In the Company of Liars

ONE DAY EARLIER
TUESDAY, APRIL 13

She sees Sam’s eyes, notices him because he was talking to some clients before his attention was suddenly diverted. His client’s perceptions of him are paramount, it is the whole reason for the cocktail party, but he is overtaken by her, by pure lust, his gaze running up and down her body, his imagination running wild. It is, she is sure, the most memorable expression she has ever seen on a man’s face.

“Mother, you’re blushing.” Jessica Pagone drops her backpack on the opposite side of the table in the restaurant where they have agreed to meet, on the northwest side, within the distance permitted by the terms of her bond.

And then Allison thinks of Sam’s fateful words.This isn’t going to work out. Mat-Mat’s a friend. You know this is crazy. It always was.

Jessica remains standing and watches her mother, almost accusingly.

“Jess, c’mon.” Allison lifts a bang off her forehead. “Sit.”

“You cut your hair,” Jessica says, taking the seat across from her mother and not elaborating on the observation.

And Allison will not ask for elaboration. She will not seek a compliment from her daughter. If pressed, Jess would probably comment favorably. But the whole thing would be so forced, so unlike them now, so awkward. As if things aren’t awkward enough.

There is a truce. They are not fighting. They have not so much as bickered since Sam’s murder. It is not as if things are openly hostile. Things are simply tense.

Allison divorced Jessica’s father and, not long afterward, began an affair with her father’s colleague in the lobbying business-a man for whom Jessica worked. That is all, apparently, that Jessica needs to know to choose sides. The murder of Sam Dillon has complicated things, makes it harder for Jessica to hold her grudge; she no doubt realizes that her mother has more urgent things on her mind right now. And so she has reacted with all the right words. She has shown concern. Given words of encouragement. But it is all still there, simmering beneath the surface, Jessica’s intense resentment, even if she tries to mask it with a comforting expression.

“You’re losing weight,” Jess says. “You have to eat.”

True enough. With the nerves keeping her stomach in knots and all of her exercise to still those nerves, Allison has lost close to fifteen pounds in a little over two months.

“The trial starts soon,” Allison says.

“I know.”

A waiter takes their order for drinks-just water for Allison, iced tea for Jessica. The server is cute, Allison thinks, probably a college boy, and she sizes him up as she has sized up every man of his approximate age-Jessica’s age-wondering, however improbably, whether this will be the man Jessica finds. She has envisioned the perfect man for her daughter. Caring, passionate, strong. She wants a man who makes Jessica feel loved, who challenges Jess to be a better person, supports her unequivocally. This, she supposes, is what every mother wants for her child.

“It’s okay to tell them,” Allison says.

“I don’t have a choice.”

No, Jessica doesn’t have a choice. She did once. She had a number of options the first time the police paid her a visit. She probably could have gotten away with it, too. The police probably wouldn’t have charged a young woman who failed to give incriminating information about her own mother. But Jessica didn’t know that, and it probably wouldn’t have mattered, anyway. By then, the police were pretty sure who they liked for the murder. And that is all history. The prosecution has subpoenaed Jessica Pagone and she will have to testify against her mother. However hard she may try to equivocate, they will make her answer the questions the same way she answered them in the police station.

“Mother?” Jessica asked, when Allison came home at close to two in the morning, her hands and face dirty. “What have you done?”

Allison wants to hold her daughter. She wants to caress her, kiss her, talk to her intimately again. She wants to ask her about boys, about school, about her hopes and ambitions.

But they don’t talk about such things anymore. They haven’t for some time. Because the marriage didn’t break up overnight. The descent began-oh, it’s so difficult to pick a starting point, but what Allison means by this is the first time that the problems were on the surface-about three solid years ago, their anniversary dinner, after a bit too much champagne, when Allison openly wondered what, exactly, they were celebrating. Or that same year, when Allison paid an unannounced visit to Mat’s firm and found Mat in his office with a young associate, a female associate, a very attractive young female associate with shiny brown hair and a cute figure. It was nothing inherently incriminating; they were not locked in an embrace or straddling each other on the desk. Mat was sitting in his chair, turned away from the desk, in a way that Allison could only describe as unusually informal, the young associate-Carla was her name-half-sitting, half-leaning on the desk on the same side as Mat. Only separated by about three feet, speaking in quiet but comfortable tones. No, nothing on its face incriminating per se, with the exception of their reactions, Mat leaping to his feet and stuttering out a greeting to Allison, the young associate Carla jumping off the desk so quickly that she almost hit the wall behind her. Mat’s suddenly reddened face, his struggle to collect himself, finally getting to the point where he could ask Allison what she was doing here. Allison had wanted to ask Mat the same question. But she didn’t. She even shook Carla’s hand, took it lightly but then solidified her grip, and she imagines-probably exaggerates this, she admits-that Carla squeezed back, as if for that single moment they were locked in a territorial battle that Carla, apparently, was winning. Yes, that is probably the point where Allison first let the feelings that had been boiling below for so long finally surface, when she finally questioned what the hell she was doing with this man. And Mat knew it, on some level.

