You Are Not Alone

by Greer Hendricks

  She straightened up and glanced in the mirror, dabbing her fingertip below her right eyebrow to remove a smudge of mascara. Then her eyes widened. How could she have forgotten her lip gloss? That simple mistake could have derailed everything. She reached for a tissue and wiped off the peachy-pink shimmer.

  She hadn’t been able to eat anything all day. She knew she should nibble on something, especially because she’d be drinking soon, but her stomach was clenched in knots.

  She took a last look around her apartment. Tupperware containers on her kitchen counter held the evidence of her sleepless night: lemon poppy-seed muffins, cream cheese brownies, and classic chocolate-chip cookies. Cooking was her therapy.

  She stepped out into the sweltering evening.

  She’d imagined this night many times. Now that it was finally here, it took on a surreal quality. Her senses heightened: She flinched at the blaring horn from an idling Uber and turned her head away from the noxious smell of the puddle left by the Labradoodle being walked a few feet ahead of her.

  The air felt thick and dense, as if it wanted to hold her back.

  Perspiration began to gather under her arms, but she couldn’t hail a cab just yet. She needed to put a few more blocks between her home address and the pickup stop. She stopped on the busy corner of Park and Thirty-second and raised her hand. It was rush hour, and even in August, with the city’s quieter rhythms, it took another precious four minutes for one to stop.

  She slipped into the backseat and gave her destination, then ducked her head, pretending to be busy on her phone. Normally, she engaged cabdrivers in conversation. She enjoyed hearing their stories: She’d chatted with drivers who’d been cruising the streets of Manhattan for decades and had the thick Brooklyn accents to prove it, immigrants who’d worked as engineers in their home countries, and cabbies who’d ferried around celebrities and loved recounting their brushes with the famous.

  Tonight the only noise in the cab came from Jeopardy!’s Alex Trebek on the touchscreen: “The title of this popular Netflix show about female prisoners references two colors.”

  A jitney bus pulled sharply into their lane, making the driver slam on his brakes.

  “Sorry, lady,” he said, catching Amanda’s eye in the rearview mirror.

  “It’s okay,” she muttered, ducking her head again.

  The bar was approaching; the distinctive red awning was just two blocks away.

  “This it?” The cabbie pulled over in front of a Mexican restaurant. The fare was $15.60. She gave him a folded twenty and slipped out.

  She waited until he was halfway down the block before she slipped on the glasses she’d purchased for tonight and began to walk briskly.

  She entered Twist twenty minutes behind schedule. She stood in the doorway, letting her eyes adjust to the dim lighting. Coldplay’s “Yellow” played through the sound system, and the click of a cue hitting a pool ball came from the back of the room.

  She spotted Beth at the far end of the big, L-shaped bar, a glass of white wine in front of her. Beth’s eyes skimmed over Amanda without stopping.

  The bar was moderately crowded; it was a Thursday night. If she’d made it here on time, there might have been more empty stools.

  But the only unclaimed ones were at the end by Beth.

  She looked around again, as if deciding where to plant herself. A couple of men played pool in the back room. Other people were scattered at tables and booths.

  She took a deep breath and moved toward the bar, wedging herself into the small spot between two occupied stools. She smiled at the bartender, who was filling up a glass with beer from a tap. He gestured that he’d be right over to help her.

  She felt dizzy. Her lack of sleep, the two cups of coffee she’d consumed during her shift, her empty stomach—it was all conspiring against her.

  She tensed her leg muscles to try to stop them from shaking, then leaned against the bar, jostling the man to her right. He turned around reflexively.

  She leaned forward and pressed her arms to her sides so the V-neck of her dress plunged more deeply. “Sorry,” she said just as the bartender came to take her order. “What are you having? That looks good!”

  The guy on the stool—late thirties, broad shouldered, thinning blond hair—lifted up his nearly empty glass. “Whiskey and soda.”

  Amanda nodded to the bartender and handed him a twenty-dollar bill: “We’ll take two.”

