by Kate White
“No, I appreciate what you did, Gab.” And I do.
* * *
THE NEXT DAY I arrive at my apartment shortly before three. It’s strange to be back. All the white in the rooms—the walls and furniture and fabrics—which I always adored, seems stark after the seductive blue and gold and violet tones of Gabby’s place. It’s weirdly quiet, too. Usually, even this high up, I can hear the muted sound of rumbling trucks or sirens from the street or the wind coursing along the side of building, but today it feels as if the space has been hermetically sealed.
I use the next few hours to sort through my mail, run a couple of loads of laundry, and set out the items I purchased for dinner, everyday stuff that doesn’t feel like everyday anymore. During this time, one lingering mystery ends up solved. As I’m trying to decide whether I’m ever going to wear my trench coat again, I notice an inside pocket I’ve forgotten about, and hidden in there is my missing credit card.
Hugh arrives home, as promised, exactly at six, and I let him hug me. I briefly welcome the comfort of having his arms around me and the softness of his shirt against my cheek.
“Jeez, Ally, I’ve been so worried about you,” he mutters into my hair. “I just wish you had let me see you before now.”
“There’s nothing you could have done, Hugh,” I say, stepping back. “And the worst seems to be over.”
“You’ve got to fill me in. There’s still so much I don’t know.”
“I will. Are you ready to eat? The food’s on the table.”
“Terrific,” he says, shrugging off his suit jacket. “I’ll change later.”
We talk as we eat, with me fleshing out the missing details for him.
He doesn’t disguise how shocked he is and finally rests an elbow on the table, dropping his head into his hand.
“She would have killed you,” he said, his voice cracking. “And she would have buried your body like that other woman.”
“Hugh,” I say, moved by his anguish. “Let’s not think about that. Because it didn’t play out that way.”
“You saved yourself, Ally.”
I chuckle ruefully. “I guess all those years of field hockey finally paid off for me.”
He clears both our plates and returns to the table with a fresh bottle of sparkling water.
“Hugh, there’s more we need to talk about,” I say. “And that’s the two of us.”
He exhales, reaches over to grasp my hand.
“I want to make it work, Ally. I really do.”
I sit silently for a minute or two, feeling him watching me intently. My lips are pursed, I realize. Perhaps on some level, I’m scared of saying the wrong thing and later regretting it. But I’m pretty sure I know what I want.
“Look, on the one hand I’m relieved you didn’t end up sleeping with that woman. But you were attracted to her. You took her out for drinks and flirted with her. You kissed her. I know we’ve been fighting lately, but that’s hardly an excuse. And worst of all, you covered it up to protect yourself at a time when I desperately needed the truth.”
“That’s only because I wanted a second chance with you. I was afraid if I told you what had really happened, you wouldn’t give me that.”
“Or you didn’t want me to know that you’d upset me so badly, I’d fallen apart.”
He grimaces.
“It was terrible judgment on my part. But can you forgive me for this mistake? I know that marriages can survive this kind of thing, that it can even make them stronger.”
“I’m aware of that, too. People drift apart or become preoccupied with work and they end up hurting or betraying each other. And on an intellectual level, I can see how it’s possible to forgive and move on.”
“So you can forgive me?”
“I can forgive you, Hugh, yes. But I would never be able to let go of it.”
“Ally, please, it won’t happen again.”
For some crazy reason I flash on a piece of personal finance advice I’ve touted: Never make financial decisions based on what you assume you’ll be earning in the future. Meaning don’t buy a pricier car or house because you’re due for a promotion or plan to inherit soon from a grandparent. There are no guarantees about how things will play out in the future. And I can’t bank on the fact that Hugh’s mistake is a one-off, despite what he’s promising.
“I appreciate you saying that. And I have a feeling you’d try, at least for a while. But there’s something I need to explain. As horrible as things have been for me lately, it’s helped me realize a critical fact about myself. Ever since I found Jaycee Long in the woods that day, I’ve felt unsafe in the world. My parents tried to comfort me, and the therapist I saw when I was a kid did her best, but because I deceived them and couldn’t show them how ashamed I was, I couldn’t feel better. I think that finding the body in Erling’s office made me come unglued because it reinforced that sense of being at risk.”
“But—”
“Hugh, let me finish. I want to be safe again. I was attracted to you in part because you made me feel that way. But not anymore. If we stayed together, I would always be wondering and worrying—every time you got home late or needed to take a shower after work.”
“Ally . . .”
“I’ve already made up my mind. We need to separate. One of us can take the bedroom and the other the den until we work out the specifics.”
“Please, can’t we see a counselor, and talk about this more?”
“If you want to work with a counselor to make the transition easier, I’ll go with you, as long as you view it as nothing beyond that.”
“All right,” he says, finally, his head lowered. My sense is that he knows it’s pointless to keep talking, but that he might renew his efforts down the road. It won’t matter. It’s wrenching to think my marriage is over, but I can’t see any hope.
Later, as I’m listlessly putting away laundry in the bedroom—Hugh volunteered to take the den—Roger calls.
“How are you, Button?”
