by Sarah Jio
Charles pulled over to the side of the road, leaning across the seat to peer out my window. I didn’t mind him hovering so close.
A Closed sign hung over the door of the club. “Rats,” he said. “Well, how about we just head over to the hotel instead? It’s a beautiful night. We can have dinner on the balcony of my parents’ suite.”
“Your parents’ suite?”
“Yes,” he said. “They do a lot of entertaining there. Father uses it a few nights a week when he works late and needs quiet. Or when he’s had it out with Mother, which happens more often these days.”
“Well, I guess,” I said shyly.
Charles drove to the entrance of the hotel, just a few blocks down the street, pulling the car into the circular drive, smooth as silk. He handed the keys to a valet and nodded to the doorman. We walked straight into the elevator, where Charles hit the button for number seventeen.
I gulped.
“First time in an elevator?”
“Yes,” I admitted, feeling a tugging sensation in my stomach as we jerked upward.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said, pulling me toward him with both hands on my waist.
I looked up into his eyes. “What happens if it…falls?”
“It won’t,” he said, squeezing me tighter. “I promise.”
When the elevator jolted to a stop, the doors opened, and a man in a white suit stood waiting. “Good evening, sir,” he said to Charles, before tipping his cap at me. “The suite is ready for you. Will you be dining inside or out tonight?”
Charles turned to me. “Does the balcony sound all right?”
I nodded, so caught up in the grandeur of the moment, I forgot my voice.
The steward slid a key into the lock and held the door open for us. I followed Charles inside, and gasped at the sight. Tufted silk sofas, oriental rugs, drapes made of velvet the color of rubies—the place looked like a palace, or at least how I’d always imagined one to look.
Charles slipped off his jacket and tossed it nonchalantly onto a sofa to our right. He walked to the bar by the far window and flipped on the radio, letting the soothing sounds of big band seep through the air, before selecting two martini glasses from the cabinet. I watched as he unlocked another cabinet and pulled out two ornate glass decanters, pouring liquid from each into a shiny silver shaker. Next he scooped ice inside, then closed the top before shaking the vessel with an expert hand.
When he handed me a glass, I marveled at the thin layer of ice at the top. I was careful to keep my hand steady or risk sloshing the drink all over my dress. I stole a look at myself in the reflection of the window as I held the drink to my lips. Fashionable. Like I belonged. I swallowed the ice-cold liquid, so strong a fit of coughing ensued.
“Sorry,” I said, setting the glass down on a side table. “I guess I wasn’t expecting it to be so strong.” I scolded myself for the naive comment.
“The first sip is always the hardest to take,” Charles said, popping a green olive into his mouth. “After that, it goes down like butter.”
I picked up the glass again, and after a second sip, and a third, the drink had lost its bite, just as he had promised. My cheeks felt warm and my head light. When I finished the glass, he refilled it. I stood at the window staring out at Seattle, sparkling, effervescent. The spring cherry trees on the street below had just burst into bloom, and from the seventeenth floor, they looked like cheerful clouds of pink lining the streets. The city was full of promise, which is exactly how I felt. I felt the stubble of Charles’s chin on my neck as he perched his head over my shoulder to share the view with me.
“It’s beautiful out there, isn’t it?” he whispered into my ear.
“Yes,” I said.
A crescent moon hovered low in the sky, like a painting hung just for us.
“Where would you want to go,” he said, “right now, if you could be anywhere in the world?”
I thought for a moment. Caroline and I had talked an awful lot about Paris. And New York. But in that moment, I didn’t want to be anywhere other than where I stood.
“Right here,” I whispered, turning to face Charles.
“Me too,” he said, taking my face tenderly in his hands.
As he leaned closer, the steward cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but dinner is here, sir. Will you still be taking it on the balcony?”
