Finding Mrs. Ford by Deborah Goodrich Royce

Author:Deborah Goodrich Royce
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: N/A
Publisher: Post Hill Press
Published: 2019-04-22T16:00:00+00:00

31

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

Boston

Special Agent Provenzano nods his head, granting permission for Susan and Jack Jr. to go. He adds a postscript and asks her to remain available for further questioning.

“We’re meeting some others on this case. We’ll want to talk with you again.” He walks Susan and Jack back down the short corridor to the door to the reception area.

Jack follows Susan into the waiting room where they see Special Agent DelVecchio, crisply suited as ever, talking to a middle-aged woman, both of them standing.

The woman’s attire might have come from a donation bin. She wears stretch pants that are purple and an oversized T-shirt announcing her affinity for the Red Sox. The background color of that shirt was probably white at some point but currently falls into the general category of gray. Her hair color has grown out at the roots and flip-flops complete her ensemble.

In simple curiosity, Susan finds herself staring.

DelVecchio and the woman are talking, chuckling about something that Jack and Susan haven’t heard. The woman’s laugh is a smoker’s chortle, with a phlegm-y cough to punctuate it. DelVecchio takes the woman by the arm and starts to lead her in Susan and Jack’s direction, presumably to guide her in through the door they just exited.

As the woman turns, she looks at Susan and Jack with coolness and a little contempt. She wears an expression of defiance in the face of two strangers who indisputably have had more advantages in life than she has. She makes eye contact with Jack first, gives him a little once-over. Then she allows her eyes to travel to Susan.

All of this happens quickly, but the point is made: “I won’t be cowed by you rich folks.” As the woman looks at Susan, Susan cannot help looking back. The two of them hold each other’s gaze for a moment—and then a moment longer. The woman’s smile has frozen and is drooping a bit at the sides. She is no longer actually smiling, but she hasn’t quite released all of the muscles yet, so her expression is an odd, blank grimace. Like a Halloween pumpkin.

“Jesus H. Christ,” she blurts, to no one in particular, but staring directly at Susan. “I don’t fucking believe my eyes.”

Everyone is looking at everyone else at this moment, when Susan says, almost inaudibly, even to Jack who is standing right next to

her, “Sherry?”

No one else, least of all Sherry, hears her say it.

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