“Why?” I ask. “That was twenty years ago. They’ll say yes, there was a girl, and yes, she died. We already know this.”
“But what if she died under mysterious circumstances?”
I’m losing my patience. “She had some sort of disease, an infection. It was horribly scarring. It was a long time ago and they didn’t know how to cure it back then.”
“What kind of disease could that be? Something that scarred her face and body to the point they refused to let her be seen? Closed casket and everything? No wonder the woman went crazy.”
“There were skin blisters,” I tell him. “I looked it up after Pauline told me.”
“What kind of skin blisters kill a kid?”
“Open sores that can lead to sepsis, loss of bodily fluids. The child can stop eating and breathing.”
Jonathan scratches at his neck and chin. “I don’t know, it just doesn’t—”
“What are you trying to say? That’s not how she really died?”
“No.” He’s pacing. “Yes…maybe…I don’t know.” He sits down with me, his eyes darting from one side of the room to the other, his brain churning. “It just seems weird.”
“Everything about these people is weird.”
“Don’t you want to know what happened to Patty?”
“No one killed her,” I tell him sternly. “They loved her too much.” I meet his eyes. “Let’s think about this for a second, okay? Why kill a girl and then spend the next twenty years pretending she’s still alive?” I shake my head. “That’s not what happened.”
“Well you can’t ignore what might have happened to Therese. There’s something wrong there, I know it, and you know it. And the other nanny quitting on them like that…”
I rub the bridge of my nose. “I told you. Pauline helped get her out of that contract because the family promised she would be the last nanny.”
“But she wasn’t, right? They didn’t stop.”
I sigh. Jonathan’s eyes won’t leave my face.
“No, they didn’t,” I tell him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
It’s nearing midnight and Jonathan hasn’t come home yet. He said he would be meeting up with friends at a bar and asked me to join them. After everything we’re going through, I guess he wanted to let off some steam. I needed the quiet time to myself; our conversation from earlier left me weary and rattled.
When the doorbell buzzes, I instantly drop the remote.
It buzzes a second time. Swinging my legs off the futon, I shuffle to the intercom panel on the wall. With my finger jammed against the button, I say, “You okay, babe? You lost your keys?”
A pause.
“Ma’am?” an unfamiliar voice says in return.
I flinch and pull my finger away from the wall. I push the button again. “Who is this?”
“Ma’am,” the voice repeats, a deep baritone. “New York City PD. Can we come up?”
I’m not buying it—Jonathan’s paranoia and Stephen’s warnings have got me on edge—and I rush to the window to get a better view. I’m not going to buzz just anyone into our building.
I see two figures below. Slamming my hand against the window frame to rattle it loose, I lift it up just an inch, enough for me to call out, “Can I see your ID?”
The two people outside my building are dressed like New York City police officers—one male and one female in stiff black jackets and black pants. Looking up, they locate the sound of my voice and spot the open window.
“New York City police,” the male officer repeats, holding up his badge. The woman does the same.
“What is it?”
Another pause. The female officer speaks this time. “I think it’s best you let us up.”
I move back to the intercom panel and buzz them in, my breaths getting shorter. It’s harder to squeeze the air into my lungs.
Within seconds, the officers appear at my door and I’m thinking: the Birds sent them. They’ve had complaints from the neighbors about Jonathan asking questions. They’ve sent the police to warn us.
“Can we come in?” the female officer asks.
I let them in. One look at their faces and a sick feeling grows deep inside my stomach.
“What is it?” I ask. “What happened?”
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this…” the female officer begins.
And I suddenly know what they’re about to say. The reason they’re here.
This can’t be happening.
“Jonathan?” I stumble back. The male officer reaches out to hold me even though I shake him off to take another step.
Maybe, I think, if I make it to the other side of the room, what they’re about to tell me won’t be true. Jonathan will come walking through that door any minute and this will all be a big mistake.
But that’s not what they’re telling me, and my world bottoms out. The floor opens up to swallow me whole, a cataclysmic boom and rip in my universe.
Covering my ears with my hands, I stumble again, but this time find enough of my footing to reach the edge of the bed, my knees buckling so I can sit. They’re talking in a fishbowl, I can’t understand them—don’t want to hear what they’re saying. I’m telling myself they’ve got it all wrong. They’ve screwed up big time. ID’d the wrong person. It can’t be Jonathan, must be someone else.
They found him in an alley.
A syringe in his arm.
Someone found his body.
Their voices sound as if they’re underwater. The walls are spinning around me.
“Do you have anyone you can call?” one of the officers asks. “We need to get in touch with his family too.”
“Is there anyone who can sit with you?” asks the other.
I’m covering my face with my hands. My breathing is labored, shallow.
Shut up, shut up, shut up, I want to scream.
I think I’m shrieking, but I’m not. Only breathing—desperate attempts at gulping air.
“We need to get ahold of his parents,” the female officer says, flipping out a notepad. She lowers her face to me. “Ms. Larsen?”
I’m crying, a dam breaking open inside my head. “I don’t understand. You mean…Jonathan…?”
