The Schuyler House

by Cade Haddock Strong

  I let out a laugh. I’m beginning to realize that Alex has a great sense of humor.

  We run in silence for a while, but Alex breaks the silence when we near the final stretch. “I’m having a few friends over for dinner this Saturday. Any chance you could join us?”

  “Sure, I would love to! What can I bring?”

  “Great! Say seven o’clock-ish? No need to bring anything! Oh, you don’t have any food allergies, do you?”

  “Seven works, and nope, no food allergies. I’ll eat pretty much anything.”

  The sun is up by the time we finish our run, but it’s still really chilly, so I do a slow jog back to my apartment to stay warm. I take the stairs two at a time and practically run over Stella, the elderly woman who lives across the hall, as she’s taking out her garbage. We chat briefly before I politely excuse myself so that I can go back to my apartment and take a much-needed shower. Stella is lovely and I try to help her out with chores and errands when I can but she’ll talk your ear off if you let her.

  My mind wanders to Alex while I’m in the shower. It occurs to me that I have absolutely nothing to wear to her house for dinner. Aside from my running outfit, I haven’t bought any more clothes since my shopping spree at Macy’s in New York the day after Christmas. It also occurs to me that I still only have the Fruit of the Loom flowered underwear that I picked up at Duane Reade in New York, so maybe I should get something a tad bit sexier… No surprise that thoughts of Alex makes me want to buy sexier undergarments.

  I don’t have any plans for the rest of the day, so I take the Metro Silver Line out to Tysons Corner, the largest and nicest shopping mall in the metropolitan area. First, I go to Saks and buy a nice pair of black jeans, a gray cashmere sweater and a pair of black leather cowboy boots. I pass the lingerie department on my way down the never-ending maze of escalators, and I relent and buy a few new pairs of underwear and a black lace bra. Next, I go to Hermes and buy a totally overpriced black leather belt and some perfume before continuing on to Macy’s where I buy a few silk T-shirts to wear under my sweater. I wander through a few more stores and end up buying a sort of dressy down coat so that I can stop wearing my ski coat everywhere.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Over the next few days, I wear my new cowboy boots everywhere I go in an attempt to break them in a little bit. When Saturday finally rolls around, they look a little less brand new. I slip them on and head off to Alex’s place in Logan Circle. I stop into a little wine shop on my way and buy a nice bottle of red and a bottle of white to bring as a hostess gift even though Alex said not to bring anything.

  Most of the buildings on her street were elaborate auto showrooms and auto repair shops in the 1930s and ’40s. They were all converted into trendy lofts during the most recent real-estate boom. Her building only has about a dozen units, and it doesn’t have a doorman. I locate a silver phone in the vestibule and use the arrow keys to scroll through the digital resident directory. I press the “Call” button when I come across the name Holland. Alex picks up after the first ring, tells me to come up to the fifth floor and buzzes me into the building. I take the elevator up to the top floor and am pleasantly surprised to find her standing in the open doorway to her apartment when I get off the elevator.

  “Hey, Mattie. I’m so glad that you could make it!”

  I give her a big smile and hand her the wine. “For you.”

  “I told you not to bring anything, but thank you. I will never refuse wine.” She laughs and gestures me into the apartment.

  I step inside and take a quick look around her place while I take off my coat. “This place is really amazing, Alex,” I say as Alex hangs my coat in the front hall closet. Her loft is small and cozy but exquisitely decorated. The kitchen opens into a sunken living room filled with comfortable-looking contemporary furniture and a large, brick wood-burning fireplace. The far wall of the living room has floor-to-ceiling windows that offer great views of the city, and the rest of the walls are covered with art.

  “Come on. What can I get you to drink!” Alex takes my hand and leads me into the kitchen.

  “White wine would be great if you have some open.”

  There are two women chatting in front of the fridge, and Alex introduces us while she pours me a glass of white wine before running off to meet another arriving guest.

  The woman Alex introduced as Karen turns to me. “So, how do you know Alex?” I tell them the story of the wild biker who almost took Alex out when she was running in the park. “I just happened to be running by when it happened,” I explain.

