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

  Instead, Alice says, “You know her better than I do.”

  Nick nods, slowly. “I called Frank today, remember him?”

  Alice frowns. The name isn’t entirely unfamiliar, but Nick has so many friends. She doesn’t remember a Frank specifically.

  Nick continues, “He works at Rossman & Klein. They specialize in cases of sexual impropriety.”

  “I remember,” Alice says, now making the connection. Rossman & Klein is an old-school firm, a boys’ club. Retaining their services is the wrong move. And not just because Frank is a pig.

  “They’re supposed to be the best. We’re meeting tomorrow, but Frank’s initial assessment is that, in a he-said she-said situation, what ultimately matters is how the wife sees it.”

  “The wife?” Alice repeats.

  “If there’s no smoking gun, yes. People follow the wife’s lead.” He takes a big gulp of his drink.

  Alice’s stomach drops. If her chance at freedom is contingent on Gina leaving Bobby, then she may as well go to David Dewar cemetery and buy a grave plot. She’ll die in this town.

  “What if you hired Jessie Carr?” Alice says. “Her firm headed the Olympics scandal.”

  “Jessie from Wharton?” His tone is tender. Nick knows Alice has lost contact with all of her business school classmates. It’s too painful, keeping in touch, bearing witness to their successful lives. Once upon a time, they envied her.

  “If you hire a woman-led firm you’ll be sending a stronger message,” Alice says. Jessie is also a die-hard feminist. Alice isn’t entirely sure how—or even if—involving Jessie in the investigation will help Alice, but it might.

  Nick’s eyes widen slightly. “That makes sense.”

  “I could call her,” Alice offers.

  “You wouldn’t mind?” Nick looks at her doubtfully.

  “Not at all.” She smiles genially. “Anything to help.”

  “Thank you,” Nick says, rubbing her thigh. “But don’t tell anyone other than Jessie, OK?” Nick places his now empty glass on the side table.

  “Who would I tell?” No one would believe her, anyway. They’d just assume that Alice is jealous of her sister-in-law because she is popular, adored by all Almanacs and Alice is, well, not. (Alice is proud of being disliked by the town. Who wants to be beloved by a cult?)

  “I’m serious.” Nick leans forward and holds both her hands. “We’re the only ones who know at this point. Just be careful not to bring it up at tomorrow’s meeting.”

  “You know me better than that.” Alice barely talks during the mind-numbing ASC meetings. Besides, it’s not like she wants to discuss Bobby’s sex life. Although, in fairness, anything would be better than the usual issues on the ASC’s agenda. Should Hildegard Park have an off-leash area? Would Alma benefit from allowing farmers’ markets in the summer? What will be the highest bid on this year’s Basket Boy auction?

  Riveting stuff.

  “I’m serious,” Nick says again. “Not even my mom knows at this point.”

  At this, Alice rolls her eyes.

  Nothing happens in Alma without Tish Dewar’s knowledge.

  Interview with Mandy Edwards

  Not a member of the Alma Social Club (by choice)

  You probably already know that Gina is the ASC secretary. That stands for Alma Social Club. Officially, it’s an organization that deals with community-related issues, which basically means everything that goes on in town—and I do mean everything. It also doubles as the Alma Chamber of Commerce, though no one really remembers that.

  Unofficially, and you didn’t hear this from me, it’s a way to keep bored Alma housewives busy. You must’ve read that article, the one that describes Alma as “a town frozen in time.” Well, it’s true. And that makes it charming and picturesque, but it also makes it an illustration of the decay of feminism. Take one look at any of those ASC women and you’ll see what I’m talking about. They walk around in a hurry, as if they’re solving real-world problems, as if the moronic issues they occupy themselves with will actually have an impact on people’s lives. Ha! The ASC’s true purpose is to vilify women who have real careers, especially working moms. Other places have regular town meetings, held at night, so everyone can participate. The ASC meets at 10 a.m. on Thursdays. You tell me: how is a normal, productive, employed member of society supposed to make it to those meetings?

