Look Closer полностью

She laughed, and I felt like I’d won the lottery or something. I’d heard my mother use that line years ago, after she won her land-use case before the United States Supreme Court. It sounded like a deft way to handle a compliment, and I stored it away for future use. And thank God. I’d just made this beautiful creature laugh!

She narrowed her eyes in playful skepticism. “Mmm, smart, handsome, and modest on top of all that,” she said. “Simon Dobias, you are going to break some hearts.”

Wednesday, September 14, 2022

I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to see you. I went to your house, instead of texting you, at ten this morning. You were surprised, alarmed even, to see me at your front door. But you had to know, Lauren, you HAD to know that the text you sent me, that we had to talk, but only in person, would keep me in suspense, would be worse than torture banned by the Geneva Convention.

I didn’t sleep one wink last night. I must have looked awful this morning. I didn’t care. Whatever it was, and I’d braced myself for anything, I had to hear it, and I had to hear it now.

“I thought a lot about what you said,” you told me. “How your father cheated on your mother, and you didn’t want to become your father. I don’t want that, either. I don’t want you to be a cheater. I don’t want to be a cheater, either.”

I braced myself, having prepared for this. I knew it might end this morning, and I told myself, Simon, you’re an adult, just handle it, handle it right, no matter how painful. Be proud of how you react.

But I wasn’t prepared, it turns out. I wasn’t prepared for this at all.

“I want us to get married,” you said.

“Ohhh, yes, I’ve met Lauren.”

Cassandra Barclay crosses her legs and sits back in her chair in the interview room down the hall from the squad room.

Cassandra was married to Conrad Betancourt for twenty-six years. They had two children, boys, now ages twenty-four and twenty-two. Their divorce was completed only months before Conrad married Lauren, three years ago.

“Quite the little Kewpie doll, isn’t she? She’s a golfer, you know. That’s how they met. Connie can’t play to save his life, but he likes getting out there with his buddies and having a cigar and talking money. He likes the idea of playing golf more than he likes golf itself.”

“And you met her,” says Jane.

“Lauren? Many times now. I still go to the club sometimes.”

“The Grace Country Club.”

“That’s the one. I don’t go as much anymore; the kids have lost interest, so I have for the most part, too. But if I want to go, I go. I’m not giving her the satisfaction of driving me away from my club.”

Jane nods. Better to let her elaborate.

“She’s just what you’d think,” she says. “It’s not complicated. She stole him from me. Connie has money and she wanted it. She was fifteen years younger than me and prettier than I ever was, even at her age. I was boring and she was exciting. She was new and I was old.”

Cassandra Barclay doesn’t look boring, and the passage of time has been kind to her, at least how Jane sees it. Fit, thin, nice skin, stylishly dressed. Jane hopes she looks that good at age fifty-five.

“For the record,” says Cassandra, her hand out, “I didn’t steal Connie from anyone. I met him after he was divorced the first time, and he hadn’t built his fortune yet. We were young and truly in love.”

Funny how people care so much what you think of them, even if you’ve never met before and probably won’t ever cross paths again.

“When was the last time you two talked?” Jane asks.

“Well, this morning. When I heard about Lauren, I called him. I told him I was sorry to hear the news, which might have been a little generous.”

“What did Conrad say to you?”

“He was still processing it, I think.” She thinks about it. “I’d imagine his feelings about Lauren had become quite complicated.”