  “Wow, that’s a crazy story. I remember Alex telling me about that kamikaze,” Karen says with a chuckle.

  Eventually, the conversation turns to the booming real-estate market in Logan Circle, and I learn that both women are real estate agents in the District. “I actually helped Alex buy this place a few months after Robert died,” Karen explains.

  “Wow, really? I love this place. Where did they live before he died?” I ask.

  “They had a cute house in Takoma Park. I think Robert pushed for the house in Takoma Park so that he could have a little bit of land but Alex is more of a city girl. I think she wanted to move to a place that was more in the center of things and wasn’t full of memories of Robert.”

  “Well she certainly has a good eye for décor and art,” I reply.

  “Yeah, they had a lot of this art at their house in Takoma Park but it’s all Alex. She’s the one that collected whenever they traveled.”

  * * *

  Over dinner, I chat with a man named Doug who introduces himself as Karen’s boyfriend, and with Alex’s neighbors, Matt and Gleason, a super cute gay couple that own an architecture firm together. I have a really nice evening; I like all her friends immensely.

  I don’t get much time to chat with Alex until after dinner when she offers to give me a tour of her place. As we move through each room, she shares stories about various pieces of furniture. “I got this bench in Turkey,” she says as we enter what she calls her study. “The cutest old man was making them, and I think of him with a smile every time I rest my feet on it.” She then points out a piece that she got in South Africa and another from Vietnam.

  “So, it sounds like you like to travel,” I say as we move toward the master bedroom.

  “Yeah, you could say that,” she replies. “Robert and I used to go on a big trip every year during the off-season. It was one of the perks of running a landscaping company. We busted our asses nine months a year and then we’d go on a trip somewhere for a month or two. We always traveled on the cheap, but we went to so many amazing places and had so many wonderful experiences,” she says with a little sadness in her voice.

  “I am seriously jealous,” I reply. “That sounds incredible.”

  “Yeah, but unfortunately, I wasn’t able to get away this winter. I’m so overwhelmed trying to run this business by myself. This off-season, I’m just trying to play catch-up.”

  We turn to enter her bedroom and I can’t help but smile. The space is so inviting. There is a giant floor to ceiling bookshelf packed with books. Colorful rugs dot the hardwood floor and, like the living room, the walls are covered in art. “Tell me about some of the art,” I say.

  “Well, I got a lot of it during our travels,” she replies. “But I also picked up some of the pieces here in DC. There are a few local artists that I just love. I pop by their studios whenever they have an opening or whatever and usually end up buying something. I love the work but I also like to support the starving artists,” she says with a laugh.

  “I love art too,” I blurt out and then quickly try and change the subject before she can ask me any art-related questions. “I love your home. It’s so warm. Thank you for the tour.”

  * * *

  As I walk back to my place after dinner, my mind immediately wanders to Alex. Tonight was the first time that I have seen her “dressed up.” Her scoop-neck cashmere sweater exposed just a hint of cleavage, and her snug boy
-cut jeans accentuated her totally amazing body… Get a grip, Mattie, I warn myself. I try unsuccessfully to think of something less perilous while admitting that I am totally falling for Alex no matter how hard I try to fight it.

  When I get home, I slip off my coat, flip on the TV to watch Saturday Night Live and walk into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of sparkling water. I reach up to pull a glass from one of the kitchen cupboards and stop dead in my tracks. The light on the Motorola phone is blinking to indicate that I have a message. Slowly, I set the glass down and grab the counter to steady myself. I can’t breathe. Ellen is the only one I have given this number to… I try not to get my hopes up; it’s probably just a telemarketer.

  I unplug the phone from the wall, sink down on one of the kitchen stools and start to listen to the message. Tears well up in my eyes the second I hear Ellen’s voice. Her voice is so soft, almost a whisper.

  “Hey Mat…Oh, my God…I got your note in the safe deposit box. I can’t tell you how happy I was to see it. I’m in New York…There is so much we need to talk about.”

  She leaves a number, and I call her back right away. She picks up after the second ring.

