A Perfect Gem

CHAPTER 1

They say that when there’s a car accident it’s because a ‘fifth factor’ is involved. One bad trick you can handle—if there’s a deer leaping across the road, you slow down or if you get a flat tire you pull over. Two factors you can usually handle as well: bad weather, say, or the kids arguing in the back seat. The third factor might be a sharp curve, the fourth that you’re trying to punch a number in your cell phone … but it’s only when that fifth thing happens—a runaway truck coming toward you, or maybe you’re going just a bit too fast—that you’re screwed.

Yes, less than five, you’re okay. It’s only when the fifth factor kicks in that you’re out of luck.

But on the day that Crista’s husband was killed in a car accident it wasn’t like that. The soft March sky was a clear, sunny blue. Rain had melted any last vestige of snow, and there were even a few snowdrops popping up here and there. It happened during the middle of the morning, and Alberto had had a good night’s sleep—with her—so he couldn’t have dozed off. The highway was clear.

She was studying the stats all over again—trying to keep at bay the crushing grief that kept pitching toward her. It didn’t make sense. He hadn’t been texting—that was clear from the cell phone they’d salvaged from the car when they’d finally fished it out of the Hudson River; there was no medical history for anyone to be concerned about; he hadn’t had a heart attack.

What had gone wrong?

A knock on the door made her lift her eyes. Lloyd poked his head in.

You okay? he asked, looking concerned.

She tried to nod, but it was hard. She had a meeting with a client in an hour, an urgent conference call to set up for the afternoon, and Ben’s soccer game to cheer after school. There was no time to break down. She shouldn’t be wasting her time looking over the accident report again.

Lloyd Steele came in and took a seat across from her, his expression grave. He was a fair-haired, slim man, with a squarish face, full lips, and impeccable style. He’d been the one to initially hire her as public relations director at the law firm of Steele, Inc., and more than once she’d been almost attracted to him. He had a commanding air of egotism, intelligence, and bad boy charm that was somewhat appealing. But then she had met Alberto, and that had been that. Still, they remained good friends and even better colleagues.

Can you take more bad news? His voice was unusually gentle. I think I should let you know right away, but I wish I didn’t have to.

No news could be worse than learning about the death of her husband. So she nodded, again, prepared for the worst.

But she discovered, when Lloyd continued speaking, that she hadn’t been prepared after all.

Alberto was married to another woman.

There was a strange pause, and the ceiling seemed lower than usual, or else Crista wondered if she’d floated slightly out of her body. She couldn’t speak.

Lloyd went on: He had two wives, two families, two lives.

Desert rose is a lovely pink-brown gypsum that quiets anxiety, and helps you to think things through gently and practically. Use it to soothe your mind, to release old patterns of thinking, to keep you flexible, and to strengthen decisions.

From Loving Stones by Joon Ting

CHAPTER 2

It took Crista a few moments to adjust. What? she said, a bit stupidly, because she’d been prepared for a lot, but not that.

He married his childhood sweetheart over twenty years ago. He visited her quite often—she lives in Rome. Apparently, she knows all about you. Alberto never mentioned her to you?

She shook her head firmly. It’s not possible. Alberto had told her everything. He’d been the most open, affectionate man she had ever met. Romantic, chivalrous—and wealthy beyond her wildest dreams.

These past near-perfect three years were rapidly coming to a shattering close.

Her name is Pia Bruno. She took his name when they got married.

This is ... it’s crazy.

I’m hurt too. I thought I was his friend, not just his lawyer. Lloyd gazed sympathetically at her. Look, take the rest of the day off. It’s too much. Also, I should warn you, the press has gotten hold of the story already, so you’re going to be inundated with requests for interviews. Even Oprah’s interested. I told Becky not to put any calls through this morning until you decide how you want to handle all this.

Oh, no. The children…

She stood up hastily, still too shocked for tears. Do you think they’ll try to talk to my kids? I have to tell them first.

Probably. I’m so sorry, Crista.

I have an appointment with Cory’s public relations rep at one, she remembered, trying to gather her thoughts. She had been dragged into a high-profile public relations campaign to salvage Cory Dagger’s movie star status after a series of DUIs and drug busts and had been unofficially designated Cory’s spokesperson. I have to stay for that.

He cleared his throat. Crista, I passed on the account to Todd. I felt I had to. The case requires a real lawyer, not just a p.r. expert. There’s no way you can handle something that delicate right now. Besides, I want you to take some time off.

She tried to focus on his surprising words. What do you mean?

