ALSOBYJOJOMOYES

ParisforOneandOtherStories

AfterYou

OnePlusOne

TheGirlYouLeftBehind

MeBeforeYou

TheLastLetterfromYourLover

TheHorseDancer

SilverBay

TheShipofBrides

VIKING

AnimprintofPenguinRandomHouseLLC

375HudsonStreet

NewYork,NewYork10014

penguin.com

APamelaDormanBook/Viking

Copyright©2018byJojo’sMojoLimited

Penguinsupportscopyright.Copyrightfuelscreativity,encouragesdiversevoices,promotesfreespeech,andcreatesavibrantculture.Thankyouforbuyinganauthorizededitionofthisbookandforcomplyingwithcopyrightlawsbynotreproducing,scanning,ordistributinganypartofitinanyformwithoutpermission.YouaresupportingwritersandallowingPenguinto

continuetopublishbooksforeveryreader.

ISBN9780399562457(hardcover)

ISBN9780399562471(e-book)

ISBN9780525559030(export)

Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitheraretheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously,andanyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingor

dead,businesses,companies,events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.

Version_1

TodarlingSaskia:wearyourownstripytightswithpride.

Know,first,whoyouare;andthenadornyourselfaccordingly.

—Epictetus

CONTENTS

ALSOBYJOJOMOYES

TITLEPAGE

COPYRIGHT

DEDICATION

EPIGRAPH

CHAPTER1

CHAPTER2

CHAPTER3

CHAPTER4

CHAPTER5

CHAPTER6

CHAPTER7

CHAPTER8

CHAPTER9

CHAPTER10

CHAPTER11

CHAPTER12

CHAPTER13

CHAPTER14

CHAPTER15

CHAPTER16

CHAPTER17

CHAPTER18

CHAPTER19

CHAPTER20

CHAPTER21

CHAPTER22

CHAPTER23

CHAPTER24

CHAPTER25

CHAPTER26

CHAPTER27

CHAPTER28

CHAPTER29

CHAPTER30

CHAPTER31

CHAPTER32

CHAPTER33

CHAPTER34

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ABOUTTHEAUTHOR

I

1

twasthemustachethatremindedmeIwasnolongerinEngland:asolid,graymillipedefirmlyobscuringtheman’supperlip;aVillage

Peoplemustache,acowboymustache,theminiatureheadofabroomthatmeantbusiness.Youjustdidn’tgetthatkindofmustacheathome.Icouldn’ttearmyeyesfromit.

“Ma’am?”

TheonlypersonIhadeverseenwithamustachelikethatathomewasMr.Naylor,ourmathsteacher,andhecollectedDigestivecrumbsinhis—weusedtocountthemduringalgebra.

“Ma’am?”

“Oh.Sorry.”

Themanintheuniformmotionedmeforwardwithaflickofhisstubbyfinger.Hedidnotlookupfromhisscreen.Iwaitedatthebooth,long-haulsweatdryinggentlyintomydress.Hehelduphishand,wagglingfourfatfingers.This,Igraspedafterseveralseconds,wasademandformypassport.

“Name.”

“It’sthere,”Isaid.

“Yourname,ma’am.”

“LouisaElizabethClark.”Ipeeredoverthecounter.“ThoughIneverusetheElizabethbit.BecausemymumrealizedaftertheynamedmethatthatwouldmakemeLouLizzy.Andifyousaythatreallyfastitsoundslikelunacy.Thoughmydadsaysthat’skindoffitting.NotthatI’malunatic.Imean,youwouldn’twantlunaticsinyourcountry.Hah!”MyvoicebouncednervouslyoffthePlexiglasscreen.

Themanlookedatmeforthefirsttime.HehadsolidshouldersandagazethatcouldpinyoulikeaTazer.Hedidnotsmile.Hewaiteduntil

myownfaded.

“Sorry,”Isaid.“Peopleinuniformmakemenervous.”

Iglancedbehindmeattheimmigrationhall,atthesnakingqueuethathaddoubledbackonitselfsomanytimesithadbecomeanimpenetrable,restlessseaofpeople.“IthinkI’mfeelingabitoddfromstandinginthatqueue.ThatishonestlythelongestqueueI’veeverstoodin.I’dbeguntowonderwhethertostartmyChristmaslist.”

“Putyourhandonthescanner.”

“Isitalwaysthatsize?”

“Thescanner?”Hefrowned.

“Thequeue.”

Buthewasnolongerlistening.Hewasstudyingsomethingonhisscreen.Iputmyfingersonthelittlepad.Andthenmyphonedinged.

Mum:Haveyoulanded?

Iwenttotapananswerwithmyfreehandbutheturnedsharplytowardme.“Ma’am,youarenotpermittedtousecellphonesinthisarea.”

“It’sjustmymum.ShewantstoknowifI’mhere.”Isurreptitiouslytriedtopressthethumbs-upemojiasIslidthephoneoutofview.

“Reasonfortravel?”

Whatisthat?cameMum’simmediatereply.Shehadtakentotextinglikeaducktowaterandcouldnowdoitfasterthanshecouldspeak.Whichwasbasicallywarpspeed.

—Youknowmyphonedoesn’tdothelittle

pictures.IsthatanSOS?Louisatellmeyou’re

okay.

“Reasonsfortravel,ma’am?”Themustachetwitchedwithirritation.Headded,slowly:“WhatareyoudoinghereintheUnitedStates?”

“Ihaveanewjob.”

“Whichis?”

“I’mgoingtoworkforafamilyinNewYork.CentralPark.”

Justbriefly,theman’seyebrowsmighthaveraisedamillimeter.Hecheckedtheaddressonmyform,confirmingit.“Whatkindofjob?”

“It’sabitcomplicated.ButI’msortofapaidcompanion.”

“Apaidcompanion.”

“It’slikethis.Iusedtoworkforthisman.Iwashiscompanion,butIwouldalsogivehimhismedsandtakehimoutandfeedhim.That’snotasweirdasitsounds,bytheway—hehadnouseofhishands.Itwasn’tlikesomethingpervy.Actuallymylastjobendedupasmorethanthat,becauseit’shardnottogetclosetopeopleyoulookafterandWill—theman—wasamazingandwe...Well,wefellinlove.”Toolate,Ifeltthefamiliarwellingoftears.Iwipedatmyeyesbriskly.“SoIthinkit’llbesortoflikethat.Exceptforthelovebit.Andthefeeding.”

Theimmigrationofficerwasstaringatme.Itriedtosmile.“Actually,Idon’tnormallycrytalkingaboutjobs.I’mnotlikeanactuallunatic,despitemyname.Hah!ButIlovedhim.Andhelovedme.Andthenhe...Well,hechosetoendhislife.Sothisissortofmyattempttostartover.”Thetearswerenowleakingrelentlessly,embarrassingly,fromthecornersofmyeyes.Icouldn’tseemtostopthem.Icouldn’tseemtostopanything.“Sorry.Mustbethejetlag.It’ssomethingliketwoo’clockinthemorninginnormaltime,right?PlusIdon’treallytalkabouthimanymore.Imean,Ihaveanewboyfriend.Andhe’sgreat!He’saparamedic!Andhot!That’slikewinningtheboyfriendlottery,right?Ahotparamedic?”

Iscrabbledaroundinmyhandbagforatissue.WhenIlookedupthemanwasholdingoutabox.Itookone.“Thankyou.So,anyway,myfriendNathan—he’sfromNewZealand—workshereandhehelpedmegetthisjobandIdon’treallyknowwhatitinvolvesyet,apartfromlookingafterthisrichman’swifewhogetsdepressed.ButI’vedecidedthistimeI’mgoingtoliveuptowhatWillwantedforme,becausebeforeIdidn’tgetitright.Ijustendedupworkinginanairport.”

Ifroze.“Not—uh—thatthere’sanythingwrongwithworkingatanairport!I’msureimmigrationisaveryimportantjob.Reallyimportant.ButIhaveaplan.I’mgoingtodosomethingneweveryweekthatI’mhereandI’mgoingtosayyes.”

“Sayyes?”

“Tonewthings.WillalwayssaidIshutmyselfofffromnewexperiences.Sothisismyplan.”

Theofficerstudiedmypaperwork.“Youdidn’tfilltheaddresssectionoutproperly.Ineedazipcode.”

Hepushedtheformtowardme.IcheckedthenumberonthesheetthatIhadprintedoutandfilleditinwithtremblingfingers.Iglancedtomyleft,wherethequeueatmysectionwasgrowingrestive.AtthefrontofthenextqueueaChinesefamilywasbeingquestionedbytwoofficials.Asthewomanprotested,theywereledintoasideroom.Ifeltsuddenlyveryalone.

Theimmigrationofficerpeeredatthepeoplewaiting.Andthen,abruptly,hestampedmypassport.“Goodluck,LouisaClark,”hesaid.

Istaredathim.“That’sit?”

“That’sit.”

Ismiled.“Oh,thankyou!That’sreallykind.Imean,it’squiteweirdbeingontheothersideoftheworldbyyourselfforthefirsttime,andnowIfeelabitlikeIjustmetmyfirstnicenewpersonand—”

“Youneedtomovealongnow,ma’am.”

“Ofcourse.Sorry.”

Igatheredupmybelongingsandpushedasweatyfrondofhairfrommyface.

“And,ma’am...”

“Yes?”IwonderedwhatIhadgotwrongnow.

Hedidn’tlookupfromhisscreen.“Becarefulwhatyousayyesto.”

—NathanwaswaitinginArrivals,ashehadpromised.Iscannedthecrowd,feelingoddlyself-conscious,secretlyconvincedthatnobodywouldcome,buttherehewas,hishugehandwavingabovetheshiftingbodiesaroundhim.Heraisedhisotherarm,asmilebreakingacrosshisface,andpushedhiswaythroughtomeetme,pickingmeupoffmyfeetinagigantichug.“Lou!”

Atthesightofhim,somethinginmeconstrictedunexpectedly—somethinglinkedtoWillandlossandtherawemotionthatcomesfromsittingonaslightly-too-bumpyflightforsevenhours—andIwas

gladthathewasholdingmetightlysothatIhadamomenttocomposemyself.“WelcometoNewYork,Shorty!Notlostyourdresssense,Isee.”

Nowheheldmeatarms’length,grinning.Istraightenedmy1970stigerprintdress.IhadthoughtitmightmakemelooklikeJackieKennedyTheOnassisYears.IfJackieKennedyhadspilledhalfherairlinecoffeeonherlap.“It’ssogoodtoseeyou.”

Hesweptupmyleadensuitcasesliketheywerefilledwithfeathers.“C’mon.Let’sgetyoubacktothehouse.ThePriusisinforservicingsoMr.Glentmehiscar.Traffic’sterrible,butyou’llgetthereinstyle.”

—Mr.Gopnik’scarwassleekandblackandthesizeofabus,andthedoorsclosedwiththatemphatic,discreetthunkthatsignaledasix-figurepricetag.NathanshutmycasesintothebootandIsettledintothepassengerseatwithasigh.Icheckedmyphone,answeredMum’sfourteentextswithonethattoldhersimplythatIwasinthecarandwouldcallhertomorrow,thenrepliedtoSam’s,whichtoldmehemissedme,withLandedxxx.

“How’sthefella?”saidNathan,glancingatme.

“He’sgood,thanks.”Iaddedafewmorexxxxsjusttomakesure.

“Wasn’ttoostickyaboutyouheadingoverhere?”

Ishrugged.“HethoughtIneededtocome.”

“Wealldid.Justtookyouawhiletofindyourway,isall.”

Iputmyphoneaway,satbackinmyseatandgazedoutattheunfamiliarnamesthatdottedthehighway:Milo’sTireShop,Richie’sGym,theambulancesandU-Haultrucks,therundownhouseswiththeirpeelingpaintandwonkystoops,thebasketballcourts,anddriverssippingfromoversizedplasticcups.NathanturnedontheradioandIlistenedtosomeonecalledLorenzotalkingaboutabaseballgameandfelt,briefly,asifIwereinsomekindofsuspendedreality.

“Soyou’vegottomorrowtogetstraight.Anythingyouwanttodo?IthoughtImightletyousleepin,thendragyououttobrunch.YoushouldhavethefullNYdinerexperienceonyourfirstweekendhere.”

“Soundsgreat.”

“Theywon’tbebackfromthecountryclubtilltomorrowevening.There’sbeenabitofstrifethislastweek.I’llfillyouinwhenyou’vehadsomesleep.”

Istaredathim.“Nosecrets,right?Thisisn’tgoingtobe—”

“They’renotliketheTraynors.It’sjustyouraveragedysfunctionalmultimillionairefamily.”

“Isshenice?”

“She’sgreat.She’s...ahandful.Butshe’sgreat.Heistoo.”

ThatwasasgoodacharacterreferenceasyouwerelikelytogetfromNathan.Helapsedintosilence—heneverwasbigongossip—andIsatinthesmooth,air-conditionedMercedesGLSandfoughtthewavesofsleepthatkeptthreateningtowashoverme.IthoughtaboutSam,nowfastasleepseveralthousandmilesawayinhisrailwaycarriage.IthoughtofTreenaandThom,tuckedupinmylittleflatinLondon.AndthenNathan’svoicecutin.“Thereyougo.”

IlookedupthroughgrittyeyesandthereitwasacrosstheBrooklynBridge,Manhattan,shininglikeamillionjaggedshardsoflight,awe-inspiring,glossy,impossiblycondensedandbeautiful,asightthatwassofamiliarfromtelevisionandfilmsthatIcouldn’tquiteacceptIwasseeingitforreal.Ishifteduprightinmyseat,dumbstruckaswespedtowardit,themostfamousmetropolisontheplanet.

“Nevergetsold,thatview,eh?BitgranderthanStortfold.”

Idon’tthinkithadactuallyhitmeuntilthatpoint.Mynewhome.

—“Hey,Ashok.How’sitgoing?”NathanwheeledmycasesthroughthemarblelobbyasIstaredattheblackandwhitetilesandthebrassrails,andtriednottotrip,myfootstepsechoinginthecavernousspace.Itwasliketheentrancetoagrand,slightlyfadedhotel:theliftinburnishedbrass,thefloorcarpetedinaredandgoldlivery,thereceptionalittledarkerthanwascomfortable.Itsmelledofbeeswaxandpolishedshoesandmoney.

“I’mgood,man.Who’sthis?”

“ThisisLouisa.She’llbeworkingforMrs.G.”

Theuniformedportersteppedoutfrombehindhisdeskandheldoutahandformetoshake.Hehadawidesmileandeyesthatlookedliketheyhadseeneverything.

“Nicetomeetyou,Ashok.”

“ABrit!IhaveacousininLondon.Croy-down.YouknowCroy-down?Youanywherenearthere?He’sabigfella,youknowwhatI’msaying?”

“Idon’treallyknowCroydon,”Isaid.Andwhenhisfacefell:“ButI’llkeepaneyeoutforhimthenexttimeI’mpassingthrough.”

“Louisa.WelcometotheLavery.Youneedanything,oryouwanttoknowanything,youjustletmeknow.I’mheretwenty-fourseven.”

“He’snotkidding,”saidNathan.“SometimesIthinkhesleepsunderthatdesk.”Hegesturedtoaserviceelevator,itsdoorsadullgray,nearthebackofthelobby.

“Threekidsunderfive,man,”saidAshok.“Believeme,beingherekeepsmesane.Can’tsayitdoesthesameformywife.”Hegrinned.“Seriously,MissLouisa.Anythingyouneed,I’myourman.”

“Asindrugs,prostitutes,housesofill-repute?”Iwhispered,astheserviceliftdoorsclosedaroundus.

“No.Asintheatertickets,restauranttables,bestplacestogetyourdry-cleaning,”Nathansaid.“ThisisFifthAvenue.Jesus.WhathaveyoubeendoingbackinLondon?”

—TheGopnikresidencecomprisedseventhousandsquarefeetonthesecondandthirdfloorsofared-brickGothicbuilding,arareduplexinthispartofNewYork,andtestamenttogenerationsofGopnikfamilyriches.This,theLavery,wasascaled-downimitationofthefamousDakotabuilding,Nathantoldme,andwasoneoftheoldestco-opsontheUpperEastSide.Nobodycouldbuyorsellanapartmentherewithouttheapprovalofaboardofresidentswhowerestaunchlyresistanttochange.Whiletheglossycondominiumsacrosstheparkhousedthenewmoney—Russianoligarchs,popstars,Chinesesteelmagnates,andtechbillionaires—withcommunalrestaurants,gyms,

childcare,andinfinitypools,theresidentsoftheLaverylikedthingsOldSchool.

Theseapartmentswerepasseddownthroughgenerations;theirinhabitantslearnedtotoleratethe1930splumbingsystem,foughtlengthyandlabyrinthinebattlesforpermissiontoalteranythingmoreextensivethanalightswitch,andlookedpolitelytheotherwayasNewYorkchangedaroundthem,justasonemightignoreabeggarwithacardboardsign.

Ibarelyglimpsedthegrandeuroftheduplexitself,withitsparquetfloors,elevatedceilings,andfloor-lengthdamaskdrapes,asweheadedstraighttothestaffquarters,whichweretuckedawayatthefarendofthesecondfloor,downalong,narrowcorridorthatledoffthekitchen—ananomalyleftoverfromadistantage.Thenewerorrefurbishedbuildingshadnostaffquarters:housekeepersandnannieswouldtravelinfromQueensorNewJerseyonthedawntrainandreturnhomeafterdark.ButtheGopnikfamilyhadownedthesetinyroomssincethebuildingwasfirstconstructed.Theycouldnotbedevelopedorsold,butweretiedthroughdeedstothemainresidence,andlustedafterasstoragerooms.Itwasn’thardtoseewhytheymightnaturallybeconsideredstorage.

“There.”Nathanopenedadooranddroppedmybags.

Myroommeasuredapproximatelytwelvefeetbytwelvefeet.Ithousedadoublebed,atelevision,achestofdrawers,andawardrobe.Asmallarmchair,upholsteredinbeigefabric,satinthecorner,itssaggingseattestamenttopreviousexhaustedoccupants.Asmallwindowmighthavelookedsouth.Ornorth.Oreast.Itwashardtotell,asitwasapproximatelysixfeetfromtheblankbrickrearofabuildingsotallthatIcouldseetheskyonlyifIpressedmyfacetotheglassandcranedmyneck.

Acommunalkitchensatnearbyonthecorridor,tobesharedbyme,Nathan,andahousekeeper,whoseownroomwasacrossthecorridor.

Onmybedsataneatpileoffivedark-greenpoloshirtsandwhatlookedlikeblacktrousers,bearingacheapTeflonsheen.

“Theydidn’ttellyouabouttheuniform?”

Ipickeduponeofthepoloshirts.

“It’sjustashirtandtrousers.TheGopniksthinkauniformmakesitsimpler.Everyoneknowswheretheystand.”

“Ifyouwanttolooklikeaprogolfer.”

Ipeeredintothetinybathroom,tiledinlimescale-encrustedbrownmarble,whichopenedoffthebedroom.Ithousedaloo,asmallbasinthatlookedlikeitdatedfromthe1940s,andashower.Apaper-wrappedsoapandacanofcockroachkillersatontheside.

“It’sactuallyprettygenerousbyManhattanstandards,”Nathansaid.“IknowitlooksalittletiredbutMrs.Gsayswecangiveitasploshofpaint.AcoupleofextralampsandaquicktriptoCrateandBarrelandit’ll—”

“Iloveit,”Isaid.Iturnedtohim,myvoicesuddenlyshaky.“I’minNewYork,Nathan.I’mactuallyhere.”

Hesqueezedmyshoulder.“Yup.Youreallyare.”

—Imanagedtostayawakejustlongenoughtounpack,eatsometakeawaywithNathan(hecalledittakeout,likeanactualAmerican),flickedthroughsomeofthe859channelsonmylittletelevision,thebulkofwhichseemedtobeonanever-runningloopofAmericanfootball,advertsfordigestionissues,orbadlylitcrimeshowsIhadn’theardof,andthenIzonkedout.Iwokewithastartatfourforty-fivea.m.ForafewdiscombobulatingminutesIwasconfusedbythedistantsoundofanunfamiliarsiren,thelowwhineofareversingtruck,thenflickedonthelightswitch,rememberedwhereIwas,andajoltofexcitementwhippedthroughme.

