you actually meant was that I, as the head of the catering committee, should have acted more like a cardboard cutout while you, the cochair, picked the caterer that you wanted. And everyone knows you wanted Siobhan.”
“Of course I did, Edward.”
“Genevieve came in nearly forty-dollars-a-head under. Do you get it? We saved almost forty grand by going with À La Table.”
“I’m sure Siobhan would have come down in her price if we talked to her about it,” Claire said. “The thing about using Island Fare is that you know you’re getting a great product.”
“I don’t like where this conversation is headed,” Edward said.
“Fine. It doesn’t matter now, anyway. What’s done is done. The real reason I’m calling is that I’d like you to call Siobhan and apologize.”
This was met with hearty laughter. “For the record, Claire, I did contact you when the committee made a decision. I sent both you and Isabelle an e-mail. Isabelle got right back to me.”
“I’d really appreciate it if you—”
“Good-bye, Claire.”
There was no point in taking the problem to Lock or Adams, because Edward was right: he was put in charge of catering, it was his job to pick a caterer, he had a fiduciary responsibility to Nantucket’s Children to take the best menu plan at the lowest price, and in this case, that bid was from À La Table. Claire could not argue with saving forty thousand dollars for what would be a similar catering experience. Edward had e-mailed both Claire and Isabelle when the committee made its decision; the fact that the e-mail came in during the ten-day period when Lock was gone and Claire had put a moratorium on checking her e-mail could not be held against Edward. Isabelle had gotten back to him within fifteen minutes. Claire had been copied on that e-mail as well. It said, simply: fine. Fully trust the committee’s judgment. Edward said he left Siobhan a message on her office phone, the phone number on the bid. This was reasonable. The fact that Siobhan had bumped into Genevieve at the farm market and Genevieve had chosen to gloat was just bad luck. That Claire had asked Edward to apologize to Siobhan was perhaps out of bounds, but Siobhan was her best friend and Claire desperately wanted to make things right. She had no boundaries.
Claire left messages on Siobhan and Carter’s home phone, and she left messages on Siobhan’s cell phone, both simple (I’m sorry. Call me) and more elaborate (there were two messages, left in tandem, that documented Claire’s phone conversation with Edward). Siobhan did not answer; Siobhan did not return the calls. Claire finally stopped by Siobhan and Carter’s house on Saturday morning, a week after the party. Liam answered the door and told Claire, with a straight face, that his mother was upstairs lying down. Claire considered sitting in her car across the street until Siobhan emerged, but that fell into the category of stalking, and knowing Siobhan, she’d call the police and get a restraining order.
The Irish were so damn stubborn! Siobhan was waiting for the one thing Claire was not willing to give her: a confession. I am having an affair with Lockhart Dixon. The affair has been going on since September and I have been keeping it from you. Claire saw Julie Jackson at pickup, and Julie gave her a weird (sympathetic? angry?) look. Claire smiled and waved as though everything were fine, but inwardly she groaned, praying that the substance of her and Jason’s fight had not made its way around the party. How mortifying! They should put their house on the market now.
As Siobhan’s silence entered its second week, Claire gave up. She even saw Siobhan’s car outside the skating rink—Siobhan was watching Liam’s or Aidan’s hockey practice, so she was a sitting duck—but Claire didn’t bother stopping. Claire had been ostracized on the playground as a child just like everybody else; she knew that she would not remain on the outs forever. She had lost her best friend, but so had Siobhan. Siobhan would come around eventually—this was what Jason said on the subject. He was barely speaking to Claire himself, but he had enough mercy to tell her this: if it went on much longer, he would call Carter and set up a family meeting, an airing of grievances. This sounded like something he’d learned from watching The Sopranos, but Claire appreciated his willingness to intervene if need be.
Claire consumed herself with Lock—four times in one week, five