“Hanging in there.” The news about Hugh and me feels too damn fresh to share right this moment, so I save it.
“I’ve got an update on the situation out here,” Roger says. “Is this an okay time?”
“Yes, I’m eager to hear.”
“Nowak confided in me that Audrey’s mother has apparently come forward. Says Audrey told her not to go into Jaycee’s room the night she babysat, or the next morning, just peek through the doorway. She said it was because she didn’t want Jaycee to wake up. There was a bulge in the bed, but the grandmother never saw the girl. She’d probably been dumped in the woods by then.”
“Wow.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, it’s good to finally see the truth emerge.”
We agree to talk tomorrow and finalize our plans to meet again this week, and he promises to fill me in then on the latest with Marion, though I sense his relationship is as doomed as mine. As for our father, we’ve given him a watered-down version of events and have been keeping him abreast.
After signing off, I deliberate what to do next. I feel an urge to go outside, to be in the world again now that I’m sure no one is trying to harm me. Before I can do anything, my phone pings with a text from Jay Williams.
More info. After dinner at Pairings on Wednesday you walked south. Checked into the Element Hotel at about 9. You walked from there to Greenbacks the next A.M.
I stand motionless for a minute on the middle of the bedroom, staring at the screen. I’m thinking, trying to make sense of it. Using my phone I google the Element, find out it’s a boutique hotel smack in the middle of Nolita, an area south of the East Village and north of Little Italy. I have no memory of staying there that night, needless to say. But that area once mattered to me.
It’s been a while since I updated my timeline so I grab my purse and fish it out, adding the details I’ve become aware of since Monday.
MONDAY
evening: dinner, TV, argument
>
TUESDAY
7:00: still in bed
9:00-ish: took call from Dr. Erling
9:00–9:17: sent emails
9:30: hung out at café
11:00-ish: left for 42nd Street
11:30-ish: took train to Erling’s; found body; lost phone; took train back to city
3:00–3:30-ish: called WorkSpace
9:00–6:00 A.M.: spent night at WorkSpace
WEDNESDAY
Noon-ish: bought food at Eastside Eats, East 7th St.
Afternoon: walked near Tompkins Square Park
Maybe evening: ate at Pairings
Night: stayed at the Element Hotel
THURSDAY
8:05: arrived at Greenbacks
There are now many fewer blanks, but I still have questions. I return my attention to the phone and quickly text Damien.
Can you meet me at the bar of the Element Hotel tonight?
34
Damien is already at the bar when I arrive at around 9:30. He’s wearing jeans and a checked shirt, and his blond hair looks damp on the sides, as if he’s smoothed it back with wet hands. There’s a beer bottle in front of him and a glass he doesn’t seem to be bothering with.
“It’s really good to see you, Ally,” he says. This time I do get a kiss on the cheek, one that lingers a little. And then an embrace, which I return.
“I appreciate you coming on such short notice,” I say. The bartender approaches and I order a beer, too.
“I’ve been so worried about you.”
“I’m actually doing okay, all things considered.”
He smiles. “It must feel good to know you handled the situation brilliantly. Ms. Linden in the kitchen with a candlestick.”
I laugh out loud. “That’s one way to put it.”
“Are you getting the support you need right now?”
“Pretty much. Though as of this week, I’m separated from my husband, and that’s going to be really tough. Still, it’s the right decision for both of us.”
His expression is inscrutable, so I have no idea what he’s thinking. The waiter sets my beer down, and I take a sip from the bottle.
“That is tough,” he says. “Sorry to hear it.”
“Thank you . . . I feel like all we’ve done lately is talk about me. What about you, Damien? What’s happening in your life?”
“I guess life is good overall. I’m single at the moment and still living down here. Playing the guitar, though I don’t know if I’ve improved since you last heard me. Trying to squeeze in as much travel as possible. And still loving every day at Greenbacks.”
“Has Sasha surfaced again?”
“The beauty guru? I haven’t heard anything else. Maybe she went back to covering split ends and dry cuticles.”
“It’s none of my business, of course, but could she make trouble for you—for the company?”
He narrows his eyes again, studying me.
“I’m not perfect, Ally,” he says finally. “You know that. But I’d never fuck up something that mattered so much to me. . . . Is that why you asked me to join you tonight? To find out if I was cooking the books?”
“No, though it’s good to know you’re the same person from five years ago. But there is something I wanted to ask you. The private investigator I’m working with found out I stayed in this hotel the night before I went to Greenbacks.”
“And you have no recollection of it whatsoever?”
“None.”
For half a minute neither of us speaks.
“You’re looking at me as if I might have something to contribute,” Damien says, raising an eyebrow.
“Do you? This is two blocks from your apartment. I mean, the one you lived in when I knew you.”
“Are you asking if we spent the night together, Ally? No. When I saw you in the conference room, it was the first time I’d laid eyes on you in five years.”
“Okay. I . . . I just wondered. Because it seemed more than coincidental. Me being in your neighborhood—and the fact that I showed up at Greenbacks the next day. I thought maybe I did something crazy and invited you to my hotel room.”