IpulledmylaptopfrommybagandtappedoutachatmessagetoSam.

Youthere?xxx

Iwaited,butnothingcameback.Hehadsaidhewasbackonduty,andwastoobefuddledtoworkoutthetimedifference.Iputmylaptopdownandtriedbrieflytogetbacktosleep(TreenasaidwhenIdidn’tsleepenoughIlookedlikeasadhorse).Buttheunfamiliarsoundsofthecitywereasirencall,andatsixIclimbedoutofbedandshowered,tryingtoignoretherustinthesputteringwaterthatexplodedoutof

theshowerhead.Idressed(denimpinaforesundressandavintageturquoiseshort-sleevedblousewithapictureoftheStatueofLiberty)andwentinsearchofcoffee.

Ipaddedalongthecorridor,tryingtorememberthelocationofthestaffkitchenthatNathanhadshownmethepreviousevening.Iopenedadoorandawomanturnedandstaredatme.Shewasmiddle-agedandstocky,herhairsetinneatdarkwaves,likea1930smoviestar.Hereyeswerebeautifulanddarkbuthermouthdraggeddownattheedges,asifinpermanentdisapproval.

“Um...goodmorning!”

Shekeptstaringatme.

“I—I’mLouisa?Thenewgirl?Mrs.Gopnik’s...assistant?”

“SheisnotMrs.Gopnik.”Thewomanleftthisstatementhangingintheair.

“Youmustbe...”Irackedmyjet-laggedbrainbutnonamewasforthcoming.Oh,comeon,Iwilledmyself.“I’msosorry.Mybrainislikeporridgethismorning.Jetlag.”

“MynameisIlaria.”

“Ilaria.Ofcourse,that’sit.Sorry.”Istuckoutmyhand.Shedidn’ttakeit.

“Iknowwhoyouare.”

“Um...canyoushowmewhereNathankeepshismilk?Ijustwantedtogetacoffee.”

“Nathandoesn’tdrinkmilk.”

“Really?Heusedto.”

“YouthinkIlietoyou?”

“No.That’snotwhatIwass—”

Shesteppedtotheleftandgesturedtowardawallcupboardthatwashalfthesizeoftheothersandeversoslightlyoutofreach.“Thatisyours.”Thensheopenedthefridgedoortoreplaceherjuice,andInoticedthefulltwo-literbottleofmilkonhershelf.Shecloseditagainandgazedatmeimplacably.“Mr.Gopnikwillbehomeatsixthirtythisevening.Dressinuniformtomeethim.”Andsheheadedoffdownthecorridor,herslippersslappingagainstthesolesofherfeet.

“Lovelytomeetyou!I’msurewe’llbeseeingloadsofeachother!”Icalledafterher.

Istaredatthefridgeforamoment,thendecideditprobablywasn’ttooearlytogooutformilk.Afterall,thiswasthecitythatneverslept.

—NewYorkmightbeawake,buttheLaverywascloakedinasilencesodenseitsuggestedcommunaldosesofzopiclone.Iwalkedalongthecorridor,closingthefrontdoorsoftlybehindmeandcheckingeighttimesthatIhadrememberedbothmypurseandmykeys.IfiguredtheearlyhourandthesleepingresidentsgavemelicensetolookalittlemorecloselyatwhereIhadendedup.

AsItiptoedalong,theplushcarpetmufflingmysteps,adogstartedtobarkfrominsideoneofthedoors—ayappy,outragedprotest—andanelderlyvoiceshoutedsomethingthatIcouldn’tmakeout.Ihurriedpast,notwantingtoberesponsibleforwakinguptheotherresidents,and,insteadoftakingthemainstairs,headeddownintheservicelift.

TherewasnobodyinthelobbysoIletmyselfoutontothestreetandsteppedstraightintoaclamorofnoiseandlightsooverwhelmingthatIhadtostandstillforamomentjusttostayupright.InfrontofmethegreenoasisofCentralParkextendedforwhatlookedlikemiles.Tomyleft,thesidestreetswerealreadybusy—enormousmeninoverallsunloadedcratesfromanopen-sidedvan,watchedbyacopwitharmslikesidesofhamcrossedoverhischest.Aroadsweeperhummedindustriously.Ataxidriverchattedtoamanthroughhisopenwindow.IcountedoffthesightsoftheBigAppleinmyhead.Horse-drawncarriages!Yellowtaxis!Impossiblytallbuildings!AsIstared,twowearytouristswithchildreninbuggiespushedpastmeclutchingStyrofoamcoffeecups,stilloperatingperhapsonsomedistanttimezone.Manhattanstretchedineverydirection,enormous,sun-tipped,teemingandglowing.

Myjetlagevaporatedwiththelastofthedawn.Itookabreathandsetoff,awarethatIwasgrinningbutquiteunabletostopmyself.Iwalkedeightblockswithoutseeingasingleconveniencestore.IturnedintoMadisonAvenue,pasthugeglass-frontedluxurystoreswiththeirdoorslockedand,dottedbetweenthem,theoccasionalrestaurant,

windowsdarkenedlikeclosedeyes,oragildedhotelwhoseliverieddoormandidn’tlookatmeasIpassed.

Iwalkedanotherfiveblocks,realizinggraduallythatthiswasn’tthekindofareawhereyoucouldjustnipintothegrocer’s.IhadpicturedNewYorkdinersoneverycorner,staffedbybrassywaitressesandmenwithwhitepork-piehats,buteverythinglookedhugeandglossyandnotremotelyasifacheeseomeletoramugofteamightbewaitingbehinditsdoors.MostofthepeopleIpassedweretouristslikeme,orfierce,jogginghard-bodies,sleekinLycraandobliviousbetweenearphones,steppingnimblyaroundhomelessmen,whoglaredfromfurrowed,lead-stainedfaces.FinallyIstumbledonalargecoffeebar,oneofachain,inwhichhalfofNewYork’searlyrisersseemedtohavecongregated,bentovertheirphonesinboothsorfeedingpreternaturallycheerfultoddlersasgenericeasy-listeningmusicfilteredthroughspeakersonthewall.

Iorderedcappuccinoandamuffin,which,beforeIcouldsayanything,thebaristaslicedintwo,heated,thenslatheredwithbutter,allthewhileneverbreakinghisconversationaboutabaseballgamewithhiscolleague.

Ipaid,satdownwiththemuffin,wrappedinfoil,andtookabite.Itwas,evenwithouttheclawingjetlaghunger,themostdeliciousthingIhadevereaten.

Isatinawindowseatstaringoutattheearly-morningManhattanstreetforhalfanhourorso,mymouthalternatelyfilledwithclaggy,butterymuffinorscaldedbyhot,strongcoffee,givingfreereintomyever-presentinternalmonologue(IamdrinkingNewYorkcoffeeinaNewYorkcoffeehouse!IamwalkingalongaNewYorkstreet!LikeMegRyan!OrDianeKeaton!IaminactualNewYork!)and,briefly,IunderstoodexactlywhatWillhadbeentryingtoexplaintometwoyearspreviously:forthosefewminutes,mymouthfullofunfamiliarfood,myeyesfilledwithstrangesights,Iexistedonlyinthemoment.Iwasfullypresent,mysensesalive,mywholebeingopentoreceivethenewexperiencesaroundme.IwasintheonlyplaceintheworldIcouldpossiblybe.

Andthen,aproposofapparentlynothing,twowomenatthenexttablelaunchedintoafistfight,coffeeandbitsofpastryflyingacrosstwotables,baristasleapingtopullthemapart.Idustedthecrumbsoff

mydress,closedmybag,anddecideditwasprobablytimetoreturntothepeaceoftheLavery.

A

2

shokwassortinghugebalesofnewspapersintonumberedpilesasIwalkedbackin.Hestraightenedupwithasmile.“Well,goodday,

MissLouisa.AndhowwasyourfirstmorninginNewYork?”

“Amazing.Thankyou.”

“Didyouhum‘LettheRiverRun’asyouwalkeddownthestreet?”

Istoppedinmytracks.“Howdidyouknow?”

“EveryonedoesthatwhentheyfirstcometoManhattan.Hell,evenIdoitsomemorningsandIdon’tlooknothinglikeMelanieGriffith.”

“Aretherenogrocerystoresaroundhere?Ihadtowalkaboutamillionmilestogetacoffee.AndIhavenoideawheretobuymilk.”

“MissLouisa,youshouldhavetoldme.C’mere.”Hegesturedbehindhiscounterandopenedadoor,beckoningmeintoadarkoffice,itsscruffinessandcluttereddécoratoddswiththebrassandmarbleoutside.Onadesksatabankofsecurityscreensandamongthemanoldtelevisionandalargeledger,alongwithamug,somepaperbackbooks,andanarrayofphotographsofbeaming,toothlesschildren.Behindthedoorstoodanancientfridge.“Here.Takethis.Bringmeonelater.”

“Doalldoormendothis?”

“Nodoormendothis.ButtheLaveryisdifferent.”

“Sowheredopeopledotheirshopping?”

Hepulledaface.“Peopleinthisbuildingdon’tdoshopping,MissLouisa.Theydon’teventhinkaboutshopping.Iswearhalfofthemthinkthatfoodarrivesbymagic,cooked,ontheirtables.”Heglancedbehindhim,loweringhisvoice.“Iwillwagerthateightypercentofthewomeninthisbuildinghavenotcookedamealinfiveyears.Mindyou,halfthewomeninthisbuildingdon’teatmeals,period.”

WhenIstaredathimheshrugged.“Therichdonotlivelikeyouandme,MissLouisa.AndtheNewYorkrich...well,theydonotlivelikeanyone.”

Itookthecartonofmilk.

“Anythingyouwantyouhaveitdelivered.You’llgetusedtoit.”

IwantedtoaskhimaboutIlariaandMrs.Gopnik,whoapparentlywasn’tMrs.Gopnik,andthefamilyIwasabouttomeet.Buthewaslookingawayfrommeupthehallway.

“Well,goodmorningtoyou,Mrs.DeWitt!”

“Whatareallthesenewspapersdoingonthefloor?Theplacelookslikeawretchednewsstand.”AtinyoldwomantuttedfretfullyatthepilesofNewYorkTimesandWallStreetJournalthathewasstillunpacking.Despitethehour,shewasdressedasifforawedding,inaraspberrypinkdustercoat,aredpillboxhat,andhugetortoiseshellsunglassesthatobscuredhertiny,wrinkledface.Attheendofaleadawheezypug,withbulbouseyes,gazedatmebelligerently(atleastIthoughtitwasgazingatme:itwashardtobesureasitseyesveeredoffindifferentdirections).IstoopedtohelpAshokclearthenewspapersfromherpathbutasIbentdownthedogleapedatmewithagrowlsothatIsprangback,almostfallingovertheNewYorkTimes.

“Oh,forgoodness’sake!”camethequavering,imperiousvoice.“Andnowyou’reupsettingthedog!”

Myleghadfeltthewhisperofthepug’steeth.Myskinsangwiththenearcontact.

“Pleasemakesurethis—thisdebrisisclearedbythetimewereturn.IhavetoldMr.Ovitzagainandagainthatthebuildingisgoingdownhill.And,Ashok,I’veleftabagofrefuseoutsidemydoor.Pleasemoveitimmediatelyorthewholecorridorwillsmellofstalelilies.Goodnessknowswhosendsliliesasagift.Funerealthings.DeanMartin!”

Ashoktippedhiscap.“Certainly,Mrs.DeWitt.”Hewaiteduntilshe’dgone.Thenheturnedandpeeredatmyleg.

“Thatdogtriedtobiteme!”

“Yeah.That’sDeanMartin.Beststayoutofhisway.He’sthemostbad-temperedresidentinthisbuilding,andthat’ssayingsomething.”

Hebentbacktowardhispapers,heavingthenextlotontothedesk,thenpausingtoshoomeaway.“Don’tyouworryaboutthese,MissLouisa.They’reheavyandyougotenoughonyourplatewiththemupstairs.Haveanicedaynow.”

HewasgonebeforeIcouldaskhimwhathemeant.

—Thedaypassedinablur.Ispenttherestofthemorningorganizingmylittleroom,cleaningthebathroom,puttinguppicturesofSam,myparents,Treena,andThomtomakeitfeelmorelikehome.NathantookmetoadinernearColumbusCirclewhereIatefromaplatethesizeofacartireanddranksomuchstrongcoffeethatmyhandsvibratedaswewalkedback.Nathanpointedoutplacesthatmightbeusefultome—thisbarstayedopenlate,thatfoodtruckdidreallygoodfalafel,thiswasasafeATMforgettingcash...Mybrainspunwithnewimages,newinformation.Sometimemid-afternoonIfeltsuddenlywoozyandleaden-footed,soNathanwalkedmebacktotheapartment,hisarmthroughmine.Iwasgratefulforthequiet,darkinteriorofthebuilding,fortheserviceliftthatsavedmefromthestairs.

“Takeanap,”headvised,asIkickedoffmyshoes.“Iwouldn’tsleepmorethananhour,though,oryourbodyclockwillbeevenmoremessedup.”

“WhattimedidyousaytheGopnikswillbeback?”Myvoicehadstartedtoslur.

“Usuallyaroundsix.It’sthreenowsoyou’vegottime.Goon,getsomeshut-eye.You’llfeelhumanagain.”

HeclosedthedoorandIsankgratefullybackonthebed.Iwasabouttosleep,butrealizedsuddenlythatifIwaitedIwouldn’tbeabletospeaktoSam,andreachedformylaptop,brieflyliftedfrommytorpor.

Areyouthere?Itypedintothemessengerapp.

Afewminuteslater,withalittlebubblingsound,thepictureexpandedandtherehewas,backintherailwaycarriage,hishugebodyhunchedtowardthescreen.Sam.Paramedic.Man-mountain.All-too-new-boyfriend.Wegrinnedateachotherlikeloons.

“Hey,gorgeous!Howisit?”

“Good!”Isaid.“IcouldshowyoumyroombutImightbumpthewallsasIturnthescreen.”Itwistedthelaptopsothathecouldseethefullgloryofmylittlebedroom.

“Looksgoodtome.It’sgotyouinit.”

Istaredatthegraywindowbehindhim.Icouldpictureitexactly,therainthrummingontheroofoftherailwaycarriage,theglassthatsteamedcomfortingly,thewood,thedamp,andthehensoutsideshelteringunderadrippingwheelbarrow.Samwasgazingatme,andIwipedmyeyes,wishingsuddenlythatIhadrememberedtoputonsomemakeup.

“Didyougointowork?”

“Yeah.TheyreckonI’llbegoodtostartbackonfulldutiesinaweek.Gottobefitenoughtoliftabodywithoutbustingmystitches.”Heinstinctivelyplacedhishandonhisabdomen,wherethegunshothadhithimjustamatterofweekspreviously—theroutinecalloutthathadnearlykilledhim,andcementedourrelationship—andIfeltsomethingunbalancingandvisceral.

“Iwishyouwerehere,”Isaid,beforeIcouldstopmyself.

“Metoo.Butyou’reondayoneofyouradventureandit’sgoingtobegreat.Andinayearyouwillbesittinghere—”

“Nothere,”Iinterrupted.“Inyourfinishedhouse.”

“Inmyfinishedhouse,”hesaid.“Andwe’llbelookingatyourpicturesonyourphoneandI’llbesecretlythinking,Oh,God,thereshegoes,whangingonabouthertimeinNewYorkagain.”

“Sowillyouwritetome?Aletterfullofloveandlonging,sprayedwithlonelytears?”

“Ah,Lou.YouknowI’mnotreallyawriter.ButI’llcall.AndI’llbetherewithyouinjustfourweeks.”

“Right,”Isaid,asmythroatconstricted.“Okay.I’dbettergrabanap.”

“Metoo,”hesaid.“I’llthinkofyou.”

“Inadisgustingpornyway?OrinaromanticNoraEphron-ykindofway?”

“Whichofthoseisnotgoingtogetmeintotrouble?Youlookgood,Lou,”hesaid,afteraminute.“Youlook...giddy.”

“Ifeelgiddy.Ifeellikeareally,reallytiredpersonwhoalsoslightlywantstoexplode.It’salittleconfusing.”Iputmyhandonthescreen,andafterasecondheputhisuptomeetit.Icouldimagineitonmyskin.

“Loveyou.”Istillfeltalittleself-conscioussayingit.

“Youtoo.I’dkissthescreenbutIsuspectyou’donlygetaviewofmynasalhair.”

Ishutmycomputer,smiling,andwithinsecondsIwasasleep.

—Somebodywasshriekinginthecorridor.Iwokegroggily,sweatily,halfsuspectingIwasinadream,andpushedmyselfupright.Therereallywasawomanscreamingontheothersideofmydoor.Athousandthoughtsspedthroughmyaddledbrain,headlinesaboutmurders,NewYork,andhowtoreportacrime.Whatwasthenumberyouweremeanttocall?Not999likeEngland.Irackedmybrainandcameupwithnothing.

“WhyshouldI?WhyshouldIsitthereandsmilewhenthosewitchesareinsultingme?Youdon’tevenhearhalfofwhattheysay!Youareaman!Itislikeyouwearblinkersonyourears!”

“Darling,pleasecalmdown.Please.Thisisnotthetimeortheplace.”

“Thereisneveratimeorplace!Becausethereisalwayssomeonehere!IhavetobuymyownapartmentjustsoIhavesomewheretoarguewithyou!”

“Idon’tunderstandwhyyouhavetogetsoupsetaboutitall.Youhavetogiveit—”

“No!”

Somethingsmashedonahardwoodfloor.Iwasfullyawakenow,myheartracing.

Therewasaweightysilence.

“Nowyou’regoingtotellmethiswasafamilyheirloom.”

Apause.

“Well,yes,yes,itwas.”

Amuffledsob.“Idon’tcare!Idon’tcare!I’mchokinginyourfamilyhistory!Youhearme?Choking!”

“Agnes,darling.Notinthecorridor.Comeon.Wecandiscussthislater.”

Isatverystillontheedgeofmybed.

Therewasmoremuffledsobbing,thensilence.Iwaited,thenstoodandtiptoedtothedoor,pressingmyearagainstit.Nothing.Ilookedattheclock—fourforty-sixp.m.

Iwashedmyfaceandchangedbrisklyintomyuniform.Ibrushedmyhair,thenletmyselfquietlyoutofmybedroomandwalkedaroundthecornerofthecorridor.

AndIstopped.

Fartherupthecorridorbesidethekitchen,ayoungwomanwascurledintoafetalball.Anoldermanhadhisarmswrappedaroundher,hisbackpressedagainstthewoodpaneling.Hewasalmostseated,onekneeupandoneextended,asifhehadcaughtherandbeenbroughtdownbytheweight.Icouldn’tseeherface,butalong,slimlegstuckoutinelegantlyfromanavydressandasheetofblondhairobscuredherface.Herknuckleswerewhitefromwhereshewasholdingontohim.

Istaredandgulped,andhelookedupandsawme.IrecognizedMr.Gopnik.

“Notnow.Thankyou,”hesaid,softly.

Myvoicestickinginmythroat,Ibackedswiftlyintomyroomandclosedthedoor,myheartthumpinginmyearssoloudlythatIwassuretheymustbeabletohearit.

—Istared,unseeing,atthetelevisionforthenexthour,animageofthoseentwinedpeopleburnedontotheinsideofmyhead.Ithoughtabout

textingNathanbutIwasn’tsurewhatIwouldsay.Instead,atfivefifty-five,Iwalkedout,tentativelymakingmywaytowardthemainapartmentthroughtheconnectingdoor.Ipassedavastemptydiningroom,whatlookedlikeaguestbedroomandtwocloseddoors,followingthedistantmurmurofconversation,myfeetsoftontheparquetfloor.FinallyIreachedthedrawingroomandstoppedjustoutsidetheopendoorway.

