The Faithfuls: An emotional page-turner with a heart-stopping twist (The Sisterhood Series) Page 3

  (Again: it’s as tacky as it sounds.)

  Tish loves telling tales of the days when Alma Boots was a small company, and not the billion-dollar corporation it is now, pointing out that it is still a family business at heart. “And the soul of Alma Boots is the ASC,” Tish likes to say. But this is what Tish conveniently leaves out of the allegory: the real reason behind Alma Boots’ success had been Prohibition. After the Eighteenth Amendment to the Constitution passed, Backer Dewar began smuggling alcohol inside the boxes of his famous pairs of sheepskin footwear. Alma Boots sold because of its craftsmanship and high quality, but it only managed to raise capital and reach window displays all over the country because of good old-fashioned bootlegging. The ASC is a club founded on—and funded by—crime.

  “Alice?” Tish says, her tone growing more impatient. “Are you still there?”

  Alice hears the rustling of keys coming from the front door. (She’s probably the only person in Alma who keeps the front door locked. Yet another measure to keep Tish away.) She gets up quickly, gently patting her bun to ensure it’s in place.

  “Tish, I went to Wharton for my MBA. I’m quite sure I can manage greeting new neighbors. I have to go.” She feels a trill of delight as she hangs up the phone. “Honey,” Alice calls out, walking towards Nick. “How was your day?”

  Alice takes one look at her husband and feels her stomach sink. One of the astonishing things about Nick is that he arrives home as fresh-faced and unperturbed as he leaves in the morning (it’s been years since Alice has held a full-time job, but she remembers feeling exhausted at the end of the day: stiff neck, aching feet). But now he looks harried, stressed. It’s a first for Nick.

  “Want me to fix you a gin and tonic?” This is a first for Alice, too. Greeting one’s husband at the door and offering him a drink is the quintessential humdrum housewife move. But all’s fair in love and war—and in plotting to escape Alma.

  “Sure,” Nick says. And then, as an afterthought, “You look nice. Do we have an appointment with Cassie tonight?”

  The question bothers Alice. It’s not like she only dresses up for their Skype session with their couples therapist. She always looks put together.

  She walks over to the bar cart in the corner of the room. “Thank you, and no. Cassie is away on her book tour, remember?” It’s the downside of having a famous marriage counselor. Alice tries not to let it bother her. “I hope you’re hungry. I asked Yolanda to make your favorite risotto.”

  “What’s the occasion?” There’s a note of unease in his voice.

  Alice feels her cheeks grow hot. Is it possible he’s found out about her plan? Could Ryan have called him? Or maybe her eagerness has given her away? She should’ve taken two oxy, not one.

  “No occasion.” She hands him his drink and takes a seat on the white sectional. “But I do want to talk to you about something.” She pats the cushion next to her.

  “Oh?” Nick sits beside her.

  This is it.

  “Poorva Miller called me today. She and Ryan are spending Christmas at Interlaken,” Alice says, referring to Nick’s best friend from NYU and his wife of eight years. “They’ve invited us. Ryan is starting a new company. Poorva mentioned that he’d love to talk to you about coming in as an investor.”

  “With what money?” Nick’s voice is thin, defensive. His usual tone when discussing finances. He leans back and takes a sip of his drink.

  Alice had anticipated this reaction. She is prepared.

  “Well, it might not be very much. Poorva didn’t get into specifics. I was thinking this might be an opportunity for me, too. To get back in the job market. And with the headquarters being in Europe, I won’t have to worry about, you know, the rumors following me.”

  Nick’s face softens. It always does when she brings up her failed career. At twenty-nine, Alice holds a BA from Yale and has two years’ experience working the grueling hours of the private equity sector. She should also have an MBA from Wharton, but she’d dropped out after the administration failed to take her account of what happened with Professor Keyes seriously—she’d been two months shy of graduation. Alice should be working at a bank right now or a multinational, preferably LVMH or Souliers. But her life was derailed because of her gender. It’s more complicated than that, but it also isn’t. If she were a man, none of it would’ve happened. If she were a man, she wouldn’t be stuck in Alma.

