“Okay.” Greta felt like she had been plunked down in another culture and hadn’t quite caught on yet.
Deborah stood up. “I’m sorry to wrap this up so quickly. Early flight, you know,” she said apologetically. She waited for Greta to get her suitcase and gave her a quick tour of their apartment, pointing out rooms as she strode past, the heels of her boots clicking on the marble floors. The first floor contained what she called all the common areas. None of them looked common to Greta, who surmised that the term applied to usage. They bypassed the second floor, which contained the family’s private quarters as well as Nanny’s bedroom.
“Does she live here?” Greta asked.
“Sometimes,” Deborah said, climbing the stairs to the third floor. “Brenna likes to have her close by.” She pointed out an elevator that she said the family rarely used. “We believe in climbing stairs,” she said, as if this were the definitive answer to a philosophical debate. Greta smiled weakly as she followed, trying not to clunk the wheels of her suitcase against the steps.
On the third floor, Deborah walked Greta to the door of the guest room that would be her home for the summer. “I think you’ll find you have everything you need,” she said. “And tomorrow Katrina and Vance will fill you in.” She gave her a quick hug, and then Greta was on her own.
Once she closed the door and got a good look, a feeling of awe came over her. The room was like a luxury hotel suite, with a comfortable queen-size bed covered with half a dozen pillows. A big-screen TV was across from the bed, a desk sat in the corner, and brocade curtains covered an alcove to the right. When she pushed them back, she got a view of the city. “Amazing,” she whispered, taking it all in. The apartment was so high that the sky hovered right above her, the stars just out of reach.
Exploring, she found expensive shampoos and conditioners—all Cece’s brand—in the bathroom, along with plush towels and a shower the size of a pony stall.
A small refrigerator was stocked with a variety of bottled water and other beverages. She recognized the brand names as being from companies the Vanderhavens owned. She grabbed a water and got out the nutrition bars she’d packed in her suitcase.
After she was finished eating, she washed up at the sink and got in her jammies, then settled back on the bed with her phone. Her first call was to her mother. Going against her promise to Cece’s mom, Greta told her everything about the house and her cousin, right down to how the place was decorated and what Deborah was wearing. She swore her to secrecy and knew she wouldn’t share, not even a word.
“And what about Harry and Cece?” Mom asked. “What are they like?”
“I didn’t see them,” Greta said. “I’m not even sure if they’re home.”
“Is Deborah’s place like those houses we see in the Mansion section?” Greta’s family had subscribed to the Wall Street Journal for years, and the Friday edition featured a section that highlighted the homes of the rich and famous. Her mother had always marveled at how the wealthy lived with their extra kitchens and butler pantries, tennis courts and indoor pools, libraries and media rooms and workout spaces, all of it fabulous and luxurious and large. Once, when Greta had said it seemed like a lot to keep track of, her mother had laughed and said, “They have people to take care of that. And a manager to take care of the people.”
Now she was asking how the Vanderhavens’ apartment compared to the other lavish homes. “Yes. It’s gorgeous,” Greta said. “I feel like I’m staying at the Ritz or something.” Not that she’d ever stayed at the Ritz. “The bedroom they put me in is half the size of our house.”
“Don’t get too used to it. Soon enough you’ll be back home and slumming again.” Greta could hear the smile in her mother’s voice.
After they exchanged goodbyes, Greta texted Jacey. She didn’t reveal much, just that she had arrived, had met Cece’s mom and sister, and would find out more tomorrow. She started to type that she’d be interning for Firstborn Daughter, Inc., then deleted the words and instead wrote that she’d be meeting Cece, Katrina, and Vance the next day. The idea of the nondisclosure agreement in her contract loomed like a dark cloud overhead. She didn’t want to get in trouble before she even got started.
After settling into bed, she set her alarm for six thirty, thinking that would give her plenty of time for showering and dressing so she’d be ready for breakfast by eight. Deborah Vanderhaven had said she should plan to meet everyone in the kitchen for a breakfast meeting. She’d rushed over so much information that Greta wasn’t sure whom everyone would be or what the meeting would cover. She’d just have to find out in the morning.