Mr.Gopnikwasinawindowseat,onthetelephone,thesleevesofhispaleblueshirtrolledupandonehandrestingbehindhishead.Hemotionedmein,stilltalkingonthephone.Tomyleftablondwoman—Mrs.Gopnik?—satonarose-coloredantiquesofatappingrestlesslyonaniPhone.SheappearedtohavechangedherclothesandIwasmomentarilyconfused.Iwaitedawkwardlyuntilheendedhiscallandstood,Inoticed,withalittlewinceofeffort.Itookanothersteptowardhim,tosavehimcomingfurther,andshookhishand.Itwaswarm,hisgripsoftandstrong.Theyoungwomancontinuedtotapatherphone.

“Louisa.Gladyougothereokay.Itrustyouhaveeverythingyouneed.”

Hesaiditinthewaypeopledowhentheydon’texpectyoutoaskforanything.

“It’salllovely.Thankyou.”

“Thisismydaughter,Tabitha.Tab?”

Thegirlraisedahand,offeringthehintofasmile,beforeturningbacktoherphone.

“PleaseexcuseAgnesnotbeingheretomeetyou.She’sgonetobedforanhour.Splittingheadache.It’sbeenalongweekend.”

Avaguewearinessshadowedhisface,butitwasgonewithinamoment.NothinginhismannerbetrayedwhatIhadseenlessthantwohourspreviously.

Hesmiled.“So...tonightyou’refreetodoasyouplease,andfromtomorrowmorningyouwillaccompanyAgneswherevershewantstogo.Yourofficialtitleis‘assistant,’andyou’llbetheretosupportherinwhateversheneedstodointheday.Shehasabusyschedule—I’veaskedmyassistanttoloopyouinonthefamilycalendarandyou’llgete-mailedwithanyupdates.Besttocheckataroundtenp.m.—that’s

whenwetendtomakelatechanges.You’llmeettherestoftheteamtomorrow.”

“Great.Thankyou.”Inotedtheword“team”andhadabriefvisionoffootballerstrekkingthroughtheapartment.

“What’sfordinner,Dad?”TabithaspokeasifIwasn’tthere.

“Idon’tknow,darling.Ithoughtyousaidyouweregoingout.”

“I’mnotsureifIcanfacegoingbackacrosstowntonight.Imightjuststay.”

“Whateveryouwant.JustmakesureIlariaknows.Louisa,doyouhaveanyquestions?”

Itriedtothinkofsomethingusefultosay.

“Oh,andMomtoldmetoaskyouifyou’dfoundthatlittledrawing.TheMiró.”

“Sweetheart,I’mnotgoingoverthatagain.Thedrawingbelongshere.”

“ButMomsaidshechoseit.Shemissesit.Youneverevenlikedit.”

“That’snotthepoint.”

Ishiftedmyweightbetweenmyfeet,notsureifIhadbeendismissed.

“Butitisthepoint,Dad.Mommissessomethingterriblyandyoudon’tevencareforit.”

“It’swortheightythousanddollars.”

“Momdoesn’tcareaboutthemoney.”

“Canwediscussthislater?”

“You’llbebusylater.IpromisedMomIwouldsortthisout.”

Itookasurreptitiousstepbackward.

“There’snothingtosort.Thesettlementwasfinalizedeighteenmonthsago.Itwasalldealtwiththen.Oh,darling,thereyouare.Areyoufeelingbetter?”

Ilookedround.Thewomanwhohadjustenteredtheroomwasstrikinglybeautiful,herfacefreeofmakeupandherpaleblondhairscrapedbackintoalooseknot.Herhighcheekboneswerelightly

freckledandtheshapeofhereyessuggestedaSlavicheritage.Iguessedshewasaboutthesameageasme.ShepaddedbarefootovertoMr.Gopnikandkissedhim,herhandtrailingacrossthebackofhisneck.“Muchbetter,thankyou.”

“ThisisLouisa,”hesaid.

Sheturnedtome.“Mynewally,”shesaid.

“Yournewassistant,”saidMr.Gopnik.

“Hello,Louisa.”Shereachedoutaslenderhandandshookmine.Ifelthereyesrunoverme,asifshewereworkingsomethingout,andthenshesmiled,andIcouldn’thelpbutsmileinreturn.

“Ilariahasmadeyourroomnice?”HervoicewassoftandheldanEasternEuropeanlilt.

“It’sperfect.Thankyou.”

“Perfect?Oh,youareveryeasilypleased.Thatroomislikeabroomcupboard.Anythingyoudon’tlikeyoutellusandwewillmakeitnice.Won’twe,darling?”

“Didn’tyouusedtoliveinaroomevensmallerthanthat,Agnes?”saidTabitha,notlookingupfromheriPhone.“I’msureDadtoldmeyouusedtosharewithaboutfifteenotherimmigrants.”

“Tab.”Mr.Gopnik’svoicewasagentlewarning.

Agnestookalittlebreathandliftedherchin.“Actually,myroomwassmaller.ButthegirlsIsharedwithwereverynice.Soitwasnotroubleatall.Ifpeoplearenice,andpolite,youcanbearanything,don’tyouthink,Louisa?”

Iswallowed.“Yes.”

Ilariawalkedinandclearedherthroat.Shewaswearingthesamepoloshirtanddarktrousers,coveredbyawhiteapron.Shedidn’tlookatme.“Dinnerisready,Mr.Gopnik,”shesaid.

“Isthereanyforme,Ilariadarling?”saidTabitha,herhandrestingalongthebackofthesofa.“IthinkImightstayover.”

Ilaria’sexpressionwasfilledwithinstantwarmth.Itwasasifadifferentpersonhadappearedinfrontofme.“Ofcourse,MissTabitha.IalwayscookextraonSundaysincaseyoudecidetostay.”

Agnesstoodinthemiddleoftheroom.IthoughtIsawaflickerofpaniccrossherface.Herjawtightened.“ThenIwouldlikeLouisatoeatwithustoo,”shesaid.

Therewasabriefsilence.

“Louisa?”saidTabitha.

“Yes.Itwouldbenicetogettoknowherproperly.Doyouhaveplansforthisevening,Louisa?”

“Uh—no,”Istuttered.

“Thenyoueatwithus.Ilaria,yousayyoucookextra,yes?”

IlarialookeddirectlyatMr.Gopnik,whoappearedtobeengrossedinsomethingonhisphone.

“Agnes,”saidTabitha,afteramoment.“Youdounderstandwedon’teatwithstaff?”

“Whoisthis‘we’?Ididnotknowthattherewasarulebook.”Agnesheldoutherhandandinspectedherweddingbandwithstudiedcalm.“Darling?Didyouforgettogivemearulebook?”

“Withrespect,andwhileI’msureLouisaisperfectlynice,”saidTabitha,“thereareboundaries.Andtheyexistforeverybody’sbenefit.”

“I’mhappytodowhatever...”Ibegan.“Idon’twanttocauseany...”

“Well,withrespect,Tabitha,IwouldlikeLouisatoeatsupperwithme.Sheismynewassistantandwearegoingtospendeverydaytogether.SoIcannotseetheprobleminmegettingtoknowheralittle.”

“There’snoproblem,”saidMr.Gopnik.

“Daddy—”

“There’snoproblem,Tab.Ilaria,pleasecouldyousetthetableforfour?Thankyou.”

Ilaria’seyeswidened.Sheglancedatme,hermouthathinlineofsuppressedrage,asifIhadengineeredthistravestyofthedomestichierarchy,thendisappearedtothediningroomfromwherewecouldheartheemphaticclatteringofcutleryandglassware.Agnesletoutalittlebreathandpushedherhairbackfromherhead.Sheflashedmeasmall,conspiratorialsmile.

“Let’sgothrough,”saidMr.Gopnik,afteraminute.“Louisa,perhapsyou’dlikeadrink.”

—Dinnerwasahushed,painfulaffair.Iwasoverawedbythegrandmahoganytable,theheavysilvercutleryandthecrystalglasses,outofplaceinmyuniform.Mr.Gopnikwaslargelysilentanddisappearedtwicetotakecallsfromhisoffice.TabithaflickedthroughheriPhone,studiouslydecliningtoengagewithanybody,andIlariadeliveredchickeninaredwinesaucewithallthetrimmingsandremovedservingdishesafterwardwithaface,asmymotherwouldputit,likeasmackedarse.PerhapsonlyInoticedthehardclunkwithwhichmyownplatewasplacedinfrontofme,theaudiblesniffthatcameeverytimeshepassedmychair.

Agnesbarelypickedathers.ShesatoppositemeandchattedgamelyasifIwerehernewbestfriend,hergazeperiodicallyslidingtowardherhusband.

“SothisisyourfirsttimeinNewYork,”shesaid.“Whereelsehaveyoubeen?”

“Um...notverymanyplaces.I’msortoflatetotraveling.IbackpackedaroundEuropeacoupleofyearsago,andbeforethat...Mauritius.AndSwitzerland.”

“Americaisverydifferent.Eachstatehasauniquefeel,Ithink,toweEuropeans.IhaveonlybeentoafewplaceswithLeonard,butitwaslikegoingtodifferentcountriesentirely.Areyouexcitedtobehere?”

“Verymuchso,”Isaid.“I’mdeterminedtotakeadvantageofeverythingNewYorkhastooffer.”

“Soundslikeyou,Agnes,”saidTabithasweetly.

Agnesignoredher,keepinghereyesonme.Theywerehypnoticallybeautiful,taperingtofine,upward-tiltedpointsatthecorners.TwiceIhadtoremindmyselftoclosemymouthwhilestaringather.

“Andtellmeaboutyourfamily.Youhavebrothers?Sisters?”

IexplainedmyfamilyasbestIcould,makingthemsoundalittlemoreWaltonsthanAddams.

“AndyoursisternowlivesinyourapartmentinLondon?Withherson?Willshecomevisityou?Andyourparents?Theywillmissyou?”

IthoughtofDad’spartingshot:“Don’thurryback,Lou!We’returningyouroldbedroomintoaJacuzzi!”

“Oh,yes.Verymuch.”

“MymothercriedfortwoweekswhenIleftKraków.Andyouhaveaboyfriend?”

“Yes.Hisname’sSam.He’saparamedic.”

“Aparamedic!Likeadoctor?Howlovely.Pleaseshowmepicture.Ilovetoseepictures.”

IpulledmyphonefrommypocketandflickedthroughuntilIfoundmyfavoritepictureofSam,sittingonmyroofterraceinhisdarkgreenuniform.Hehadjustfinishedwork,andwasdrinkingamugoftea,beamingatme.ThesunwaslowbehindhimandIcouldremember,lookingatit,exactlyhowithadfeltupthere,myteacoolingontheledgebehindme,SamwaitingpatientlyasItookpictureafterpicture.

“Sohandsome!AndheiscomingtoNewYorktoo?”

“Um,no.He’sbuildingahousesoit’sabitcomplicatedjustnow.Andhehasajob.”

Agnes’seyeswidened.“Buthemustcome!Youcannotliveindifferentcountries!Howyoucanloveyourmanifheisnotherewithyou?IcouldnotbeawayfromLeonard.Idon’tevenlikeitwhenhegoesontwo-daybusinesstrip.”

“Yes,Isupposeyouwouldwanttomakesureyou’renevertoofaraway,”saidTabitha.Mr.Gopnikglancedupfromhisdinner,hisgazeflickeringbetweenhiswifeanddaughter,butsaidnothing.

“Still,”Agnessaid,arranginghernapkinonherlap,“Londonisnotsofaraway.Andloveislove.Isn’tthatright,Leonard?”

“Itcertainlyis,”hesaid,andhisfacebrieflysoftenedathersmile.Agnesreachedoutahandandstrokedhis,andIlookedquicklyatmyplate.

Theroomfellsilentforamoment.

“ActuallyIthinkImightheadhome.Iseemtobefeelingslightlynauseous.”Withaloudscrape,Tabithapushedherchairbackand

droppedhernapkinonherplate,wherethewhitelinenimmediatelybegantosoakuptheredwinesauce.Ihadtofighttheurgetorescueit.Shestoodandkissedherfather’scheek.Hereachedupafreehandandtouchedherarmfondly.

“I’llspeaktoyouduringtheweek,Daddy.”Sheturned.“Louisa...Agnes.”Shenoddedcurtly,andlefttheroom.

Agneswatchedhergo.It’spossibleshemutteredsomethingunderherbreath,butIlariawasgatheringupmyplateandcutlerywithsuchasavageclatterthatitwashardtotell.

—WithTabithagone,itwasasifallthefightleftAgnes.Sheseemedtowiltinherseat,hershoulderssuddenlybowed,thesharphollowofhercollarbonevisibleasherheaddroopedoverit.Istood.“IthinkImightheadbacktomyroomnow.Thankyousomuchforsupper.Itwasdelicious.”

Nobodyprotested.Mr.Gopnik’sarmwasrestingalongthemahoganytablenow,hisfingersstrokinghiswife’shand.“We’llseeyouinthemorning,Louisa,”hesaid,notlookingatme.Agneswasgazingupathim,herfacesomber.Ibackedoutofthediningroom,speedingpastthekitchendoortomyroomsothatthevirtualdaggersIcouldfeelIlariahurlingmywayfromthekitchenwouldn’thaveachancetohitme.

—AnhourlaterNathansentmeatext.HewashavingabeerwithfriendsinBrooklyn.

—Heardyougotthefullbaptismoffire.You

allright?

Ididn’thavetheenergytocomebackwithsomethingwitty.Ortoaskhimhowonearthheknew.

—It’llbeeasieronceyougettoknowthem.

Promise.

Seeyouinthemorning,Ireplied.Ihadabriefmomentofmisgiving—whathadIjustsignedupfor?—thenhadasternwordwithmyself,andfellheavilytosleep.

—ThatnightIdreamedofWill.Idreamedofhimrarely—asourceofsomesadnesstomeintheearlydayswhenIhadmissedhimsomuchthatIfeltasifsomeonehadblastedaholestraightthroughme.ThedreamshadstoppedwhenImetSam.Buttherehewasagain,inthesmallhours,asvividasifhewerestandingbeforeme.Hewasinthebackseatofacar,anexpensiveblacklimousine,likeMr.Gopnik’s,andIsawhimfromacrossastreet.Iwasinstantlyrelievedthathewasnotdead,notgoneafterall,andknewinstinctivelythatheshouldnotgowhereverhewasheaded.Itwasmyjobtostophim.ButeverytimeItriedtocrossthebusyroadanextralaneofcarsseemedtoappearinfrontofme,roaringpastsothatIcouldn’tgettohim,thesoundoftheenginesdrowningmyshoutingofhisname.Therehewas,justoutofreach,hisskinthatsmoothcaramelcolor,hisfaintsmileplayingaroundtheedgesofhismouth,sayingsomethingtothedriverthatIcouldn’thear.Atthelastminutehecaughtmyeye—hiseyeswidenedjustalittle—andIwoke,sweating,theduvetknottedaroundmylegs.

W

3

From:BusyBee@gmail.comTo:Samfielding1@gmail.com

Writingthisinhaste—Mrs.Gishavingherpianolesson—butI’mgoingtotryande-mailyoueverydaysothatatleastIcanfeellikewe’rechatting.Imissyou.Pleasewriteback.Iknowyousaidyouhatee-mailsbutjustforme.Pleeeease.(Youhavetoimaginemypleadingfacehere.)Or,youknow,LETTERS!Loveyou,

Lxxxxxx

ell,goodmorning!”

AverylargeAfricanAmericanmaninverytightscarletLycrastoodinfrontofme,hishandsonhiships.Ifroze,blinking,inthekitchendoorwayinmyT-shirtandknickers,wonderingifIwasdreamingandwhetherifIclosedthedoorandopeneditagainhewouldstillbethere.

“YoumustbeMissLouisa?”Ahugehandreachedoutandtookmine,pumpingitsoenthusiasticallythatIbobbedupanddowninvoluntarily.Icheckedmywatch.No,itreallywasaquarterpastsix.

“I’mGeorge.Mrs.Gopnik’strainer.Ihearyou’recomingoutwithus.Lookingforwardtoit!”

Ihadwokenafterafitfulfewhours,strugglingtoshakeoffthetangleddreamsthathadwoventhemselvesthroughmysleep,andstumbleddownthecorridoronautomaticpilot,acaffeine-seekingzombie.

“Okay,Louisa!Gottastayhydrated!”Hepickeduptwowaterbottlesfromtheside.Andhewasgone,jogginglightlydownthecorridor.

Ipouredmyselfacoffee,andasIstoodtheresippingit,Nathanwalkedin,dressedandscentedwithaftershave.Hegazedatmybarelegs.

“IjustmetGeorge,”Isaid.

“Nothinghecan’tteachyouaboutglutes.Yougotyourrunningshoes,right?”

“Hah!”ItookasipofmycoffeebutNathanwaslookingatmeexpectantly.“Nathan,nobodysaidanythingaboutrunning.I’mnotarunner.Imean,Iamtheanti-sport,thesofa-dweller.Youknowthat.”

Nathanpouredhimselfablackcoffeeandreplacedthejuginthemachine.

“PlusIfelloffabuildingearlierthisyear.Remember?Lotsofbitsofmewentcrack.”Icouldjokeaboutthatnightnowwhen,stillgrievingWill,IhaddrunkenlyslippedfromtheparapetofmyLondonhome.Butthetwingesinmyhipwereaconstantreminder.

“You’refine.Andyou’reMrs.G’sassistant.Yourjobistobeathersideatalltimes,mate.Ifshewantsyoutogorunning,thenyou’rerunning.”Hetookasipofhiscoffee.“Ah,don’tlooksopanicked.You’llloveit.You’llbefitasabutcher’sdogwithinafewweeks.Everyoneheredoesit.”

“It’saquarterpastsixinthemorning.”

“Mr.Gopnikstartsatfive.We’vejustfinishedhisphysio.Mrs.Glikesabitofalie-in.”

“Sowerunatwhattime?”

“Twentytoseven.Meettheminthemainhallway.Seeyoulater!”Heliftedahand,andwasgone.

—Agnes,ofcourse,wasoneofthosewomenwholookedevenbetterinthemornings:nakedofface,alittleblurredattheedges,butinasexyVaseline-on-the-lensway.Herhairwaspulledbackinalooseponytailandherfittedtopandjoggingpantsmadeherseemcasualinthesamewaythatoff-dutysupermodelsdo.Shelopeddownthecorridor,likeaPalominoracehorseinsunglasses,andliftedaneleganthandingreeting,asifitweresimplytooearlyforspeech.IhadonlyapairofshortsandasleevelessT-shirtwithme,which,Isuspected,mademelooklikeaplumplaborer.IwasslightlyanxiousthatIhadn’tshavedmyarmpitsandclampedmyelbowstomysides.

“Goodmorning,Mrs.G!”GeorgeappearedbesideusandhandedAgnesabottleofwater.“Youallset?”

Shenodded.

“Youready,MissLouisa?We’rejustdoingthefourmilestoday.Mrs.Gwantstodoextraabdominalwork.You’vedoneyourstretches,right?”

“Um,I...”Ihadnowaterandnobottle.Butwewereoff.

—Ihadheardtheexpression“hitthegroundrunning”butuntilGeorgeIhadnevertrulyunderstoodwhatitmeant.Hesetoffdownthecorridoratwhatfeltlikefortymilesanhour,andjustwhenIthoughtwewouldatleastslowforthelift,heheldopenthedoubledoorsattheendsothatwecouldsprintdownthefourflightsofstairsthattookustothegroundfloor.WewereoutthroughthelobbyandpastAshokinablur,mejustabletocatchhismuffledgreeting.

DearGod,butitwastooearlyforthis.Ifollowedthetwoofthem,joggingeffortlesslylikeapairofcarriagehorses,whileIsprintedbehind,myshorterstridefailingtomatchtheirs,mybonesjarringwiththeimpactofeachfootfall,mutteringmyapologiesasIswervedbetweenthekamikazepedestrianswhowalkedintomypath.RunninghadbeenmyexPatrick’sthing.Itwaslikekale—oneofthosethingsyouknowexistsandispossiblygoodforyoubut,frankly,lifeisalwaysgoingtobetooshorttogetstuckin.

