The Last Mrs Parrish

“Thanks again for letting me help, Daphne.”

“I’m the one who’s grateful. There are never too many hands. I mean, all of the women are terrific and they work hard, but you understand because you’ve been there.” Daphne shifted in her chair. “We talked a lot about our sisters the other morning, but not much about ourselves. I know you’re not from around here, but do I remember you telling me you were born in Nebraska?”

Amber had rehearsed her story carefully. “Yes, that’s right. I’m originally from Nebraska, but I left after my sister died. My good high school friend went to college here. When she came home for my sister’s funeral, she said maybe it would be good for me to have a change, make a fresh start, and we’d have each other, of course. She was right. It’s helped me so much. I’ve been in Bishops Harbor for almost a year, but I think about Charlene every day.”

Daphne was looking at her intently. “I’m sorry for your loss. No one who hasn’t experienced it can know how painful it is to lose a sibling. I think about Julie every day. Sometimes it’s overwhelming. That’s why my work with cystic fibrosis is so important to me. I’m blessed to have two healthy daughters, but there are still so many families afflicted by this terrible disease.”

Amber picked up a silver frame with a photograph of two little girls. Both blond and tanned, they wore matching bathing suits and sat cross-legged on a pier, their arms around each other. “Are these your daughters?”

Daphne glanced at the picture and smiled with delight, pointing. “Yes, that’s Tallulah and this is Bella. That was taken last summer, at the lake.”

“They’re adorable. How old are they?”

“Tallulah’s ten, and Bella’s seven. I’m glad they have each other,” Daphne said, her eyes growing misty. “I pray they always will.”

Amber remembered reading that actors think of the saddest thing they can to help them cry on cue. She was trying to summon a memory to make her cry, but the saddest thing she could come up with was that she wasn’t the one sitting in Daphne’s chair, the mistress of this incredible house. Still, she did her best to look downcast as she put the photograph back on the table.

Just then, the doorbell rang, and Daphne rose to answer it. As she left the room, she said, “Help yourself to coffee or tea. And there are some goodies too. Everything’s on the sideboard.”

Amber got up but put her handbag on the chair next to Daphne’s, marking it as hers. As she was pouring a cup of coffee, the others began filing in amid excited hellos and hugs. She hated the clucking sounds groups of women made, like a bunch of cackling hens.

“Hey, everyone.” Daphne’s voice rose above the chatter, and they quieted down. She went to Amber and put her arm around her. “I want to introduce a new committee member, Amber Patterson. Amber will be a wonderful addition to our group. Sadly, she’s a bit of an expert—her sister died of cystic fibrosis.”

Amber cast her eyes to the floor, and there was a collective murmur of sympathy from the women.

“Why don’t we all have a seat, and we’ll go around the room so that you can introduce yourselves to Amber,” Daphne said. Cup and saucer in hand, she sat down, looked at the photo of her daughters, and, Amber noticed, moved it just slightly. Amber looked around the circle as, one after another, each woman smiled and said her name—Lois, Bunny, Faith, Meredith, Irene, and Neve. All of them were shined and polished, but two in particular caught Amber’s attention. No more than a size two, Bunny had long, straight blond hair and large green eyes made up to show their maximum gorgeousness. She was perfect in every way, and she knew it. Amber had seen her at the gym in her tiny shorts and sports bra, working out like mad, but Bunny looked at her blankly, as if she’d never laid eyes on her before. Amber wanted to remind her, Oh, yes. I know you. You’re the one who brags about screwing around on your husband to your girl posse.

And then there was Meredith, who didn’t at all fit in with the rest of them. Her clothing was expensive but subdued, not like the flashy garb of the other women. She wore small gold earrings and a single strand of yellowed pearls against her brown sweater. The length of her tweed skirt was awkward, neither long nor short enough to be fashionable. As the meeting progressed, it became apparent that she was different in more ways than appearance. She sat erect in her chair, shoulders back and head held high, with an imposing bearing of wealth and breeding. And when she spoke, there was just the hint of a boarding-school accent, enough to make her words sound so much more insightful than the others’ as they discussed the silent auction and the prizes secured so far. Exotic vacations, diamond jewelry, vintage wines—the list went on and on, each item more expensive than the last.