You need time to recover, he pointed out, gently but firmly. We’re giving you a leave of absence.

Why? I’ve only taken off a few days since Alberto was killed—and one of those days was for the funeral. I don’t think I’ve let anything slide in my work.

Of course you haven’t; it’s not that. But you understand. We represent some of the most high-profile celebrities and politicians. We can’t have someone working here with this kind of scandal attached. You’re going to be hounded by reporters—no one is going to want to come near our building if you work here.

I can’t believe this.

I know. He came over to gently massage her shoulders. But the firm comes first with me—you’ve always known that.

She was determined to hold onto her pride. It seemed all she had left. How long is this ‘leave of absence’ for?

Let’s start with three months and see what happens.

She would have to tap their savings account to pay the mortgage on the apartment and for the rest of the year’s school tuition for her children … then she heard Lloyd’s voice again.

Unfortunately, Alberto married this other woman before he married you, which means she’s going to get everything you thought you owned. Including the co-op. I gather from looking through Alberto’s papers that you never put your name on the deed.

Panic started to rise. Where would they go? What would they do? Oh, my God.

He turned her around so she was facing him, took her hands, and looked deeply into her eyes. Crista, look at it this way. I’m going to help you legally—for free. I’m going to make sure this other woman doesn’t end up with everything that belonged to Alberto. He was my friend, as well as being your husband. He trusted me and you need to trust me too.

She nodded, unable to speak.

As I said, I’ll do my best to make sure you get what’s rightfully yours. Meantime, you lie low, spend time with your kids, and we’ll see how this rides out. Maybe by the summer everything will be straightened out and back to normal again.

Pearls offer emotional balance and stability. Usually pale white or cream-colored, pearls can also be found in dark blue, gray, and even black. Use them to ease stress and irritation.

From Loving Stones by Joon Ting

CHAPTER 3

Bad things are what happen to other people.

This was one of Alberto’s favorite tenets, in spite of the fact that he sold insurance. Cancer, burglaries, plane crashes … these things happened to other people, never to them. Hopefully not even to anyone they knew.

At first she had been certain the whole thing was a mix-up. Surely it was a different car that had gone over the edge of the winding cliff road that led from the Palisades down to the bridge heading into Manhattan. Surely, surely any day now Alberto would come bouncing back into her life, springing slightly on the backs of his heels in his familiar walk, and enfold her in a huge bear hug.

But the days had passed, and Alberto did not appear. And now it turned out that even if he did appear, it would not be as her husband.

Avoiding the puddles, she tried not to be afraid about the future. She’d had worse things happen to her than losing a husband, a job, and a home. She would get her children through this—somehow she would figure out what to do.

Behind her, she heard footsteps gaining and picked up her pace.

The fragrance of blooming wisteria mingled with the spicy aromas from the restaurant where she’d asked Joon to meet her. Although already past six o’clock, the sky over the row of Greenwich Village brownstones was still pale. She had always loved April: its sweet moistness, teasing warmth, anticipation.

Summer in the city.

Well, this summer certainly would be different. What were they going to do?

The footsteps sounded closer. She would not look over her shoulder. She’d done that earlier and been blinded by the flash from a news camera. Shocked, she hadn’t even heard the questions the reporter shouted at her—just ran away.

Should she make a dash for it? As she hesitated, a woman passed her, heading toward the subway. Crista let go of her breath—only then realizing she’d been holding it. Quickly, she crossed the street to the wisteria-draped restaurant entrance.

Shaking the rain from her umbrella, she pushed open the glass door and stepped inside the noisy restaurant. Joon waved to her from where she sat at a red vinyl booth, flirting with one of the waiters, as usual. An open bottle of Barbaresco was placed in the center of the table.

Sorry I’m late. Crista sat down across from her.

Joon reached across the table to squeeze her hand. How are you doing?

Surviving.

The cheerful Italian waiter filled Crista's wine glass. She smiled shakily at her friend, impressed, as always, by Joon’s flawless beauty. Her jet-black hair was wrapped around her head in two simple French braids. Her pine-green Asian eyes were enhanced with eyeliner; her lush lips gleamed with wildflower pink gloss. Crista and Joon had been friends since their late teens, when they had moved to New York together. At forty-two, Joon’s youthful loveliness had matured into sophisticated elegance. Her thriving practice as a psychic healer using gemstones had taken off in the early nineties. Now her latest book on crystal healing—Loving Stones, it was titled—had hit certain bestseller lists, and she spent most of her time on book signing tours, lectures, and workshops. Their friendship had slowed. But of all her friends in the city, Joon was the person Crista needed to see most of all just now.