CHAPTER SIX
Dalton followed Matt. At one point, when he’d gotten too close, he stopped to buy a bottle of water from a newsstand to create some space. He took a few swigs before tucking it away in his backpack, then continued on, trying to stay out of Matt’s line of vision. Matt had confessed to having some pretty serious emotional responses over things that most people would think were nothing. But the truth was that Dalton wasn’t afraid he’d get violent; he just didn’t want Matt to think he’d betrayed his trust. The guy had enough problems. Dalton didn’t want to contribute to them.
They were moving away from Times Square. The urban landscape here changed, with fewer touristy stores and more hotels, restaurants, and office buildings. Dalton started to recognize bits and pieces from previous visits to the city. When they passed Carnegie Hall, he had a clear idea of where they were and where Matt was heading.
Central Park.
Dalton knew a thing or two about Central Park, having studied it ahead of time. The park was two and a half miles long and half a mile wide, 843 acres in all. Technically, it was closed from one o’clock until six o’clock in the morning, but from his research, Dalton knew plenty of homeless people slept there. And lots of wildlife too: raccoons, squirrels, rats, and mice, to name a few. None of which he’d want to encounter after dark, or anytime really. He’d heard there used to be coyotes, but his guess was that if there were any currently living in the park, they’d shy away from people. Rodents, though? Maybe he’d seen too many horror movies, but he could imagine them crawling over a sleeping person. The idea made him shudder.
They were on a paved path now, and Matt had slowed his pace, as if getting closer to his destination. Dalton got a little bolder, getting so near that if Matt turned around, he would certainly spot him. But he hadn’t turned around yet.
Two guys came running past, one of them all in white with a sweatband around his head. Matt kept on, not even seeming to notice them.
When he approached a hot dog stand, the woman working it called to him by name. “Hey, Matt!” she said, waving her arm back and forth. He moved toward her, and Dalton plopped down onto a nearby bench, pulling his baseball cap over his eyes.
He couldn’t help but hear the exchange between them, the woman telling him she was closing for the day and asking if he wanted a hot dog. “I’d have to throw it out anyway.” She wore a green baseball cap and apron.
“That’s so nice of you,” Matt said, his voice grateful and enthused. “Yeah, yeah. That’d be great.”
She asked if he wanted sauerkraut or condiments, and he said yes to all of it. When she handed it over, he said, “What a treat. Thank you, Trisha.”
“Thank you for your service to our country. I hope things get better for you.”
“They already have, thanks to you.” He gave her a nod and set off, taking bites from the hot dog as he walked.
He went deeper into the park, so Dalton did too, but while Matt was on the path, he walked on the adjacent grass. When Matt stopped, Dalton darted behind a tree. This turned out to be good timing, because Matt did a complete turn, checking to see if anyone was watching, then went off the path in the opposite direction.
Following him without being detected was getting trickier. For a second, Dalton debated walking away, but the truth of it was that he had no place to go and had gotten this far already. It would be a shame
not to see this thing through.
So he continued, keeping as far back as he could without losing Matt completely. They were far from the path now, no people in sight, the terrain rising and sloping. Matt circled around boulders that looked like they’d been there since time began. Lucky for Dalton, the wheels on Matt’s cart made a lot of noise as they banged against the ground. Another good thing? The man was determined to get where he was going and concentrating only on what was ahead of him. Dalton crouched down behind rocks and darted behind trees, wondering when this would end.
Just when Dalton was ready to give up and turn back, Matt stopped by a big bush located in front of an outcropping of rock. He pulled the cart to one side of the bush, dropped to his knees, and crawled back behind the shrubbery until he was out of sight. A few seconds later, his hand shot out and pulled the cart toward him until that, too, was no longer in view. What the what? He’d disappeared.