Jonathan is dead.
Did the Birds have something to do with this?
The female officer drops to her knees beside me, her hand on my back as I rock and wail. I push her away—I don’t want her to come near me. I don’t want either of them in the apartment anymore, and I beg them to go.
When the door shuts, I search for my phone, my hands trembling. I call Amelia, but I’m crying so hard she can hardly understand what I’m saying.
“Jonathan…” I sob something about a syringe and how they found him dead and I need her to come quickly. I don’t know how to tell his family.
Amelia is hysterical too. She arrives at the apartment within minutes, her eyes wild and red and matching my own. And we fall to the floor, holding each other because we don’t know what else to do.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Overnight, my world goes gray. I don’t know how else to explain it except that colors drain from everything I see. Noises are sucked out. There’s only a hum and a throbbing ache where happiness and laughter used to be. Everything I touch is now cold and hard—nothing has texture. I want to lie on the floor and shrivel up.
I sleep, but only to avoid everything because it’s the only way I can hide. Numb the pain and knock myself into a black, sleep-heavy oblivion.
I’m empty inside. The emptiness is so overwhelming, it’s exhausting, and I never understood before how that can happen. The grief and heartache literally take my breath away until I have no energy to do anything else. The simplest of tasks are unimaginable. The grief erases all emotions except sheer, excruciating pain.
&n
bsp; This is how Collette must have felt when Patty died.
Jonathan’s parents travel from Philadelphia to view his body. I didn’t call them, at least I don’t remember calling them. Everything has been a big hazy blur. I don’t remember who I’ve spoken to, who has called, although I’m sure there have been visitors. Stacks of food go to waste on my kitchen counter. Someone forced me out of the clothes I’ve been wearing since the police were here—was that Amelia? I look down at the soft green top I’m wearing, the jogger pants, the drool that has collected down the front of my chest, the wrinkled material at my waist, and I think that must have been days ago. It’s time I change out of these clothes too. But I don’t.
Jonathan’s parents coming was one of the most painful experiences of my life. They asked me if they could take some of his things. I remember staring at a picture of the two of us at Coney Island, Jonathan standing behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist, both of us smiling like two schoolkids for the camera. The mother reaches for one of Jonathan’s favorite shirts with the Philadelphia Phillies logo on the front and brings the shirt to her face, breathing him in.
We’d talked about having the wedding in Philadelphia since I didn’t have any family left and most of Jonathan’s family and friends are still in the area. He wanted me to meet his dog, Wilson. He said he wanted to take me to a skating rink near his home where he could teach me to skate. He told me he’d hold my hand.
But none of that is going to happen now.
The thought of attending his funeral service is enough to make me want to rip off my skin. It hurts too much. I don’t know how I’m going to survive losing him.
First, my parents. Then the devastation of losing Aunt Clara. And now Jonathan.
His parents asked me questions too, in scared and horrified tones—did I know he was using heroin? Was this something that had been going on for a while? Why didn’t I try to stop him?
I told them no, that’s not right. You’ve got it all wrong. That’s not Jonathan. He would never. But I’m hysterical through all of it, not sure if I’ve convinced them.
After they left, I turned off the lights and crawled back into bed.
At some point—is it Thursday, Sunday? I have no idea anymore—Collette and Pauline appear in the apartment. At some point I must have sent them a message about Jonathan, about why I wasn’t coming into work, but I honestly can’t remember. Collette may have tried calling too. When she and Pauline arrive, I don’t want them here but can’t find the strength to tell them to go. At first I recoil, but Collette is loving and kind and wrapping me in hugs while Pauline makes me endless cups of hot tea and sits quietly with Kleenex and blankets they’ve brought.
Collette is crying too.
I stare at the woman: Does she have any idea what her husband might have done to the love of my life?
Am I losing it to think it was them?
But she doesn’t know anything—of course she doesn’t. She sits by my side and lets me rest my head in her lap while she strokes my hair. Pauline takes my hand and squeezes gently. They let me cry some more and then they let me sleep. I have no idea how long they stay, but when I wake hours later, they’ve left a note. Collette tells me they’ll be back in the morning to check on me.
At 7:00 a.m., the doorbell is buzzing. I don’t answer and pull the covers over my head. But loud knocking pounds on the main door outside, and then footsteps echo up the stairs. Someone has opened the door for them; I hear Collette’s voice outside my door, followed by someone else’s. One of my neighbors has let them in—do they know what’s happened? My fiancé is dead. Today is his funeral.
I don’t want to move—at first, I refuse to—but Collette and Pauline practically lift me from the bed and guide me to the shower. It hurts to stand up. I’ve been in the fetal position for days with the apartment in darkness and it hurts my eyes to have the light turned on. The water feels like acid on my skin.
Pauline is helping me get dressed when Amelia appears at the door. I remember her being here yesterday—or was it three days ago?—the pair of us saying we would attend Jonathan’s funeral together. We’d take the train, and after returning to the city, she would stay the night to make sure I wouldn’t be alone.
She clutches a small duffel bag.