You’ve been doing great, you know, Joon said earnestly. Alberto’s death was less than two weeks ago. You’ve held it together, girl. You’ve been amazing.

Hearing her best friend’s warm voice almost undid Crista. She felt a smarting in her throat, but swallowed hard.

She felt just awful.

Have I? Her voice was husky, low. I got more news today. You’ll never believe it.

What is it?

Practically choking, Crista forced herself to say the words out lout: Alberto had … another wife. The whole time I thought he was married to me, he was actually married to someone else.

Joon’s green eyes narrowed in astonishment. How did you find out?

Lloyd told me.

You’re talking about Alberto? Our Alberto? The one who was crazy about you? Took care of you? Adored your kids?

That’s the one. Crista blinked hard. Lloyd says he was already married to her when he met me.

Her news had taken Joon by surprise, she could tell. Usually nothing fazed her friend, and even if it did, Joon pretended it didn’t, to protect her reputation as a psychic.

It’s really hard to believe, Joon said slowly. Are you sure?

I know—I can’t believe it either. I thought maybe it was a different Alberto Bruno … but Lloyd says he’s the one, and Lloyd’s never wrong. He’s meticulous in checking these things—he wouldn’t have told me unless he was sure. And it gets even more interesting. Since he married her first, she gets everything.

Who is she?

Pia Bruno. She lives in Rome. I don’t know how the reporters found out already. I’ve been inundated with calls. I was afraid a reporter was following me just now. Poor Ben and Erin, too. They’ll be just blown out of the water by this. And that’s not all. I’ve been fired.

Holy spirits! Why?

The firm can’t afford the negative publicity … and I’m the butt of a public relations circus. Lloyd already gave the Cory Dagger account to someone else at the office when I was widowed, but when he learned that my husband was … wasn’t … oh, well, that was it. But my personal life has nothing to do with my work! I’ve devoted ten years to his darned firm. And now I’ve got nothing! No house, no investments, nothing. Not even life insurance! And the man I thought was my husband sold life insurance! His other wife gets everything. Everything … She lost her train of thought again. How did he get away with that for three years? I must have been brainless.

Joon held out a tissue to Crista. You weren’t brainless. He said he had to travel for business. And you were very busy.

That was true. She had worked so hard, managing the public relations department at Lloyd’s prestigious law firm. She had established her career entirely from scratch—no money, no connections, and very little education. But she had made it. Till now.

The waiter came back. Are you ready to order?

Crista was sure she wouldn't be able to eat a thing, but Joon was firm.

Have something, she stated. My treat. Let’s start with bruscetta.

The idea of acidic tomatoes pulped with garlic and olive oil made Crista’s throat close up again.

What about Rosa? she realized. She’s been their nanny since Erin was born. I don’t know how she’ll find another job in this economy, and she has a baby daughter. It’ll be just awful if I have to let her go.

Rosa had arrived from Mexico ten years ago with her young husband, who had died while crossing the Arizona desert. From their first meeting, Crista had regarded Rosa as a heroine. She had no money, no papers, just some distant relatives in the Bronx, but in spite of her husband’s death, she remained serene and hopeful. Crista had hired her on the spot. By now she was as much a part of their family as a younger sister would be. Last year she had begun her first relationship since coming to New York, and had gotten pregnant. Her boyfriend had been deported soon afterward, but Rosa decided to keep her daughter instead of giving it up for adoption.

What would she do now? Who would hire a single mother, with a baby and no papers?

Crista shook herself back to the present. Why was she worrying about Rosa? What about her? What about her two kids? Fourteen-year-old Ben already acted as though he was emotionally unstable sometimes, and Erin had become increasingly inscrutable since she had turned eleven.

What about your apartment? Joon was asking.

Yes, even our home! Crista groaned. Lloyd says that since Alberto didn’t make a will, probate stipulates that all his assets—including the co-op—go to his wife. The . . . the bastard! Tears welled from her eyes again, and she blinked madly.

So you didn’t own the co-op together?

No, I just moved into his place—it seemed so perfect. It never occurred to me that it wouldn’t be mine if anything happened. I didn’t think anything would happen! Besides, we were married! … Oh, Joon, there’s no way we can afford another apartment in New York. Apparently, this woman claims that even our joint bank account belongs to her. And I’ve already got so much credit card debt ... Crista stopped to gather some composure. I’m not just underwater, Joon, I’m drowning. What am I going to do? What about the kids’ school? It’s only April—we won’t even be able to finish out the year. But where can we go?

