Facility in Fallsburg, New York.
Chapter Three
Friday, September 16
âS o things are finally back to normal now, know what I mean?â
âDefinitely,â Allison tells Randi, whoâs spent the last ten minutes talking about how relieved she is that her in-laws have gone back to their Florida retirement home after a three-week visit.
Both Mackâs parents are deceased, so aside from his sister, Lynn, Allison doesnât have in-laws. But she can certainly relate to life finally being back to normal.
With the sunroom painted at last, Mack got back on his usual 7:19 commuter train yesterday morning, bleary-eyed as always, but at least having promised to start his new sleep medication over the weekend.
âIâm glad you made me go to see Dr. Cuthbert,â he said, kissing Allison on the cheek. âYou were right.â
âIâm always right,â she replied with a smile, trying to hide the vague uneasiness sheâs felt since Mack came home from his appointment on Wednesday with a prescription for something called Dormipram.
Allison immediately looked it up on the Internet. She wasnât thrilled about some of the side effects, but the good news was that it was supposed to be nonaddictive. Anyway, the last thing she wanted to do was undermine Mackâs cooperation with the doctor.
If only she could ignore the troubling ghosts of her own pastâa more distant past than the tragic events of September 2001. Her mother was an addict, not just street drugs, but prescription, tooâand died of a sleeping pill overdose. It wasnât accidental.
Suicideâthat thought segues Allison right back to Jerry Thompson, but she pushes him from her mind. Sheâs been doing it for days now. Heâs dead. Itâs over.
Craving normalcyâand some female companyâafter dropping Madison at preschool on this sunny, unseasonably cool Friday afternoon, she drove with J.J. over to Randiâs three-story redbrick mansion for a late lunch.
âAnyway . . .â Randi wraps her perfectly manicured fingers around a baby carrot and dredges it through lemon-artichoke hummus. âSometimes I wish we hadnât gone all out with that huge guest wing upstairs. It makes it a little too easy for my in-laws to come and stay . . . and stay . . . and stay . . .â
âI canât really blame them.â Allison has toured the luxurious guest wing: two large bedrooms, each with its own bath, connected by a large sitting area featuring a state-of-the-art entertainment system and a wet bar.
Until a few years ago, the Webers lived with their two children, Lexi, fourteen, and Josh, nine, in a regular suburban house a few blocks away from the MacKennasâ. The two families used to walk back and forth for backyard barbecues and snowstorm game nights. They had a lot in commonâparallel lives, Randi used to say.
Ben had launched his career in an ad agency bullpen alongside Mack right out of college. When he moved into the more lucrative sales side of the industry, he recruited Mack and was his boss for years.
Last year, Ben left the network to become executive vice president of sales and marketing at another. The Webers immediately moved to the âestateâ side of town, where rambling mansions sit on woodsy lots beyond low fieldstone wallsâand security fences and access-control gates.
At first, Allison worried that Ben going from a mid-six-figure yearly income to one thatâs over seven figures would jeopardize their friendship. But it didnât.
âWeâre just one step ahead of you,â Randi said when it happened. Coming from her, it was somehow not insulting. âWe had a head start, but weâre right where you guys will be in a couple of years.â
Allison isnât sure thatâs true, and she isnât sure itâs what she wants. Ben seems to be home even less often than Mack is. And she loves the
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