“You won’t believe it,” Deirdre told Eliza when they greeted each other. “One of the corporate sponsors who wasn’t even going to come called this morning to say that they were coming. With guests! We had to redo three of the front tables. I’m out of my mind.” But Deirdre didn’t look out of her mind. She looked blissful and in control. She was the happiest version of Deirdre that Eliza had seen in a long, long time.
Everything had come together beautifully. Eliza was in awe. At each end of the long room separating the grand ballroom from the patio were two bars, and in between the bars were two long tables holding the silent-auction items. One of the most popular items was a donation from a new jeweler that had just moved to town: twenty-five “mystery boxes.” A clutch of women were holding up each box and shaking it in turn. The whole idea of shaking twenty-five mystery boxes of jewelry made Eliza feel exhausted, but the women were getting super into it.
In the grand ballroom were twenty-five tables set for ten, with the simplest, classiest centerpieces Eliza had ever seen: tall thin vases filled with sand, each holding a single bloodred desert rose. There was a large screen set up at the front of the room, which for now was blank. Eliza saw Catherine Cooper and Sheila Rackley deliberating over something near one of the bars, so she went directly to the opposite one. Eliza was still getting her Barton legs back; she felt like a newborn colt, unbalanced one moment, sure of herself the next.
Eliza ordered the signature cocktail of the evening: an African Sunrise, served in a highball glass. She found a small round bar table to sit at, from which she surveyed the scene. Glittery dresses. Tanned legs, tanned arms, manicures, pedicures. Perfume. Professionally straightened hair, professionally loosely curled hair, gold bracelets, silver watches. More money in Claire Foster’s earrings—pear-shaped diamonds, a famously extravagant “push present” from her husband after the birth of their third son—than some men in Little Harbor had invested in their boats or their houses.
When a familiar voice said, “Excuse me, is this seat taken?” Eliza turned around: her mother-in-law.
“I bought two tables,” Judith said. “Early on. Stocked them with my richest friends; I promised Deirdre they’d drive the silent-auction prices to the sky. And they will.”
“Wow,” said Eliza. “Two tables! That was really nice of you.”
Judith shrugged and said, “Nice, schmice. I love a good gala. People get drunk and they’re wicked and generous all at the same time. It’s the perfect storm.” She felt at her neck for her diamond-wrapped pearl pendant. “Of course,” she went on, “I did have a seat for Christine Cabot. She’s been known to spend at these events. But…”
“I know,” said Eliza. “I know.” Christine effing Cabot.
“We’re not speaking, just at the moment,” said Judith. “Christine and I.”
“I’m not speaking to Christine Cabot at the moment either,” said Eliza, and Judith surprised her by laughing genuinely.
Judith wore an asymmetrical peplum dress in white. Daring, for a woman of sixty-five, some might say, especially the white. But Judith made it work: she was like the Susan Lucci of—well, everything. Just when you thought she was done for she came back stronger and more alive than ever, with more extravagant hair. Judith settled herself in the chair opposite Eliza and arranged herself so she had a view of the glittering crowd. She took a long sip of her African Sunrise. “This goes down easy,” she said.
“It does. I wonder what’s in it?”
“Ethiopian coffee, grapefruit vodka, sparkling water, simple syrup.”
How did Judith know so much? She knew everything!
Judith leaned toward Eliza and said, “How are you doing, Eliza? Now that you’ve been home for a while. I know how it goes with these things, you’re so caught up in the details, the arrangements, that it takes a while for your feelings to settle. And of course it was all such a shock. And even when it isn’t, mourning takes a long time. There are so many ups and downs along the way. Of course you remember that, from when your mother died.”
“I do.” The early, dark February days, the iron sky low over Little Harbor, the lobster boats and the traps pulled out of the water: it all seemed like one long, desolate winter’s dream.
“I once heard it described as walking upstairs with a yo-yo.”
“That sounds about right.”
“There’s just no way to rush it. Because life is long, Eliza. It goes on and on and on, and if we’re lucky we can recover from sorrow, and we can even reinvent ourselves. I understand reinvention, you know. I get why Robbie’s trying to do what he’s trying to do about the money.
“You do?”
Judith nodded, and her hair didn’t move. “Living with money is a complicated business. You haven’t learned how to do it yet. It takes years.”
Eliza said, “I’ve had years.”
“It takes more years, longer. Believe me, I know. It took me so long to get used to the kind of money that’s in this family.”
“It did?”
“Sure it did. Of course it did. I grew up decidedly middle class. In New Jersey. When I met Rob’s father he introduced me to a world that I hardly knew had existed before.”
Eliza said, “Middle class? How did I not know that? I knew you were from New Jersey. But I always thought it was rich-person’s New Jersey.”
“I don’t talk about it much. But it was not rich-person’s New Jersey. And it was lovely. Right along the shore, the beaches were something else. The boardwalk. Bruce Springsteen land, as it came to be known. My childhood was idyllic.”
“I love Bruce Springsteen,” breathed Eliza. She thought about The Wheelhouse, the jukebox, the men coming in off the boats. She thought, “My Hometown,” and her heart constricted a little bit.
“Come to think of it,” said Judith now, “Rob’s the only real native among us, when it comes to the money, the only one truly born into it. So he is the only one entirely comfortable with it. Which is why it’s so funny that he—oh, why talk about it. That’s all between the two of you now.”
There was a brief, hopeful moment when Eliza thought Judith was going to reveal her stance on Rob’s financial misjudgment to be some sort of a joke—Eliza thought she might say, Of course I’m here if you need me. And so is my money!
But Judith didn’t say that. Judith lifted her empty highball glass and said, “Another one?”
Eliza wasn’t sure she was ready to be drunk under the table by her own mother-in-law. “Maybe in a minute,” said Eliza. “I need to get some food first.”
The menu, both the sit-down dinner and the passed hors d’oeuvres, was a mix of East African–inspired cuisine and good old New England fare. Deirdre had arranged for a top chef from Boston to oversee the staff at the club.