“I still hope we can be friends, of a sort,” I continue. “Anytime you want to talk . . . well, I’m a great listener. It just feels like you need somebody in your corner. Somebody to hear you.”

Jessica’s eyes water a little. She doesn’t say anything, but it’s clear she’s absorbing what I’m saying. She’s welcoming it.

“So tell me, how did you meet Mr. Gable?” I ask. “Was he romantic then—did he sweep you off your feet?”

Jessica folds her hands in her lap and stares at her ring. “It was more like the other way around. Years ago, back when I thought there could be nothing better than being Mrs. Travis Gable, I truly . . . went out of my way for him. I did anything and everything he asked. I . . . proved myself to him. I proved myself worthy of being a Gable.” Jessica giggles softly and shakes her head. “I really did. I’m worthy of all of this. I got everything I deserve.”

I’m silent as my eyes wander around the room. On the wall is a Warhol. On the coffee table is a Waterford crystal vase. The rug is something obscenely expensive, I’m sure. I turn back to Jessica’s profile. Her skin is perfect, the product of regular facials, chemical peels, and monthly microdermabrasions. Is this really the price Jessica thinks she deserves to pay for sending my mother to her death?

I reach out, take Jessica’s hand in mine. “You’re wrong, Mrs. Gable. You deserve so much more than this.”

Jessica’s lip begins to tremble as her fingers link through mine. “Do you think so?”

“I do,” I respond, smiling.

The sad woman looks into my eyes wonderingly.

“I’m not going to sleep with your husband,” I continue. “But it does appear that I’m going to be working with him a lot, and I’m going to try to help him see things differently. I promise you, Mrs. Gable, I’m going to do everything I can to change your life.”

“You’re so nice,” Jessica breathes. “No one is ever nice to me anymore . . . except for Mercedes, and she’ll outgrow that in time, just like Braden did. Oh!” She pulls her hand away and covers her mouth as if shocked by her own behavior. “I’m being so inappropriate. I’m sorry, I’m not . . . not myself this morning.”

Really? It’s out of character for you to be fucked-up by ten a.m.?

“You’re just talking, Mrs. Gable. You’re talking to someone who wants to listen.”

Jessica exhales, the kind of exhale that suggests a person has been holding their breath for a very, very long time. “Thank you, thank you so much, Bell.”

“Oh, trust me, it’s my pleasure, Mrs. Gable.”