  So, really, when the scandal first broke out, I wasn’t surprised that Gina took her husband’s word at face value. She has no sense of the sort of challenges women face in office environments. Less pay and more bullshit, that’s the reality. But Gina doesn’t have a clue. She’s never experienced the institutionalized misogyny that informs every aspect of corporate life. How could she? She’s never had a job.

  Three

  Malaika

  Friday, September 6th

  Malaika hears Alice’s voice in the distance.

  “Allegra, I think your Mommy wants to see you,” Malaika says. Both Malaika and Allegra are in the sunroom, sitting on the floor, toys scattered around them.

  Allegra nods quietly and continues to brush her doll’s yellow-white hair. She looks like a painting of an adorable angelic child: donned in a red dress, legs neatly folded in front of her, the sunlight beaming through the wall-to-wall windows.

  “Should we go find Mommy?” Malaika starts to get up.

  Allegra clutches Malaika’s hand and shakes her head.

  Malaika sighs, unsurprised.

  “All right,” Malaika says softly. Then, a little louder, “Over here, Mrs. Dewar.” Gently, she lets go of Allegra’s hand. At the au pair program’s orientation week in New York City, a few of the older girls had warned Malaika that employers often felt jealous of the connection made between au pairs and host children, but Alice barely seems to notice how attached Allegra has become to Malaika. Or to care.

  This is less than ideal: when she decided to move to America, Malaika had purposefully chosen families with only one child, assuming that would leave her with more time to work on her designs, but, so far, the only clothes she’s made are for Allegra’s impressive doll collection.

  She has yet to take a day off. Alice seems to expect Malaika to spend every minute of the day with her daughter. Malaika is unsure of how to fix this situation, but it does need to be fixed—she is in America to become a famous designer, not a professional nanny. Although, if she were to be interested in childcare as a career, she would’ve lucked out with a charge like Allegra. The child is bright, happy, and affectionate. Alice and Nick are very fortunate to have such a lovely daughter.

  Alice walks into the sunroom, looking stylish in a pair of skinny electric-blue jeans and a lightweight plum tunic that’s lengthier in the back, giving it the feel of a cape. As always, her hair sits in a ballerina bun on the top of her head.

  Malaika gets up from the floor and smiles at Alice. “Good morning, Mrs. Dewar.” It isn’t morning, hasn’t been morning for at least an hour, but Alice has been up in her room until now.

  “Good morning,” Alice says with a smile. She kneels down and kisses the top of Allegra’s forehead. “How is my little buttercup today?” Alice singsongs.

  Allegra doesn’t look up.

  “Don’t you want to tell your Mommy about Lea’s plans for the day?” Malaika asks, lowering her body to the ground.

  Allegra’s face lights up. “New York City for us kating.”

  Alice frowns. “For what, buttercup?”

  “Ice skating,” Malaika points to the ice-skating rink they’ve set out on the hardwood floor next to a miniature of the Statue of Liberty. Lea, Allegra’s favorite doll, is in for an adventure in the city. “And then we’re having a snowball fight.”

  “With no snow?” Alice tilts her head to the side.

  Allegra deflates.

  “It’s snowing in New York,” Malaika offers, before Allegra bursts into tears. It doesn’t have to be September in their make-believe world.

  “Of course,” Alice agrees,
catching on. She taps her own head. “Silly Mommy!”

  Allegra perks up again. “Us kating lots of fud!”

  Alice stands up. Malaika does the same.

  “Friday night dinner will have to be here tonight,” Alice says to Malaika. Her tone indicates that this is a huge inconvenience. “So it would be lovely if you could keep Allegra entertained before her bedtime? There’s a bit of a family crisis going on right now, we’ll need our privacy. And you know what they say about little pitchers and their big ears.”

  Malaika has no idea what that means, but she nods as if she does.

  “Thank you.” Alice smiles graciously. “Oh, and would you ask Yolanda to buy Bobby’s favorite whiskey? She’ll know the brand. Nick asked me to take care of it. God forbid Bobby doesn’t get what he wants.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Dewar.”

