119 - When The Cat's Away

“Hello?”

“Hey,” Riley greeted her sister.  “How are you and my still unnamed nieces doing?”

Sheridan pushed her feet into a pair of sandals, glad that it was summertime and she didn’t have to worry about socks or shoes with laces.  She didn’t think she could bend over far enough to tie them.  From the glimpse she’d gotten of her toes a minute ago, though, it was time for a pedicure. 

“We’re good.  How are you?”

“I’m fine.  You do okay last night with Jon gone?”

The bed had seemed inordinately large after all the months of having him sleep at her side, but she’d rested well enough.  It had been a ridiculously lazy day after Jon left and, for the first time, she’d been grateful that they finally hired a cook and housekeeper. 

After spending the afternoon puttering with her aromatherapy supplies, she’d been served a nice chicken Caesar salad and didn’t have to clean up the kitchen.  Margaret had taken care of that, while Amy had made sure the master bath was sparkling so Sheridan could use her newest bubble bath for a long soak.  Neither woman lived on the premises, but had been nice having someone else in the house during the early evening hours. 

“Yeah.  I missed him, but it wasn’t horrible.”

She reached for a blouse to go over the white tank that was loosely stretched across her belly.  The sheer top was the same shade of navy as her capris and sandals.

“So what are your plans for the day?  I’m off today if you want me to come and hang out with you.  Or you could come into the city for lunch and a little shopping.  We still have to decide on a theme for your shower.  It’s only three weeks away.”

“My ankles are too swollen to go shopping and I told you I don’t want a themed shower.  I don’t necessarily want a shower at all, but if you and Suzy are determined, then please go with simple and classic.  White with pastel pink and blue will be fine.  And we’re not playing stupid shower games.”

The annoyed huff came over the line loud and clear.  Riley was peeved that Sheridan didn’t like traditional ‘fun’ baby showers.  She much preferred to have an event that didn’t involve women stretching toilet paper around her middle.  A nice, quiet semi-formal luncheon with a pretty cake and tea would be perfect.

“You are the world’s biggest wet blanket.  Do you realize that?”

“I’m the world’s biggest everything at the moment,” she returned dryly, rubbing her stomach affectionately, while disregarding the jab her sister was trying to deliver.  “But, in an effort to be accommodating, we can even have it on one of the terraces if it’s not too hot.  Just don’t embarrass me, Riley.  Tastefully simple.  Please.”

“Fine.  Whatever.  You can still come have lunch with me.  Or I can come to you.”

“I actually have an appointment today.” 

“Oh?  I thought your next OB appointment wasn’t until the twenty-third?”

Sheridan wrinkled her nose at her sister’s sharp memory.  It had been her intention to have this appointment without anyone knowing – at least until after the fact.  But... maybe she should tell someone where she was going.  Just in case.

“It’s not an OB appointment,” she admitted slowly, lowering herself into the wingback chair that looked out the French doors and onto the river.  It was a beautiful summer day in New Jersey.  Would she be better off staying here and enjoying it?  Or having lunch with her sister?

No.  You’ve been waiting on this opportunity for two months.  Take it, but be sensible.

“Then what is it?” Riley demanded impatiently, unaware that she was having an internal debate.

“I’m going to Bayview.”

“Bayview?  Is that a day spa?”

“No.”  Her eyes fixed blankly on a water skier zipping over the water.  “It’s the correctional facility where Elizabeth Miller is being held.”

The woman had been arraigned in short order and assigned to the medium-security women’s facility to await trial.  She’d been there for two months now and, every time Sheridan mentioned wanting to go there and confront her, Jon threw a fit. 

He declared that it was pointless, because what the woman had done was inexcusable.  She was right where she belonged doing her time awaiting the criminal trial and the paperwork was in progress for their civil suit that would follow immediately after.  He just didn’t get that Sheridan still needed to know why.  That she wouldn’t be able to rest until she knew WHY this stranger had chosen them. 

So, when she realized Jon would be out of town, Sheridan made plans to go alone.

“Are you fucking nuts?  Why are you going to visit that bitch?”

She shook her head with a rueful smile.  Her sister could be colorful. 

“I need to know what would prompt her to do something like this to us and Jon refuses to even consider me going down there.”

“So you’re going to sneak down there behind his back, and you weren’t going to tell me?  You can’t go to a prison alone, you dimwit!”

Okay... 

“So you’re not saying don’t go, but telling me you wanted to be included?”

“Hell yes, I want to be included!  You’re not the only one who wants to know why, and I can’t believe you’ve let Jon keep you away this long.”

Sheridan grinned into the phone, wondering why she was surprised.  Riley was the go-getter in the family.  Of course she would be thinking the same way Sheridan was.  Of course she would have her back.

“Well... alright then.”

“Meet you at Mezzaluna for lunch and we’ll taxi over from there.  About noon?”

“Yeah.  Noon will be fine.”  She was filled with an overwhelming affection for the sister who had been more of a best friend than a sister as they were growing up, and regretted that adulthood had taken them in separate directions for a time.  In spite of the ‘cold war’ over the egg harvest news, they were finding each other again.   Better late than never.   “I love you, Riley.”

“You’d better, or I’ll call your husband and rat you out.  He’d have bodyguards around that house faster than you can say ‘home confinement’.”

Sheridan cringed.  The truth of the matter was...  Riley was probably right.

❧❧❧

Sheridan crossed her ankles under the institutional metal chair in the visitors’ room, rubbing an absent hand over her belly as she waited alone, having been told that Elizabeth Miller was only permitted to have a single visitor at a time.  That left a very unhappy Riley still in the public area of the building, awaiting her return.

Without her sister’s incessant, outraged moral support, she was hovering on the edge of nervousness in the medium-security facility.  Her knee had started bouncing when the door opposite side of the room opened, admitting a guard and his prisoner.  Ingrained manners had her standing as Elizabeth Miller stepped inside the small room.

