Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Caroline

A n icy blast hits me in the face as I exit the building's turnstile, freezing the tears to my face like tiny, sad icicles. I don't like crying. In a city like this one, a tearful woman is a weak woman. And I am anything but.

I dab my eyes with the edge of my cashmere scarf, careful not to smudge my makeup.

I pick up my pace to keep up with the flow of pedestrians, allowing the bustling scene of Fifth Avenue to distract me.

New York in December is magical. Horse drawn carriages through snow-laden Central Park, the enticing aroma of roasting chestnuts wafting from corner street carts. For a few weeks each year, it's as if a cozy blanket is dropped on the city.

Holiday shoppers, toting bags from Saks, Bergdorf's and Bloomie's, speed-walk past each other. Another reminder that I've fully neglected my holiday shopping. I've had other things to contend with.

A line is forming outside Saks for the window viewing. It feels like yesterday when Bernard and I checked out the magnificent window displays. Since then, my entire world has turned upside down. I decide to get in line, even if it means I'll be a few minutes late.

Cheerful dolls from around the world, clad in their countries' distinct holiday garb, fill the storefront windows, creating a visual story. Faux snowflakes float down from the painted heavens. Santa on his gift-laden sleigh makes a pass every thirty seconds. It's like looking inside a giant snow globe. The crowd is enthralled, many taking photos as they shuffle from window to window.

I'm at the last window when I catch my reflection and cringe. I see my face beside a cherub-faced doll, dressed in lederhosen, a candy cane spinning in her robotic arm. I look worse than sad. I look lonely. In a borough of 1.6 million souls, that's quite an achievement.

My breath is frozen as I walk past Rockefeller Center, the skaters gliding along the ice, the massive, jeweled spruce in the background. I read somewhere this year's tree hails from North Carolina.

A real-life Santa lumbers by me, jingling a bell in one hand, toting a donation bucket in the other. I find a ten-dollar bill in my pocket and toss it inside.

By the time I reach the restaurant, my booted toes are frozen pebbles. I take a deep breath, passing beneath the neon sign. Le Marais .

Roger, the owner, stands in the vestibule, assessing the glass display, showcasing perfect cuts of aged meats. I paint a fake smile on my face.

"Hello, Mrs. Page, the others are already here."

Mrs. Page.

I've told Roger to call me Caroline at least a hundred times. He's within five years of my fifty.

For some reason, he's grinning.

"All of them?" I ask, hopeful.

Before he can respond, I hurry into the dining room and head for the back.

The ladies are giggling at the round table, our table. I count four women. The club is back together. My faux smile magically morphs into a genuine one.

"Evie! What an incredible surprise!"

I offer Evie a kiss on each cheek, overjoyed to see the huge bauble and wedding ring on her left hand. I wasn't expecting my best friend to be here. She lives much of the time in California with her new, much younger husband.

Evie leans in, whispering. "Thought you'd appreciate if I dropped by."

She's a mind reader. Her presence is almost enough to make me fall apart. But I don't. I won't.

I proceed to hug Barbie, Sam, and with mutual reluctance, Mo.

"Hello, gals," I announce, taking the sole empty chair and wave to the waiter. "Bring on the mojitos!"

"You look ten years younger," I say to my best friend, meaning every word. I know Evie doesn't mess with plastic surgery. When I had my eyes done, I suggested we do it together, a BFF version of Nipped and Tucked . She declined. And still looks amazing. I guess happy works.

"How are the boys?" I ask.

Evie has three now. Her two grown sons and her new husband. Come to think of it, it was right here in this dining room that Adam proposed. It rates as one of the most romantic gestures I've ever witnessed, the kiss rivaling Jack and Rose's at the ship's bow in Titanic . It even sparked my own short-lived fantasies, as if love is contagious. I now chalk them up to a bout of temporary insanity.

Evie beams. "Everyone is great. Jeffrey loves his new job in California. Daniel is still figuring things out but he's considering moving out West as well."

My stomach drops. How much more can I bear to lose? "I guess there will be no reason for you to come back here anymore," I say, aiming for levity. It comes out flat.

Evie's green eyes scrutinize me, her gaze cutting to the group sitting at the table. "I can think of at least four reasons."

She means it. Evie will do all she can to keep coming to New York but how long can she sustain that sort of travel? For now at least, I get to see her when she comes for work. She's in-house counsel for several of her husband's firm's subsidiaries.

As if reading my mind once more, she says, "Daniel isn't moving away anytime soon and remember I'm licensed in New York. I need to come here to practice."

Evie is a lawyer though not the same kind I just met with. She would be livid if she knew I spoke with Howard and didn't tell her.

But I choose not to. She's finally found her joy. I will not dampen it with my riches-to-rags sob story.

Instead, I order another mojito.