  Alice leans in. “If you ask me, tonight’s dinner should be canceled. There is such a thing as too much togetherness. Do you know what I mean?”

  Malaika does not. She seldom does when it comes to Alice. But she has picked up on the fact that Alice isn’t a fan of Nick’s family, which seems particularly awful given they all live on the same street. It explains why Alice always looks so… sad. Malaika has even wondered if maybe there are postpartum depression issues at play. Not that it’s any of her business.

  “Or Gina could host it,” Alice continues. “At least then I could sneak out early. Why should I suffer just because her husband decided to dip his pen in the company ink?” Alice shakes her head. “Sorry, that was crass. You’ve heard the rumors, I assume?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Dewar.” Yolanda had filled her in this morning. If you ask me, Mr. Bobby didn’t do it. He’s a good man, she’d said. Malaika hadn’t bothered pointing out that there was no such thing. And he no can resign, Yolanda continued. Mr. Bobby wants to keep Alma Boots in America. If Mr. Nick in charge he will sell the company, send the factory overseas! Is very bad. No factory, no town. As simple as that.

  Malaika has googled the legal definition of sexual harassment. She’d heard the term before, of course, but she had wanted to understand its exact scope. The results had been… disturbing. It had reminded her of the creepy guests who’d stayed at the Euler Hotel, where she grew up. (It had not made her think of Hans: what he did to her was a lot worse than sexual harassment.) She shuddered in solidarity for the poor woman who has been brave enough to come forward.

  “Of course you have,” Alice says now, shaking her head. There’s a faraway look in her eyes—they seem to have landed on the chrome floor lamp at the far end of the room—as if she’s recalling something unpleasant. “This town isn’t built for secrets. People are horrible gossips. What else is there to do in a place so small? No one has any sense of boundaries.” She meets Malaika’s gaze. “What’s the word for boundaries in German?”

  “Grenzen,” Malaika offers, even though it’s not entirely true. Grenzen is a territorial term. A clear line demarcating a space. Americans use it in a different way. Boundaries in this country seems to be all about emotions. It’s more than a little confusing.

  “Anyway, they’ll be here at six,” Alice says.

  Allegra looks at her mother. “Calan?”

  “Yes, buttercup.” Alice nods. “Calan is coming for dinner.”

  This is good news because Allegra adores Calan. Malaika can see why: he’s a sweet kid and a devoted cousin—he used to babysit Allegra before Alice hired Malaika. On her very first day, Malaika had overheard Alice and Nick discussing what they referred to as Calan’s situation in school. Yolanda had filled her in on the rest: Calan is being teased for being gay. Severely teased—what Americans call bullying. An ignorant, horrible thing, especially in this day and age. The poor boy.

  Malaika wonders how he’ll handle what they’re saying about his dad.

  Four

  Calan

  Friday, September 6th

  Calan first hears about it on Friday morning.

  He’s sitting at his desk, headphones on, about to go online—his usual morning routine. It helps, the brief check-in with his friends before the beginning of yet another torturous day in school. There’s a quick knock at the door, and then his mom walks in, sits on the edge of his bed, and tells him that a woman at Alma Boots has accused his dad of sexual misconduct and is demanding that he resign. She sandwiches the news between asking if he’d like a ride to school and telling him to bring a sweater, even though it’s much too warm for that.

  “So what happens now?” Calan asks.

  For a moment, Calan is happy. A shameful thought, but the irony is too good to resist: his dad will finally know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of people’s hurtful comments. He keeps telling Calan to man up, play sports. Act like a normal kid. His favorite line is, “If what they’re saying about you isn’t true, then it shouldn’t bother you.”

  Now, he’ll have to walk the walk.

  “It’ll be all right. Your father didn’t do it.” His mom goes on to explain that somehow news has gotten out. “We’re not sure how, but this is a small town, so…”

  So now everyone, from Maggie at the bakery to Clive, the butcher, is talking about it. Calan knows what that’s like, too. Rumors spread like wildfire in Alma. He’s used to it.

