Eligible (22 page)

“Did the hospital let him take a leave?” Liz asked.

“I don’t know. He only sent a text.”

An unpleasant recognition was spreading within Liz that Jane’s worst fears about Chip were wholly justified. “What a flake,” Liz said. “I’m sorry, but who bails on their job—their job as an ER doctor—after less than three months? Will you forward me the text?”

“Hang on.”

A few seconds later, the gray bubble appeared on the screen of Liz’s phone:
Hi want to let u know I’m headed to LA today 4 eligible fan favorites reunion show. Been wondering if dr right fit. Great getting to know u, u r really special person.

Raising the phone back to her ear, Liz said, “Is this a joke?”

“He must have been in a hurry,” Jane said.

“I don’t care if his hair was on fire. This is appalling.”

“I want to feel compassion for him.” Jane’s voice was firmer. “I don’t like being angry.”

“Jane, even a yogi can be pissed when her boyfriend turns out to lack basic communication skills.” Liz could see their father emerge from the store carrying a plastic bag.

“I know I can,” Jane said. “I just don’t want to.”

“Well, you’re definitely better off without him.” How rapidly Liz’s once-favorable opinion was curdling, what unflattering details, previously ignored, could be marshaled as evidence for a contrary view: Chip had been nice enough, yes, but clearly narcissistic and immature; he had never been serious about medicine or her sister. “Dad and I will be home in five minutes,” Liz said. “Want to go to Graeter’s and drown our sorrows in mocha chip ice cream?”

As Mr. Bennet opened the passenger-side door, Jane said, “I hope you know how much I appreciate your support, Lizzy. But now I think it really is time for me to leave Cincinnati.”

LIZ HAD SCHEDULED
Shane Williams’s visit to the Tudor for one o’clock; meanwhile, her father had, albeit without good humor, agreed to ask Mary to drive him to the Mercantile Library; and under the guise of sisterly thoughtfulness, Liz had scheduled a prenatal massage for Jane. Though Lydia and Kitty were unaccounted for, they were the least likely to be home in the middle of the day.

Shane remained much as Liz remembered him: fit, preppy, cheerful, and loquacious. After she opened the front door of the Tudor and he leaned in to hug her, she stole a glance at his ring finger and noted that it was bare. In light of Shane’s profession, there was a decent chance he was gay. Yes, he’d been the prom date of her friend Rachel in 1993, but back then, even at progressive Seven Hills, students hadn’t exactly been bursting out of the closet.

“If anyone comes home, we can pretend we’re just catching up,” Liz said. “I know I mentioned this on the phone, but my dad hasn’t told my mom they need to move.” Such candor about her family’s financial predicament would, Liz knew, particularly displease her mother, but Liz didn’t see how she had the luxury of discretion.

“It’s a beautiful house,” Shane said.

As Liz led him into the living room, she said, “How have the last twenty years treated you?”

Shane laughed. “Can’t complain.” He gestured toward the large water stain on the wall. “What’s up with that?”

“It looks awful, doesn’t it? I keep meaning to call a contractor and figure out the problem.”

“As long as you’re at it, you could think about painting this room. If you went a few shades lighter, it would really brighten things up. Maybe a pale gray or ecru.”

As he spoke, Liz noted—how had this fact never registered with her?—that the walls were an uninviting mustard shade.

“If you replace the painting over the mantel with a mirror, that’ll also help lightwise,” Shane was saying.

Liz pulled her phone from her pocket and typed in his suggestions as they moved from the living room back through the front hall to the den, then the dining room. In the kitchen, Liz said, “Unfortunately, since the goal is to sell quickly, I can’t see them doing a full renovation here.”

“At least this is really open,” Shane said. “Buyers like that now.”

Upstairs, his suggestions were similar: painting the walls, removing clutter, fixing anything conspicuously broken (such as the pocket door on the tiny bathroom in Mary’s room, which had for at least a decade closed no more than halfway). In Kitty’s room, Liz said, “In case this isn’t obvious, my three younger sisters still live here. I’m not sure if it’s the boomerang generation thing or just their personal immaturity, but they basically—”

Before she could complete the thought, a form rose from the swirl of sheets and pillows on the double bed and took the shape of Kitty herself. Bleary-eyed and messy-haired, yet still displaying her unconcealable native beauty, Kitty squinted at Liz and her guest. “Why are you in my room?” She pointed to Shane. “Who are you?”

Uneasily, Liz said, “This is my friend Shane. I didn’t realize you were here.”

“Shane Williams,” Shane said warmly, and he waved. “A pleasure to meet you.”

Kitty stood, apparently unself-conscious about wearing a T-shirt, a pair of pink-striped underwear, and nothing else. She glared at Liz. “I’m not immature.”

“I didn’t mean you,” Liz said. “You know what? We’ll give you privacy.”

Hastily, Liz led Shane to the third floor and then to the basement. “Steel yourself for the worst,” she said as they descended to the Tudor’s lowest level, and Shane said, “You’d be surprised what I’ve seen.”

In the front hall again, Liz said, “Be totally honest. How much do you think my parents can get?”

“Hyde Park is always desirable, and this is one of the premier streets. But I can’t lie: Your folks will see better offers if they do some updating.”

“But it’s still worth at least a million, right?” Liz said. “Even in the condition it’s in?”