“Yes,” Charles said, weaving his fingers into mine. He showed me to the balcony, where a table, two chairs, and a half dozen carefully tended stone urns filled with flowering plants waited. Like a magician, the steward produced two plates from a cart somewhere behind us. I sank my fork into a tender piece of fish, its buttery flesh yielding to the tines. A bite of steaming hot roll was washed down with a sip of red wine. I squinted, unable to make out the French words on the label, just the date, 1916. I’d been a scrawny little girl then, chasing my younger brother and sister around the dusty streets outside the ramshackle building we called home. To think this wine was being bottled at that very moment.
“I haven’t forgotten about the woman in your apartment building,” he said.
My heart swelled. “You haven’t?”
“No,” he replied, pulling an envelope from his pocket. “I talked to my father. He owns a new housing development in West Seattle. They all have yards, new appliances. I think it would be a perfect place for her, and her children.”
“Oh, Charles!” I cried. “Your father agreed?”
He shook his head. “No, he refused. He doesn’t believe in handouts.”
“Oh,” I said, confused.
“I’m taking care of it myself,” he continued. “I don’t need my father’s permission to do a good deed. I have my own funds. She can move into her new home next week if she’d like.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “That’s so very generous.”
He handed me the envelope. I lifted the flap and peeked inside to see a stack of bills. “Charles!” I couldn’t wait to give her the money. I’d passed her on the stairs the other night, and she looked so tired, so gaunt, I worried she might pass out right there.
“After you told me about that poor woman, I couldn’t get her—or your—words out of my head. I’ve been thinking, Vera—together, we could do a lot of good for people.”
I beamed and couldn’t help but sway as the radio played a slow melodic song.
“Dance with me,” Charles said, standing up and reaching for my hands.
He helped me to my feet. I pressed my cheek to his chest, and we moved in time to the music. “I’d like to spend every day like this, with you,” he said. “Forever.” My lips met his and a force rivaling electricity surged through my body. He lifted me into his arms and carried me to the bedroom, laying me atop a down comforter as soft and enveloping as whipped cream. I sank into it willingly, and didn’t protest as he nestled his body next to mine. He kissed me again and again. I closed my eyes, trying to memorize the feeling of being loved. Truly loved.
Upstairs in Lon’s suite, I walked to the window, looking down to the street below. There might as well have been bars attached to the glass. I felt caged, jailed. He hovered behind me, his breath rapid and warm on my neck. “I miss my son so much,” I cried.
“Now, now,” Lon said, turning me around to face him. “Tomorrow we’ll find your son. Tonight, we’ll find”—he paused, unfastening a button on my dress—“each other.”
His touch repulsed me, but I didn’t push his hand away. With his wealth, we could plaster the city in posters, litter the streets with leaflets, hire a search team. “Promise me you’ll help find Daniel?” I searched his eyes. “You’re my only hope.”
“You have my word,” he said, confidently running a finger along the sash of my dress.
Lon turned out the light, and I held my breath as he pulled me toward the bed.
Chapter 14
CLAIRE
Isat in the cab for a while, staring at the hotel, memorializing the moment that Ethan had slipped away f
rom me.
The cab driver didn’t share my emotional sentiments. “Where to, miss?” he barked, tapping his fingers on the dash impatiently. “I don’t have all night.”
I didn’t feel like going home, not after tonight. “Café Lavanto,” I said instead.
The café looked dark when I arrived, but I was glad to find the door still open. A college girl with a short blond bobbed haircut shook her head from behind the counter. “Sorry,” she said. “We’re closed. I must have forgotten to lock the door.”
“Oh, I—”
“It’s fine, Brittany,” Dominic said, emerging from the back room with a stack of papers in hand. He turned to me. “It’s good to see you, Claire. Want something to drink?”
Brittany, cleaning the steamer wand of the espresso machine with a damp towel, seemed visibly annoyed by my presence. I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I just…” I stared down at my feet. “Do you have a minute to talk?”
He nodded, setting down the papers on a nearby table. “I’m all ears.”
