time I visited Hearst Castle I was, like, nine,” Jen said, leaning forward. “Mom took us. We played hooky from school one day. It was so cool. All my friends were real jealous of us, that we had such a great mom who broke all the rules.”
“I was going to ask you, Jen, darling. Where are your mum and dad?” Pippa said.
Uh, oh. I now realized I should’ve just told Pippa the truth. This was going to get complicated.
“Mom is… away,” Jen said.
I turned around and caught Jen’s eye. She looked like she was welling up.
“She’s ill,” I broke in. “Being treated for—” and then I mouthed the words to Pippa, “cancer.”
“Oh, so sorry, you must miss her terribly,” Pippa said in her bold, boomy voice.
Jen wiped away a tear. “I do, I think about her every day.”
I waited for Pippa to grill Jen for details, but she didn’t push it further. There was an awkward silence. Jen dabbed her face with the hem of her long flowery dress. Just awful. My heart went out to all three of the poor things.
Pippa opened her mouth to speak, but I pinched her elbow. “Pippa, I think that’s enough. Jen’s crying.”
We rode along in silence for a good ten minutes.
“So what made you choose your husband?” Jen suddenly piped up, fully recovered, her bronzed bare feet resting in between the two of us, poking through to the front, on the elbow rest. Her question was directed at me. I was beginning to regret this whole outing. Bringing Pippa along had been my dumbest move of today—it even trumped my Mumm meltdown earlier.
“You’re wearing your seat belt, I hope, Jen?” I said, glancing back. She was.
“What was it that attracted you,” Jen pressed on, “about your husband?”
I ignored her question. I felt shameful for drunkenly sharing so many details about my marriage and private life earlier.
“Well, I’m divorced now,” Pippa answered, thinking Jen was addressing the question to her. “And… good question. I ask myself that every day.” She laughed, her lips wide, baring her wholesome white teeth: a set of genuine gnashers.
“I was referring to Juan,” Jen let us know.
I’d been hoping Jen would steer away from the subject of Juan. Especially now. The last thing I needed was Pippa on my case. Besides, I didn’t want to feel down. I’d cried enough for one day.
Jen wiggled her toes, still pointed in our direction, her heels poised on the armrest between Pippa and me. She sported a silver toe ring on her right foot. “You were a little younger than him, right? He must’ve been very cute.”
“Very,” Pippa answered for me. Which was the spot-on truth. “Eat your heart out George Clooney,” she gushed. “George Clooney several movies back, I mean.”
“Smart?” Jen asked.
I replied this time. “Extremely smart, that was until—” I stopped myself, regretful that I’d volunteered any information at all.
Jen nudged me with her foot. “Go on, tell me.”
“You know, sometimes things aren’t what they seem,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh, please. I hate that! That’s so not fair! To let out an itty-bitty trickle of info and then, like, hold out on me with some enigmatic bullshit!”
“I’m used to being discreet. It’s my job. Used to keeping secrets with clients,” I said primly, “and used to keeping secrets of my own.”
“What secrets?”
“If I told you, they wouldn’t be secrets anymore, now, would they?”
Pippa laughed. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, Jen. Lawyers never tell.”
“Spill your secrets!” Jen demanded.
“No,” I said.
“You’re so lame!”
The “lame” word stung. It was just a silly expression, here in America—but after sharing my childhood secret with Jen about my six fingers, it struck a nerve. The past has a way of keeping you in chains even after you’ve cast them off.
Jen leaned forward and said, “Funny, I never asked you. Were you his first marriage or second?”
“First,” I said. “But before me he had a string of girlfriends. He played the field for a long time but eventually got fed up and wanted to settle down.”
“A bit of a ‘ladykiller’ then,” Jen teased.
“You could say that.” Where had the sweet, nurturing Jen gone? Was this all a game to her? Her machine-gun questions were making me feel twitchy, on the point of exploding. I counted to ten and took a deep breath.
“I don’t get it. Why don’t you ever go back to England?” Jen probed. “You must have a bunch of friends there. Must miss your friends and family. How come you never talk about