Dalton stood there for a good fifteen minutes, waiting to make sure Matt wasn’t coming out, then slowly made his way forward to see where he’d gone. The wind had picked up, making a little noise as the breeze went through the trees, masking the sound of his soft-soled shoes on the grass. When he finally got to the bush, he circled slowly around it, trying not to breathe. The rock outcropping was as large as a minivan and sloped downward toward the overgrown bush. Peering between the rock and the greenery, he saw Matt’s cart lying on its side. There was a large indentation in the base of the rock, a small cave, just large enough for a person to curl up inside of it, which is what Matt was doing. Fortunately for Dalton, his face was covered with what looked like a lightweight blanket. Or maybe a tablecloth? Dalton squinted, trying to see. Hard to say, but whatever it was, it would serve as nighttime protection from bugs.
Dalton sneaked away in the opposite direction, thinking about what he’d seen. Matt had come up with an ingenious spot for safe sleeping. Inside the cavity of the rock, he was out of sight. He had coverage from rain, and the cart parked in front of the opening served as protection from animals. The cart was good as a barrier, but it was close enough that if someone tried to take it, he was only an arm’s reach away. His possessions in the cart were in plastic bags, so there was no worry of anything he owned getting wet or dirty.
Dalton had heard of the homeless washing up and brushing their teeth in the fountains in Central Park during the times they knew the park personnel wouldn’t be around. If you had to be homeless, it could be worse. Not that sleeping in the park was a good long-term solution, but at least it kept a body going.
Now he needed to find his own place to sleep. He walked for a long time but was unable to find anything similar to Matt’s perfect little cave. Matt must have thought he’d hit the big time when he found that spot. No wonder he didn’t want anyone tagging along. Dalton kept searching. Everything looked fine for a Sunday afternoon walk, but nothing resembled a place to sleep. Finally, he came out to a clearing and was back on a path. It was dark by then, and he was tired of walking. He found the nearest park bench and, using his backpack as a pillow, settled down to sleep.
CHAPTER SEVEN
In the morning, Greta went downstairs, eager to get started. When she rounded the corner into the kitchen, she spotted Brenna sitting at the counter. An older woman faced her, elbows propped on the counter, her hands cupping her chin. She was speaking to Brenna in a low and encouraging voice.
Greta held back for a second, feeling like an intruder. It was silly to be anxious. She’d already met Brenna, who was a sweet little girl, and there was nothing scary about the woman with her. So why was her heart palpitating? She had to get over this. What had Mr. Kurtz said? Yes, now she remembered. Take some initiative. Shaking off her nerves, she walked into the room. “Good morning.”
The woman looked startled, then recovered quickly with a smile. “You must be the cousin Brenna was telling me about.” Some people gave off a warm, loving glow, and that’s what Greta felt now. The woman had curly dark hair threaded with gray, high cheekbones, and flawless skin. She had just a few lines around her eyes. It was hard to judge her age, but Greta got the sense she might be as old as sixty.
“Yes.” Greta strode forward, her hand outstretched. The woman met her halfway and shook her hand. “I’m Greta Hansen. Here for the summer. Just got in last night.”
“Welcome!” she said. “I’m Brenna’s nanny. You can call me Nanny if you want; everyone else does.”
“Because that’s who you are,” Brenna said, stirring the milk in her cereal bowl. Only a few pieces of cereal remained, and the milk had a sugary hue.
“Because that’s what I do.” Nanny gave Brenna’s hair an affectionate pat and turned back to Greta, saying, “If you need anything or have any questions about the household, feel free to ask. If I can help, I’d be happy to.” She leaned back against the counter, and Greta noticed how stylishly she was dressed. Gray pinstriped pants and a button-down shirt with a chunky, shiny necklace and matching earrings. Even the staff was impeccably attired.
“Thank you. I’m supposed to meet Cece and Vance and Katrina in the kitchen for a breakfast meeting. I know I’m kind of early, but am I in the right place?” Greta remembered hearing that the Vanderhavens had two kitchens and hoped she’d found the right one.
Nanny nodded. “You are. I imagine they’ll be here any minute. Do you want a cup of coffee or some juice while you wait? Maybe both?”