  “Maybe you could talk to Ryan?” Alice continues, resting a hand on Nick’s knee. “I can book the tickets—”

  Nick swivels to the left, setting his highball on the glass side table. He cups her hand with his. “What about Allegra?”

  Alice blinks. “What about her?”

  “Traveling with a two-year-old isn’t exactly easy.”

  “I’m sure we’ll manage. But if you prefer, she can stay here. With Malaika and your mom. Or Malaika could come with us, she’s from Switzerland, after all.”

  “That’s not Malaika’s job.” He lets go of her hand.

  “That is literally her job.”

  “You’re overly reliant on her, Alice,” Nick says. His tone is not unkind, which makes it all the more patronizing.

  Alice feels her mouth tighten. This isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation. Usually, Alice shuts it down with a simple, yet effective sentiment: Nick is welcome to quit his job and spend his days caring for Allegra. Alice will not be shamed for needing help, for welcoming it. But today, Alice is willing to ignore his unsolicited opinion.

  “This could be good for us,” Alice continues. “And Cassie would approve. She’s always encouraging us to try new things as a couple.”

  “Don’t bring our celebrity therapist into this.” Nick says celebrity like it’s a bad word. A hypocritical stance: Nick had been thrilled when Alice had snagged an appointment with Cassie Meyers.

  Cassie is considered the very best couples counselor in the East Coast. When they decided to go to counseling, Nick had wanted to find a local therapist; Alice had flat out refused—there was no way she was agreeing to see a shrink who was also an Almanac. The whole point of going to therapy was to get Nick to see that he’d been brainwashed by this town. They’d seen two counselors in the city before having their first video session with Cassie, who is based in Boston. Despite the distance, both Nick and Alice had felt a personal connection to her.

  “And don’t pretend like this is about me,” Nick continues. “This is about you hating this town and hating my mother.”

  Alice takes a deep breath. This has escalated quickly. She briefly considers denying his accusation but decides against it. It would be pointless. Alice has never kept her opinions about Alma—or Tish—to herself. Instead, she says, “This was supposed to be temporary. Us, living here.”

  Three years ago, when Alice and Nick had been dating for six months, two things happened: Alice found out she was pregnant, and Nick ran out of money. They put their heads together and realized that the best solution would be to move back to Alma.

  “It’ll be temporary,” Nick had assured her. “Just until the babies are born. My mom has been on my case to move back and start a family. My brother will get me a job at Alma Boots.”

  “What about your shares in the company?” Alice hadn’t wanted to go back, not after the incident with Professor Keyes.

  “They’re not exactly mine to sell,” Nick had explained. “They belong to a trust.”

  The trust, Alice learned, is Tish’s way of controlling her children. Nick owns voting rights and stock that are tied up by a series of covenants designed to keep him from selling his shares unless either his dad or his brother agree. Bobby, as it turns out, is too much of a momma’s boy to go against Tish’s wishes and green-light a sale. And Charles never disagrees with his wife, let alone defies her.

  Alice had asked Nick if they could at least live in New York City. Alma seemed so… small. And the city was close enough—his family would be able to visit them often. But Tish wouldn’t hear of
it. If Nick wanted a job, they had to live in Alma. The only thing worse than having a meddling mother-in-law is having a mother-in-law who controls your finances.

  Now, Nick is looking at her as though she is a spoiled child. “It’s been three years.”

  “Exactly,” Alice says. “Three very long, very torturous years.”

  “You could try to get along with my mother.”

  “Really, Nick?” Alice crosses her arms. “Let’s not pretend that’s an option.”

  “Look, we need to be patient. I’ve barely made my mark in the company. We knew it would take longer for me to be able to convince my parents—”

  “You mean your mother.”

  Alice has no idea why Nick insists that their compulsory residence in Alma is Tish and Charles’s imposition. Her father-in-law is the least attention-seeking man she’s ever met, at least when it comes to his son. Charles is a true bon vivant: skilled at playing golf, picking the right kind of whiskey, and somehow surviving marriage to Tish.