He smiles. “If you had, I would have been happy to oblige. Sorry, I don’t mean to make light of it. Not knowing about a chunk of your life must be frustrating.”
“Most of the blanks have actually been filled in by this point, thanks to the two investigators I’ve worked with. But what’s frustrating is not knowing why I did some of the things I did. It’s pretty clear why I fell apart, but why dump my purse in my office and set off on this crazy journey through the East Village? And end up here? And then Greenbacks? What was I hoping to accomplish?”
Damien reaches for his beer bottle and runs a thumb up and down its side.
“Maybe it’s not all that complicated. You could try looking at it literally and see how that sits with you.”
“What do you mean?
“When we spent time together, you told me you used to wander around the East Village. And daydream in a little restaurant there. So maybe you were trying to be in a place that felt good to you and recapture someone you used to be. Or experimented with being.”
I reflect on his words. Is that really what those two days were about? If so, it also would mean that I’d felt a yearning to connect with Damien again.
“It’s funny,” I say. “My father always called me Button because I was so buttoned-up—but there’s a part of me that wants to be different than that. Not a wild child, but freer. I’ve only let that side of me out once in a while.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Not sure. Perhaps I sensed my parents loved the girl who worked extra hard and didn’t cross the line. But more importantly, I think finding Jaycee Long’s body put the fear of God into me. It felt as if I was being punished for breaking the rules.”
“You mean because you’d taken the shortcut that day?”
“Right. I’d never done—”
A thought flits around the edges of my mind, vaguely familiar.
“What?” Damien asks.
“I just remembered something. Another lie I told back then—though, thank god, this isn’t as consequential as the other.”
“Tell me.”
“I told my family and the police that I took the shortcut home because I dillydallied around school that day, but that’s only party true. Believe it or not, I was also looking for arrowheads.”
“Arrowheads?”
“I was fascinated by the whole idea of them, and I’d heard someone say they were all over New Jersey, in fields and woods. That’s probably why I was off the path, kicking at piles of leaves.”
He laughs a little. “Sorry, once again the wrong response, but it’s funny to think of you heading out with that secret plan.”
“Yeah, and unfortunately I paid a price for it. But I never lost my love for arrowheads.”
We’ve finished our drinks and Damien asks if I want another. Part of me wants to linger. I feel at ease in his presence. But I don’t want to complicate my life any more than necessary at the moment. So I tell him no thank you, that I’d better be heading out, and I slip back into my sweater coat.
As I reach into my purse for my wallet, Damien shakes his head.
“I’ve got this,” he says.
“Well, I definitely owe you then, since you got the last one.”
He brushes my cheek with his lips again.
“Want to go arrowhead hunting some time? Believe it or not, that was one of my obsessions as a kid.”
I smile.
“I’d like that. But . . . maybe down the road a little. I’ve got too much to figure out right now.”
I leave him sitting at the bar and head into the night. I walk for a while, north and west, block after block.
I think I do want to see Damien again, but it’s true, I have so much to figure out first. I need to process the end of my marriage and work through the grief that’s sure to slam me when I’m no longer in shock. To commi
t fully to working with the new doctor so I don’t relapse. To be there for Roger as he weathers his own marital issues. To make certain my career doesn’t take a back seat in the middle of this.
And something else. I liked Damien’s theory about why I chose to wander around the East Village. Maybe I really do need to reconnect with the part of myself that wants to be less buttoned-up. That secretly craves not being so much of a rule follower.
It’s a beautiful night, I realize. The air is nicely crisp, and there’s a light wind on my face. I pass a small market selling pumpkins out front, both orange and white ones, and pot after pot of mums. I have a sudden recollection from years ago of me and my mother making a list of costume ideas for Halloween. I wanted to be Batman, I told her, and she smiled and said, Perfect.
A free cab shoots by and I almost try to grab it, but don’t. I feel the urge to keep walking. To be a city girl again.
As I wait for a traffic light to change, I think of the financial mantra many businesses live by: “The bottom line is the only line that matters.” In certain contexts, I don’t buy that philosophy, but at this moment in time, it makes sense for me on a personal level. When all is said and done, who do I really want to be? That’s what I need to know.
Acknowledgments
The amazing suspense author Harlan Coben once told me with a smile that research is a form of procrastination, and though I think he’s right in certain cases, for me doing research is really essential. I’m so grateful to those who help me attempt to get my facts right and also provide fascinating information that enables me to add texture or twisty little details to my plots.
I talked to some dynamite people for this book and I want to thank them from the bottom of my heart: Jean Chatsky, personal finance expert and CEO of hermoney.com; Farnoosh Torabi, journalist and personal finance expert; James White, financial expert; Lucy Howell, LCSW; Lisa Chrupcala, former director of psychiatric services; Ann Pleshette Murphy; Dr. Paul Paganelli; Ernest MacVane, paramedic; Barbara Butcher, consultant for forensic and medicolegal investigations; Will Valenza, Glens Falls police department, retired; Joyce Hanshaw, retired captain from the Hunterdon County Prosecutor’s Office; Raymond Berke, private investigator; Bill Cunningham, IT consultant.