Oh,comeon,youcandothis,Itoldmyself.Thisisyourfirstsayyes!moment.YouarejogginginNewYork!Thisisawholenewyou!ForafewgloriousstridesIalmostbelievedit.Thetrafficstopped,thecrossinglightchanged,andwepausedatthecurbside,GeorgeandAgnesbouncinglightlyontheirtoes,meunseenbehindthem.ThenwewereacrossandintoCentralPark,thepathdisappearingbeneathourfeet,thesoundsofthetrafficfadingasweenteredthegreenoasisattheheartofthecity.

WewerebarelyamileinwhenIrealizedthiswasnotagoodidea.EventhoughIwasnowwalkingasmuchasrunning,mybreathwasalreadycomingingasps,myhipprotestingall-too-recentinjuries.ThefarthestIhadruninyearswasfifteenyardsforaslowingbus,andI’d

missedthat.IglanceduptoseeGeorgeandAgnesweretalkingwhiletheyjogged.Icouldn’tbreathe,andtheywereholdinganhonest-to-Godconversation.

IthoughtaboutafriendofDad’swhohadhadaheartattackwhilejogging.Dadhadalwaysuseditasaclearillustrationofwhysportwasbadforyou.WhyhadInotexplainedmyinjuries?WasIgoingtocoughalungoutrighthereinthemiddleofthepark?

“Youokaybackthere,MissLouisa?”Georgeturnedsothathewasjoggingbackward.

“Fine!”Igavehimacheerythumbs-up.

IhadalwayswantedtoseeCentralPark.Butnotthisway.IwonderedwhatwouldhappenifIkeeledoveranddiedonmyfirstdayinthejob.Howwouldtheygetmybodyhome?Iswervedtoavoidawomanwiththreeidenticalmeanderingtoddlers.Please,God,Iwilledthetwopeoplerunningeffortlesslyinfrontofme,silently.Justoneofyoufallover.Nottobreakalegexactly,justalittlesprain.Oneofthosethingsthatlaststwenty-fourhoursandrequireslyingonasofawithyourlegupwatchingdaytimetelly.

TheywerepullingawayfrommenowandtherewasnothingIcoulddo.Whatkindofparkhadhillsinit?Mr.Gopnikwouldbefuriouswithmefornotstickingwithhiswife.AgneswouldrealizeIwasasilly,dumpyEnglishwoman,ratherthananally.Theywouldhiresomeoneslimandgorgeouswithbetterrunningclothes.

Itwasatthispointthattheoldmanjoggedpastme.Heturnedhisheadtoglanceatme,thenconsultedhisfitnesstrackerandkeptgoing,nimbleonhistoes,hisheadphonespluggedintohisears.Hemusthavebeenseventy-fiveyearsold.

“Oh,comeon.”Iwatchedhimspeedawayfromme.AndthenIcaughtsightofthehorseandcarriage.IpushedforwarduntilIwaslevelwiththedriver.“Hey!Hey!Anychanceyoucouldjusttrotuptowherethosepeoplearerunning?”

“Whatpeople?”

Ipointedtothetinyfiguresnowinthefardistance.Hepeeredtowardthem,thenshrugged.Iclimbeduponthecarriageandduckeddownbehindhimwhileheurgedhishorseforwardwithalightslapofthereins.YetanotherNewYorkexperiencethatwasn’tquiteas

planned,Ithought,asIcrouchedbehindhim.Wedrewcloser,andItappedhimtoletmeout.Itcouldonlyhavebeenaboutfivehundredyardsbutatleastithadgotmeclosertothem.Imadetojumpdown.

“Fortybucks,”saidthedriver.

“What?”

“Fortybucks.”

“Weonlywentfivehundredyards!”

“That’swhatitcosts,lady.”

Theywerestilldeepinconversation.Ipulledtwotwenty-dollarnotesfrommybackpocketandhurledthemathim,thenduckedbehindthecarriageandstartedtojog,justintimeforGeorgetoturnaroundandspotme.Igavehimanothercheerythumbs-upasifI’dbeenthereallalong.

—Georgefinallytookpityonme.HespottedmelimpingandjoggedbackwhileAgnesdidstretches,herlonglegsextendinglikesomedouble-jointedflamingo.“MissLouisa!Youokaythere?”

Atleast,Ithoughtitwashim.Icouldnolongerseebecauseofthesweatleakingintomyeyes.Istopped,myhandsrestingonmyknees,mychestheaving

“Yougotaproblem?You’relookingalittleflushed.”

“Bit...rusty,”Igasped.“Hip...problem.”

“Yougotaninjury?Youshouldhavesaid!”

“Didn’twantto...missanyofit!”Isaid,wipingmyeyeswithmyhands.Itjustmadethemstingmore.

“Whereisit?”

“Lefthip.Fracture.Eightmonthsago.”

Heputhishandsonmyhip,thenmovedmyleftlegbackwardandforwardsothathecouldfeelitrotating.Itriednottowince.

“Youknow,Idon’tthinkyoushoulddoanymoretoday.”

“ButI—”

“No,youheadonback,MissLouisa.”

“Oh,ifyouinsist.Howdisappointing.”

“We’llmeetyouattheapartment.”HeclappedmeonthebacksovigorouslythatInearlyfellontomyface.Andthen,withacheerywave,theyweregone.

—“Youhavefun,MissLouisa?”saidAshok,asIhobbledinforty-fiveminuteslater.TurnedoutyoucouldgetlostinCentralParkafterall.

Ipausedtopullmysweat-soakedT-shirtawayfrommyback.“Marvelous.Lovingit.”

WhenIgotintotheapartmentIdiscoveredthatGeorgeandAgneshadreturnedhomeafulltwentyminutesbeforeme.

—Mr.GopnikhadtoldmethatAgnes’sschedulewasbusy.Givenhiswifedidn’thaveajob,oranyoffspring,shewasinfactthebusiestpersonIhadevermet.Wehadahalf-hourforbreakfastafterGeorgeleft(therewasatablelaidforAgneswithanegg-whiteomelet,someberriesandasilverpotofcoffee;IbolteddownamuffinthatNathanhadleftformeinthestaffkitchen),thenwehadhalfanhourinMr.Gopnik’sstudywithMr.Gopnik’sassistant,Michael,pencilingintheeventsAgneswouldbeattendingthatweek.

Mr.Gopnik’sofficewasanexerciseinstudiedmasculinity:alldarkpaneledwoodandloadedbookshelves.Wesatinheavilyupholsteredchairsaroundacoffeetable.Behindus,Mr.Gopnik’soversizeddeskheldaseriesofphonesandboundnotepadsandperiodicallyMichaelbeggedIlariaformoreofherdeliciouscoffeeandshecomplied,savinghersmilesforhimalone.

WewentoverthelikelycontentsofameetingabouttheGopniks’philanthropicfoundation,acharitydinneronWednesday,amemoriallunchandacocktailreceptiononThursday,anartexhibitionandconcertattheMetropolitanOperaattheLincolnCenteronFriday.“Aquietweek,then,”saidMichael,peeringathisiPad.

TodayAgnes’sdiaryshowedshehadahairappointmentatten(theseoccurredthreetimesaweek),adentalappointment(routinecleaning),lunchwithaformercolleague,andanappointmentwithaninteriordecorator.Shehadapianolessonatfour(thesetookplacetwiceaweek),aspinclassatfivethirty,andthenshewouldbeouttodinneralonewithMr.GopnikatarestaurantinMidtown.Iwouldfinishatsixthirtyp.m.

TheprospectofthedayseemedtosatisfyAgnes.Orperhapsitwastherun.Shehadchangedintoindigojeansandawhiteshirt,thecollarofwhichrevealedalargediamondpendant,andmovedinadiscreetcloudofperfume.“Alllooksfine,”shesaid.“Right.Ihavetomakesomecalls.”SheseemedtoexpectthatIwouldknowwheretofindherafterward.

“Ifindoubt,waitinthehall,”whisperedMichaelassheleft.Hesmiled,theprofessionalveneerbrieflygone.“WhenIstartedIneverknewwheretofindthem.Ourjobistopopupwhentheythinktheyneedus.Butnot,youknow,tostalkthemallthewaytothebathroom.”

HewasprobablynotmucholderthanIwas,buthelookedlikeoneofthosepeoplewhocameoutofthewombhandsome,color-coordinated,andwithperfectlypolishedshoes.IwonderedifeveryoneinNewYorkbutmewaslikethis.“Howlonghaveyouworkedhere?”

“Justoverayear.Theyhadtoletgotheiroldsocialsecretarybecause...”Hepaused,seemingbrieflyuncomfortable.“Well,freshstartandallthat.Andthenafterawhiletheydecideditdidn’tworkhavingoneassistantfortwoofthem.That’swhereyoucomein.Sohello!”Heheldouthishand.

Ishookit.“Youlikeithere?”

“Iloveit.IneverknowwhoI’mmoreinlovewith,himorher.”Hegrinned.“He’sjustthesmartest.Andsohandsome.Andshe’sadoll.”

“Doyourunwiththem?”

“Run?Areyoukiddingme?”Heshuddered.“Idon’tdosweating.ApartfromwithNathan.Oh,my.Iwouldsweatwithhim.Isn’thegorgeous?HeofferedtodomyshoulderandIfellinstantlyinlove.HowonearthhaveyoumanagedtoworkwithhimthislongwithoutjumpingthosedeliciousAntipodeanbones?”

“I—”

“Don’ttellme.Ifyou’vebeenthereIdon’twanttoknow.Wehavetostayfriends.Right.IneedtogetdowntoWallStreet.”

Hegavemeacreditcard(“Foremergencies—sheforgetshersallthetime.Allstatementsgostraighttohim”)andanelectronictablet,thenshowedmehowtosetupthePINcode.“Allthecontactnumbersyouneedarehere.Andeverythingtodowiththecalendarisonhere,”hesaid,scrollingdownthescreenwithaforefinger.“Eachpersoniscolor-coded—you’llseeMr.Gopnikisblue,Mrs.Gopnikisred,andTabithaisyellow.Wedon’trunherdiaryanymoreasshelivesawayfromhomebutit’susefultoknowwhenshe’slikelytobehere,andwhethertherearejointfamilycommitments,likemeetingsofthetrustsorthefoundation.I’vesetyouupaprivatee-mail,andiftherearechangesyouandIwillcommunicatethemwitheachothertobackupanychangesmadeonthescreen.Youhavetodouble-checkeverything.Scheduleclashesaretheonlythingguaranteedtomakehimmad.”

“Okay.”

“Soyou’llgothroughhermaileverymorning,workoutwhatshewantstoattend.I’llcross-checkwithyou,assometimestherearethingsshesaysnotoandheoverridesher.Sodon’tthrowanythingaway.Justkeeptwopiles.”

“Howmanyinvitesarethere?”

“Oh,youhavenoidea.TheGopniksarebasicallytoptier.Thatmeanstheygetinvitedtoeverythingandgotoalmostnoneofit.Secondtier,youwishyouwereinvitedtohalfandgotoeverythingyou’reinvitedto.”

“Thirdtier?”

“Crashers.Wouldgototheopeningofaburritotruck.Yougetthemevenatsocietyevents.”Hesighed.“Soembarrassing.”

Iscannedthediarypage,zoominginonthisweek,whichtomeappearedtobeaterrifyingrainbowmessofcolors.ItriednottolookasdauntedasIfelt.

“What’sbrown?”

“That’sFelix’sappointments.Thecat.”

“Thecathashisownsocialdiary?”

“It’sjustgroomers,veterinaryappointments,dentalhygienists,thatsortofthing.Ooh,no,he’sgotthebehavioristinthisweek.HemusthavebeenpoopingontheZiegleragain.”

“Andpurple?”

Michaelloweredhisvoice.“TheformerMrs.Gopnik.Ifyouseeapurpleblocknexttoanevent,that’sbecauseshewillalsobepresent.”Hewasabouttosaysomethingelsebuthisphonerang.

“Yes,Mr.Gopnik...Yes.Ofcourse...Yes,Iwill.Berightthere.”Heputhisphonebackinhisbag.“Okay.Gottago.Welcometotheteam!”

“Howmanyofusarethere?”Isaid,buthewasalreadyrunningoutofthedoor,hiscoatoverhisarm.

“FirstBigPurpleistwoweeks’time.Okay?I’lle-mailyou.Andwearnormalclotheswhenyou’reoutside!Oryou’lllooklikeyouworkforWholeFoods.”

—Thedaypassedinablur.Twentyminuteslaterwewalkedoutofthebuildingandintoawaitingcarthattookustoaglossysalonafewblocksaway,metryingdesperatelytolooklikethekindofpersonwhospentherwholelifegettinginandoutoflargeblackcarswithcreamleatherinteriors.IsatattheedgeoftheroomwhileAgneshadherhairwashedandstyledbyawomanwhoseownhairappearedtohavebeencutwiththeaidofaruler,andanhourlaterthecartookustothedentalappointmentwhere,again,Isatinthewaitingroom.Everywherewewentwashushedandtastefulandaworldawayfromthemadnessonthestreetbelow.Ihadwornoneofmymoresoberoutfits:anavyblousewithanchorsonitandastripedpencilskirt,butIneedn’thaveworried:ateachplaceIbecameinstantlyinvisible.ItwasasifIhad“STAFF”tattooedonmyforehead.Istartedtonoticetheotherpersonalassistants,pacingoutsideoncellphonesorracingbackinwithdry-cleaningandspecialtycoffeesincardboardholders.IwonderedifIshouldbeofferingAgnescoffee,orofficiouslytickingthingsofflists.MostofthetimeIwasn’tentirelysurewhyIwasthere.Thewholethingseemedtorunlikeclockworkwithoutme.ItwasasifI

wassimplyhumanarmor—aportablebarrierbetweenAgnesandtherestoftheworld.

Agnes,meanwhile,wasdistracted,talkinginPolishonhercellphoneoraskingmetomakenotesonmytablet:“WeneedtocheckwithMichaelthatLeonard’sgraysuitwascleaned.AndmaybecallMrs.LevitskyaboutmyGivenchydress—IthinkIhavelostalittleweightsinceIlastwearit.Shemaybecantakeitinaninch.”ShepeeredintoheroversizedPradahandbag,pullingoutaplasticstripofpillsfromwhichshepoppedtwointohermouth.“Water?”

Icastaround,findingoneinthedoorpocket.Iunscreweditandhandedittoher.Thecarstopped.

“Thankyou.”

Thedriver—amiddle-agedmanwiththickdarkhairandjowlsthatwobbledashemoved—steppedouttoopenherdoor.Whenshedisappearedintotherestaurant,thedoormanwelcomingherlikeanoldfriend,Imadetoclimboutbehindherbutthedrivershutthedoor.Iwasleftonthebackseat.

Isatthereforaminute,wonderingwhatIwasmeanttodo.

Icheckedmyphone.Ipeeredthroughthewindow,wonderingifthereweresandwichshopsnearby.Itappedmyfoot.FinallyIleanedforwardthroughthefrontseats.“Mydadusedtoleavemeandmysisterinthecarwhenhewenttothepub.He’dbringusoutaCokeandapacketofpickledonionMonsterMunchandthatwouldbeussortedforthreehours.”Itappedmykneewithmyfingers.“You’dprobablybedoneforchildabusenow.Mindyou,pickledonionMonsterMunchwasourabsolutefavorite.Bestpartoftheweek.”

Thedriversaidnothing.

Ileanedforwardabitfarthersothatmyfacewasinchesfromhis.

“So.Howlongdoesthisusuallytake?”

“Aslongasittakes.”Hiseyesslidawayfrommineinthemirror.

“Andyouwaitherethewholetime?”

“That’smyjob.”

Isatforamoment,thenputmyhandthroughtothefrontseat.“I’mLouisa.Mrs.Gopnik’snewassistant.”

“Nicetomeetyou.”

Hedidn’tturnaround.Thosewerethelastwordshesaidtome.HeslidaCDintothemusicsystem.“Estoyperdido,”saidaSpanishwoman’svoice.“¿Dóndeestáelbaño?”

“Ehs-TOYpehr-DEE-doh.DOHN-dehehs-TAelBAH-neeo.”Thedriverrepeated.

“¿Cuántocuesta?”

“KooAN-toKWEHS-ta,”camehisreply.

IspentthenexthoursittinginthebackofthecarstaringattheiPad,tryingnottolistentothedriver’slinguisticexercisesandwonderingifIshouldalsobedoingsomethinguseful.Ie-mailedMichaeltoaskbuthesimplyresponded:That’syourlunchbreak,sweetie.Enjoy!xx

Ididn’tliketotellhimIhadnofood.Inthewarmthofthewaitingcar,tirednessbegantocreepovermeagain,likeatide.Ilaidmyheadagainstthewindow,tellingmyselfitwasnormaltofeeldisjointed,outofmydepth.You’regoingtofeeluncomfortableinyournewworldforabit.Italwaysdoesfeelstrangetobeknockedoutofyourcomfortzone.Will’slastletterechoedthroughmeasiffromalongdistance.

Andthennothing.

—Iwokewithastartasthedooropened.Agneswasclimbingin,herfacewhite,herjawset.

“Everythingokay?”Isaid,scramblingupright,butshedidn’tanswer.

Wedroveoffinsilence,thestillairoftheinteriorsuddenlyheavywithtension.

Sheturnedtome.Iscrambledforabottleofwaterandheldituptoher.

“Doyouhavecigarettes?”

“Uh...no.”

“Garry,doyouhavecigarettes?”

“No,ma’am.Butwecangetyousome.”

Herhandwasshaking,Inoticednow.Shereachedintoherbag,pullingoutasmallbottleofpills,andIhandedoverthewater.SheswiggedsomedownandInoticedtearsinhereyes.WepulledupoutsideaDuaneReadeand,afteramoment,IrealizedIwasexpectedtogetout.“Whatkind?Imean,whatbrand?”

“MarlboroLights,”shesaid,anddabbedhereyes.

Ijumpedout—well,moreofahobble,really,asmylegswereseizingupfromthemorning’srun—andboughtapacket,thinkinghowodditwastobuycigarettesfromapharmacy.WhenIgotbackintothecarshewasshoutingatsomebodyinPolishonhercellphone.Sheendedthecall,thenopenedthewindowandlitacigarette,inhalingdeeply.Sheofferedonetome.Ishookmyhead.

“Don’ttellLeonard,”shesaid,andherfacesoftened.“Hehatesmesmoking.”

Wesatthereforafewminutes,theenginerunning,whileshesmokedthecigaretteinshort,angryburststhatmademefearforherlungs.Thenshestubbedoutthelastinch,herlipscurlingoversomeinternalfury,andwavedforGarrytodriveon.

—IwasleftbrieflytomyowndeviceswhileAgneshadherpianolesson.IretreatedtomyroomwhereIthoughtaboutlyingdownbutwasafraidthatmystifflegswouldmeanIcouldn’tgetupagainsoinsteadIsatatthelittledesk,wroteSamaquicke-mailandcheckedthecalendarforthenextfewdays.

AsIdidso,musicbegantoechothroughtheapartment,firstscales,thensomethingmelodicandbeautiful.Istoppedtolisten,marvelingatthesound,wonderinghowitmustfeeltobeabletocreatesomethingsogorgeous.Iclosedmyeyes,lettingitflowthroughme,rememberingtheeveningwhenWillhadtakenmetomyfirstconcertandbeguntoforcetheworldopenforme.Livemusicwassomuchmorethree-dimensionalthanrecorded—itshort-circuitedsomethingdeepwithin.Agnes’splayingseemedtocomefromsomepartofherthatremainedclosedinherdealingswiththeworld;somethingvulnerableandsweetandlovely.Hewouldhaveenjoyedthis,Ithoughtabsently.Hewould

havelovedbeinghere.Attheexactpointitswelledintosomethingtrulymagical,Ilariastartedupthevacuum-cleaner,swampingthesoundwitharoar,theunforgivingbumpofmachineryintoheavyfurniture.Themusicstopped.