  “Hey, thanks.” The man spun around a quarter turn to fully face Amanda. He looked her up and down, appearing to like what he saw. “I’m James.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  SHAY

  Four indications people may be uncomfortable with you:

  1.  They touch their neck (where there are nerve endings; this can unconsciously help calm them down).

  2.  Their feet are pointed away from you.

  3.  They avoid eye contact or wince.

  4.  They cross their arms or physically withdraw and place an object between you (such as pulling a pillow on their lap).

  —Data Book, page 53

  NORMALLY, I’D NEVER WALK INTO a boutique like this. You can tell from the outside the clothes are pricey and chic. I can see why Cassandra and Jane shop here, but I’m out of my element.

  When I step inside Daphne’s, however, my shoulders instantly relax. It smells delicious—like fresh citrus. Upbeat music is playing, something with a great rhythm, and yummy-looking mini-cupcakes are set out on a platter. The little store has an aura of happiness.

  A woman approaches and I recognize her instantly: She’s the glossy girl from Amanda’s memorial service—the one with shiny hair, skin, and nails. Today she’s in wide-legged dark-rinse jeans and a camel-colored silk blouse.

  “Welcome,” she says as she draws closer. She falters, her eyes widening, as her smile dims. “I’m Daphne.”

  “Hi, I’m Shay.” I wait expectantly, but my name doesn’t seem to ring a bell.

  Perhaps Cassandra and Jane forgot to mention I would be stopping by.

  “Shay. Nice to meet you…” She looks me up and down. Maybe she’s wondering why someone like me would be in this posh boutique.

  “Are you looking for anything special?” she finally asks.

  Now I am certain she has no idea who I am. Cassandra and Jane suggested I come here to get an outfit for my date with Ted. Her things are expensive, but she has really terrific sales—you never know what you’re going to find, Cassandra had said. And you’re going to love Daphne!

  “Uh, I have this date coming up. And our mutual friends Cassandra and Jane suggested I come here.…”

  Daphne looks surprised again, but she recovers quickly. “Oh! How wonderful. They’re two of my favorite people.”

  “Yeah, they’re really great.”

  She can’t seem to stop staring at me. Then she gives her head a little shake, as if to clear it. “So, a date,” she says briskly. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m not sure yet. It’s actually a first date. We’re just grabbing a drink.”

  “I’ve got some pretty tops over here.” She leads me to a rack and flips through a few. She holds one up against me. It’s a bold blue with a low, asymmetrical neckline. “This would go great with your coloring.”

  She continues going through the rack, pulling out a few more for me to try on. She carries them into the dressing room, which has a soft, tufted chair, a huge mirror, and sleek silver bars on the walls. She hooks the tops of the hangers on the bars, then closes the curtain. I’m pulling off my sweater when I hear her voice close by. She must be just on the other side of the curtain.

  “So how do you know Cassandra and Jane?”

  I have to sidestep that question. There’s no way to easily explain our convoluted friendship. “Oh, through a mutual acquaintance.” I tell myself it isn’t a complete lie. I keep talking so she doesn’t ask me for more details. “We’ve actually been hanging out a lot lately. We had drinks the other day.”

 
; She’s silent for a moment. I wonder if she’s still just outside the curtain.

  I try on the blue top first. I would never have chosen it for myself, but Daphne is right: It looks good on me.

  Then I check the price tag. It’s $280—more than I’ve ever spent on a shirt before.

  I look at the tags on the other ones and see they cost even more. I’m not going to bother trying them on.

  I gaze at myself in the mirror again. I imagine walking into the bar to meet Ted in this pretty top. I picture him smiling, pleased to see me.

  Plus, I feel like I have to buy something.

  I slip the shirt off and hang it carefully on the padded hanger. I put back on my simple gray sweater, then I step out of the dressing room.

  Daphne is over by the cash register, typing something on her phone. She slips it facedown on the counter when she sees me.

  “That was fast. Did anything work for you?”

  I hold up the hanger and give it a little waggle. “You were right. This is perfect.”