Take it easy. You can always stay with me.

Crista smiled gratefully—but Joon’s handkerchief-sized apartment was hardly big enough for one person.

Just then a blond Adonis honed in on their conversation and gave Crista a brief kiss on her cheek. It was Todd, her colleague from Lloyd’s public relations department, with whom she shared an amicable rivalry. He was followed by an earnest man in a wet trench coat with a hated camera hanging around his neck.

Hey, Crista. Can I introduce you to my friend? He’s a reporter for the Post—wants to ask you a few questions. I told him you wouldn’t mind.

I do mind, Crista said, icily.

But Todd slid into the booth beside Crista and motioned his friend to sit by Joon. Lloyd told me you’d been canned. Sorry, babe! I couldn’t believe it. So the story’s true? Hey, you know I’m on the Dagger account now—mind if I use those last two press releases you were working on? You’ve got a nice turn of phrase.

Beat it, Joon told the reporter.

To his credit, the reporter only flashed a couple of photographs and retreated to the bar.

Todd stood up as well. Don’t worry, I’ll keep my ear to the ground and let you know if I hear of any jobs. Ta ta!

And with another quick smooch he was gone.

That does it, Crista burst out. I have to get as far away from New York as possible. I can’t go on hoping that this whole disaster is just a goddamn nightmare.

Peridot, a light green gem of the springtime, can be used to open new doors. It also helps in relieving stress, anxiety, and guilt, and to activate personal growth. Use it to protect against negative emotions.

From Loving Stones by Joon Ting

CHAPTER 4

Crista took the subway home, dragged down by the spring rain and her heavy heart. There were no seats available, so she clung to the silver pole as the train rocked uptown, her head aching.

She felt turned inside-out. Everything she saw was as though from a new angle. Even the large square emerald on her left hand that caught the fluorescent light looked like plastic now. She felt a stab of nostalgia, remembering Alberto slipping it onto her finger, clasping her hand, asking her to marry him. They had been standing on the Ponte Vecchio in Florence, and the light of love in his eyes had been even brighter than the setting sun.

Closing her eyes against the pain of the memory didn’t help. She saw his twinkling gold-brown eyes that regarded her as tenderly as a kiss. He couldn’t have been married to someone else when he gave her that look! It wasn’t possible!

Shaking a little, she surreptitiously slid the ring off her finger and was about to drop it in her purse when the subway lurched to a stop. It fell out of her hand and onto the subway floor. As the other passengers stampeded for the door, it disappeared. She dropped to her knees, frantically searching. Then she saw someone swipe it up and leap out the door. The next thing she knew, the person had leapt the turnstile and disappeared.

With her emerald ring.

Well, that was that. She felt almost too numb to care. She’d report it to the police, of course, but it was unlikely she’d ever see it again. So what? It held no meaning for her now.

Bad things did happen to regular old people, she shouted inwardly, and Alberto made them happen! The liar! The jerk!

As she entered the large co-op apartment on Third Avenue, she reflected on the fakeness of the gilded molding rimming the ceiling. Gilt was not the same as solid gold.

She felt as though she had no tangible substance to hold onto. How could you tell reality from imagining? How could she ever again be sure that what someone said was true? If they told her that was a chair, or there was a table, she felt half-inclined to touch it, just to make sure.

Never in her wildest dreams had she thought she was not really married to Alberto.

He had been the first grown man she had met who made her feel safe. Even Barry, the father of her children, had been more like a playmate than a husband. Alberto had moved to the United States from Italy ten years earlier, and they had met seven years later through a friend of Joon’s. He’d fallen in love with her immediately. No matter what she found out now, she knew for certain, looking back, that he had loved her back then. And when he had met her two young children—Ben had been ten years old and Erin eight years old at the time—he had fallen in love with them as well.

They had dated for six months before he asked her to marry him. When she remembered their whirlwind romance , she could hardly stand it. But more important than her infatuation was the feeling of safety and refuge that Alberto gave her.

Even the fact that he sold insurance made Crista feel safe.

Insurance.

Insurance meant safety, security.

Whenever he was on a business trip he’d call her every day, caressing her with his throaty Italian accent. He was the first man who had actually held her in his arms all night after they’d made love.

Her children’s father, Barry, had moved to Los Angeles five years ago, seeking bit parts in low-budget movies. He’d been self-centered and Crista had recovered from his desertion with only minor heartache. Ben and Erin visited him in L.A., but after she had married Alberto and they had all moved into his fantastic Third Avenue apartment, they rarely visited him more than once a year.