  “El?” I ask with a cry.

  “Mat, is that you?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “Kat, Sarah—they’re dead,” she says, and immediately starts sobbing.

  “I know…” The floodgates open. I start sobbing too. All the grief I’ve been bottling up suddenly spills out. I’m like a teapot that’s reached a boil. “I tried to call you so many times,” I manage finally.

  “I lost my phone at Schuyler House,” she explains with a sniffle.

  Eventually, we make a plan to get together in New York a few days later so we can talk everything through in person.

  After I hang up with Ellen, I’ve lost my interest in SNL, so I flip off the TV, turn out the lights and head to bed. Although my conversation with Ellen was brief, it’s left me emotionally drained. Every day I’ve held out hope that I would hear from her…the fact that I just heard her voice is almost surreal.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I meet Alex for a run Tuesday morning. As usual, she’s stretching at our meeting spot when I arrive.

  “Hey, you,” she says playfully when I jog up beside her.

  “Hey! Thanks for dinner on Saturday night. I really had a great time. Your friends are all super nice.”

  “I am really glad you could make it. How was the rest of your weekend?”

  I stare back at her somewhat blankly as I flash back to my conversation with Ellen but finally find my voice. “Um, good, thanks. You?”

  “Pretty mellow. I stayed up too late with Matt and Gleason Saturday night. They had some super special whiskey that they insisted I try,” she says with a grin as we head down into the park. “I went for a super long run yesterday to punish myself, and I’m a little bit sore. You mind if we run a little slower today?”

  “Not at all. I’m feeling a little sluggish.” It’s true; I haven’t slept well since I spoke to Ellen. I just flop around in my bed at night like I’m a fish out of water.

  I really struggle to keep up with Alex at first, and she notices. “Everything okay with you, Mattie?” She gives me a concerned look.

  I’m touched that she notices I’m a little off. “Yeah, I’ve just got a lot on my mind.” I feel guilty for giving her such a lame response, but I don’t really have a choice. She’s seems like a pretty open person, and I feel like I’m coming off like a cold fish. “I’m heading to New York City later today,” I say enthusiastically.

  “I love New York. Are you going for fun or for work?” she asks.

  “For fun. I’m going to see some friends.”

  “Cool. Any special occasion?”

  “Nah, just haven’t seen them in a while and looking forward to catching up,” I reply. I am tempted to tell her that I just lost two friends and that my trip is related to that, but I bite my tongue. Better to keep my past where it belongs—in the past.

  The P Street Bridge appears in the distance and we slow to a walk to cool down a bit. “Have a blast in New York! Text me when you get back,” Alex says before we part ways.

  “Will do,” I say as we wave good-bye.

  I run all the way back to my apartment to take a quick shower before grabbing a cab to Union Station so that I can catch the ten o’clock Amtrak Acela to New York. The Acela is faster than the regular “Regional” Amtrak train and I should arrive in New York by midafternoon.

  * * *

  As soon as I get off the train in New York, I head straight for the main Amtrak lobby on the upper level of Penn Station. Ellen said she would meet me near the Eighth Street side of the station and, once I get up to the upper level, I immediately spot her tall slim figure standing on the opposite side of the lobby. I call out to her and start waving my hands like a crazy woman as I run toward her. As soon as we reach each other, she throws her arms around me and I completely fall apart. We stand in the middle of Penn Station clutching each other and sobbing into each other’s shoulders. Of course, given that we are in New York City, no one even bats an eye at our teary reunion. Eventually, Ellen pulls back, wipes the tears from her face and reaches for my hand. She leads me outside so we can hail a taxi.

  There is a long line of taxis at the curb outside the station, and we jump in the first one. Ellen gives the driver an address on the Upper East Side. I must have a confused look on my face because she quickly explains where we are headed. “Oh, yeah, I guess I haven’t had the chance to tell you that I have my own apartment. I’ll give you the full scoop later, but believe it or not, Andy and Sandy set me up with a vacant apartment in one of their buildings. In return, I offered to help them with some legal work.” Andy and Sandy are our mutual friends, and they run a small but growing real estate firm in New York. They own a handful of apartment buildings. Andy manages the financing side, and Sandy oversees the legal and marketing side.

