Just One Look
“Only if we’re not driving tonight.”
“You want me to sleep here?”
“We shouldn’t drive, Cora.”
“Okay, deal.”
Grace stood and felt her head reel from the drink. She headed back into the kitchen. Cora often drank too much, but tonight Grace was happy to join her. She opened another bottle of the Lindemans. The wine was warm so she put an ice cube in both. Gauche, but they liked it cold.
When Grace got back into the office, the printer was whirring. She handed Cora a glass and sat. Grace stared at the wine. She started shaking her head.
“What?” Cora said.
“I finally met Jack’s sister.”
“So?”
“I mean, think about it. Sandra Koval. I didn’t even know her name before now.”
“You never asked Jack about her?”
“Not really.”
“Why not?”
Grace took a sip. “I can’t really explain it.”
“Try.”
She looked up and wondered how to put it. “I thought it was healthy. You know, keeping parts of yourself private. I was running away from something. He never pushed me on it.”
“So you never pushed him either?”
“It was more than that.”
“What?”
Grace thought about it. “I never bought into that ‘we have no secrets’ stuff. Jack had a wealthy family and he wanted no part of it. There had been a falling out. I knew that much.”
“Wealthy from what?”
“What do you mean?”
“What business are they in?”
“Some kind of securities firm. Jack’s grandfather started it. They have trust funds and options and voting shares, stuff like that. Nothing Onassis-like, but enough, I guess. Jack won’t have anything to do with it. He won’t vote. He won’t touch the money. He set it up so the trust skips a generation.”
“So Emma and Max will get it?”
“Yep.”
“How do you feel about that?”
Grace shrugged. “You know what I’m realizing?”
“I’m all ears.”
“The reason I never pushed Jack? It had nothing to do with respecting privacy.”
“Then what?”
“I loved him. I loved him more than any man I’d ever met . . .”
“I feel a ‘but’ coming here.”
Grace felt the tears press against her eyes. “But it all felt so fragile. Does that make sense? When I was with him—this is going to sound so stupid—but when I was with Jack, it was the first time I was happy since, I don’t know, since my father died.”
“You’ve had a lot of pain in your life,” Cora said.
Grace did not reply.
“You were scared it would go away. You didn’t want to open yourself up to more.”
“So I chose ignorance?”
“Hey, ignorance is supposed to be bliss, right?”
“You buy that?”
Cora shrugged. “If I never checked up on Adolf, he probably would have had his fling and gotten over it. Maybe I’d be living with the man I love.”
“You could still take him back.”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
Cora thought about it. “I need the ignorance, I guess.” She picked up her glass and took a long sip.
The printer finished whirring. Grace picked up the sheets and started examining them. Most of the phone numbers she knew. Point of fact, she knew almost all of them.
But one immediately jumped out at her.
“Where’s six-oh-three area code?” Grace asked.
“Beats me. Which call?”
Grace showed her on the monitor. Cora moved the cursor over it.
“What are you doing?” Grace asked.
“You click the number, they tell you who called.”
“For real?”
“Man, what century do you live in? They have talkies now.”
“So all you have to do is click the link?”
“And it’ll tell all. Unless the number is unlisted.”
Cora clicked the left mouse button. A box appeared saying:
NO RECORD OF THAT NUMBER.
“There you go. Unlisted.”
Grace checked her watch. “It’s only nine-thirty,” she said. “Not too late to call.”
“Under the missing-husband rule, no, not too late at all.”
Grace picked up the phone and inputted the number. A piercing feedback, not unlike the one at the Rapture concert, slapped her eardrum. Then: “The number you have called”—the robotic voice stated the number—“has been disconnected. No further information is available.”
Grace frowned.
“What?”
“When was the last time Jack called it?”
Cora checked. “Three weeks ago. He talked for eighteen minutes.”
“It’s disconnected.”
“Hmm, six-oh-three area code,” Cora said, moving to another Web site. She typed in “603 area code” and hit the enter button. The answer came right up. “It’s in New Hampshire. Hold on, let’s Google it.”
“Google what? New Hampshire?”
“The phone number.”
“What will that do?”
“Your number is unlisted, right?”
“Right.”
“Hold on, let me show you something. This doesn’t work every time, but watch.” Cora typed Grace’s phone number into the search engine. “What it will do is search the entire Web for those numbers in a row. Not just phone directories. That won’t do it because, like you said, your number is unlisted. But . . .”
Cora hit return. There was one search hit. The site was for an art prize offered at Brandeis University, her alma mater. Cora clicked the link. Grace’s name and number came up. “You were judging some painting award?”
Grace nodded. “They were giving out an art scholarship.”
“Yep, there you are. Your name, address, and phone number with other judges. You must have given it to them.”
Grace shook her head.
“Throw away your eight-tracks and welcome to the Information Age,” Cora said. “And now that I know your name, I can do a million different searches. Your gallery Web page will come up. Where you went to college. Whatever. Now let’s try with this six-oh-three number. . . .”
Cora’s fingers flew again. She hit return. “Hold on. We got something.” She squinted at the screen. “Bob Dodd.”