Myphonebuzzed.

Pleasetellhertostopthevacum!

IclimbedoffmybedandwalkedthroughtheapartmentuntilIfoundIlaria,whowaspushingthevacuumcleanerfuriouslyjustoutsideAgnes’sstudydoor,herheaddippedasshewrencheditbackwardandforward.Iswallowed.TherewassomethingaboutIlariathatmadeyouhesitatebeforeconfrontingher,eventhoughshewasoneofthefewpeopleinthiszipcodeshorterthanIwas.

“Ilaria,”Isaid.

Shedidn’tstop.

“Ilaria!”Istoodinfrontofheruntilshewasforcedtonotice.Shekickedtheoffbuttonwithherheelandglaredatme.“Mrs.Gopnikhasaskedifyouwouldminddoingthevacuumingsomeothertime.Shecan’thearhermusiclesson.”

“WhendoesshethinkIammeanttocleantheapartment?”Ilariaspat,loudenoughtobeheardthroughthedoor.

“Um...maybeatanyotherpointduringthedayapartfromthisparticularfortyminutes?”

Shepulledtheplugfromthesocketanddraggedthecleanernoisilyacrosstheroom.SheglaredatmewithsuchvenomthatIalmoststeppedbackward.Therewasabriefsilenceandthemusicstartedupagain.

WhenAgnesfinallyemerged,twentyminuteslater,shelookedsidewaysatmeandsmiled.

—Thatfirstweekmovedinfitsandstarts,likethefirstday,withmewatchingAgnesforsignalsinthewaythatMumusedtowatchourolddogwhenherbladdergotleaky.Doessheneedtogoout?Whatdoesshewant?WhereshouldIbe?IjoggedwithAgnesandGeorgeevery

morning,wavingthemonfromaboutamileinandmotioningtowardmyhipbeforewalkingslowlybacktothebuilding.Ispentalotoftimesittinginthehall,studyingmyiPadintentlywhenanybodywalkedpast,sothatImightlookasifIknewwhatIwasdoing.

Michaelcameeverydayandbriefedmeinwhisperedbursts.HeseemedtospendhislifeontherunbetweentheapartmentandMr.Gopnik’sWallStreetoffice,oneoftwocellphonespressedtohisear,dry-cleaningoverhisarm,coffeeinhishand.Hewascompletelycharmingandalwayssmiling,andIhadabsolutelynoideaifhelikedmeatall.

IbarelysawNathan.HeseemedtobeemployedtofitaroundMr.Gopnik’sschedule.Sometimeshewouldworkwithhimatfivea.m.,atothersitwasseveno’clockintheevening,disappearingtotheofficetohelphimthereifnecessary.“I’mnotemployedforwhatIdo,”Nathanexplained.“I’memployedforwhatIcando.”OccasionallyhewouldvanishandIwoulddiscoverthatheandMr.Gopnikhadjettedsomewhereovernight—itcouldbeSanFranciscoorChicago.Mr.GopnikhadaformofarthritisthatheworkedhardtokeepundercontrolsoheandNathanwouldswimorworkoutoftenseveraltimeseachdaytosupplementhisregimeofanti-inflammatoriesandpainkillers.

AlongsideNathan,andGeorgethetrainer,whoalsocameeveryweekdaymorning,theotherpeoplewhopassedthroughtheapartmentthatfirstweekwere:

Thecleaners.ApparentlytherewasadistinctionbetweenwhatIlariadid(housekeeping)andactualcleaning.Twiceaweekateamofthreeliveriedwomenandonemanblitzedtheirwaythroughtheapartment.Theydidnotspeak,excepttoconsultbrieflywitheachother.Eachcarriedalargecrateofeco-friendlycleaningmaterials,andtheyweregonethreehourslater,leavingIlariatosnifftheair,andrunherfingersalongtheskirtingdisapprovingly.

Theflorist,whoarrivedinavanonMondaymorningandbroughtenormousvasesofarrangedbloomstobeplacedatstrategicintervalsinthecommunalareasoftheapartment.Severalofthevasesweresolargethatittooktwotocarrythemin.Theyremovedtheirshoesatthedoor.

Thegardener.Yes,really.Thisatfirstmademeslightlyhysterical(“Youdorealizewe’reonthesecondfloor?”)untilIdiscoveredthatthelongbalconiesatthebackofthebuildingwerelinedwithpotsofminiaturetreesandblossoms,whichthegardenerwouldwater,trimandfeedbeforedisappearingagain.Itdidmakethebalconylookbeautiful,butnobodyeverwentoutthereexceptme.

Thepetbehaviorist.Atiny,birdlikeJapanesewomanappearedattena.m.onaFriday,watchedFelixatadistanceforanhourorso,thenexaminedhisfood,hislittertray,theplacesheslept,quizzedIlariaonhisbehavior,andadvisedonwhattoysheneeded,orwhetherhisscratchingpostwassufficientlytallandstable.Felixignoredherfortheentiretimeshewasthere,breakingoffonlytowashhisbottomwithwhatseemedlikealmostinsultingenthusiasm.

Thegroceryteamcametwiceaweekandbroughtwiththemlargegreencratesoffreshfood,whichtheyunpackedunderIlaria’ssupervision.Icaughtsightofthebilloneday:itwouldhavefedmyfamily—andpossiblyhalfmypostcode—forseveralmonths.

Andthatwaswithoutthemanicurist,thedermatologist,thepianoteacher,themanwhoservicedandcleanedthecars,thehandymanwhoworkedforthebuildingandsortedoutreplacementlightbulbsorfaultyair-conditioning.Therewasthestick-thinredheadedwomanwhobroughtlargeshoppingbagsfromBergdorfGoodmanorSaksFifthAvenueandviewedeverythingAgnestriedonwithagimleteye,stating:“Nope.Nope.Nope.Oh,that’sperfect,honey.That’slovely.YouwanttowearthatwiththelittlePradabagIshowedyoulastweek.Now,whatarewedoingabouttheGala?”

Therewasthewinemerchantandthemanwhohungthepicturesandthewomanwhocleanedthecurtainsandthemanwhobuffedtheparquetfloorsinthemainlivingroomwithathingthatlookedlikealawnmower,andafewothersbesides.IsimplygotusedtoseeingpeopleIdidn’trecognizewanderingaround.I’mnotsuretherewasasingledayinthefirsttwoweekswhentherewerefewerthanfivepeopleintheapartmentatanyonetime.

Itwasafamilyhomeinnameonly.Itfeltlikeaworkspaceforme,Nathan,Ilaria,andanendlessteamofcontractors,staff,andhangers-onwhotraipsedthroughitfromdawnuntillateintotheevening.

SometimesaftersupperaprocessionofMr.Gopnik’ssuitedcolleagueswouldstopby,disappearintohisstudy,andemergeanhourlatermutteringaboutcallstoDCorTokyo.Heneverreallyseemedtostopworking,otherthanthetimehespentwithNathan.Evenatdinnerhistwophoneswereonthemahoganytable,buzzingdiscreetlyliketrappedwasps,asmessagesfiledin.

IfoundmyselfwatchingAgnessometimesassheclosedthedoortoherdressingroominthemiddleoftheday—presumablytheonlyplaceshecoulddisappear—andIwouldwonder,Whenwasthisplaceeverjustahome?

This,Iconcluded,waswhytheydisappearedatweekends.Unlessthecountryresidencehadstafftoo.

“Nah.That’stheonethingshe’smanagedtosortherway,”saidNathan,whenIaskedhim.“Shetoldhimtogivetheextheirweekendplace.Inreturnshegothimtodownscaletoamodestplaceonthebeach.Threebeds.Onebathroom.Nostaff.”Heshookhishead.“AndthereforenoTab.She’snotstupid.”

—“Hey,you.”

Samwasinuniform.Ididsomementalcalculationsandworkedouthehadjustfinishedhisshift.Heranhishandthroughhishair,thenleanedforward,asiftoseemebetterthroughthepixelatedscreen.Alittlevoicesaidinmyhead,asitdideverytimeI’dspokentohimsinceI’dleft,Whatareyoudoingmovingtoadifferentcontinentfromthisman?

“Youwentin,then?”

“Yeah.”Hesighed.“Notthebestfirstdayback.”

“Why?”

“Donnaquit.”

Icouldn’thidemyshock.Donna—straight-talking,funny,calm—wastheyintohisyang,hisanchor,hisvoiceofsanityatwork.Itwasimpossibletryingtoimagineonewithouttheother.“What?Why?”

“Herdadgotcancer.Aggressive.Incurable.Shewantstobethereforhim.”

“Oh,God.PoorDonna.PoorDonna’sdad.”

“Yeah.It’srough.AndnowIhavetowaitandseewhothey’regoingtopairmewith.Idon’tthinkthey’llputmewitharookiebecauseofthewholedisciplinary-issuesthing.SoI’mguessingitwillbesomeonefromanotherdistrict.”

Samhadbeenupinfrontofthedisciplinarycommitteetwicesincewehadbeentogether.Ihadbeenresponsibleforatleastoneofthoseandfeltthereflexivetwingeofguilt.“You’llmissher.”

“Yup.”Helookedabitbattered.Iwantedtoreachthroughthescreenandhughim.“Shesavedme,”hesaid.

Hewasn’tpronetodramaticstatements,whichsomehowmadethosethreewordsmorepoignant.Istillrememberedthatnightinburstsofterrifyingclarity:Sam’sgunshotwoundbleedingoutovertheflooroftheambulance,Donnacalm,capable,barkinginstructionsatme,keepingthatfragilethreadunbrokenuntiltheothermedicsfinallyarrived.Icouldstilltastefear,visceralandmetallic,inmymouth,couldstillfeeltheobscenewarmthofSam’sbloodonmyhands.Ishivered,pushingtheimageaside.Ididn’twantSamintheprotectionofanyoneelse.HeandDonnawereateam.Twopeoplewhowouldneverleteachotherdown.Andwhowouldprobablyribeachothermercilesslyafterward.

“Whendoessheleave?”

“Nextweek.Shegotspecialdispensation,givenherfamilycircumstances.”Hesighed.“Still.Onthebrightside,yourmum’sinvitedmetolunchonSunday.Apparentlywe’rehavingroastbeefandallthetrimmings.Oh,andyoursisteraskedmeroundtotheflat.Don’tlooklikethat—sheaskedifIcouldhelpherbleedyourradiators.”

“That’sitnow.You’rein.MyfamilyhaveyoulikeaVenusflytrap.”

“It’llbestrangewithoutyou.”

“MaybeIshouldjustcomehome.”

Hetriedtoraiseasmileandfailed.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Goon.”

“Idon’tknow...FeelslikeIjustlostmytwofavoritewomen.”

Alumprosetomythroat.Thespecterofthethirdwomanhe’dlost—hissister,whohaddiedofcancertwoyearspreviously—hungbetweenus.“Sam,youdidn’tlo–”

“Ignorethat.Unfairofme.”

“I’mstillyours.Justatadistanceforawhile.”

Heblewouthischeeks.“Ididn’texpecttofeelitthisbadly.”

“Idon’tknowwhethertobepleasedorsadnow.”

“I’llbefine.Justoneofthosedays.”

Isatthereforamoment,watchinghim.“Okay.Sohere’stheplan.Firstyougoandfeedyourhens.Becauseyoualwaysfindwatchingthemsoothing.Andnatureisgoodforperspectiveandallthat.”

Hestraightenedupalittle.“Thenwhat?”

“Youmakeyourselfoneofthosereallygreatbolognesesauces.Theonesthattakeforever,withthewineandbaconandstuff.Becauseit’salmostimpossibletofeelcrapaftereatingareallygreatspaghettibolognese.”

“Hens.Sauce.Okay.”

“Andthenyouswitchonthetelevisionandfindareallygoodfilm.Somethingyoucangetlostin.NorealityTV.Nothingwithads.”

“LouisaClark’sEveningRemedies.I’mlikingthis.”

“Andthen”—Ithoughtforamoment—“youthinkaboutthefactthatit’sonlyalittleoverthreeweeksuntilweseeeachother.Andthatmeansthis!Ta-daa!”Ipulledmytopuptomyneck.

Withhindsight,itwasapitythatIlariachosethatexactmomenttoopenmydoorandwalkinwiththelaundry.Shestoodthere,apileoftowelsunderonearm,andfrozeasshetookinmyexposedbosom,theman’sfaceonthescreen.Thensheclosedthedoorquickly,mutteringsomethingunderherbreath.Iscrambledtocovermyselfup.

“What?”Samwasgrinning,tryingtopeertotherightofthescreen.“What’sgoingon?”

“Thehousekeeper,”Isaid,straighteningmytop.“Oh,God.”

Samhadfallenbackinhischair.Hewasproperlylaughingnow,onehandclutchinghisstomach,wherehestillgotalittleprotectiveabouthisscar.

“Youdon’tunderstand.Shehatesme.”

“Andnowyou’reMadamWebcam.”Hewassnortingwithlaughter.

“MynamewillbemudinthehousekeepingcommunityfromheretoPalmSprings.”Iwailedabitlonger,thenstartedtogiggle.SeeingSamlaughsomuchitwashardnotto.

Hegrinnedatme.“Well,Lou,youdidit.Youcheeredmeup.”

“Thedownsideforyouisthat’sthefirstandlasttimeIshowyoumylady-bitsoverWiFi.”

Samleanedforwardandblewmeakiss.“Yeah,well,”hesaid.“Iguessweshouldjustbegratefulitwasn’ttheotherwayaround.”

—Ilariadidn’ttalktomefortwowholedaysafterthewebcamincident.ShewouldturnawaywhenIwalkedintoaroom,immediatelyfindingsomethingwithwhichtobusyherself,asifbymerelycatchinghereyeImightsomehowcontaminateherwithmypenchantforsalaciousboobexposure.

Nathanaskedwhathadgonedownbetweenus,aftershepushedmycoffeetowardmewithanactualspatula,butIcouldn’texplainitwithoutitsoundingsomehowworsethanitwas,soImutteredsomethingaboutlaundryandwhyweshouldhavelocksonourdoors,andhopedthathewouldletitgo.

A

4

From:BusyBee@gmail.comTo:KatClark!@yahoo.com

Hey,StinkyArsebanditYourself(Isthathowarespectedaccountantisreallymeanttotalktoherglobetrotting

sister?)

I’mgood,thanks.Myemployer—Agnes—ismyageandreallynice.Sothat’sbeenabonus.Youwouldn’tbelievetheplacesI’mgoing—lastnightIwenttoaballinadressthatcostmorethanIearninamonth.IfeltlikeCinderella.Exceptwithareallygorgeoussister(yup,sothat’sanewoneforme.Ha-ha-ha-ha!).

GladThomisenjoyinghisnewschool.Don’tworryaboutthefelt-tipthing—wecanalwayspaintthatwall.Mumsaysit’sasignofhiscreativeexpression.Didyouknowshe’stryingtogetDadtogotonightschooltolearntoexpresshimselfbetter?He’sgotitintohisheadthismeansshe’sgoingtogethimgoingtantric.Godknowswherehe’sreadaboutthat.Ipretendedlikeshe’dtoldmethatwasdefinitelyitwhenhecalledme,andnowI’mfeelingabitguiltybecausehe’spanickingthathe’llhavetogethisoldfellaoutinfrontofaroomfullofstrangers.

Writememorenews.Especiallyaboutthedate!!!Missyou,

LouxxxPSIfDaddoesgethisoldfellaoutinfrontofaroomfullofstrangersIdon’twanttoknowANYTHING.

ccordingtoAgnes’ssocialdiary,numerouseventswerehighlightsoftheNewYorksocialcalendar,buttheNeilandFlorenceStrager

CharitableFoundationDinnerteeteredsomewherenearthepinnacle.Guestsworeyellow—themeninnecktieform,unlessparticularlyexhibitionist—andtheresultingphotographsweredistributedinpublicationsfromtheNewYorkPosttoHarper’sBazaar.Dresswasformal,theyellowoutfitsweredazzling,andticketscostapocketfulofsmallchangeunderthirtythousanddollarsatable.Fortheouterreachesoftheroom.IknewthisbecauseIhadstartedresearchingeacheventthatAgneswasduetoattend,andthiswasabigonenotjustbecauseoftheamountofpreparation(manicurist,hairdresser,masseur,extraGeorgeinthemornings)butbecauseofAgnes’sstress

level.Shephysicallyvibratedthroughtheday,shoutingatGeorgethatshecouldn’tdotheexerciseshe’dgivenher,couldn’trunthedistance.Itwasallimpossible.George,whopossessedanalmostBuddha-likelevelofcalm,saidthatwastotallyfine,theywouldwalkbackandtheendorphinsfromthewalkwereallgood.Whenhelefthegavemeawink,asifthiswereentirelytobeexpected.

Mr.Gopnik,perhapsinresponsetosomedistresscall,camehomeatlunchtimeandfoundherlockedinherdressingroom.Icollectedsomedry-cleaningfromAshokandcanceledherteeth-whiteningappointment,thensatinthehall,unsurewhatIshouldbedoing.Iheardhermuffledvoiceasheopenedthedoor:

“Idon’twanttogo.”

WhatevershewentontosaykeptMr.GopnikhomewayafterImighthaveexpected.NathanwasoutsoIcouldn’ttalktohim.Michaelstoppedby,peeringaroundthedoor.“Ishestillhere?”hesaid.“Mytrackerstoppedworking.”

“Tracker?”

“Onhisphone.OnlywayIcanworkoutwhereheishalfthetime.”

“He’sinherdressingroom.”Ididn’tknowwhatelsetosay,howfartotrustMichael.Butitwashardtoignorethesoundofraisedvoices.“Idon’tthinkMrs.Gopnikisverykeenongoingouttonight.”

“BigPurple.Itoldyou.”

AndthenIremembered.

“TheformerMrs.Gopnik.Thiswasherbignight,andAgnesknowsit.Stillis.Allheroldharpieswillbethere.They’renotthefriendliest.”

“Well,thatexplainsalot.”

“He’sabigbenefactorsohecan’tnotshow.Plushe’soldfriendswiththeStragers.Butit’soneofthetoughernightsoftheircalendar.Lastyearwasatotalwipeout.”

“Why?”

“Aw.Shewalkedinlikealambtotheslaughter.”Hepulledaface.“Thoughttheywouldbehernewbestfriends.FromwhatIheardafterward,theyfriedher.”

Ishuddered.“Canshenotjustleavehimtogobyhimself?”

“Oh,honey,youhavenoideahowitworkshere.No.No.No.Shehastogo.Shehastoputasmileonherfaceandbeseeninthepictures.That’sherjobnow.Andsheknowsit.Butit’snotgoingtobepretty.”

Thevoiceshadrisen.WeheardAgnesprotesting,thenMr.Gopnik’ssoftervoice,pleading,reasonable.

Michaellookedathiswatch.“I’llheadbacktotheoffice.Domeafavor?Textmewhenheleaves?Ihavefifty-eightthingsforhimtosignbeforethreep.m.Loveya!”Heblewmeakissandwasgone.

Isatforawhilelonger,tryingnottolistentotheargumentdownthecorridor.Iscrolledthroughthecalendar,wonderingiftherewasanythingIcoulddotobeuseful.Felixstrolledpast,hisliftedtailaquestionmark,supremelyunbotheredbytheactionsofthehumansaroundhim.

Andthenthedooropened.Mr.Gopniksawme.“Ah,Louisa.Canyoucomeinforamoment?”

Istoodandhalfwalked,halfrantowherehewasstanding.Itwasdifficultasrunningbroughtonmusclespasms.

“Iwonderedifyouwerefreethisevening.”

“Free?”

“Tocometoanevent.Forcharity.”

“Uh...sure.”Ihadknownfromthestartthatthehourswouldnotberegular.AndatleastitmeantIwasn’tlikelytobumpintoIlaria.IwoulddownloadamovieontooneoftheiPadsandwatchitinthecar.