  She smiles—it looks a little forced—and takes it from me. “Great.” She rings me up.

  She isn’t making conversation now. She seems to be concentrating on folding the top into tissue paper. I slide my credit card into the chip reader, suppressing a wince.

  A silver pen is on a pretty notebook splayed open on the counter. I see people have written their names, addresses, and emails in neatly outlined rows. A little sign is nearby: PLEASE SHARE YOUR DETAILS WITH DAPHNE TO BE THE FIRST TO HEAR ABOUT OUR UPCOMING SALES AND PRIVATE EVENTS!

  Daphne is still busy tucking the tissue-paper bundle into a bag and tying the handles with a bow. Without much thought, I pick up the pen and add my name to the mailing list.

  Then I get to the column for my address. I automatically begin to write my old address. Then my hand stops.

  I don’t live there anymore. I live in Amanda’s apartment—one that Daphne likely visited.

  She’ll probably recognize the address. How could I ever explain that?

  With Cassandra and Jane, everything has unfolded in a series of steps: First, I confessed to them how I’d encountered Amanda on the subway platform and was affected by her death. That was when we got tea after unexpectedly seeing one another on the rainy day when I was at my lowest and had conjured a vision of Amanda. A few days later, we met at Bella’s so I could return Cassandra’s raincoat. We drank Moscow Mules, and I explained how I’d found the necklace. When I learned it was actually Jane’s, I got it back for her, which all led to us getting together again. They learned more about my living situation when they met Sean and Jody, which resulted in them offering me a house-sitting gig and introducing me to their friend Anne. And then, when Amanda’s apartment came up for rent, they encouraged me to take it.

  It all happened so organically. Still, there’s no way I can explain it to Daphne; I can barely keep it straight in my own mind.

  I cross out what I’ve written and jot down my email address.

  I look up and notice Daphne’s sharp green eyes on me again. She slides my bag across the counter.

  “Thanks,” I say. “Hope to see you again sometime. Maybe with Jane and Cassandra.”

  She stands behind the cash register with her arms at her side, appearing a little reserved. Perhaps that’s just her personality, I tell myself. Then I remember her at the memorial service, laughing through tears and hugging her friends.

  Daphne doesn’t respond to my comment. Instead, she merely says, “Have fun on your date.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CASSANDRA & JANE

  CASSANDRA AND JANE ARRIVE at the restaurant twenty minutes before the others.

  They dined here earlier in the week to get a sense of the space. The best table, they agreed, is the circular booth in the back right-hand corner. It can comfortably fit five. Every member of the group will be in attendance tonight except for Valerie, who has another obligation.

  The booth affords a slightly obstructed view of the bar. Anyone sitting at the bar—which is oriented against the left wall as one walks into the restaurant—will have their back to the far right corner of the room. The lighting is dim, which will provide further cover.

  Beth walks through the door first, which is surprising, given that she’s usually the last to arrive. One of the tails of her shirt is untucked and her blazer is a little wrinkled.

  Both sisters slide out of the booth to give her affectionate hugs.

  “What a long week.” Beth flops down on the leather seat and tucks her heavy briefcase under the table. She leans her head back and sighs.

  Jane reaches over and squeezes Beth’s hand. “Let’s get you a drink.”

  Beth is a bit frazzled tonight, but that’s typical—her job keeps her scrambling, but otherwise she seems upbeat. Beth beat cancer, and now her flaming-red hair is as thick and frizzy as ever; more important, her spirit is stronger than it was before her diagnosis.

  As the waiter approaches and the women order cocktails, Cassandra catches sight of Stacey arriving. Cassandra stands up and waves, glad to see it takes Stacey a moment to spot her. Their table is truly unobtrusive.

  Cassandra slips out of the booth so Stacey can claim a seat with her back to the wall, as is her strong preference. The women catch up while they wait for Daphne to arrive. Beth discusses a new case, then Stacey mentions she has landed a big corporate client, setting up the software for a new branch of the company. When the other women toast her, she gives one of her rare smiles, which makes her look younger than ever—especially in the vintage Wonder Woman T-shirt and Levi’s she’s wearing.