Both Ben and Erin had adored Alberto.

Crista shook herself back to the present. Could all that affection he had showered on her and her children have been a lie?

She could not imagine Alberto with another wife. It was too unbelievable. He had loved her. She would swear it.

After hanging up her rain-soaked trench coat in the closet by the front door, she hastily tidied herself in the hall bathroom before facing her children. She didn’t have the heart to do more than to finger-dry her shoulder-length hair. It would revert from muddy dark to its usual light brown soon enough. Her eyes were indigo—so dark they were almost colorless. A long-ago boyfriend used to say she had the most beautiful eyes in the world. But the whites were pink now and the puffiness surrounding them obliterated any beauty. She looked a mess.

She walked down the hall, her high heels tapping on the marble. The apartment was immaculate, as always, thanks to Rosa. Crista knew she could never keep a place as clean and neat as Rosa could. She was a slob at heart—always had been, even when she was a girl. Her father used to shout at her all the time: hang up your clothes, wash the dishes, sweep the floor … At the small family market he owned, where she used to have to work on weekends and during every vacation, she could never meet his standards: the counter wasn’t wiped clean enough, the cans weren’t stacked neatly enough, she hadn’t shoveled away every last flake of damn snow from the sidewalk.

Hiring a housekeeper had been a highlight of her life.

She hoped Rosa had made dinner for Erin and Ben before she had gone home. As she walked down the black and white marble hall she stopped short. Did he have children of his own?

Well … she would find out soon enough.

She started walking again.

Ben wasn’t in his bedroom. Erin was sitting up in her bed, gazing at her laptop screen.

Hello, honey, Crista said.

Hi. Without looking up, Erin tapped a few keys.

Whatcha doing?

Talking to my friends.

Crista still hadn’t gotten used to that. To her, talking meant moving your mouth. But kids today didn’t talk the old-fashioned way.

She looked at her daughter affectionately. Erin had inherited Barry’s blond, straight hair and upturned nose. Her oval face seemed thinner than usual, and there were dark circles ringing her eyes. She wore her usual T-shirt and jeans.

Are you cold? Maybe you should put on a sweater.

I’m okay. She went on tapping the keys.

Did you have dinner?

Yeah, Rosa made us eat. We had pasta. She kept her eyes on the screen, but her shoulders were tensed. Crista could tell she had been crying.

Of course.

Crista sat beside her on the bed and cuddled her for a while. Oh, my darling, she whispered, trying to hold back her own tears. We’re going to be just fine. I promise.

Erin buried her nose in her shoulder and sniffed. I miss Alberto, she said.

I know, Erin. I do too.

Eventually Erin blew her nose and sat up.

Where’s Ben? Crista asked.

He went to see a movie with some friends.

Crista wanted to ask Erin how he seemed: Was he upset? Angry? Acting out in some way? But that wouldn’t be fair to Erin, who was fiercely protective of her older brother. The more he got into trouble, the more defensive she was on his behalf. Not that he’d done anything too outrageous: he was still only in eighth grade. But already he’d been at a party where Crista found out he’d been drinking, and he’d had several detentions because he had not done his homework.

Was he on a downward spiral?

Could I borrow your computer to check my email? Crista asked. It’ll just take a sec.

The laptop she always used belonged to Steele, Inc. She’d had to give it up that afternoon.

Erin seemed better. Sure, Mom. Good-naturedly, she handed her the laptop and went to the bathroom. Crista hastily scanned her emails, her heart sinking as she realized the notoriety of her situation. Friends she hadn’t heard from in years were sending her appalled condolences. Lawyers offered to advocate for her. Two reporters sought interviews.

Delete. Delete.

She felt jarred and lost, completely unprepared for something like this.

Junk. Delete.

Junk. Delete.

Sender: Robert Jones.

Once again her heart paused, but in shock this time.

Her father.

How on earth had he discovered her email address? They had not been in touch for twenty-five years.

Hello Cristina. I thought I should let you know that my health is failing and so I would love to see you again, and also to meet my grandchildren. As you know, there’s plenty of room and you’re welcome to stay here through the summer or longer if you like. Dad.

She took a deep breath.

How had he found her?

She had changed her name, she had disappeared. But now, out of the blue, he was inviting her to move back home.

Just as though nothing had happened.

A strange rushing sensation coursed through her soul, as though all the planets were ellipsing toward her in an increasingly rapid motion. Everything was coming to a head: her past, her present … and it could be her future.

Staring