  “Wow, that’s awesome. They have always been the kindest people,” I respond.

  Ellen’s apartment is a small but airy one-bedroom in a building with a doorman. She directs me to just toss my bag on the floor in the living room and then pulls me into a hug. “I can’t believe you are here…after all of these weeks of wondering what happened to you.” She walks over to the fridge and pulls out a couple of beers. “Hungry?”

  “Famished!”

  She whips a laptop out of nowhere. “Pizza?” I nod and she asks me my topping preferences before placing the delivery order online.

  We grab our beers and sit down on the couch in her living area and proceed to talk for hours, interrupted only by the pizza deliveryman. We walk through everything that happened at Schuyler House on Christmas Eve and everything we’ve been through since that night. I tell her about the stolen truck, the Jewish skiers, and my eventual journey to DC, omitting for the time being any mention of Alex. Occasionally, she interrupts me with questions, and she remarks on my good fortune to cross paths with the Jewish skiers, but otherwise she just listens. When I am finally finished, we get up for a quick bathroom break and then resume our positions on the couch so she can tell me her story.

  She clears her throat. “Well, as you mentioned, I was inside Schuyler House when the deck collapsed…It was totally surreal,” she starts. “The three of you were standing right in front of me, and then, you were just gone. All I could see beneath me were dark gray rocks surrounded by an otherwise snowy white background…I couldn’t see any of you…”

  Ellen takes a deep breath before continuing. “I cried out each of your names over and over again but heard only silence in return. There was no way I could climb back out the window once the deck collapsed. The area off the back of the house just dropped off down the cliff. So, I decided to take the risk and exit the house through the side door, the door we had planned to use to escape the house with the art. Of course, I knew opening this door would set off the alarm, but it seemed like maybe we had bigger problems a
t the moment.” She’s talking quickly now, and pauses briefly to collect her thoughts before continuing. “Once I finally made it outside, I was able to scramble partway down the rocky cliff and kept crying out to each of you but still heard nothing in return. I remember thinking that it was so eerily quiet. The only sound I could hear was the river running below. And then…” Ellen takes a few deep breaths.

  I rub her back until she’s finally able to continue. “…And then…I found Sarah,” she says as she starts to sob uncontrollably. After a couple more deep breaths, she continues between sobs. “I knew right away…that she was…dead. There was so much blood. Oh, God, Mattie, it was absolutely horrible. I guess she must have hit the rocks pretty hard when the deck collapsed. I cried out to you and Kat and tried to climb farther down the cliff, but it was hopeless. It was so steep and it was dark and the snow was so deep…” I take her hand again and offer her a partially used tissue from my sleeve. She blows her nose and gets up to get us each a glass of water before sitting back down to finish her story.

  “I didn’t know what to do so I started to climb back up the rocks and eventually fought my way through the snow to try and find the snowmobiles. I was utterly distraught when I saw that both snowmobiles were right where we’d left them. When I found Sarah but not you and Kat, I’d prayed that you two had made it back to the snowmobiles and escaped, but when I saw that they were both there, I just assumed that meant that you and Kat had met the same fate as Sarah. I started to freak out even more. I started to dig frantically for my phone so that I could call 911, but I couldn’t find it anywhere. It must have fallen out of my pocket when I was scrambling on the rocks.”

  She looks up at me with her bloodshot eyes and takes a few sips of water before continuing her story. “I took one of the snowmobiles and drove it back to the Tahoe. I started to load the snowmobile up on the trailer behind the Tahoe but then figured why bother. I just ditched it into a snowbank and climbed into the SUV. I just sat there like a complete zombie until I finally put the truck in gear and drove off in no particular direction. It was still snowing like mad, and it was all I could do to keep the Tahoe on the road. After driving for thirty minutes or so, I pulled over and stared at the car’s navigation system to try and figure out where the hell I was. I zoomed the map in and out and tried to decide where I should go. Suddenly, I remembered the Freemonts’ cabin.”