  “There’s nothing to worry about. I just wanted you to hear it from me.” There’s a very specific sort of sadness in his mom’s voice. It breaks his heart. He shouldn’t have felt happy, not even for a second. Calan loves his mom more than anyone in the whole world.

  “What exactly is she saying?” he asks.

  Calan knows what sexual misconduct means. They’ve had assemblies about it in school. He is familiar with the language, with the movements that were born from scandals. Consent. Toxic masculinity. Time’s Up. #MeToo. He knows the names of the most egregious offenders. Harvey Weinstein. Roger Ailes. Jeffrey Epstein. He understands that women have been subject to hostile, often abusive, work environments for decades. He understands that wrongdoers are finally being held accountable. He just can’t reconcile the idea of his dad being one of them.

  “This woman,” his mom begins, pausing to swallow and shuffling on his bed, “she claims she had a relationship with your dad. An inappropriate, long-term relationship.”

  “Like… an affair?”

  His mom nods. “But you don’t have to worry about it because it’s not true. A week from now, people will have forgotten all about it.”

  How can she be so sure? It’s the question stuck in Calan’s throat, the question he worries will upset his mom.

  “OK, Mom,” he says. “Thanks for telling me.”

  His mom smiles, but it’s a sad smile. Does she think his dad is guilty? Is he guilty? Half of him wants to hug her and the other half wants her to leave so he can go online and talk to his gamer friends. A few of them are older, like eLkMstr or BrklynSon. They might be able to give him advice.

  “You’ll tell me if there’s any… trouble over this?” She pauses. “In school?”

  So this is why his mom is so worried. It makes sense now.

  “Sure.” Calan wants to add that whatever they end up saying about his dad can’t be worse than what they’re already saying about him, but somehow that doesn’t sound right, not even in his head. It is true, though. Calan is used to the snickers, the taunts. He’d hoped it would be different this year, now that he’s a sophomore, but school has been in session since Tuesday and so far it’s been pretty much the same. He’s still either ignored or picked on. Candy Flakes. That’s what they call him.

  Here’s what they call his dad at school later that day: nothing. Calan’s Friday is unremarkable in every way. His classmates either don’t know or don’t care. Calan is relieved, but he’s also angry. Because now he won’t get to call his dad a hypocrite. Nothing bad seems to stick to his dad. Calan has inherited all the bad luck in the family. Maybe because of the curse.

  Aunt Alice opens the door with her usual detached expression. Calan has seldom see
n her smile, and he can’t remember ever seeing her laugh. If she were a superhero, she’d be the Glass Sparrow. Glass because she is cold and sparrow because she is tiny and birdlike.

  The first thing Calan hears as Aunt Alice leads them to the patio is his grandmother’s voice. Speaking is Grandma Tish’s superpower. She isn’t a loud person, but her voice echoes through the room with the implicit threat that all other voices will be drowned if they try to compete. Calan can’t think of a single superhero who is like her. Maybe he’ll create one.

  “If it was good enough for the world during centuries, why should it be any different now?” she is saying from her seat in the teak low-back sofa. Even though the sun is still out, there’s a fire roaring in the firepit table.

  “For the same reason that slavery, child labor, and multiple other social aberrations are no longer considered acceptable,” Uncle Nick says. He is seated across from her, looking relaxed in one of the two oversized rocking chairs.

  Grandma Tish clucks. “I would hardly call being a part of a dynasty an aberration.”

  “There you are!” Uncle Nick gets up and walks towards them.

  “Bobby, my dear, will you show Yolanda your trousers? Gina does wonders pressing yours.” Grandma Tish gives his dad a long appraising look. “I’m sure Nick would be grateful.”

  Uncle Nick is wearing khakis, a red sweater, and a pair of brown, fine-leather loafers that match his belt. He looks just like his dad, except Uncle Nick is holding a cigar and his dad doesn’t smoke (also, his dad is wearing a blue sweater). Calan doesn’t like the smell of cigars, but he has to admit they are very cool-looking. Grandpa Charles smokes them, too—and he’s very cool, especially for an old guy. His dad says their cigars are unpatriotic—both Grandpa Charles and Uncle Nick smoke Cubans.