Now.  Now I finally get my answers.

The slight brunette with the staunchly squared shoulders was dwarfed by the baggy green prison uniform, her plain hair trapped into a serviceable ponytail at her nape.  Sullen features were drawn and detached, and her brown eyes lacked any type of life as she approached the other side of the scarred wooden table that separated them. 

Yes, she was recognizable as the woman from the catering staff, but just barely.  Face barren of any type of cosmetics and at least ten pounds lighter, the months had taken a toll on Elizabeth’s appearance, Sheridan thought as the guard retreated to the far corner.

“Mrs. Bongiovi.”

Sheridan didn’t know why it took her by surprise to hear herself called by name, but she did her best to mask it with a polite nod.  Why wouldn’t the woman know her ‘victim’? “Ms. Miller.”

“Please call me Beth.”

And manners, too.  Any nervousness she may have had dissipated in that limited exchange.  The woman wasn’t dumb and she wasn’t a common criminal.  She knew exactly what she’d done and, from the look on her face as she seated herself, held no remorse over it.

Sheridan resumed her seat.  “Alright, Beth.  You’ll forgive me if I don’t invite you to use my given name.  You’ve already been more personal with me than I’d like.”

Her mouth tightened briefly with a curt nod and she clasped her hands together on the tabletop.  “Understandable.  Now why are you here?”

Social niceties were over.  Beth wanted to get to the point, and Sheridan had no desire to spend a minute more here than was absolutely necessary.  She was all for getting to the point.

“Because I want answers.  I want to know why you chose to take my private life and make it public domain.  Why me?”  Her hand came to rest protectively on her stomach.  “Why my babies?”

Without looking at Sheridan, and focusing solely on the hands that were pale against the darkly scarred tabletop, she said flatly, “It had nothing to do with you, personally.  The timing was just coincidental at first.  I needed money when the little boy’s file popped up on my computer screen, and I didn’t feel at all bad about exposing an alcoholic.  After that was when I realized there was a market willing to pay dearly for information on your husband and everyone around him.   I just got lucky when you chose physicians who were contracted with my employer.”

Lucky?

Sheridan leaned back in her seat, almost in shock.  There was no emotion or regret in Beth’s monologue or facial expression.  It was as if she would have been a fool not to take advantage of the situation that had been presented to her.

Oh my word.  Jon was right.  This served no purpose other than to dull my opinion of humanity.

She was done. There was no satisfaction to be had here, only frustration.  She owed her husband an apology – and maybe some tiramisu. 

Ready to end this visit and swing back by Mezzaluna, her final question was almost perfunctory.  She didn’t really care about the answer, but it seemed the right to ask it, nonetheless.

“What did you need the money for?”

That seemingly mundane question was the one that broke through Beth Miller’s mask of complacency.  There was a glimmer of something softer that danced through her eyes ...  Sadness?  Pride? 

“My son.”

The two wistfully uttered words surprised Sheridan, prompting her sagging posture to straighten a bit.

“Go on.”

Beth became engrossed in repositioning her hands, left over right instead of right over left.  “Jackson is eight years old and he’s autistic.”  Her eyes leveled with Sheridan’s as her hands stilled.  “Do you know how expensive it is to get care for an autistic child, Mrs. Bongiovi?”

Eight years old.  The same age as Romeo.

“I can’t say that I do.”

“Well, I hope you never have to find out.  I’ve had him in several different schools around the city:  Bronx, Brooklyn, Queens...  None of them helped, but they still all wanted their money after I pulled him out.  Even working two jobs, I didn’t have the money to pay them AND a school that Jackson could actually benefit from.  When they threatened to foreclose on my house, I took what was in front of me – celebrity information.  I had no choice.  Surely as a mother, you can understand that.”

Once again, Sheridan was stunned into silence.  Beth still showed no remorse, but Sheridan wasn’t sure she would either, given the circumstances.  Her children weren’t born yet and she had already told Jon they would do whatever it took to keep them safe. 

“Where is your son now?”

The inmate almost smiled.  “At a residential school up in Yonkers.  They’re doing wonders with Jackson and he loves it there.”

A woman with no money had her child in a residential school?  She knew roughly how expensive the tuition for a private day school was for Jon’s children.  Residential school for a special needs child had to be astronomical.

Curiosity got the best of her and Sheridan asked, “But if you couldn’t afford the other programs, how could you possibly house him in that kind of facility?”

Again, Beth’s eyes leveled with hers.  “Where do you think all that money went, Mrs. Bongiovi?  I certainly wasn’t buying Ferragamo shoes with it.  After my prior obligations had been fulfilled, every penny I got went to Fernhill.  They’ve been paid in full for the next two years.”

“But what happens in two years?  You’ll likely still be in prison.  What happens to Jackson then?”

She shouldn’t care.  She shouldn’t be interested or worried about a child she’d never met, but Sheridan couldn’t help herself.  Two years wasn’t any length of time in a child’s life.  What about the next ten, twenty, thirty or fifty years?  What then?

“I can’t think about that yet,” Beth said with a shrug, the slight crack in her voice and tear-glazed eyes belying her indifference.  “Right now he’s getting the best care and the best help available in New York.  After that...  Well, the school has a scholarship program.  Maybe another angel will smile on me and he’ll get to stay.  We’ll just have to wait and see.”

What was left to say?  Sheridan didn’t condone what the woman had done, but she could hardly condemn her.  Could she?  If she found herself the same situation, was she sanctimonious enough to keep from replicating Beth’s mistakes?

One of the twins kicked at that moment, causing her to rub at a spot near her ribs. 

I know, baby girl.  There’s no telling what Mommy would do for you.