  Daphne strides in at six-forty, apologizing for being late: “Sorry, my assistant had to leave early so I needed to close up.”

  A glass of Pinot Noir waits in front of the empty spot in the booth. They all know Daphne’s beverage of choice, just as they know she prefers to sit at the edge of the booth. Her slight claustrophobia is another legacy from James’s attack.

  Daphne reaches for the goblet gratefully and takes a sip. Cassandra and Jane give her a few moments to settle in before steering the conversation to the reason why they asked the women to gather.

  “Valerie couldn’t make it, but we’ll fill her in later,” Cassandra explains. “Daphne, why don’t you go ahead and tell everyone what happened the other day.”

  Daphne sets down her glass and takes a deep breath. She begins with the moment Shay walked into her boutique, claiming Cassandra and Jane had sent her there, and ends by recounting how Shay said she hoped to see Daphne again soon, maybe with Cassandra and Jane.

  Daphne doesn’t leave out any relevant details, including the one that struck her most: “She looks so much like Amanda.” Daphne shivers and reaches for her wine again.

  Beth’s gaze ping-pongs from Cassandra to Jane to Daphne. “Wait, so you guys didn’t send this chick?”

  Jane shakes her head. She pulls something out of her purse and lays it flat on the table. “Remember this woman? You all saw her at the memorial service.”

  Shay’s face stares up at them from the photo, her eyes wide and a little hesitant looking behind her tortoiseshell glasses, and her long brown hair swinging forward over her shoulders.

  “Could she be the one who came into your boutique?” Cassandra asks Daphne.

  “Yes, yes! I didn’t recognize her until now. But that’s the crazy thing: She looks different. She changed her hair and got rid of her glasses. And she was so subdued and meek looking at the memorial service. But when she breezed into my boutique, she was smiling and chatting … at least at first. When I got spooked, she shut down a bit.”

  “Smiling and chatty?” Stacey repeats. “So she’s not just trying to look like Amanda. She’s trying to act like her, too.”

  Beth is silently studying the photo. She picks it up and turns it into the light.

  “You guys all know that when we approached Shay at the service, she told us she and Amanda went to the same veterinarian, which is obviously a lie,
” Cassandra says. “What we haven’t shared with you yet is that we bumped into Shay a few weeks ago. At the time we thought it was a coincidence. We took her to tea to see if we could get any more information from her. And she admitted something shocking.” Cassandra looks around at the intent faces of the others. “Shay was with Amanda on the subway platform right before Amanda died.”

  Daphne gasps as her hand flies to her mouth.

  “Shay admitted that’s why she came to the memorial service,” Cassandra continues.

  “What the—” Stacey begins.

  Beth cuts her off. “Now I know where I’ve seen her!” Beth turns to Jane. “She was at that CrossFit class the other night, the one we were supposed to go to together.”

  Jane’s eyes widen. “Are you sure?”

  Beth jabs her finger toward the picture. “She wasn’t wearing glasses and her hair is shorter. She had it pulled up in a ponytail. She didn’t look exactly like this, and she didn’t look exactly like Amanda. But she was sure somewhere in between.”

  Cassandra leans back against the booth. So Beth had seen Shay after all. Everything is working beautifully. Even though Cassandra and Jane don’t enjoy deceiving the other women, it’s necessary to protect them. If they are ever questioned by the police about Shay—and if all goes well, they may be—their answers will be forthright and honest. They’d even pass a lie detector test if need be.

  As for Shay, she must be sacrificed. She will be a necessary, though unfortunate, casualty.

  “This is even creepier than we thought.” Cassandra’s voice is hushed. She leans forward, her gaze scanning the other women’s somber faces. “Shay has been trying to insinuate herself with us. We made the mistake of giving her our phone numbers the day we had tea. She seemed fragile, a little lost. She said she’d been really shaken up by what she’d witnessed that day in the subway. I guess we felt sorry for her. But now … she texts and calls, trying to come up with excuses to get together.”