush to make it. I stood up suddenly and got a major headache—payback for last night’s festivities. I went back into the bathroom and found some Excedrin, taking three and washing them down with good old New York City tap water.
Crawford and I had parted ways after the wedding with his vague promise to call me later in the week. A call was fine, but I knew that I couldn’t see him again until his life was straightened out. I didn’t think that bore repeating, so I gave him a kiss on the cheek and a little wave as I took off in a cab to downtown Manhattan.
I blew-dry my hair and put on a little makeup. I had dark circles under my eyes and my skin looked a little like parchment; I could practically feel the olives floating around in my stomach, vodka having replaced any stomach acid. I needed a strong cup of coffee and some food; a nap at home later would help round out the antihangover trifecta.
I put on a sweater, jeans, and a pair of boots. I packed up all of my things and left Max’s apartment. Down on the street, the limousine idling in front of the building barely caught my attention as I wrestled with my bags and scoured the street for a cab to Grand Central.
When the back passenger door to the limo opened and I saw who was inside, I nearly collapsed on the street.
“Alison! Hi!” Peter called from the car. “Going somewhere? I’ll give you a lift!” He waved me into the car with his little stubby fingers.
I stood on the street, a garment bag weighing me down. I thought about dropping it and running, but all thoughts of escape were thwarted when the driver of the limo got out, came around to the curb, and motioned me into the car. He took the garment bag and my small tote from my hands and waited while I got inside. I recognized him as the same guy who waited outside my house while Peter disconnected my phone line and force-fed me biscotti. Resigned, I got into the car.
I sat across from Peter in a stretch limo, my back to the