As the meeting came to a close, Meredith walked over and sat beside Amber. “Welcome to Julie’s Smile, Amber. I’m very sorry about your sister.”

“Thank you,” Amber said simply.

“Have you and Daphne known each other a long time?”

“Oh, no. We just met, actually. At the gym.”

“How serendipitous,” Meredith said, her tone hard to read. She was staring at Amber, and it felt as if she could see right through her.

“It was a lucky day for both of us.”

“Yes, I should say.” Meredith paused and looked Amber up and down. Her lips spread into a thin smile, and she rose from the chair. “It was lovely to meet you. I look forward to getting to know you better.”

Amber sensed danger, not in the words Meredith had spoken but from something in her manner. Maybe she was just imagining it. She put her empty coffee cup back on the sideboard and walked through the French doors that seemed to invite her onto the deck. Outside she stood looking at the vast expanse of Long Island Sound. In the distance she spotted a sailboat, its sails billowing in the wind, a magnificent spectacle. She walked to the other end of the deck, where she had a better view of the sandy beach below. When she turned to go back inside, she heard Meredith’s unmistakable voice coming from the conservatory.

“Honestly, Daphne, how well do you know this girl? You met her at the gym? Do you know anything about her background?”

Amber stood silently at the edge of the door.

“Meredith, really. All I needed to know was that her sister died of CF. What more do you want? She has a vested interest in raising money for the foundation.”

“Have you checked her out?” Meredith asked, her tone still skeptical. “You know, her family, education, all those things?”

“This is volunteer work, not a Supreme Court nomination. I want her on the committee. You’ll see. She’ll be a wonderful asset.”

Amber could hear the irritation in Daphne’s voice.

“All right, it’s your committee. I won’t bring it up again.”

Amber could hear footsteps on the tile floor as they left the room, and she stepped in and quickly pushed her portfolio under a pillow on the sofa, so it would look like she’d forgotten it. In it were her notes from the meeting and a photograph, tucked into one of the pockets. The lack of any other identifying information would ensure that Daphne would have to root around to find the photo. Amber was thirteen in the picture. That had been a good day, one of the few her mother had been able to leave the cleaner’s and take them to the park. She was pushing her little sister on the swings. On the back, Amber had written “Amber and Charlene,” even though it was a picture of her with her sister Trudy.

Meredith was going to be tricky. She’d said she was looking forward to getting to know Amber better. Well, Amber was going to make sure she knew as little as possible. She wasn’t going to let some society snob screw with her. She’d made sure that the last person who tried that got what was coming to her.

FOUR

Amber opened the bottle of Josh she’d been saving. It was pathetic that she had to ration a twelve-dollar cabernet, but her measly salary at the real estate office barely covered the rent here. Before moving to Connecticut, she’d done her research and chosen her target, Jackson Parrish, and that’s how she ended up in Bishops Harbor. Sure, she could have rented in a neighboring town for much less, but living here meant she had many opportunities to accidentally run into Daphne Parrish, plus access to all the fabulous town amenities. And she loved being so close to New York.

A smile spread across Amber’s face. She thought back to the time she’d researched Jackson Parrish, googling his name for hours after she read an article on the international development company he’d founded. Her breath had caught when his picture filled the screen. With thick black hair, full lips, and cobalt-blue eyes, he could have easily been on the big screen. She’d clicked on an interview in Forbes magazine that featured him and how he built his Fortune 500 company. The next link—an article in Vanity Fair—wrote about his marriage to the beautiful Daphne, ten years younger than he. Amber had gazed at the picture of their two adorable children, taken on the beach in front of a gray-and-white clapboard mansion. She’d looked up everything she could about the Parrishes, and when she read about Julie’s Smile, the foundation founded by Daphne and dedicated to raising money for cystic fibrosis, the idea came to her. The first step in the plan that developed in her mind was to move to Bishops Harbor.

When she thought back to the small-time marriage she’d tried to engineer back in Missouri, it made her want to laugh. That had ended very badly, but she wouldn’t make the same mistakes this time.

Now she picked up her wineglass and lifted it in salute to her reflection in the microwave oven. “To Amber.” Taking a long sip, she rested the glass on the counter.