And so Jessica did, too. What the two of them, Mat and Jess, said to each other, Allison will never know. She did not ever-would not ever-share this incident with her daughter. She will not be that kind of person. But after that, Jessica and Mat grew closer, spent more time together away from home, away from Allison, had lunches together, probably got together in places that Allison never knew.I don’t know what’s wrong with her, Mat probably told Jessica. I’m trying to keep this marriage together but your mother seems to want something else. I’m doing all I can, Jess. She’s shutting me out.And the vacation they took together, Mat and Jessica, after the divorce was finalizing, spending this past Christmas in Florida together while Allison spent the holiday alone. Just one quick phone call was all the notice Allison had. She had been preparing to make dinner and spend Christmas Eve with her daughter, even considered having Mat join them. Then the phone call, two days before:Mother, I’m going with Daddy to Sanibel for the holiday. Talk to you when I get back. Just one voice mail on her phone and she would spend Christmas alone.

Allison tried. Since the breakup, she tried to engage her daughter about school-Same old, same old, Jessica would say. About her friends-My friends are my friends. Some are fair-weather, some you can count on.About her love life, a topic from which Allison was now shut out.There’s a guy, she told Allison last December,but you probably wouldn’t approve. She remained mum, initially, wouldn’t elaborate, despite Allison’s claim of an open mind.

There’s a guy, but you probably wouldn’t approve.She thinks of her daughter’s words now with a rush to her heart. She thinks of her daughter’s elaboration, finally, after Allison’s prompting moved from delicate insistence to pleading.

And so here they are, not talking like mothers and daughters are supposed to talk. Instead, they stare at each other and hunt for topics of small talk. Jessica is in a turtleneck and jeans, little makeup as usual, her hair in a ponytail. She is prettier every time Allison sees her, which is far less often these days. The distance, however, has allowed Allison to witness the developments in her daughter more clearly than when she saw her every day. She sees it in the curve to her chin, the cheekbones high on her face, the way she carries herself. Jessica is becoming a woman. But there is something else there, too, and Allison feels it in her fear. Allison is afraid, not that she is losing contact with her daughter, but that she no longer knows who Jessica is, or what has happened to her since the divorce and their estrangement.

“You doing okay?” Jess asks, making an effort at cordiality. No, it is more than that. Jessica still cares. Liking and loving someone are two different things. Allison will always be her mother. Jessica is letting her stubbornness hold her back, but it can only go so far.

“I’m doing fine,” Allison assures her. “I told you, everything will turn out fine.”

Her daughter nods without enthusiasm. “Are you still working on that new book?”

“Not-not really.”

“I liked it, what you had so far. A vengeful woman. It had more edge than the first two. More passion, y’know? But the title could use some work.Best Served -”

“Jess, I really don’t want to discuss that. You know that.” The waiter brings Allison her water, the iced tea for Jessica. “Listen, I just want you to know that-you need to understand, if you try to testify differently than what you told the police, they’ll prosecute you for that.”

“I know that.”

“I know you know, sweetheart, but-”

“ ‘Sweetheart?’ I think we’re past ‘sweetheart,’ Mother.”

Allison recoils. How cruel children can be, with the slightest comment. Her daughter has had to cope with more than the divorce and what she undoubtedly perceives as Allison’s infidelity; she has had to live with endless media reports on a murder trial in which her mother stands accused. She imagines that Jess has a small support group of friends, but Mansbury College is a small school. There must be talk. She must sense it over her shoulder, as she passes.That’s Allison Pagone’s daughter. Her mom killed that guy. Allison has had to endure the same experience, but then again, she is not twenty years old, still trying to find her place in the world. At least Allison is responsible for her own infamy; Jessica is an innocent victim.

Or a victim, at least.

Jessica seems to sense that she has crossed the line, regardless. “You’re going to win the case?” she asks. “You’re sure?”

Allison inhales deeply, stifles a number of emotions. “This is going to turn out fine, Jess. I promise. Just make sure that you’re clear on your testimony. If you make a misstep-”

“I won’t make a ‘misstep,’ Mother. I’ve gone over this with Paul Riley a hundred times. And your lawyer, too. I’m not a kid anymore.”

Jessica has certainly inherited her mother’s strong will, her father’s snappy temperament. She will do great things, this young lady, if she can get past all of this.

Jessica stirs her iced tea, keeps her eyes focused on the table. “They have a really good Caesar salad here,” she offers. She seems to notice something, then reaches into her glass and pulls out the lemon from her iced tea.

“Yellow like lemon,” Jessica says.

Allison hangs on tight to her emotions. Her daughter is trying to change the subject. Trying to lighten the mood. This is the most she can hope for, now, these generic questions about her book or how she’s doing or the quality of a particular salad at a local restaurant or a fond memory. Any attempt at warmth is so welcome that these innocuous comments almost reduce Allison to tears.

She thinks of the things her daughter doesn’t know about her and, necessarily, the things she doesn’t know about her daughter.