We sat in a pair of upholstered chairs by the windows, gazing out at the street. A couple walking a pug passed by, holding hands over the dog’s leash. Brittany stopped at the door before letting herself out. “See you tomorrow,” she said.
Dominic waved and then turned back to me. “What’s wrong?”
I sighed. “You went through a bad breakup, right?”
“A doozy,” he said.
“How did you know when it was…” I paused. “Over?”
“Things were shaky for a long time,” he said. “We stopped laughing. She’d work late and not call me. I started spending more time with my friends. It snowballed. And then there was the added fact that she was—how do I put this nicely?—crazy.”
I returned his grin, but the smile faded quickly. There was nothing funny about what I was about to say. “I’m afraid my marriage might be over.”
“Claire, I’m so sorry.”
I clasped my hands together and stared ahead. My heart ached, and I couldn’t think of a single way to quell the pain. “It’s the betrayal I can’t get over.”
“I know,” he said. “I’ve been there. It hurts. I wish I could say something to make you feel better.”
“Well, just being here helps,” I said. “This place is a comfort to me.”
Dominic rubbed his forehead as if recalling an uncomfortable memory. He looked at his watch. “Hey, you know what you need?”
I shrugged. “What?”
“A beer,” he said. “I’m taking you down to Kells. My buddy’s in a band that’s playing there tonight. They cover U2 songs. You’ll love it. You can drink yourself silly, sing your heart out, and then I’ll drive you home and make sure you’re safe.”
“I don’t know,” I said apprehensively.
“Come on,” he said. “There’s nothing that a Guinness can’t fix.”
“Well,” I said, grinning, “I do like U2.”
Dominic smiled with satisfaction. “Good. I’ll just go get the extra helmet.”
I waited at the bar, glancing at the paperwork Dominic had left on a table to my right. The disarray reminded me of Ethan’s home office. I was forever tidying his mess. Manila file folders were his Achilles’ heel. I felt a sudden pain in my heart as I gathered the papers, tapping them into a neat pile.
“Oh,” Dominic said nervously, setting down the extra motorcycle helmet and swooping in to collect the pages in my hands. “I’ll take those. Sorry, I left a bit of a mess out here.”
An awkward pause hovered between us as Dominic shuffled the papers into a drawer below the bar. He smiled, erasing any lingering tension, and handed me the helmet. “Ready?”
“Yes,” I said, following him out to the street to his parked motorcycle.
Dominic blazed a trail through the crowd of sweaty, beer-fueled college students at Kells. I instantly regretted going, but then the unmistakable sound of U2 came from the stage. I expected to see Bono himself clutching the microphone, but I didn’t care that a guy with a pot belly and balding head was standing in. Dominic handed me a beer, something light brown and frothy, and I took a sip, and then another. We leaned against a patch of free space at the bar together. When a spot on the dance floor cleared, Dominic took my hand in his. “Want to dance?”
I had already finished a second beer, so I said yes without thinking. And when the band began playing “With or Without You,” I pressed my weary head against Dominic’s chest. I missed my husband terribly, but I liked the way Dominic held me, so safe, so secure. When the song ended and the band began playing the opening rifts of “One,” I didn’t object when his hands slipped lower on my waist.
“Claire?”
I heard my name, yes. A familiar female voice. But whose? I looked over Dominic’s shoulder, then felt a tap on my back. I turned around, and my mouth flew open. My God. Ethan’s sister, Leslie. We had skirmished pretty much since the day we met, but I could now see the conflict escalating to World War III proportions.
She gave Dominic a long look, then eyed me suspiciously. “What are you doing here, Claire?”
“Oh hi, Leslie,” I said, feigning composure. “This is my friend Dominic.”
“Friend?”
“Leslie,” I said, “I don’t know what you’re implying, but I can tell you right now I don’t owe you any explanation.”
“Tell that to Ethan,” she said, pulling out her cell phone.
“Yes, do,” I said. “He won’t bother answering. He’s at the Olympic Hotel with Cassandra.”