  “Alice…”

  “Your parents can’t expect you to live their lives. And what about me? Don’t I deserve a shot at rebuilding my career? You know I can’t do that here, in the East Coast. We tried. You saw what happened.”

  Alice’s attempts at getting back in the job market had been repeatedly thwarted, first by the episode with Professor Keyes, then by her pregnancy, and, finally, by her status as a new mom. Nick insisted she was being overly ambitious, applying to roles that were much too high-profile. Alice didn’t see it that way: she was more than qualified for the positions she sought. Besides, why should she settle? It wasn’t her fault she’d had to leave Wharton two months shy of graduation. None of it was her fault.

  “Do you want to move and be penniless?” Nick asks.

  Of course she doesn’t. And she’s aware that their situation is complicated. They’re young, but they have a toddler and expensive tastes. Their lifestyle requires a good salary. A very good salary.

  “Fine. Don’t invest in Ryan’s company. But can we travel? Spend Christmas in Switzerland?” Alice says. If she can’t move or get a job, then at least she deserves a vacation. “Surely, your mo—your parents won’t be upset if we take one trip. We’ve spent every summer at the Sag Harbor house and every Christmas with them ever since we got here.”

  Alice wonders if she should show him the journal. Not the entries (those are too personal), just the notebook. As a prop. No—a symbol. Symbols can be powerful. Alice had found the journal this morning, inside her closet. The notebook was only four years old, but it looked aged. Almost historic. Inside it was the story of how she and Nick found each other, four years ago, at a beach in Mykonos. They’d bonded over their heartbreak: his over an ex-girlfriend named Pearl, hers over Professor Keyes’s offense. Alice cried as she read the dozens of entries about Professor Keyes. Tears of rage, not sadness. But after she met Nick, her entries became happier, lighter. Reliving those early days in their relationship had reminded her of the man he used to be. Adventurous, daring. A traveler who had spent Carnaval in Rio de Janeiro. Trekked the mountainous terrain of Pingxi for the Sky Lantern Festival. Rafted in Slovenia. Explored the ancient ruins of Petra and Machu Picchu. Back then, she thought that meeting Nick was kismet: she healed his broken heart, he soothed hers.

  But Alma had changed him.

  Something about this town had made Nick regress into a different sort of man. When she met him, he had been so vocal about the town’s shortcomings: how it was riddled with folklore, and how it was so small that everyone probably knew the answer to everyone else’s security questions. Now it’s like he’s morphed into one of the easily led automatons he used to criticize.

  Maybe Nick would’ve been happier if he’d married Pearl, and not Alice.

  “Please?” Alice says. Her tone is gentler now, sweeter. She resists the urge to lean in and kiss him. It would be the easiest way to avoid a fight. Just being around Nick is enough to turn her on: his body heat, the oaky scent of his aftershave. Their chemistry is, and has always been, off the charts. But it’s not the answer. Sex is a relief, not a solution.

  Sometimes she wonders if there is a solution. Maybe there isn’t.

  (Cassie wouldn’t approve of this mindset. A positive approach is essential to a happy marriage. It’s in her books.)

  Alice considers telling Nick about the pills. Maybe if he knew that she’s taking two Valium to fall asleep and two, sometimes three, oxycodone during the day, he’d agree to a vacation, if only out of compassion. But what if he forces her to quit cold turkey? Or worse: checks her into rehab? The pills are a lifeline. They make life in this town bearable. Pills and sex—the two things keeping her somewhat sane.

  Nick shakes his head. “Look, I didn’t want to say anything, but now is not a good time to be making plans.”

  “And why not?” Irritation creeps into her voice, partly because she’s horny, but also because she knew Nick would try to bullshit his way out of this. He’ll probably bring up Souliers. It’s his excuse for everything lately. As if there is an actual chance in hell that Bobby will agree to sell.

  Nick reaches for his G&T, takes a long sip, and lets out a deep breath. Finally, he speaks, “You can’t tell anyone, but an employee is accusing Bobby of sexual misconduct.”