Opening her laptop, she typed “Meredith Stanton Connecticut” into the search bar and the page filled up with link after link about Meredith’s personal and philanthropic efforts. Meredith Bell Stanton was a daughter of the Bell family, who raised Thoroughbred racehorses. According to the articles, riding was her passion. She rode horses, showed horses, hunted, jumped, and did anything else you could do with horses. Amber wasn’t surprised. Meredith had “horsewoman” written all over her.

Amber stared at a photograph of Meredith and her husband, Randolph H. Stanton III, at a charity event in New York. She decided old Randolph looked like he had a yardstick up his ass. But she guessed banking was a pretty dry business. The only good thing about it was the money, and it looked like the Stantons had piles of it.

Next, she searched for Bunny Nichols, but didn’t find as much. The fourth wife of March Nichols, a prominent New York attorney with a reputation for ruthlessness, Bunny looked eerily similar to the second and third wives. Amber guessed that blond party girls were interchangeable to him. One article described Bunny as a “former model.” That was a laugh. She looked more like a former stripper.

She took a last sip from her glass, corked the bottle, and logged onto Facebook under one of her fake profiles. She pulled up the one profile that she checked every night, scanning for new photos and any status updates. Her eyes narrowed at a picture of a little boy holding a lunch box in one hand and that rich bitch’s hand in the other—“First day at St. Andrew’s Academy” and the insipid comment “Mommy’s not ready,” with a sad-face emoji. St. Andrew’s, the school back home she had yearned to attend. She wanted to type her own comment: Mommy and Daddy are lying skanks. But instead she slammed the laptop shut.

FIVE

Amber looked at the ringing phone and smiled. Seeing “private” on the caller ID, she figured it was Daphne. She let it go to voice mail. Daphne left a message. The next day, Daphne called again, and again Amber ignored it. Obviously, Daphne had found the portfolio. When the phone rang again that night, Amber finally answered.

“Hello?” she whispered.

“Amber?”

A sigh, and then a quiet “Yes?”

“It’s Daphne. Are you okay? I’ve been trying to reach you.”

She made a choking sound, then spoke, louder this time. “Hi, Daphne. Yeah, sorry. It’s been a rough day.”

“What is it? Has something happened?” Amber could hear the concern in Daphne’s voice.

“It’s the anniversary.”

“Oh, sweetie. I’m sorry. Would you like to come over? Jackson’s out of town. We could open a bottle of wine.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. The children are sleeping, and I’ve got one of the nannies if they should need anything.”

Of course one of the nannies is there. God forbid she should have to do anything for herself. “Oh, Daphne, that would be so great. Can I bring anything?”

“No, just yourself. See you soon.”

When Amber pulled up to the house, she got out her phone and texted Daphne: I’m here. Didn’t want to ring and wake the girls.

The door opened, and Daphne motioned her in. “How thoughtful of you to text first.”

“Thanks for having me over.” Amber handed her a bottle of red wine.

Daphne hugged her. “Thank you, but you shouldn’t have.”

Amber shrugged. It was a cheap merlot, eight bucks at the liquor store. She knew Daphne would never drink it.

“Come on.” Daphne led her into the sunroom, where there was already a bottle of wine open and two half-filled glasses on the coffee table.

“Have you had dinner?”

Amber shook her head. “No, but I’m not really hungry.” She sat, picked up a wineglass, and took a small sip. “This is very nice.”

Daphne sat down, picked up her own glass, and held it up.

“Here’s to our sisters who live on in our hearts.”

Amber touched her glass to Daphne’s and took another swallow. She brushed a nonexistent tear from her eye.

“I’m so sorry. You must think I’m a basket case.”

Daphne shook her head. “Of course not. It’s okay. You can talk about it to me. Tell me about her.”

Amber paused. “Charlene was my best friend. We shared a room, and we’d talk late into the night about what we were going to do when we grew up and got out of that house.” She frowned and took another long sip of her wine. “Our mother used to throw a shoe at the door if she thought we were up too late. We’d whisper so she wouldn’t hear us. We’d tell each other everything. All our dreams, our hopes …”

Daphne kept quiet while Amber continued, but her beautiful blue eyes filled with compassion.