Her mouth gaped.
“Good night, Leslie,” I said, dragging Dominic by the arm.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”
I sighed. “If he can drink champagne with his ex, I can drink beer with you.” I waved at the bartender. “Another round, please.”
I don’t remember the ride to Abby’s place, or climbing the stairs to her apartment. Later, I discovered that Dominic had found her number in my phone and called for directions. I do, however, remember waking up and feeling like I’d been hit with an ax to the head. “Where am I?” I groaned.
Abby handed me a cup of coffee. Swirls of steam drifted from the green mug. I watched them disappear into the air. “I don’t drink coffee,” I said ungratefully.
“You do this morning,” she said. “Drink up.”
I took a sip. “What happened last night?”
“Someone had a little too much fun,” she said.
“Oh gosh,” I said. “Do I want to know?”
Suddenly, I remembered Kells, Dominic’s warm embrace, Leslie. I covered my face. “This isn’t good, Abs.”
“No, it isn’t,” she agreed.
“Did I kiss him?”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “He’s a decent guy. I don’t think he would have let you kiss him, even if he wanted to kiss you.”
I nodded.
“He carried you up six flights of stairs,” she said. “You were singing the whole way.”
“No.”
“Yes,” she said. “And you woke up the crazy lady in the apartment on the fourth floor.”
I buried my face deeper in my hands, then looked at my watch, suddenly panic-stricken.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s Saturday.”
“I’m not worried about work,” I said. “It’s Eva.”
“Eva?”
I fumbled for my bag, and was happy to find it next to me, beside the couch. “She used to know Daniel Ray. I’m meeting her today.” I pulled out my planner and flipped to the current week. “Good. I have an hour.”
“Go shower,” Abby said. “Towels are in the cabinet. Use anything you need.”
I took another big gulp of coffee. Ethan would be proud, but I wasn’t drinking it for him. “Thanks, Abs,” I said. “You’re the world’s greatest friend.”
“I know,” she said, folding up the blanket she’d strewn over me the night before. “But I’d like to point out that yo
u drooled on my Pottery Barn pillows.”
“I’ll buy you new ones.”
“Nonsense,” she said. “What’s a friendship without a little drool?”
I gave her a grateful smile that had nothing to do with the pillows. “I love you.”
She shooed me to the bathroom. “Go brush your teeth.”
The flower stands at the Pike Place Market brimmed with new blossoms. A bucket of fresh-cut hydrangeas, indigo blue, caught my eye, but even their cheerful petals couldn’t elicit a smile. All I could think about was Ethan and Cassandra, and how we were entwined in a colossal mess. I pulled a bottle of Advil from my bag and popped two pills, washing them down with a swig from the water bottle Abby had provided. I tucked the bottle back inside and felt my cell phone buzzing, notifying me of a missed call. I clicked a button and saw that it was Ethan. So he’d talked to Leslie. That or he wanted to apologize for last night. Either way, I didn’t want to speak to him. I had nothing to say.
I checked the address in my planner, walking along the sidewalk until I came to the entrance of Eva’s building. Inside the lobby an arrangement of sun-faded silk flowers sat atop a round table, their petals thick with dust. The wallpaper bubbled and peeled at the edges, and the scent of boiled vegetables wafted in the air. I took the elevator to the eleventh floor, stopping at unit 1105 and knocking quietly.
Moments later the doorknob turned and an elderly woman appeared. Her white hair was tucked into a bun, revealing a thin face and kind brown eyes. She smiled. “You must be Claire.”
“Yes,” I said, extending my hand. Funny, I knew she was an old woman, and yet I’d only imagined a little girl, with pigtails and a calico jumper. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”
“Come in,” she said, gesturing inside the apartment. I sat down in a blue recliner near the window, tucking aside a small cross-stitched pillow to make room for my purse. Plain, but tidy, the space smelled of lemons and baby powder. It reminded me a little of my grandmother’s small condo in San Diego. I missed her.