  Now this is a surprise. Alice can feel her eyes widening.

  “I know,” Nick says, meeting Alice’s gaze. “I was shocked, too.” Nick goes on to tell her that the accuser’s name is Eva Stone, an analyst. Not an Almanac. Nick doesn’t know much about her, except that she started working there last December, and seems competent: stellar performance reviews, a recent promotion. But today she pulled the head of HR aside and claimed that she and Bobby had an affair for the past several months.

  “Hold on. An affair?” Alice repeats, covering her mouth. “Like, a proper relationship?”

  “All consensual.” He nods. “She’s demanding his resignation. It’s either that or she’ll go to the press with the story. And I don’t have to tell you that, if she does that, we’re dead. Alma Boots is built on family values. It’s our whole identity.”

  “She expects him to resign over this?” Alice feels her jaw slacken. She’s impressed. That’s a big ask. And then, a light-bulb moment. “Nick,” Alice begins, her body buzzing in excitement, “who would step in as CEO?” She bites her lower lip to keep from smiling too much, but it’s no use.

  “Alice.” He says her name like a warning.

  “It would have to be you.” Alice can’t help herself: she grins. “‘The CEO is always a Dewar.’” The words aren’t her own. It’s the rule of law in this town. Dewars run everything.

  Nick shakes his head. “Now is not the time to be plotting. My brother might be dragged through a scandal. He’s understandably distraught.”

  Alice is jealous of Nick and Bobby’s relationship. Twins have always fascinated her, especially identical ones—Alice can only tell Nick and Bobby apart when Bobby is wearing his glasses. Alice often wonders what her life would be like if she had had a twin sister. She likes to think that she and her twin would’ve chased her stepmother away.

  “I like your brother,” Alice says. She doesn’t, not really, but now is not the time to point this out. “My beef is not with him. But think about what this means. If you’re CEO, you could approve a sale.”

  It’s in the Alma Boots Shareholders’ Agreement. Alice has perused it. A 66% quorum is needed to sell shares, but there’s a loophole: the CEO is allowed to approve strategic mergers as long as at least 50% of the Board of Directors vote with him. It’s one of the reasons why the CEO is always a Dewar—whoever occupies the role has the power to push for a merger, diluting the existing shareholders. Historically, no Dewar CEO has done that because they’re all preternaturally attached to keeping Alma Boots in the family, but Nick understands that theirs is a changing world, a world dominated by conglomerates. Alma Boots won’t survive much longer as a lone wolf. It needs the power that comes with a
pack. A merger would mean a much-needed competitive edge, access to better resources, higher profits. It’s the smart move.

  Alice does the calculations in her mind. Nick, Bobby, and Charles each hold a 25% stake in the company, with the remaining 25% owned by a small group of four shareholders—a sore spot for the Dewars, the result of a past sale in a time of need. If Nick were to step in as CEO, he’d be able to propose a merger and vote to pass it—he has a seat on the board. Surely, the four shareholders, who occupy one seat between the four of them, would vote alongside Nick. They’re not idiots: they know their bank accounts would benefit from a sale.

  Nick raises his eyebrows and meets her gaze. For a moment, it looks like he might let his guard down and discuss the matter openly. It’s what they used to do before Allegra was born: plot, strategize. Alice misses the partnership they used to have. But Nick glances away.

  “You didn’t ask if he did it.” He is clutching his G&T with his right hand, thrumming his left fingers on the side of the glass. A nervous tic.

  Alice narrows her eyes. “Of course he did it.”

  “How can you be so sure?” The thrumming increases.

  “Why would this woman lie?”

  Nick’s fingers stop moving. “Do you think Gina will feel the same way?” She gets the distinct impression that he’s holding his breath.

  This is what Alice wants to say: if Gina doesn’t, then she’s a fool. Women don’t go around making up lies about powerful men. No one would put herself through that kind of scrutiny. If Eva Stone is saying Bobby had an affair with her, then that’s what happened.