Page 24 of Escape Girl
Her lips twitched as I watched her consider all sorts of follow-up questions. We barely knew each other. But we had been talking for hours, so she caved to the nosiness. “What happened?”
Halcyon scenes from last fall raced through my mind, memories I’d always treasure, even if they were painful to remember in light of what came later. “My ex and I fell headover heels in love and got married very quickly,” I said. “It was like a vacation romance that we took too far.” I shrugged. “Those things never work out when you return to real life, right?”
Bella blinked a few times. “I guess I don’t know. I’ve never been head over heels in love.”
My Guinness was both frothy and bitter. Kind of like the tone of my voice. “Can’t say I totally recommend it. It’s overwhelming. Consuming.”
Bella bit her lip, as if she was physically preventing another question from bursting out of her mouth. Was it because she noticed that I was speaking of love in the present tense?
Luckily, she veered onto an adjacent topic: “Are your parents still married?”
Oh boy, that wasnotbetter. I gulped down a third of my beer. “They would be, if my mom were still alive.” Bella blanched. I could see she was about to self-flagellate again so I kept talking. “They were one of those couples who were so in love, even after thirty years of being married. They were legendary for it.”
Bella’s face softened into a smile, and she nodded. I knew she thought I meant that my parents’ relationship was famous in our family or neighborhood or something, but I meant famous-famous. My parents’ love story had been written about inPeoplemagazine. They were like Mel Brooks and Anne Bancroft. The press used to eat it up because my father was so steely and terrifying in all other aspects of life. But even after decades together, if he got one glimpse of my mom’s red curls, he lost sight of everything else in the room.
My parents used to golf together every single weekend. Unusual for men of my father’s generation, he much preferred to golf with my mother instead of other men. When she died, my father wouldn’t golf with anyone else. He’d go out on the course by himself, but no one else was ever invited.
ATimemagazine article once called my father the most powerful man in the country. The writer then suggested that since it was well known my father would do anything for his wife, my mother was the most powerfulpersonin the country.
My mom had the article framed and hung it in the entryway of our house.
“Were you close to your mom?” Bella asked. “What was she like?”
Emotions prickled in my throat, like shards of glass. I didn’t talk about my mom. Ever. I didn’t have anyone to share memories with. Except my dad, and I wouldn’t risk that.
Maybe it was the fact that Bella’s grandmother had just died, so I knew she was hurting too. More likely it was that Bobby’s stupid escape rooms had me all messed up inside. Whatever the reason, I actually answered.
“We were very close.” I cleared my sore throat. “She was warm. Witty. With a biting sense of humor.” When we had to go to intolerably boring events for my father, she made them fun by whispering just awful things in my ear. When she felt like my father had drunk too much Scotch, she called him “Johnnie Walker” until he properly apologized. After one riotous Christmas party, Dad was Johnnie Walker in the house for a full week.
“She had a terrible sense of direction.” When mobile phones with map apps became ubiquitous, she said it was the greatest thing that ever happened in her life. My father took offense to this.
“She loved to sing more than anything in the world.” I twirled my Guinness and glanced at Bella. “When one of us had hard a week, we would go to one of those Korean karaoke places where you get your own private room. The two of us would just sing in there for hours.”
I finished the beer then, because my throat hurt too much, and it felt like my intestines were shaking. I couldn’t remember the last time I sang. I’d never even sung in front of Bobby, I suddenly realized.
“What was your mom’s favorite song to sing?” Bella asked.
Such a great question. “‘Piece of My Heart’ by Janis Joplin.” I closed my eyes, picturing her bent over the mic, wailing, her hand in a fist. “She nailed it too.”
Bella put her hand over mine. “How long has she been gone?”
Forever and no time at all. “Almost six years.” She squeezed my hand, and suddenly, I needed to be talking about something—anything—else.
“Hey!” I chirped, determined to pull myself together. “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask—how did you come to me in the first place?” There had to be some female IP attorneys in Chicago, right? Or some specific reason to seek me out in New York. I struggled to think back to what she’d said at our first meeting. “Some kind of referral, you said.”
Bella didn’t fight the change in subject. She just leaned back and nodded. “It’s a little random, actually. I’d gotten the cease-and-desist letter, visited those two awful firms in Chicago, and was feeling lousy and had no idea what to do next. I was at my favorite neighborhood coffee shop just sitting and feeling sorry for myself. I got to chatting with a woman at the table next to me. Before I knew it, I was spilling my guts. Totally oversharing, which is not like me at all, but she was such a good listener and asked such good questions. Anyway, this stranger at the coffee shop—she was the one who recommended you. Said you were a brilliant attorney and a good person.” Bella toasted me with her glass. “She was right!”
Huh. Maybe the woman had been involved in a former case of mine as a client or was some sort of colleague. I didn’t knowmany attorneys in Chicago, but the IP world could be small. “What was her name?”
Bella scrunched up her face. “Jo something? Like Jo inLittle Women. Ah!” She snapped her fingers together. “Jo Harper, that was it.”
The empty pint glass in my fingers slipped slightly out of my grasp and hit the table with a loud thud.
What the fuck?
Chapter Seven
Alot isknown about my father, the famous Sven Saturn.