“There.Whatdoyouthink,darling?”Agneslookedasifshehadbeencrying.“Shecansitnexttome?”

“I’llsortitout.”

Shetookadeep,shakybreath.“Okay,then.Isupposeso.”

“Sitnextto...”

“Good.Good!”Mr.Gopnikcheckedhiscellphone.“Right.Ireallyhavetogo.I’llseeyouinthemainballroom.Seventhirty.IfIcangetthroughthisconferencecallanysoonerI’llletyouknow.”Hesteppedforwardandtookherfaceinhishands,kissingher.“You’reokay?”

“I’mokay.”

“Iloveyou.Verymuch.”Anotherkiss,andhewasgone.

Agnestookanotherdeepbreath.Sheputherhandsonherknees,thenlookedupatme.“Youhaveayellowballgown?”

Istaredather.“Um.Nope.Bitshortonballgowns,actually.”

Sheranhergazeupanddownme,asiftryingtoworkoutwhetherIcouldfitintoanythingsheowned.Ithinkwebothknewtheanswertothatone.Thenshestraightened.“CallGarry.WeneedtogettoSaks.”

—HalfanhourlaterIwasstandinginachangingroomwhiletwoshopassistantspushedmybosomsintoastraplessdressthecolorofunsaltedbutter.ThelasttimeIhadbeenhandledthisintimately,Iquipped,Ihaddiscussedgettingengagedimmediatelyafterward.Nobodylaughed.

Agnesfrowned.“Toobridal.Anditmakesherlookthickaroundthewaist.”

“That’sbecauseIamthickaroundthewaist.”

“Wedosomeverygoodcorrectivepanties,Mrs.Gopnik.”

“Oh,I’mnotsureI—”

“Doyouhaveanythingmorefifties-style?”saidAgnes,flickingthroughherphone.“Becausethiswillpullinherwaistandgetaroundtheheightissue.Wedon’thavetimetotakeanythingup.”

“Whattimeisyourevent,ma’am?”

“Wehavetobethereseventhirty.”

“Wecanalteradressforyouintime,Mrs.Gopnik.I’llgetTerritodeliveritovertoyoubysix.”

“Thenlet’strythesunfloweryellowonethere...andthatonewiththesequins.”

IfI’dknownthatthatafternoonwouldbetheonetimeinmylifeIwouldbetryingonthree-thousand-dollardresses,ImighthavemadesureIwasn’twearingcomedyknickerswithasausagedogonthemandabrathatwasheldtogetherwithasafetypin.Iwonderedhowmanytimesinoneweekyoucouldendupexposingyourbreaststoperfect

strangers.Iwonderediftheyhadeverseenabodylikeminebefore,withactualfattybits.Theshopassistantswerefartoopolitetocommentonit,beyondrepeatedlyoffering“corrective”underwear,butsimplybroughtindressafterdress,wrestlingmeinandoutlikesomeonewranglinglivestockuntilAgnes,sittingonanupholsteredchair,announced,“Yes!Thisistheone.Whatyouthink,Louisa?Itisevenperfectlengthforyouwiththattulleunderskirt.”

Istaredatmyreflection.Iwasn’tsurewhowasstaringbackatme.Mywaistwasnippedinbyaninbuiltcorset,mybosomhoistedupwardintoaperfectembonpoint.Thecolormademyskinglowandthelongskirtmademeafoottallerandentirelyunlikemyself.ThefactthatIcouldn’tbreathewasirrelevant.

“Wewillputyourhairupandsomeearrings.Perfect.”

“Andthisdressistwentypercentoff,”saidoneoftheshopassistants.“Wedon’tsellmuchyellowaftertheStragereventeachyear...”

Ialmostdeflatedwithrelief.AndthenIgazedatthelabel.Thesalepricewas$2,575.Amonth’swages.IthinkAgnesmusthaveseenmybleachedface,forshewavedatoneofthewomen.“Louisa,yougetchanged.Doyouhaveanyshoesthatwillgo?Wecanruntotheshoedepartment?”

“Ihaveshoes.Lotsofshoes.”Ihadsomegoldsatin-heeleddancingpumps,whichwouldlookfine.Ididnotwantthisbillgoinganyhigher.

Iwentbackintothechangingcubicleandclimbedoutofthedresscarefully,feelingtheweightofitfallexpensivelyaroundme,andasIgotdressed,IlistenedtoAgnesandtheassistantstalking.Agnessummonedabagandsomeearrings,gavethemacursoryglanceandwasapparentlysatisfied.“Chargeittomyaccount.”

“Certainly,Mrs.Gopnik.”

Imetheratthecashdesk.Aswewalkedaway,meclutchingthebags,Isaidquietly,“Sodoyouwantmetobeextracareful?”

Shelookedatmeblankly.

“Withthedress.”

Stillshelookedblank.

Iloweredmyvoice.“Athomewetuckthelabelin,thenyoucantakeitbackthenextday.Youknow,aslongastherearenoaccidentalwinestainsanditdoesn’tstinktoomuchofcigarettes.MaybegiveitaquicksquirtofFebreze.”

“Takeitback?”

“Totheshop.”

“Whywewoulddothis?”shesaid,asweclimbedbackintothewaitingcarandGarryputthebagsintotheboot.“Don’tlooksoanxious,Louisa.YouthinkIdon’tknowhowyoufeel?IhavenothingwhenIcomehere.Meandmyfriends,weevensharedourclothes.Butyouhavetoweargooddresswhenyousitnexttomethisevening.Youcan’twearyouruniform.Thiseveningyouarenotstaff.AndIamhappytopayforthis.”

“Okay.”

“Youunderstand.Yes?Tonightyouhavetonotbestaff.It’sveryimportant.”

IthoughtoftheenormouscarrierbaginthebootbehindmeasthecarnavigateditswayslowlythroughtheManhattantraffic,alittledumbstruckatthedirectionthisdaywastaking.

“Leonardsaysyoulookedafteramanwhodied.”

“Idid.HisnamewasWill.”

“Hesaysyouhave—discretion.”

“Itry.”

“Andalsothatyoudon’tknowanyonehere.”

“JustNathan.”

Shethoughtaboutthis.“Nathan.Ithinkheisagoodman.”

“Hereallyis.”

Shestudiedhernails.“YouspeakPolish?”

“No.”Iaddedquickly:“ButmaybeIcouldlearn,ifyou—”

“Youknowwhatisdifficultforme,Louisa?”

Ishookmyhead.

“Idon’tknowwhoI...”Shehesitated,thenapparentlychangedhermindaboutwhatshewasgoingtosay.“Ineedyoutobemyfriendtonight.Okay?Leonard...hewillhavetodohisworkthing.Alwaystalking,talkingwiththemen.Butyouwillstaywithme,yes?Rightbyme.”

“Whateveryouwant.”

“Andifanybodyask,youaremyoldfriend.FromwhenIlivedinEngland.We—wekneweachotherfromschool.Notmyassistant,okay?”

“Gotit.Fromschool.”

Thatseemedtosatisfyher.Shenodded,andsettledbackinherseat.Shesaidnothingelsethewholewaybacktotheapartment.

—TheNewYorkPalaceHotel,whichheldtheStragerFoundationGala,wassogranditwasalmostcomical:afairytalefortress,withacourtyardandarchedwindows,itwasdottedwithliveriedfootmenindaffodilsilkknickerbockers.ItwasasiftheyhadlookedateverygrandoldhotelinEurope,takennotesaboutornatecornicing,marblelobbies,andfiddlybitsofgiltanddecidedtoadditalltogether,sprinklesomeDisneyfairydustonit,andrampituptocamplevelsallofitsown.Ihalfexpectedtoseeapumpkincoachandtheoddglassslipperontheredstaircarpet.Aswepulledup,Igazedintotheglowinginterior,thetwinklinglightsandseaofyellowdresses,andalmostwantedtolaugh,butAgneswassotenseIdidn’tdare.PlusmybodicewassotightIwouldprobablyhaveburstmyseams.

Garrydroppedusoutsidethemainentrance,leveringthecarintoaturningareathickwithhugeblacklimousines.Wewalkedinpastacrowdofonlookersonthesidewalk.Amantookourcoats,andforthefirsttimeAgnes’sdresswasfullyvisible.

Shelookedastonishing.Herswasnotaconventionalballgownlikemine,orlikeanyoftheotherwomen’s,butneonyellow,structured,afloor-lengthtubewithonesculptedshouldermotifthatroseuptoherhead.Herhairwasscrapedbackunforgivingly,tightandsleek,andtwoenormousgoldandyellow-diamondearringshungfromherears.Itshouldhavelookedextraordinary.Buthere,Irealizedwithafaint

droptomystomach,itwassomehowtoomuch—outofplaceintheold-worldgrandeurofthehotel.

Asshestoodthere,nearbyheadsswiveled,eyebrowsliftingasthematronsintheiryellowsilkwrapsandbonedcorsetsviewedherfromthecornersofcarefullymade-upeyes.

Agnesappearedoblivious.Sheglancedarounddistractedly,tryingtolocateherhusband.Shewouldn’trelaxuntilshehadholdofhisarm.SometimesIwatchedthemtogetherandsawanalmostpalpablesenseofreliefcomeoverherwhenshefelthimbesideher.

“Yourdressisamazing,”Isaid.

ShelookeddownatmeasifshehadjustrememberedIwasthere.AflashbulbwentoffandIsawthatphotographersweremovingamongus.IsteppedawaytogiveAgnesspace,butthemanmotionedtowardme.“Youtoo,ma’am.That’sit.Andsmile.”Shesmiled,hergazeflickeringtowardmeasifreassuringherselfIwasstillnearby.

AndthenMr.Gopnikappeared.Hewalkedoveralittlestiffly—Nathanhadsaidhewashavingabadweek—andkissedhiswife’scheek.Iheardhimmurmursomethingintoherearandshesmiled,asincere,unguardedsmile.Theirhandsbrieflyclasped,andinthatmomentInotedthattwopeoplecouldfitallthestereotypesandyettherewassomethingaboutthemthatwascompletelygenuine,adelightineachother’spresence.ItmademefeelsuddenlywistfulforSam.ButthenIcouldn’timaginehimsomewherelikethis,trussedupinadinnerjacketandbowtie.Hewould,Ithoughtabsently,havehatedit.

“Name,please?”Thephotographerappearedatmyshoulder.

PerhapsitwasthinkingofSamthatmademedoit.“Um.LouisaClark-Fielding,”Isaid,inmymoststrangulatedupper-classaccent.“FromEngland.”

“Mr.Gopnik!Overhere,Mr.Gopnik!”Ibackedintothecrowdasthephotographerstookpicturesofthemtogether,hishandrestinglightlyonhiswife’sback,hershouldersstraightandchinupasifshecouldcommandthegathering.AndthenIsawhimscantheroomforme,hiseyesmeetingmineacrossthelobby.

HewalkedAgnesover.“Darling,Ihavetotalktosomepeople.Willyoutwobeallrightgoinginonyourown?”

“Ofcourse,Mr.Gopnik,”Isaid,asifIdidthiskindofthingeveryday.

“Willyoubebacksoon?”Agnesstillhadholdofhishand.

“IhavetotalktoWainwrightandMiller.IpromisedI’dgivethemtenminutestogooverthisbonddeal.”

Agnesnodded,butherfacebetrayedherreluctancetolethimgo.AsshewalkedthroughthelobbyMr.Gopnikleanedintome.“Don’tletherdrinktoomuch.She’snervous.”

“Yes,Mr.Gopnik.”

Henodded,glancedaroundhimasifdeepinthought.Thenheturnedbacktomeandsmiled.“Youlookverynice.”Andthenhewasgone.

—Theballroomwasjammed,aseaofyellowandblack.IworetheyellowandblackbeadedbraceletWill’sdaughter,Lily,hadgivenmebeforeI’dleftEngland—andthoughtprivatelyhowmuchIwouldhavelovedtowearmybumblebeetightstoo.Thesewomendidn’tlooklikethey’dhadfunwiththeirwardrobestheirentirelives.

Thefirstthingthatstruckmewashowthinmostofthemwere,hoickedintotinydresses,claviclespokingoutlikesafetyrails.WomenofacertainageinStortfoldtendedtospreadgentlyoutward,cloakingtheirextrainchesincardigansorlongjumpers(“Doesitcovermybum?”)andpayinglipservicetolookinggoodintheformoftheoccasionalnewmascaraorasix-weeklyhaircut.Inmyhometownitwasasiftopaytoomuchattentiontoyourselfwassomehowsuspect,orsuggestedunhealthyself-interest.

Butthewomeninthisballroomlookedasiftheymadetheirappearanceafull-timejob.Therewasnohairnotperfectlycoiffedintoshape,noupperarmthatwasnottonedintosubmissionbysomerigorousdailyworkout.Eventhewomenofuncertainyears(itwashardtotell,giventheamountofBotoxandfillers)lookedasifthey’dneverheardofabingowing,letaloneflappedone.IthoughtofAgnes,herpersonaltrainer,herdermatologist,herhairdressingandmanicuristappointmentsandthought,Thisisherjobnow.Shehasto

doallthatmaintenancesoshecanturnuphereandholdherowninthiscrowd.

Agnesmovedslowlyamongthem,herheadhigh,smilingatherhusband’sfriends,whocameovertogreetherandshareafewwordswhileIhovereduncomfortablyinthebackground.Thefriendswerealwaysmen.Itwasonlymenwhosmiledather.Thewomen,whilenotrudeenoughtowalkaway,tendedtoturntheirfacesdiscreetly,asifsuddenlydistractedbysomethinginthedistancesothattheydidn’thavetoengagewithher.Severaltimesaswecontinuedthroughthecrowd,mewalkingbehindher,Isawawife’sexpressiontighten,asifAgnes’spresencewassomekindoftransgression.

“Goodevening,”saidavoiceatmyear.

Ilookedupandstumbledbackward.WillTraynorstoodbesideme.

A

5

fterwardIwasgladthattheroomwassocrowdedbecausewhenIstumbledsidewaysontothemannexttome,heinstinctively

reachedoutahandand,inaninstant,severaldinner-suitedarmswererightingme,aseaoffaces,smiling,concerned.AsIthankedthem,apologizing,Isawmymistake.No,notWill—hishairwasthesamecutandcolor,hisskinthatsamecaramelhue.ButImusthavegaspedaloudbecausethemanwhowasnotWillsaid,“I’msorry,didIstartleyou?”

“I—no.No.”Iputmyhandtomycheek,myeyeslockedonhis.“You—youjustlooklikesomeoneIknow.Knew.”Ifeltmyfaceflush,thekindofstainthatstartsatyourchestandfloodsitswayuptoyourhairline.

“Youokay?”

“Oh,gosh.Fine.I’mfine.”Ifeltstupidnow.Myfaceglowedwithit.

“You’reEnglish.”

“You’renot.”

“NotevenaNewYorker.Bostonian.JoshuaWilliamRyantheThird.”Heheldouthishand.

“Youevenhavehisname.”

“I’msorry?”

Itookhishand.Closeup,hewasquitedifferentfromWill.Hiseyesweredarkbrown,hisbrowlower.Butthesimilaritieshadleftmecompletelyunbalanced.Itoremygazeawayfromhim,consciousthatIwasstillhangingontohisfingers.“I’msorry.I’malittle...”

“Letmegetyouadrink.”

“Ican’t.I’mmeanttobewithmy—myfriendoverthere.”

HelookedatAgnes.“ThenI’llgetyoubothadrink.It’llbe—uh—easytofindyou.”Hegrinnedandtouchedmyelbow.Itriednottostareathimashewalkedoff.

AsIapproachedAgnes,themanwhohadbeentalkingtoherwashauledawaybyhiswife.Agnesliftedahandasifshewereabouttosaysomethinginresponsetohimandfoundherselftalkingtoabroadexpanseofdinner-jacketedback.Sheturned,herfacerigid.

“Sorry.Gotstuckinthecrowds.”

“Mydressiswrong,isn’tit?”shewhisperedatme.“Ihavemadehugemistake.”

Shehadseenit.Intheseaofbodiesitlookedsomehowtoobright,lessavant-gardethanvulgar.“WhatamIgoingtodo?Isdisaster.Imustchange.”

Itriedtocalculatewhethershecouldreasonablymakeithomeandback.Evenwithouttrafficshewouldbegoneanhour.Andtherewasalwaystheriskshemightnotcomeback...

“No!It’snotadisaster.Notatall.It’sjustabout...”Ipaused.“Youknow,adresslikethat,youhavetostyleitout.”

“What?”

“Ownit.Holdyourheadup.Likeyoucouldn’tgiveacrap.”

Shestaredatme.

“Afriendoncetaughtmethis.ThemanIusedtoworkfor.Hetoldmetowearmystripylegswithpride.”

“Yourwhat?”

“He...Well,hewastellingmeitwasokaytobedifferentfromeveryoneelse.Agnes,youlookaboutahundredtimesbetterthananyoftheotherwomenhere.You’regorgeous.Andthedressisstriking.Sojustletitbeagiantfingertothem.Youknow?I’llwearwhatIlike.”

Shewaswatchingmeintently.“Youthinkso?”

“Oh,yes.”

Shetookadeepbreath.“You’reright.Iwillbegiantfinger.”Shestraightenedhershoulders.“Andnomencarewhatdressyouwearanyway,yes?”

“Notone.”

Shesmiled,gavemeaknowinglook.“Theyjustcarewhatisunderneath.”

“That’squiteadress,ma’am,”saidJoshua,appearingatmyside.Hehandeduseachaslimglass.“Champagne.TheonlyyellowdrinkwasChartreuseanditmademefeelkindofqueasyjustlookingatit.”

“Thankyou.”Itookaglass.

HeheldouthishandtoAgnes.“JoshuaWilliamRyantheThird.”

“Youreallyhavetohavemadeupthatname.”

Theybothturnedtolookatme.

“Nobodyoutsidesoapoperascanactuallybecalledthat,”Isaid,andthenrealizedIhadmeanttothinkitratherthansayitaloud.

“Okay.Well.YoucancallmeJosh,”hesaidequably.

“LouisaClark,”Isaid,thenadded,“TheFirst.”

Hiseyesnarrowedjustalittle.

“Mrs.LeonardGopnik.TheSecond,”saidAgnes.“Butthenyouprobablyknewthat.”

“Ididindeed.Youarethetalkofthetown.”Hiswordscouldhavelandedhard,buthesaiditwithwarmth.IwatchedAgnes’sshouldersrelaxalittle.

Josh,hetoldus,wastherewithhisauntasherhusbandwastravelingandshehadn’twantedtoattendalone.Heworkedforasecuritiesfirm,talkingtomoneymanagersandhedgefundsabouthowbesttomanagerisk.Hespecialized,hesaid,incorporateequityanddebt.

“Idon’thaveacluewhatanyofthatmeans,”Isaid.

“MostdaysIdon’teither.”

Hewasbeingcharming,ofcourse.Butsuddenlytheroomfeltalittlelesschilly.HewasfromBackBayBoston,hadjustmovedtowhathedescribedasarabbit-hutchapartmentinSoHo,andhadputonfivepoundssincearrivinginNewYorkbecausetherestaurantsdowntownweresogood.Hesaidalotmore,butIcouldn’ttellyouwhatbecauseIcouldn’tstopstaringathim.

“Andhowaboutyou,MissLouisaClarktheFirst?Whatdoyoudo?”

“I—”

“Louisaisafriendofmine.JustvisitingfromEngland.”

“AndhowareyoufindingNewYork?”

“Iloveit,”Isaid.“Idon’tthinkmyheadhasstoppedspinning.”

“AndtheYellowBallisoneofyourfirstsocialengagements.Well,Mrs.LeonardGopniktheSecond,youdon’tdothingssmall.”