A minute later, Greta was seated at the large kitchen table, a cup of coffee and a small orange juice in front of her. It was odd to be waited on. She’d offered to get it herself, but Nanny just waved away her efforts, gently instructing her to sit. “I’m waiting for Brenna to finish anyway. It will give me something to do.”
After making sure Greta had her beverages, Nanny declared Brenna finished, saying, “We have to get going, or you’ll be late for your violin lesson.”
They left the room with Nanny steering Brenna out the door by her shoulders. Right before they disappeared from sight, Brenna stopped in the doorway like she had the night before, turned, and said, “Bye, Greta. See you later,” and gave her a little finger wave. She was so cute, Greta could have scooped her up and put her in her pocket. She’d always wanted a little sister. At least for the summer, she could experience a secondhand sister relationship.
She looked around the huge kitchen, everything shiny and pretty. The floor consisted of short pieces of wood stained different colors and interlaid like puzzle pieces into an intricate pattern. The refrigerator was cleverly hidden with doors that matched the cabinets. The counters were white stone with flecks of silver. Astoundingly enough, there was nothing on the counters except the coffee maker. Remembering her own family’s house with the chip bags on top of the fridge; the phones charging on the countertop; and the toaster, microwave, and dish-drying rack all taking up space between the appliances, she wondered where the Vanderhavens put their stuff.
She heard Vance and Katrina before she saw them, recognizing their voices as they came down the hall. In the video clips, they were always jubilant, cheering Cece on in her endeavors. The voices she heard now were bickering, annoyed.
As they walked into the room and spotted her, there was a shift; she saw Katrina’s face morph from aggravated to cheerful in the split second she walked through the doorway. “Greta?” she said. “Greta Hansen?”
Funny that everyone addressed her that way. She’d heard her first and last names verbally combined more times on this trip than she had ever before in her life. “That’s me.”
They introduced themselves, even though it wasn’t necessary. She would have known them anywhere. As Greta started to get up to shake their hands, Vance very nicely told her to stay put. He carried a large box, the kind she associated with doughnuts, but when he set it down on the table and started taking out the contents, she saw it actually contained individual containers of cut fruit along with dozens of miniature muffins. Katrina, who’d had several file folders clutched to her chest when she walked t
hrough the door, began shuffling through them.
Greta felt like she was seeing a video clip come to life. She’d seen it all: Katrina and Vance surprise Cece with a picnic feast! Katrina, Vance, and Cece take an impromptu trip to San Francisco in Cece’s private jet! Vance covers Katrina’s eyes right before Cece comes out wearing a stunning custom evening gown. Katrina squeals with delight!
Without their being aware of it, Greta Hansen had been part of their lives all along, an invisible friend laughing along with them, cheering them on, sharing the good days and the bad. Following Cece’s life was the one guilty pleasure she’d been unable to shake from her childhood and teen years, a fascination bordering on obsession. Greta felt like she knew everything about them, but of course, it was completely one sided. Even though she was related to Cece, they didn’t know her at all.
Which reminded her: Where was Cece? Before she could ask, Katrina began talking nonstop, telling her how they didn’t know she was coming until the last minute and how her presence changed everything. Everything. She and Vance had been up all night, she said, regrouping. “That’s why I look like hell,” she said, pointing to her eyes, which confusingly looked just fine.
“Greta, help yourself,” Vance said, indicating the food.
“Thanks.” She took two tiny muffins and a cup of cubed cantaloupe. “When will Cece get here?”
Katrina shrugged. “Whenever she wants to would be my guess. We stopped by her room on our way in to wake her up, and she was already in the shower, so we took that as a good sign.”
Vance went and got coffees for both of them. “We barely slept at all,” he said, returning to the table. “We had to come up with your backstory and leak some teasers on social media so it wouldn’t come out of left field. It’s not as easy as you’d think.”
“Backstory?” The word came out muffled because Greta had popped a mini-muffin into her mouth and was able to open her lips only a little bit.
Good Man, Dalton Page 5
