“You were playing a different game. And you haven’t been honest. How can I know what to believe?”

“Can’t you be happy for me?”

“I’m more concerned for Margaret’s happiness.”

She had gone too far, trespassing on a mother’s territory. Gretchen blinked, wounded.

“I’ve always put Margaret first in everything,” she said, the words thick with stifled tears. “You can’t accuse me—”

“I’m sorry,” said Jean. “I spoke out of turn.”

She was only now beginning to realize that her own relationship with Margaret was in jeopardy—dependent as it was on Gretchen’s goodwill, which could be withdrawn at any moment. The thought of being frozen out, replaced by Martha as unofficial aunt, was too much to bear. But Gretchen was not in a vindictive mood and seemed to crave only approval. She took Jean’s hand between hers and squeezed it.

“We’re still friends, aren’t we?”

Jean nodded.

“And you’ll look after Howard, won’t you? He admires you so much.”

“I don’t suppose I shall have any reason to see him if you are no longer living there,” Jean said, in part to test out her suspicion that Gretchen had deliberately thrown them together in order to ease her own escape.

“Oh, but you must! He has so few friends. Will you give him a message from me?”

“I think you need to talk to him yourself. About your plans for Margaret. I can’t do that for you.”

“But it was so painful last time. I can’t bear it.”

“You must. May I give him this address?”

“Yes, I suppose so. Will you give him my . . . love . . . or whatever you think.”

At the scrape of a key in the lock, which signaled the return of Martha from wherever she had been waiting out this interview, Gretchen immediately stood up and Jean sensed herself dismissed.

The two women stood shoulder to shoulder on the front step to wave her off, or perhaps, Jean thought, to block the doorway against her return. She left with a strengthening resolve. Gretchen had forfeited all claim to Howard through her own recklessness and engineered his friendship with Jean for her own selfish ends. There was no need for any agonies of conscience on her part.

If he reached out to her in his loneliness, she would be ready.

25

Dear Howard,

I went to see Gretchen today as you asked. She was grateful for the money and touched by your kindness. I tried to make her see reason but, as you said, she seems set on this path. She was of course full of anguish at the thought of having caused you pain, as well she might be. She sent her love and will contact you soon—tomorrow—to discuss plans for Margaret.

Her address is 16 Luna Street, Chelsea.

You are in my thoughts constantly. If I can be of any further help you have only to ask.

Your friend,

Jean

Having labored over this note for far longer than its brevity warranted, Jean tore it up and started again. It had made her sound needy and emotional and a little too eager to step into Gretchen’s shoes.