“She was golden. Everybody loved her, but it didn’t go to her head, you know? Some kids, they would have become bratty, but not Char. She was beautiful, on the inside and out. People would just stare at her when we were out, that’s how gorgeous she was.” Amber hesitated and cocked her head. “Sort of like you.”

A nervous laugh escaped from Daphne’s lips. “I would hardly say that about myself.”

Yeah, right, Amber thought. “Beautiful women take it for granted. They can’t see what everyone else does. My parents used to joke that she got the beauty, and I got the brains.”

“How cruel. That’s terrible, Amber. You are a beautiful person—inside and out.”

It was almost too easy, Amber thought—get a bad haircut, leave off the makeup, don a pair of eyeglasses, slouch your shoulders, and voilà! Poor homely girl was born. Daphne needed to save someone, and Amber was happy to oblige. She smiled at Daphne.

“You’re just saying that. It’s okay. Not everyone has to be beautiful.” She picked up a photo of Tallulah and Bella, this one in a cloth frame. “Your daughters are gorgeous too.”

Daphne’s face lit up. “They’re great kids. I’m extremely blessed.”

Amber continued to study the photograph. Tallulah looked like a little adult with her serious expression and hideous glasses, while Bella, with her blond curls and blue eyes, looked like a little princess. There was going to be a lot of rivalry in their future, Amber thought. She wondered how many boyfriends Bella would steal from her plain older sister when they were teenagers.

“Do you have a picture of Julie?”

“Of course.” Daphne got up and retrieved a photograph from the console table. “Here she is,” she said, handing the frame to Amber.

Amber stared at the young woman, who must have been around fifteen when the picture was taken. She was beautiful in an almost otherworldly way, her big brown eyes bright and shining.

“She’s lovely,” Amber said, looking up at Daphne. “It doesn’t get any easier, does it?”

“No, not really. Some days it’s even harder.”

They finished the bottle of wine and opened another while Amber listened to more stories of Daphne’s tragic fairy-tale relationship with her perfect dead sister. Amber threw a full glass down the sink when she went to the bathroom. As she returned to the living room, she added a little wobble to her walk, and said to Daphne, “I should get going.”

Daphne shook her head. “You shouldn’t drive. You should stay here tonight.”

“No, no. I don’t want to put you out.”

“No arguments. Come on. I’ll take you to a guest room.”

Daphne put an arm around Amber’s waist and led her through the obscenely large house and up the long staircase to the second floor.

“I think I’m going to need the bathroom.” Amber made the words sound urgent.

“Of course.” Daphne helped her in, and Amber shut the door and sat down on the toilet. The bathroom was enormous and elaborate, with a Jacuzzi tub and shower big enough to accommodate the entire royal family. Her studio apartment would have practically fit inside it. When she opened the door, Daphne was waiting.

“Are you feeling any better?” Daphne’s voice was filled with concern.

“Still a bit dizzy. Would it be all right if I did lie down for a minute?”

“Of course,” Daphne said, guiding her down the long hallway to a guest room.

Amber’s keen eye took it all in—the fresh white tulips that looked beautiful against the mint-green walls. Who had fresh flowers in a guest room when they weren’t even expecting guests? The shiny wood floor was partially covered with a thick white flokati rug that added another touch of elegance and luxury. Billowy gauze curtains seemed to float down from the tall windows.

Daphne helped her to the bed, where Amber sat and ran her hand over the embroidered duvet cover. She could get used to this. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she didn’t need to pretend that she felt the dizzying sensation of impending slumber. She saw movement and opened her eyes to see Daphne standing over her.

“You’re going to sleep here. I insist,” Daphne said, and, walking to the closet, opened the door and took out a nightgown and robe. “Here, take your things off and put on this nightgown. I’ll wait out in the hallway while you change.”

Amber peeled off her sweater and threw it on the bed, and stepped out of her jeans. She slipped into the silky white nightgown and crawled under the covers. “All set,” she called out.

Daphne came back in and put a hand on her forehead. “You poor dear. Rest.”

Amber felt a cover being tucked around her.

“I’ll be in my room, just down the hall.”

Amber opened her eyes and reached out to grab Daphne’s arm. “Please don’t go. Can you stay with me like my sister used to?”

She saw the briefest hesitation in Daphne’s eyes before she went over to the other side of the bed and lay next to Amber.