Theeveningwasflyingby,easedbyasecondglassofchampagne.Atdinner,IwasplacedbetweenAgnesandamanwhofailedtogivemehisnameandspoketomeonlyonce,askingmybreastswhotheyknew,thenturninghisbackwhenitbecameclearthattheanswerwasnotverymanypeopleatall.IwatchedwhatAgnesdrank,onMr.Gopnik’sorders,andwhenIcaughthimlookingatmeIswitchedherfullglassformynear-emptyone,feelingreliefwhenhissubtlesmilesignaledapproval.Agnestalkedtooloudlytothemanonherright,herlaughalittletoohigh,hergesturesbrittleandfluttery.Iwatchedtheotherwomenatthetable,allofthemfortyandabove,andsawthewaytheylookedather,theireyesslidingheavilytowardeachother,asiftoconfirmsomedarkopinionexpressedinprivate.Itwashorrible.

Mr.Gopnikcouldnotreachherfromhispositionacrossthetable,butIsawhiseyesflickeringtowardherfrequently,evenashesmiledandshookhandsandappeared,onthesurface,tobethemostrelaxedmanontheplanet.

“Whereisshe?”

IleanedintohearAgnesmoreclearly.

“Leonard’sex-wife.Whereisshe?Youhavetofindout,Louisa.Ican’trelaxuntilIknow.Icanfeelher.”

BigPurple.“I’llchecktheplacesettings,”Isaid,andexcusedmyselffromthetable.

Istoodatthehugeprintedstandattheentrancetothediningroom.TherewerearoundeighthundredcloselyprintednamesandIdidn’tknowifthefirstMrs.GopnikevenwentbyGopnikanymore.IsworeundermybreathjustasJoshappearedbehindme.

“Lostsomeone?”

Iloweredmyvoice.“IneedtofindoutwherethefirstMrs.Gopnikisseated.Wouldyouhappentoknowifshegoesbyheroldname?Agneswouldlike...tohaveanideawheresheis.”

Hefrowned.

“She’salittlestressed,”Iadded.

“Noidea,I’mafraid.Butmyauntmight.Sheknowseveryone.Stayrighthere.”Hetouchedmybareshoulderlightlyandstrodeoffintothediningroom,whileItriedtorearrangemyfacialexpressionintothatofsomeonewhowasscanningtheboardtoconfirmthepresenceofhalfadozenclosefriends,notsomeonewhoseskinhadjustcoloredanunexpectedshadeofpink.

Hewasbackwithinaminute.

“She’sstillGopnik,”hesaid.“AuntNancythinksshemighthaveseenheroverbytheauctiontable.”Heranamanicuredfingerdownthelistofnames.“There.Table144.Iwalkedpasttocheckandthere’sawomanwhofitsherdescription.Fifty-something,darkhair,shootingpoisondartsfromaChaneleveningbag?They’veputheraboutasfarawayfromAgnesastheycould.”

“Oh,thankGod,”Isaid.“She’llbesorelieved.”

“Theycanbeprettyscary,theseNewYorkmatrons,”hesaid.“Idon’tblameAgnesforwantingtowatchherback.IsEnglishsocietythiscut-throat?”

“Englishsociety?Oh,Idon’t—I’mnotverybigonsocietyevents,”Isaid.

“Meeither.Tobehonest,I’msowornoutafterworkthatmostdaysit’sallIcandotopickupatakeoutmenu.Whatisityoudo,Louisa?”

“Um...”Iglancedabruptlyatmyphone.“Oh,gosh.IhavetogetbacktoAgnes.”

“WillIseeyoubeforeyougo?Whichtableareyouat?”

“Thirty-two,”Isaid,beforeIcouldthinkaboutallthereasonsIshouldn’t.

“ThenI’llseeyoulater.”IwasbrieflytransfixedbyJosh’ssmile.“Imeanttosay,bytheway,youlookbeautiful.”Heleanedforward,andloweredhisvoicesothatitrumbledalittlebymyear.“Iactuallypreferyourdresstoyourfriend’s.Didyoutakeapictureyet?”

“Apicture?”

“Here.”Hehelduphishand,andbeforeIworkedoutwhathewasdoing,hehadtakenaphotographofthetwoofus,ourheadsinchesapart.“There.GivemeyournumberandI’llsendittoyou.”

“Youwanttosendmeapictureofyouandmetogether.”

“Areyousensingmyulteriormotive?”Hegrinned.“Okay,then.I’llkeepitformyself.Amementooftheprettiestgirlhere.Unlessyouwanttodeleteit.Thereyougo.Yourstodelete.”Heheldouthisphone.

Ipeeredatit,myfingerhoveringoverthebuttonbeforeIwithdrewit.“Itseemsrudetodeletesomeoneyou’vejustmet.But,um...thankyou...andforthewholecoverttable-surveillancething.Reallykindofyou.”

“Mypleasure.”

Wegrinnedateachother.AndbeforeIcouldsayanythingmoreIranbacktothetable.

—IgaveAgnesthegoodnews—atwhichsheletoutanaudiblesigh—thensatandateabitofmynow-coldfishwhilewaitingformyheadtostopbuzzing.He’snotWill,Itoldmyself.Hisvoicewaswrong.Hiseyebrowswerewrong.HewasAmerican.Andyettherewassomethinginhismanner—theconfidencecombinedwithsharpintelligence,theairthatsaidhecouldcopewithanythingyouthrewathim,awayoflookingatyouthatleftmehollowedout.Iglancedbehindme,rememberingIhadn’taskedJoshwherehewasseated.

“Louisa?”

Iglancedtomyright.Agneswaslookingintentlyatme.

“Ineedtogotothebathroom.”

IttookmeaminutetorecallthatthismeantIshouldgotoo.

WewalkedslowlythroughthetablestotheLadies,metryingnottoscantheroomforJosh.AlleyeswereonAgnesasshewent,notjustbecauseofthevividcolorofherdressbutbecauseshehadmagnetism,anunconsciouswayofdrawingtheeye.Shewalkedwithherchinup,hershouldersback,aqueen.

ThemomentwegotintotheLadies,sheslumpedontothechaiselongueinthecornerandgesturedtometogiveheracigarette.“MyGod.Thisevening.Imaydieifwedon’tleavesoon.”

Theattendant—awomaninhersixties—raisedaneyebrowatthecigarette,thenlookedtheotherway.

“Er—Agnes,I’mnotsureyoucansmokeinhere.”

Shewasgoingtodoitanyway.Perhapswhenyouwererichyoudidn’tcareaboutotherpeople’srules.Whatcouldtheydotoherafterall—throwherout?

Shelitit,inhaled,andsighedwithrelief.“Ugh.Thisdressissouncomfortable.AndtheG-stringiscuttingmelikecheese-wire,youknow?”Shewriggledinfrontofthemirror,haulingupherdressandrummagingunderneathitwithamanicuredhand.“Ishouldhavewornnounderwear.”

“Butyoufeelokay?”Isaid.

Shesmiledatme.“Ifeelokay.Somepeoplehavebeenverynicethisevening.ThisJoshisverynice,andMr.Petersononothersideofmeisveryfriendly.It’snotsobad.MaybefinallysomepeopleareacceptingthatLeonardhasanewwife.”

“Theyjustneedtime.”

“Holdthis.Ineedtopee-pee.”Shehandedmethehalf-smokedcigaretteanddisappearedintoacubicle.Ihelditupbetweentwofingers,asifitwereasparkler.ThecloakroomattendantandIexchangedalookandsheshrugged,asiftosay,Whatcanyoudo?

“Oh,myGod,”Agnessaid,frominsidethecubicle.“Iwillneedtotakewholethingoff.Isimpossibletopullitup.Youwillneedtohelpmewithzipperafterward.”

“Okay,”Isaid.Theattendantraisedhereyebrows.Webothtriednottogiggle.

Twomiddle-agedwomenenteredthecloakroom.Theylookedatmycigarettewithdisapproval.

“Thethingis,Jane,it’slikeamadnesstakesholdofthem,”onesaid,stoppinginfrontofthemirrortocheckherhair.Iwasn’tsurewhysheneededto:itwassoheavilylacqueredI’mnotsureaforce-tenhurricanewouldhavedislodgedit.

“Iknow.We’veseenitamilliontimes.”

“Butnormallyatleastthey’vegotthedecencyjusttohandleitdiscreetly.Andthat’swhat’sbeensodisappointingforKathryn.Thelackofdiscretion.”

“Yes.Itwouldbesomucheasierforherifithadatleastbeensomeonewithalittleclass.”

“Quite.He’sbehavedlikeacliché.”

Atthisbothwomen’sheadsswiveledtome.

“Louisa?”cameamuffledvoicefrominsidethecubicle.“Canyoucomehere?”

Iknewthenwhotheyweretalkingabout.Iknewjustfromlookingattheirfaces.

Therewasashortsilence.

“Youdorealizethisisanonsmokingvenue,”oneofthewomensaidpointedly.

“Isit?Sosorry.”Istubbeditoutinthesinkthenransomewaterovertheend.

“Youcanhelpme,Louisa?Myzipperisstuck.”

Theyknew.TheyputtwoandtwotogetherandIsawtheirfacesharden.

Iwalkedpastthem,knockedtwiceonthecubicledoor,andsheletmein.

Agneswasstandinginherbra,thetubularyellowdressstalledaroundherwaist.

“What—”shebegan.

Iputmyfingerstomylipsandgesturedsilentlyoutside.Shelookedover,asifshecouldseethroughthedoor,andpulledaface.Iturnedheraround.Thezipper,two-thirdsdown,waslodgedatherwaist.Itriedittwo,threetimesthenpulledmyphonefrommyeveningbagandturnedonthetorch,tryingtoworkoutwhatwasstoppingit.

“Youcanfixthis?”shewhispered.

“I’mtrying.”

“Youmust.Ican’tgooutlikethisinfrontofthosewomen.”

Agnesstoodinchesfrommeinatinybra,herpalefleshgivingoffwarmwavesofexpensiveperfume.Itriedtomaneuveraroundher,squintingatthezipper,butitwasimpossible.SheneededroomtotakethethingoffsoIcouldworkonthezipperorIcouldn’tdoitup.Ilookedatherandshrugged.Shelookedbrieflyanguished.

“Idon’tthinkIcandoitinhere,Agnes.There’snoroom.AndIcan’tsee.”

“Ican’tgooutlikethis.TheywillsayIamwhore.”Herhandsflewtoherface,despairing.

Theoppressivesilenceoutsidetoldmethewomenwerewaitingonournextmove.Nobodywasevenpretendingtogototheloo.Wewerestuck.Istoodbackandshookmyhead,thinking.Andthenitcametome.

“Giantfinger,”Iwhispered.

Hereyeswidened.

Igazedathersteadily,andgaveasmallnod.Shefrowned,andthenherfacecleared.

Iopenedthecubicledoorandstoodback.Agnestookabreath,straightenedherspine,thenstrolledoutpastthetwowomen,likeabackstagesupermodel,thetopofthedressaroundherwaist,herbratwodelicatetrianglesthatbarelyobscuredthepalebreastsunderneath.ShestoppedinthemiddleoftheroomandleanedforwardsothatIcouldeasethedresscarefullyoverherhead.Thenshestraightenedup,nownakedexceptforhertwoscrapsoflace,astudyinapparentinsouciance.Idarednotlookatthewomen’sfaces,butasIdrapedtheyellowdressovermyarmIheardthedramaticintakeofbreath,feltthereverberationsintheair.

“Well,I—”onebegan.

“Wouldyoulikeasewingkit,ma’am?”Theattendantappearedatmyside.SheworkedthelittlepacketopenwhileAgnessatdaintilyonthechaiselongue,herlongpalelegsstretcheddemurelyouttotheside.

Twomorewomenwalkedin,andtheirconversationstoppedabruptlyatthesightofAgnesinherlingerie.Onecoughed,andtheylookedstudiedlyawayfromher,stumblingoversomenew

conversationalplatitude.Agnesrestedonthechair,apparentlyblissfullyunaware.

Theattendanthandedmeapin,andusingitspointIcaughtthetinyscrapofthreadthathadentangleditself,tugginggentlyuntilIhadfreeditandthezippermovedagain.“Gotit!”

Agnesstood,heldtheattendant’sprofferedhandandsteppedelegantlybackintotheyellowdress,whichthetwoofusraisedaroundherbody.WhenitwasinplaceIpulledthezippersmoothlyupuntilshewasclad,everyinchofthedressflushagainstherskin.Shesmootheditdownaroundherendlesslegs.

Theattendantprofferedacanofhairspray.“Here,”shewhispered.“Allowme.”Sheleanedforwardandgavethefasteningaquicksprayfromthecan.“That’llhelpitstayup.”

Ibeamedather.

“Thankyou.Sokindofyou,”Agnessaid.Shepulledafifty-dollarbillfromhereveningbagandhandedittothewoman.Thensheturnedtomewithasmile.“Louisa,darling,shallwegobacktoourtable?”And,withanimperiousnodtothetwowomen,Agnesliftedherchinandwalkedslowlytowardthedoor.

Therewassilence.Thentheattendantturnedtome,andpocketedthemoneywithawidegrin.“Nowthat,”shesaid,hervoicesuddenlyaudible,“isclass.”

T

6

hefollowingmorning,Georgedidn’tcome.Nobodytoldme.Isatinthehallinmyshorts,blearyandgritty-eyed,andathalfseven

graspedthathemusthavebeencanceled.

Agnesdidnotgetupuntilafternine,afactthathadIlariatuttingdisapprovinglyattheclock.Shehadsentatextaskingmetocanceltherestofherday’sappointments.Instead,sometimearoundmid-morning,shesaidshe’dliketowalkaroundtheReservoir.Itwasabreezydayandwewalkedwithscarvespulleduparoundourchinsandourhandsthrustintoourpockets.AllnightIhadthoughtaboutJosh’sface.Istillfeltunbalancedbyit,foundmyselfwonderinghowmanyofWill’sdoppelgängerswerewalkingaroundindifferentcountriesrightnow.Josh’seyebrowswereheavier,hiseyesadifferentcolor,andobviouslyhisaccentwasn’tWill’s.Butstill.

“YouknowwhatIusedtodowithmyfriendswhenwewerehung-over?”saidAgnes,breakingintomythoughts.“WewouldgotothisJapaneseplacenearGramercyParkandwewouldeatnoodlesandtalkandtalkandtalk.”

“Let’sgo,then.”

“Where?”

“Tothenoodleplace.Wecanpickupyourfriendsontheway.”

Shelookedbrieflyhopeful,thenkickedastone.“Ican’tnow.Isdifferent.”

“Youdon’thavetoturnupinGarry’scar.Wecouldgetataxi.Imean,youcoulddressdown,justturnup.Itwouldbefine.”

“Itoldyou.Isdifferent.”Sheturnedtome.“Itriedthesethings,Louisa.Forawhile.Butmyfriendsarecurious.Theywanttoknoweverythingaboutmylifenow.AndthenwhenItellthemthetruthitmakesthem...weird.”

“Weird?”

“Oncewewereallthesame,youknow?NowtheysayIcanneverknowwhattheirproblemsare.BecauseIamrich.SomehowIamnotallowedtohaveproblems.Ortheyarestrangearoundme,likeIamsomehowdifferentperson.Likethegoodthingsinmylifeareaninsulttotheirs.YouthinkIcanmoanabouthousekeepertosomeonewithnohouse?”

Shestoppedonthepath.“WhenIfirstmarryLeonard,hegavememoneyformyown.Aweddingpresent,sothatIdon’thavetoaskhimformoneyallthetime.AndIgivemybestfriend,Paula,someofthismoney.Igivehertenthousanddollarstoclearherdebts,tomakefreshstart.Atfirstshewassohappy.Iwashappytoo!Todothisformyfriend!Soshedoesn’thavetoworryanymore,likeme!”Hervoicegrewwistful.“Andthen...thenshedidn’twanttoseemeanymore.Shewasdifferent,wasalwaystoobusytomeetme.AndslowlyIseesheresentsmeforhelpingher.Shedidn’tmeanto,butwhensheseesmenowallshecanthinkisthatsheowesme.Andsheisproud,veryproud.Shedoesnotwanttolivewiththisfeeling.So”—sheshrugged—“shewon’thavelunchwithmeortakemycalls.Ilostmyfriendbecauseofmoney.”

“Problemsareproblems,”Isaidwhenitbecameclearshewasexpectingmetosaysomething.“Doesn’tmatterwhosetheyare.”

Shesteppedsidewaystoavoidatoddleronascooter.Shegazedafterit,thinking,thenturnedtome.“Youhavecigarettes?”

Ihadlearnednow.Ipulledthepacketfrommybackpackandhandedittoher.Iwasn’tsureIshouldbeencouraginghertosmoke,butshewasmyboss.Sheinhaledandblewoutalongplumeofsmoke.

“Problemsareproblems,”sherepeatedslowly.“Youhaveproblems,LouisaClark?”

“Imissmyboyfriend.”Isaiditasmuchasanythingtoreassuremyself.“Apartfromthat,notreally.Thisis...great.I’mhappyhere.”

Shenodded.“Iusedtofeellikethis.NewYork!Alwayssomethingtoseenew.Alwaysexciting.NowIjust...Imiss...”Shetailedoff.

ForamomentIthoughthereyeshadfilledwithtears.Butthenherfacestilled.

“Youknowshehatesme?”

“Who?”

“Ilaria.Thewitch.Shewastheotherone’shousekeeperandLeonardwillnotsackher.SoIamstuckwithher.”

“Shemightgrowtolikeyou.”

“Shemightgrowtoputarsenicinmyfood.Iseethewayshelooksatme.Shewishesmedead.Youknowhowitfeelstolivewithsomeonewhowishesyoudead?”

IwasprettyscaredofIlariamyself.ButIdidn’twanttosayso.Wewalkedon.“IusedtoworkforsomeonewhoIwasprettysurehatedmeatfirst,”Isaid.“GraduallyIworkedoutthatitwasnothingtodowithme.Hejusthatedhislife.Andaswegottoknoweachotherwestartedtogetalongjustfine.”

“Didheeverscorchyourbestshirt‘accidentally’?Orputdetergentinyourunderwearthatheknewwouldmakeyourvajajayitch?”

“Uh—no.”

“Orservefoodthatyoutellhimfiftytimesyoudonotlikesoyouwilllooklikeyouarecomplainingallthetime?Ortellstoriesaboutyoutomakeyouseemlikeprostitute?”

Mymouthhadopenedlikethatofagoldfish.Icloseditandshookmyhead.

Shepushedherhairoffherface.“Ilovehim,Louisa.Butlivinginhislifeisimpossible.Mylifeisimpossible...”Againshetrailedoff.

Westood,watchingthepeoplepassingusonthepath:theRoller-bladersandthekidsontrainingwheels,thecouplesarminarm,andthepoliceofficersintheirshades.ThetemperaturehaddroppedandIgaveaninvoluntaryshiverinmytracksuittop.

Shesighed.“Okay.Wegoback.Let’sseewhichpieceofmyfavoriteclothingtheWitchhasruinedtoday.”

“No,”Isaid.“Let’sgetyournoodles.Wecandothatmuchatleast.”

—WetookataxitoGramercyPark,toaplaceinabrownstoneonashadysidestreetthatlookedgrubbyenoughtoharborsometerrible

intestinalbug.ButAgnesseemedlighteralmostassoonaswearrived.AsIpaidthetaxisheboundedupthestairsandintothedarkenedinterior,andwhentheyoungJapanesewomanemergedfromthekitchenshethrewherarmsroundAgnesandhuggedher,asiftheywereoldfriends.Then,holdingAgnesbytheelbow,shekeptdemandingtoknowwhereshehadbeen.Agnespulledoffherbeanieandmutteredvaguelythatshehadbeenbusy,gotmarried,movedhouse,neveroncegivinganycluetothetruelevelofchangeinhercircumstances.Inoticedshewaswearingherweddingringbutnotthediamondengagementringthatwaslargeenoughtoensureatricepsworkout.

AndwhenweslidintotheFormicabooth,itwaslikeIhadadifferentwomanoppositeme.Agneswasfunny,animated,andloud,withanabrupt,cacklinglaugh,andIcouldseewhoMr.Gopnikhadfalleninlovewith.