But Collette is backing her toward the door and speaking to her in hushed tones. She places a hand gently on Amelia’s shoulders and tells her it’s unnecessary, that she doesn’t need to worry, because she and Pauline are here now and able to take care of me. They will take care of everything.
Amelia cranes her neck. She shoots me a worried look and I know what she’s thinking—she doesn’t know these people. Her one and only encounter with Collette was watching her lose her mind at the restaurant, costing both me and Jonathan our jobs.
Amelia says something to Collette in return. She’s protesting, I can tell that much, but Collette is reverting to that singsong voice that always gets her what she wants.
She returns Amelia to the hall. Hands her cash and tells her to use it to buy a train ticket.
“We’ll take Sarah comfortably in our car.”
But Amelia says, “Sarah…?” And she looks in my direction to make sure I’m okay.
I tell her, “It’s all right,” and give her a small smile. And then Amelia is gone.
Henry drives us. The apartment I share with Jonathan disappears behind us as we move along the city streets, then out of Manhattan toward Philadelphia. The drive will take two hours.
I look out the window blankly at New York City, the place I once thought magically exciting and full of hope. The place I found Jonathan. It’s all turning to gray. Gray streets. Gray buildings. Even the skyline and once dazzling skyscrapers are large and ominous and threatening to crumble and crash around me.
As much as I’m beside myself thinking there’s a possibility Collette’s husband had something to do with Jonathan’s death—every time the thought enters my brain I want to throw up or scream, or both—I can’t bring myself to fight the family right now.
Because honestly, I need Collette’s help to get me through this day. I’m too tired and overwhelmed to do anything for myself right now. I just need someone to hold me up, make sure I don’t fall to my knees. She’s the only one I know who understands how crushing a loss like this feels.
But I seethe. How could he? How could Mr. Bird do something like this to the man I love—if this is his doing?
Does Collette have any idea who she’s married to?
I cry thinking about Jonathan, overcome with grief that I’ll never see him again, that I won’t wake in the mornings to find him next to me in bed. No more nights sharing Chinese takeout or watching him at his laptop, scrolling through endless news headlines or ESPN scores. No more sharing coffee mugs or breakfast before work. The bagel shop around the corner.
No more planning our wedding. No changing my name to Mrs. Romero.
No chance for ice-skating lessons at the skating rink.
The chance for our little family to grow together—my own family after I’ve already lost so much.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
I don’t remember much from the funeral except the feeling of Collette and Pauline on either side of me, holding me up.
Afterward, they fold me into the back of the car again, and before I know it we are returning to West Seventy-eighth Street, the women helping me up the elevator and bringing me to one of the guest rooms, where Collette says I can stay for as long as I’d like.
I watch Collette. The room darkens as she pulls the curtains and moves past my bed. I raise my head again, but exhaustion washes over me. My eyes are heavy and all I want to do is sleep. Shut everything out. Lie here and sleep and no longer feel the pain, even if that means staying in the home of the man who might be responsible for my grief.
“Stay here for as long as you need to,
sweet girl,” Collette says before quietly stepping out of the room. Collette is on my side, she’s not going to hurt me. For now, we will help each other through our terrible ordeals.
I pull the covers over my head, willing sleep to come.
I think I stay there for days, although I can’t be sure. Days and nights run together and it’s hard to keep track, especially when the curtains are always closed. Collette and Pauline bring me food, and occasionally, they manage to get me to eat a few bites. Just like at my apartment, they encourage me to shower. They comb my hair, and Collette brings me a new lip balm. It’s vanilla-scented, she says. One of Patty’s favorites.
Other times, I ask them to leave. I tell them they don’t need to hover, that I can do it myself. But then I go back to sleep, and when I wake, Collette is there again, checking on me from the doorway. She blows me a kiss.
I wait for Mr. Bird and Stephen to return from their business trip. Collette says they’ve been gone a few days.
What convenient timing, I think, although I’m still not sure how I’m going to be able to face them when they appear.
A few days later, I’m eating part of a sandwich Pauline has brought me, and Collette considers this a success. “Progress,” she says. “You’re gaining your strength.” She coaxes me out of the guest room to watch a movie in the living room. I sit on the couch, a fog clouding my head as the movie plays. I have no idea what it’s about, can barely pay attention to the words let alone the story line, but at least I’m sitting up. I’m no longer in the fetal position.
I’m wearing leggings and a shirt, although I don’t recognize them as mine since I haven’t brought a stitch of clothing with me, not even a toothbrush. But apparently that’s all been taken care of. Collette has bought me brand-new everything, from shampoo and deodorant to new underwear. But these clothes look like they’ve come straight from her closet.
I’m no longer their employee but someone they must take care of—they insist upon it. Often, I hear Collette speaking to Patty. She’ll ask her which movie she wants to watch next. We sit through Cinderella and Pinocchio and The Lion King. Freddie brings us tea and hot chocolate in that same rainbow mug. Pauline moves around us quietly, lightly dusting or wiping at countertops before checking to make sure I’m all right.
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