“She disarmed that man with her bare hands!” Agnes says, punching the air in emphasis. “Didn’t need any gun, no siree. She just marched in there and told him to hand it over. Now we know where you get your moxie, Jane.”
“Oh, Ma,” Jane sighs. “What were you thinking?”
“Someone had to do it.”
“Did it have to be you?”
“Well, Mr. Navy SEAL was a no-show. So was Mr. Green-with-the-gun. I was the only one left.”
She sits down too, and now there are three of us, lined up like bowling pins on the porch steps. “I’m so sorry.”
I shrug. “You were at the concert. Was it good?”
“I left early, after I finally read your text. I’m sorry for not taking you seriously. All those things you tried to tell me about the neighborhood.”
“But none of those things turned out to be the problem. They were just distractions. The Greens. Tricia running away. When the real trouble was something else entirely, something that happened a long time ago.”
“What?”
“Jackie was banging Larry Leopold,” says Agnes.
“Thank you for that summary, Mrs. Kaminsky,” says Jane.
“Well, that’s what your mother told me.”
“And the strange thing is, it was news to Rick,” I tell Jane. “He never knew about it. All these years later, you’d think it’d be long buried and forgotten.”
“So how did it come out now?” Jane asks.
“I don’t know. But I think Rick hired that guy in the white van to investigate Larry. That must be how he found out the truth.”
“What guy?”
“Didn’t I tell you about him? There’s been a white van surveilling the Leopolds’ house. I’m guessing he’s a private detective. I think he must’ve confirmed Rick’s suspicions and that’s why Rick showed up here tonight, to finally have it out with Larry.”
“What about Jackie? Has anyone talked to her yet, made sure she’s okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. I called her and she’s fine. But she says Tricia still refuses to come home.” I shake my head. “What a mess.”
“Come on, Ma. I’ll walk you home. You want me to stay and spend the night with you?”
“Why?”
“For the company? This must’ve been a pretty traumatic experience.”
Agnes laughs, “Does your ma look traumatized?”
Jane pauses and for the first time in a long time, my daughter looks at me. I mean, really looks at me. All her life I’ve just been Mom to her, the woman who cooked and cleaned, who bandaged her scrapes and cheered at her T-ball games. Does anyone really look at their own mother? We’re just there, as reliable as gravity. But tonight, Jane seems to see something else, someone else, and she reaches down to help me to my feet.
“No, you don’t look traumatized,” she says. “But you do look like you could use a drink.”
“I’ll have one with her,” says Agnes. “I got scotch at home. The good stuff.”
“Jane, I’ll be fine,” I say. “I’m just gonna go home.”
“You sure?”
“You heard Agnes. I’m a superhero now.” I look at my neighbor. “You said you’ve got the good stuff?”
“The very best.”
“Well, okay then,” I say.
We start walking back toward her house and Agnes says to me: “You know what, Angie?”
“What?”
“It’s good to be talking again.”
“A toast, everyone! To our brilliant pianist!” said Mike Antrim.
Maura managed a game smile as her fellow musicians hoisted their champagne flutes. She’d never been comfortable being the center of attention, but this was not a night she could hide modestly in a corner—not after her flawless performance.
“To our brilliant pianist!” everyone echoed.
Daniel leaned in close and whispered, “You earned the applause. Enjoy the moment.”
She raised her glass to toast the gathering. “And thank you. We may be amateurs, but I think we all sounded pretty damn good tonight.”
“Hey, I’m ready to hang up my stethoscope,” someone called out. “When do we take this show on the road?”
“First,” said Antrim, “everyone please grab some of that food in the dining room. If you don’t help us finish it, we’ll be eating leftovers for the next month.”
Before the performance, Maura had been too nervous to eat anything and now she was ravenous. She made her way into the dining room where she filled her plate with crab cakes and beef tenderloin and crisp spears of asparagus. She also picked up another glass of wine, this time a rich and hearty red, which she happily sipped as she moved into the Antrims’ spacious living room to mingle with the other guests.