“Let’s say you declutter like crazy,” Shane said. “Because you’re just shooting yourself in the foot otherwise. But if that’s it and you do nothing else, yeah, I’d say asking a million is reasonable. Or maybe we price it at 1.1 million with the hope of grossing a million even.”

“You’re trying to
sell
our house?” Kitty said, and Liz looked up to see her sister on the stairs; though fifteen minutes had elapsed since their last encounter, Kitty still wore nothing other than the T-shirt and underpants. “Do Mom and Dad know?”

Liz exchanged a look with Shane. “They’re getting old, Kitty. They can’t stay here forever.”

“We won’t do anything without your parents’ blessing,” Shane said. “Here—” He walked up a few steps and passed Kitty a business card. “Any questions I can answer for you, anything you want to talk about, call me twenty-four/seven.”

Kitty glanced at the card, then looked between Shane and Liz. “Shane and I went to Seven Hills together,” Liz said. “I didn’t just meet him for the first time today.”

“I’ve got a showing now out in Sycamore,” Shane said, “but, Kitty, really, don’t be shy.” Was he, Liz wondered, hitting on her sister? To Liz, he said, “You and I can touch base later today or tomorrow.”

“Please don’t say anything to anyone else,” Liz said to Kitty after Shane left. “I’m only doing due diligence.”

“But we’re happy living here.” Kitty’s expression was petulant. “It’s not fair for you to kick us out, then go back to New York.”

NEED TO TALK
to u,
the text from Charlotte read.
Got a min?

“What’s up?” Liz said after she’d called her friend.

“I hope you won’t be weirded out,” Charlotte said, and Liz detected in Charlotte’s tone both pleasure and genuine nervousness. “I’m pretty surprised myself. But here goes: After you and I had drinks last week, I sent an email to Willie. Just like,
Hey, heard your trip to Cincinnati may have ended on a strange note, hope you’re taking care
. He emails back right away and wants to know if he can call me, and I say sure. We end up talking till four in the morning. Then the next night, the same thing. To make a long story short, he’s invited me to visit him this weekend.”

“We’re talking about Cousin Willie, right?” Liz said. “That Willie?”

“Yes,” Charlotte said. “That Willie.”

“You shouldn’t feel sorry for him,” Liz said. “Willie’s a big boy.”

Some retracting on Charlotte’s part occurred. “I don’t feel sorry for him.”

As if she were unaware of the retracting, as if this conversation had not become deeply strange, Liz said, “How did you have his email?”

“We’d exchanged cards at Chip’s dinner party.”

Which in itself, in light of subsequent developments, seemed suddenly suspicious. There was something displeasing to Liz about this unexpected association between Charlotte and Willie, and an additionally displeasing awareness of her own displeasure. If Charlotte was happy, and indeed this was how she sounded, shouldn’t Liz be happy for her?

“Obviously, you can do whatever you want,” Liz said. “But you don’t think he’s, like, a tech doofus?”

Coldly, Charlotte said, “No, I don’t.”

“I don’t mean doofus like he’s an idiot. He’s very smart. He’s just, I don’t know—he’s so awkward. You don’t think?” She was making things worse, not better, and she could hear herself doing it, but Charlotte and Willie? Really?

“I’ve got to get ready for a meeting,” Charlotte said. “I’d appreciate if you don’t mention this to your family.”

Why was Liz the repository for everyone’s confidences? She wanted to say something complimentary about Willie, but it was hard to figure out what. When the call had ended, Liz winced, balled her right hand into a fist, and bit her own knuckle.

ON THE THIRD
floor, Jane stood in warrior pose, her left leg extended behind her and her arms outstretched. As Liz entered the bedroom, Jane gracefully let her arms return to her sides and said, “Amanda and Prisha want to hire me as their private yoga instructor, and they told me I can live with them for as long as I want, even after the baby comes.”

Though Liz felt some dismay, the plan made sense: Amanda was a college friend of Jane’s, a Barnard graduate who’d made a fortune at a hedge fund before trading corporate life in Manhattan for recreational beekeeping and lucrative, long-distance, part-time consulting from the Hudson Valley. Amanda’s wife, Prisha, was a high school English teacher, and they lived with their eight-year-old son, Gideon, on a bucolic five-acre spread two hours from the city.

“Do you think you’ll tell Mom and Dad you’re pregnant before you leave?” Liz asked.

Jane shook her head. “I want to sit with it a while longer.”

Liz sighed. “Well, there’s something I have to tell you. It turns out Mom and Dad are hugely in debt.” Jane looked aghast, and Liz said, “I know. But it is what it is, and their only choice is to sell the house. You shouldn’t worry, but if you were planning to borrow money from them in the next little while, borrow it from me instead. Just focus on taking care of yourself. The reason I’m telling you is that this could be the last time you’re in the house.”

“I feel terrible. I had no idea.”

“Because you weren’t supposed to. None of us were. Have you bought your plane ticket to New York?”

“For a week from today. Does that mean I’ll miss Jasper?”

“Sorry, but no such luck. He gets to town Wednesday.” Liz leaned against her desk and folded her arms. “So you won’t believe this, but Charlotte and Cousin Willie have been talking on the phone, and now they think they’re in love and she’s going to visit him.”