“Sure, sweetie. I’ll stay until you fall asleep. Just rest. I’m right here if you need anything.”

Amber smiled. All she needed from Daphne was everything.

SIX

Amber flipped through the pages of Vogue as she sat listening to the whiny client on the other end of the phone continuing to bitch about the $5 million house that had been sold out from under her. She hated Mondays, the day she was asked to sit in for the receptionist at lunchtime. Her boss had promised her she’d be free of it as soon as the new hire began in another month.

She’d started as a secretary in the residential division of Rollins Realty when she first moved to Bishops Harbor, and she’d hated every minute of it. Almost all of the clients were spoiled women and arrogant men, all with a hugely elevated sense of entitlement. The kind of people who never slowed their expensive cars at a four-way stop because they believed they always had the right-of-way. She’d set appointments, call them with updates, set up appraisal and inspection appointments, and still they barely acknowledged her. She did notice that they were only a little more courteous to the agents, but their lack of manners still infuriated her.

She used that first year to take evening classes in commercial real estate. She checked books out of the library on the subject and read voraciously on weekends, sometimes forgetting to eat lunch or dinner. When she felt ready, she went to the head of the commercial side of Rollins, Mark Jansen, to discuss her thoughts on a potential opportunity regarding a zoning change vote she’d read about in the paper and what a successful vote could mean for one of their clients. He was blown away by her knowledge and understanding of the market, and started stopping by her desk occasionally to chat about his side of the business. Within a few months she was sitting right outside his office, working closely with him. Between her reading and his tutelage, her knowledge and expertise increased. And to Amber’s good fortune, Mark was a great boss, a devoted family man who treated her with respect and kindness. She was right where she had planned to be from the start. It had just taken time and determination, but determination was one thing Amber had in spades.

She looked up as Jenna, the receptionist, walked in with a crumpled McDonald’s bag and a soda in her hands. No wonder she was so fat, Amber thought in disgust. How could people have so little self-control?

“Hey, girlie, thanks so much for covering. Did everything go okay?” Jenna’s smile made her face even more moonlike than normal.

Amber bristled. Girlie? “Just some moron who’s upset because someone else bought her house.”

“Oh, that was probably Mrs. Worth. She’s so disappointed. I feel bad for her.”

“Don’t waste your tears. Now she can cry on her husband’s shoulder and get the eight-million-dollar house instead.”

“Oh, Amber. You’re so funny.”

Amber shook her head in puzzlement at Jenna and walked away.

Later that night, as she sat soaking in the tub, she thought about the last two years. She’d been ready to leave it all far behind—the dry-cleaning chemicals that burned her eyes and nose, the filth from soiled clothing that clung to her hands, and the big plan that had gone awry. Just when she thought she’d finally grabbed the brass ring, everything had come crashing down. There was no question of her hanging around. When she left Missouri, she’d made sure that anyone looking for her wouldn’t find even a trace to follow.

The water was turning cooler now. Amber rose and wrapped herself in a thin terry-cloth robe as she stepped out of the bath. There’d been no old school friend to invite her to Connecticut. She’d rented the tiny furnished apartment just days after she arrived in Bishops Harbor. The dingy white walls were bare, and the floor was covered with an old-fashioned pea-green shag that had probably been there since the 1980s. The only seating was an upholstered love seat with worn arms and sagging pillows. A plastic table sat at the end of the small sofa. There was nothing on the table, not even a lamp, the single lightbulb with its fringed shade hanging from the low ceiling being the only illumination in the room. It was hardly more than a place to sleep and hang her hat, but it was only a placeholder until her plan was complete. In the end, it would all be worth it.

She quickly dried off, threw on pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt, and then sat at the small desk in front of the only window in the apartment. She pulled out her file on Nebraska and read over it once again. Daphne hadn’t asked her any more questions about her childhood, but still, it never hurt to refresh. Nebraska had been her first stop after leaving her hometown in Missouri, and it was where her luck had begun to change. She bet she knew more about Eustis, Nebraska, and its Wurst Tag sausage festival than even the oldest living resident. She scanned the pages, then put the folder back and picked up the book on international real estate she’d gotten from the library on her way home that night. It was heavy enough to make a good doorstop, and she knew it was going to take some very long nights and lots of concentration to get through it.