“Sohowdidyoumeet?”Iasked,asweslurpedourwaythroughscaldingbowlsoframen.

“Leonard?Iwashismasseuse.”Shepaused,asifwaitingformyscandalizedreaction,andwhenitdidn’tcomesheputherheaddownandcontinued,“IworkedattheSt.Regis.Andtheywouldsendmasseurtohishomeeveryweek—André,usually.Hewasverygood.ButAndréwassickthisdayandtheyaskmetogoinstead.AndIthink,Oh,no,anotherWallStreetguy.Theyare,somanyofthem,fullofbullshit,youknow?Theydon’teventhinkofyouashuman.Don’tbothersayinghello,don’tspeak...Some,theyaskfor...”sheloweredhervoice“...happyfinish.Youknow‘happyfinish’?Likeyouareprostitute.Ugh.ButLeonard,hewaskind.Heshakemyhand,askmeifIwantEnglishteaassoonasIcomein.HewassohappywhenImassagehim.AndIcouldtell.”

“Tellwhat?”

“Thatshenevertouchhim.Hiswife.Youcantell,touchingabody.Shewascold,coldwoman.”Shelookeddown.“Andheisinalotofpainsomedays.Hisjointshurthim.ThisisbeforeNathancame.Nathanwasmyidea.TokeepLeonardfitandhealthy?Butanyway.Ireallytryhardtomakethisgoodmassageforhim.Igoovermyhour.Ilistentowhathisbodyistellingme.Andhewassogratefulafter.Andthenheasksformethenextweek.Andréwasnotsohappyaboutthis,butwhatcanIdo?SothenIamgoingtwiceaweektohisapartment.

AndsomedayshewouldaskmeifIwouldlikeEnglishteaafterwardandwetalk.Andthen...Well,itishard.BecauseIknowIamfallinginlovewithhim.Andthisissomethingwecannotdo.”

“Likedoctorsandpatients.Orteachers.”

“Exactly.”Agnespausedtoputadumplingintohermouth.ItwasthemostIhadeverseenhereat.Shechewedforamoment.“ButIcannotstopthinkingaboutthisman.Sosad.Andsotender.Andsolonely!IntheendItellAndréhemustgoinstead.Icannotgoanymore.”

“Andwhathappened?”I’dstoppedeating.

“Leonardcomestomyhome!InQueens!Hesomehowgetsmyaddressandhisbigcarcomestomyhome.MyfriendsandI,wearesittingonthefireescapehavingcigaretteandIseehimgetoutandhesays,‘Iwanttotalktoyou.’”

“LikePrettyWoman.”

“Yes!Itis!AndIgodowntothesidewalkandheissomad.Hesay,‘DidIoffendyouinsomeway?DidItreatyouinappropriately?’AndIjustshakemyhead.Andthenhewalksupanddownandhesay,‘Whywon’tyoucome?Idon’twantAndréanymore.Iwantyou.’And,likeafool,Istarttocry.”

AsIwatched,hereyesbrimmedwithtears.

“Icryrightthereinthemiddleofthedayonthestreet,withmyfriendswatching.AndIsay,‘Ican’ttellyou.’Andthenhegetsmad.Wantstoknowifhiswifewasrudetome.Orwhethersomethinghashappenedatwork.AndthenfinallyItellhim,‘Ican’tcomebecauseIlikeyou.Ilikeyouverymuch.Andthisisveryunprofessional.AndIcanlosemyjob.’Andhelooksatmeforonemomentandhesaysnothing.Nothingatall.Andthenhegetsbackinhiscarandhisdrivertakeshimaway.AndIthink,Oh,no.NowIwillneverseethismanagain,andIhavelostmyjob.AndIgotoworkthenextdayandIamsonervous.Sonervous,Louisa.Mystomachhurts!”

“Becauseyouthoughthe’dtellyourboss.”

“Exactlythis.ButyouknowwhathappenedwhenIarrive?”

“What?”

“Enormousbouquetofredrosesiswaitingforme.BiggestIhaveeverseen,withbeautifulvelvetscentedroses.Sosoftyouwanttotouchthem.Nonameonit.ButIknowimmediately.Andtheneverydayanewbouquetofredroses.Ourapartmentisfilledwithroses.Myfriendssaytheyaresickfromthesmell.”Shestartedtolaugh.“AndthenonthelastdayhecomestomyhouseagainandIgodownandheasksmetogetinthecarwithhim.AndwesitinthebackandheasksthedrivertogoforawalkandhetellsmeheissounhappyandthatfromthemomentwemethecouldnotstopthinkingaboutmeandthatallIhavetosayisonewordandhewillleavehiswifeandwewillbetogether.”

“Andyouhadn’tevenkissed?”

“Nothing.Ihavemassagedhisbuttocks,sure,butisnotthesame.”Shebreathedout,savoringthememory.“AndIknew.Iknewwemustbetogether.AndIsaidit.Isaid,‘Yes.’”

Iwastransfixed.

“Thatnighthegoeshomeandhetellshiswifethathedoesnotwanttobemarriedanymore.Andsheismad.Somad.Andsheaskhimwhyandhetellsherhecannotliveinmarriagewithnolove.AndthatnighthecallsmeupfromhotelandasksmetocomemeethimandweareinthissuiteattheRitzCarlton.YoustayedatRitzCarlton?”

“Uh—no.”

“Iwalkinandheisstandingbythedoor,likeheistoonervoustositdown,andhetellsmeheknowsheisstereotypeandheistoooldformeandhisbodyiswreckedfromthisarthritisbutifthereisachanceIreallydowanttobewithhimhewilldoeverythinghecantomakemehappy.Becausehejusthasfeelingaboutus,youknow?Thatwearesoulmates.Andthenweholdeachotherandfinallywekiss,andthenwestayawakeallnight,talking,talkingaboutourchildhoodsandourlivesandourhopesanddreams.”

“ThisisthemostromanticstoryI’veeverheard.”

“Andthenwefuck,ofcourse,andmyGod,Icanfeelthatthismanhasbeenfrozenforyears,youknow?”

AtthispointIcoughedapieceoframenontothetable.WhenIlookedupseveralpeopleatnearbytableswerewatchingus.

Agnes’svoicelifted.Shegesticulatedintotheair.“Youcannotbelieveit.Itislikeahungerinhim,likeallthishungerfromyearsandyearsisjustpulsingthroughhim.Pulsing!Thatfirstnightheisinsatiable.”

“Okay,”Isqueaked,wipingmymouthwithapapernapkin.

“Itismagical,thismeetingofourbodies.AndafterwardwejustholdeachotherforhoursandIwrapmyselfaroundhimandhelayshisheadonmybreastsandIpromisehimhewillneverbefrozenagain.Youunderstand?”

Therewassilenceintherestaurant.BehindAgnes,ayoungmaninahoodedtopwasstaringatthebackofherhead,hisspoonraisedhalfwaytohismouth.Whenhesawmewatching,hedroppeditwithaclatter.

“That—that’sareallylovelystory.”

“Andhekeepshispromise.Everythinghesaysistrue.Wearehappytogether.Sohappy.”Herfacefellalittle.“Buthisdaughterhatesme.Hisex-wifehatesme.Sheblamesmeforeverything,eventhoughshedidnotlovehim.ShetellseveryoneIamabadpersonforstealingherhusband.”

Ididn’tknowwhattosay.

“AndeveryweekIhavetogotothesefundraisersandcocktaileveningsandsmileandpretendIdonotknowwhattheyaresayingaboutme.Thewaythesewomenlookatme.IamnotwhattheysayIam.Ispeakfourlanguages.Iplaypiano.Ididspecialdiplomaintherapeuticmassage.Youknowwhatlanguageshespeaks?Hypocrisy.Butitishardtopretendyouhavenopain,youknow?Likeyoudonotcare?”

“Peoplechange,”Isaidhopefully.“Overtime.”

“No.Idon’tthinkispossible.”

Agnes’sexpressionwasbrieflywistful.Thensheshrugged.“Butonbrightside,theyarequiteold.Maybesomeofthemwilldiesoon.”

—

ThatafternoonIcalledSamwhenAgneswastakinganapandIlariawasbusydownstairs.Myheadwasstillswimmingwiththepreviousevening’sevents,andwithAgnes’sconfidences.IfeltasifsomehowIhadmovedintoanewspace.Ifeellikeyouaremoremyfriendthanmyassistant,shehadtoldme,aswewalkedbacktotheapartment.ItissogoodtohavesomebodyIcantrust.

“Igotyourpictures,”hesaid.Itwaseveningthere,andJake,hisnephew,wasstayingover.Icouldhearhismusicplayinginthebackground.Hemovedhismouthclosertothephone.“Youlookedbeautiful.”

“I’llneverwearadresslikethatagaininmylife.Butthewholethingwasamazing.Thefoodandthemusicandtheballroom...andtheweirdestthingisthesepeopledon’tevennoticeit.Theydon’tseewhat’saroundthem!Therewasoneentirewallmadeofgardeniasandfairylights.Like,amassivewall!Andtherewasthemostamazingchocolatepudding—afondantsquarewithwhitechocolatefeathersonitandtinytrufflesontheoutsideandnotonewomanatehers.Notone!Iwalkedthewholewayaroundthetablescounting,justtocheck.Iwastemptedtoputsomeofthetrufflesinmyclutchbag,butIthoughttheymightmelt.Ibettheyjustthrewthewholelotaway.Oh,andeverytablehadadifferentdecoration—buttheywereallmadeofyellowfeathers,andshapedlikedifferentbirds.Wehadanowl.”

“Soundslikequiteanevening.”

“Therewasthisonebarmanwhowouldmakecocktailsbasedonyourcharacter.Youhadtotellhimthreethingsaboutyourselfandthenhewouldcreateone.”

“Didhemakeoneforyou?”

“No.TheguyIwastalkingtogotaSaltyDogandIwasafraidI’dgetaCorpseReviveroraSlipperyNippleorsomething.SoIjuststuckwithchampagne.Stuckwithchampagne!WhatdoIsoundlike?”

“Sowhowereyoutalkingto?”

Therewasjusttheslightestpausebeforehesaidit.And,tomyannoyance,justtheslightestpausebeforeIresponded.“Oh...justthisguy...Josh.Asuit.HewaskeepingmeandAgnescompanywhilewewaitedforMr.Gopniktocomeback.”

Anotherpause.“Soundsgreat.”

Istartedtogabblenow.“Andthebestbitis,youneverevenhavetoworryabouthowtogethomebecausethere’salwaysacaroutside.Evenwhentheyjustgototheshops.Thedriverjustpullsupoutside,thenwaits,ordrivesaroundtheblock,andyouwalkoutandta-daa!There’syourbigblackshinycar.Climbin.Putallyourbagsintheboot.Excepttheycallitatrunk.Nonightbus!Nolate-nighttubewithpeoplepukingonyourshoes.”

“Thehighlife,eh?Youwon’twanttocomehome.”

“Oh.No.It’snotlikeit’smylife.I’mjustahanger-on.Butit’squitesomethingtoseeupclose.”

“Ihavetogo,Lou.PromisedJakeI’dtakehimoutforapizza.”

“But—butwe’vehardlyspoken.What’sgoingonwithyou?Tellmeyournews.”

“Someothertime.Jake’shungry.”

“Okay!”Myvoicewastoohigh.“Sayhitohimforme!”

“Okay.”

“Iloveyou,”Isaid.

“Me,too.”

“Onemoreweek!Countingthedays.”

“Gottago.”

IfeltstrangelywrongfootedwhenIputthephonedown.Ididn’tquiteunderstandwhathadjusthappened.Isattheremotionlessonthesideofmybed.AndthenIlookedatJosh’sbusinesscard.Hehadhandedittomeasweleft,pressingitintomypalmandclosingmyfingersaroundit.

Givemeacall.I’llshowyousomecoolplaces.

Ihadtakenitandsmiledpolitely.Which,ofcourse,couldhavemeantanythingatall.

7

Fox’sCottage

Tuesday,6October

DearLouisa,

IhopeyouarewellandenjoyingyourtimeinNewYork.IbelieveLilyiswritingtoyou,butIwasthinkingafterourlastconversationandIhadalookintheloftandbroughtdownsomelettersofWill’sfromhistimeinthecitythatIthoughtyoumightenjoy.YouknowwhatagreattravelerhewasandIthoughtyoumightenjoyretracinghisfootsteps.

Ireadacouplemyself;aratherbittersweetexperience.Youcankeepholdofthemuntilwenextseeeachother.

Withfondestwishes,

CamillaTraynor

NewYork

12.6.2004

DearMum,

Iwouldhavecalledbutthetimedifferencedoesn’treallyfitaroundscheduleshere,soIthoughtI’dshockyoubywriting.Firstlettersincethatshort-livedstintatPrioryManor,Ithink.Iwasn’treallycutoutforboardingschool,wasI?

NewYorkisprettyamazing.It’simpossiblenottobeinfusedbytheenergyoftheplace.I’mupandoutbyfivethirtyeverymorning.MyfirmisbasedonStoneStreetdownintheFinancialDistrict.Nigelfixedmeupwithanoffice(notcornerbutagoodviewacrossthewater—

W

apparentlythesearethethingsbywhichwearejudgedinNY)andtheguysatworkseemagoodbunch.TellDadthatonSaturdayIwenttotheoperaattheMetwithmybossandhiswife—(DerRosenkavalier,bitoverdone)andyou’llbehappytohearIwenttoaperformanceofLesLiaisonsDangereuses.Lotofclientlunches,lotofcompanysoftball.Notsomuchintheevenings:mynewcolleaguesaremostlymarriedwithyoungchildrensoit’sjustmetrawlingthebars...

I’vebeenoutwithacoupleofgirls—nothingserious(heretheyseemto“date”asapastime)—butmostlyI’vejustspentmysparehoursatthegymorhangingoutwitholdfriends.LotofpeopleherefromShipmans,andafewIknewatschool.Turnsoutit’sasmallworld,afterall...Mostofthemarequitechangedhere,though.They’retougher,hungrierthanIremember.Thinkthecitybringsthatoutinyou.

Right!OffoutwithHenryFarnsworth’sdaughterthisevening.Rememberher?LeadinglightoftheStortfoldPonyClub?Hasreinventedherselfassomesortofshoppingguru.(Don’tgetyourhopesup,I’mjustdoingitasafavortoHenry.)I’mtakinghertomyfavoritesteakhouse,ontheUpperEastSide:slabsofmeatthesizeofagaucho’sblanket.I’mhopingshe’snotvegetarian.Everyonehereseemstohavesomesortoffoodfadgoingon.

Oh,andlastSundayItooktheFtrainandgotoffonthefarsideoftheBrooklynBridgejusttowalkbackacrossthewater,asyousuggested.BestthingI’vedonesofar.FeltlikeI’dsteppedintoanearlyWoodyAllenmovie—youknow,theoneswheretherewasonlyaten-yearagegapbetweenhimandhisleadingladies...

TellDadI’llcallhimnextweek,andgivethedogahugforme.

Love,Willx

iththatbowlofcheapnoodles,somethinghadchangedinmyrelationshipwiththeGopniks.IthinkIgraspedalittlebetter

thatIcouldbolsterAgnesinhernewrole.Sheneededsomeonetoleanonandtotrust.This,andthestrangeosmoticenergyofNewYork,meantthatfromthenonIliterallybouncedoutofbedinawaythatIhadn’tdonesinceworkingforWill.ItcausedIlariatotutandrollhereyesandNathantoviewmesideways,asifImighthavestartedtakingdrugs.

Butitwassimple.Iwantedtobegoodatmyjob.IwantedtogettheabsolutemostoutofmytimeinNewYork,workingfortheseamazingpeople.Iwantedtosuckthemarrowoutofeachday,asWillwouldhavedone.Ireadthatfirstletteragainandagain,andonceI’dgotoverthestrangenessofhearinghisvoice,Ifeltastrangekinshipwithhim,anewcomertothecity.

Iuppedmygame.IjoggedwithAgnesandGeorgeeverymorning,andsomedaysIevenmanagedtolasttheentireroutewithoutwantingtothrowup.IgottoknowtheplacesthatAgnes’sroutinestookherto,whatshewaslikelytoneedtohavewithher,andwear,andbringhome.Iwasreadyinthehallwaybeforeshewasthere,andhadwater,cigarettes,orgreenjuicereadyforheralmostbeforesheknewshewantedthem.WhenshehadtogotoalunchwheretheAwfulMatronswerelikelytobe,Iwouldmakejokesbeforehandtoshakeheroutofhernerves,andIwouldsendhercellphoneGIFsoffartingpandasorpeoplefallingofftrampolinestopickupduringthemeal.Iwasthereinthecarafterwardandlistenedtoherwhenshetoldmetearfullywhattheyhadsaidornotsaidtoher,noddedsympatheticallyoragreedthat,yes,theywereimpossible,meancreatures.Dried-uplikesticks.Noheartleftinthem.

IbecamegoodatmaintainingmypokerfacewhenAgnestoldmeslightlytoomuchaboutLeonard’sbeautiful,beautifulbody,andhismany,manybeeeyoootifulskillsasalover,andItriednottolaughwhenshetoldmePolishwords,suchascholernica,withwhichsheinsultedIlariawithoutthehousekeeperunderstanding.

Agnes,Idiscoveredquitequickly,hadnofilter.DadalwayssaidIusedtosaythefirstthingthatcameintomyhead,butinmycaseitwasn’tBitteroldwhore!inPolish,orCanyouimaginethathorribleSusanFitzwaltergettingwaxed?Wouldbelikescrapingthebeardoffaclosedmussel.Brr.

Itwasn’tthatAgneswasmeanperse.Ithinkshefeltundersuchpressuretobehaveinacertainway,tobeseenandscrutinizedandnot

foundwanting,thatIbecameakindofsafetyvalve.Themomentshewasoutoftheircompanyshewouldswearandcurse,andthenbythetimeGarryhaddrivenushomeshewouldhaverecoveredherequanimityintimetoseeherhusband.

IdevelopedstrategiestoreintroducealittlefunintoAgnes’slife.Onceaweek,withoutputtingitintothediary,wewoulddisappeartothemovietheateratLincolnSquareinthemiddleofthedaytowatchsilly,gross-outcomedies,snortingwithlaughterasweshoveledpopcornintoourmouths.Wewoulddareeachothertogointothehigh-endboutiquesofMadisonAvenueandtryontheworstdesigneroutfitswecouldfind,admiringeachotherstraight-faced,andasking,Doyouhavethisinabrightergreen?whilethesalesassistants,oneeyeonAgnes’sHermèsBirkinhandbag,flutteredaround,forcingcomplimentsfromthesidesoftheirmouths.OnelunchtimeAgnespersuadedMr.Gopniktomeetus,andIwatchedas,posinglikeacatwalkmodel,sheparadedaseriesofclown-liketrousersuitsinfrontofhim,daringhimtolaugh,whilethesidesofhismouthtwitchedwithsuppressedmirth.Youaresonaughty,hesaidtoherafterward,shakinghisheadfondly.

Butitwasn’tjustmyjobthathadliftedmyspirits.IhadstartedtounderstandNewYorkalittlemoreand,inreturn,ithadstartedtoaccommodateme.Itwasn’thardinacityofimmigrants—outsidetherarefiedstratosphereofAgnes’sdailylife,Iwasjustanotherpersonfromafewthousandmilesaway,runningaroundtown,working,orderingmytakeout,andlearningtospecifyatleastthreeparticularthingsIwantedinmycoffeeorsandwich,justtosoundlikeanative.

Iwatched,andIlearned.

ThisiswhatIlearnedaboutNewYorkersinmyfirstmonth.

1.Nobodyinmybuildingspoketoanyoneelse.TheGopniksdidn’tspeaktoanyone,otherthanAshok,whospoketoeveryone.Theoldwomanonthesecondfloor,Mrs.DeWitt,didn’ttalktothecouplefromCaliforniainthepenthouse,andthepower-suitedcoupleonthethirdfloorwalkedalongthecorridorwiththeirnosespressedtotheiriPhones,barkinginstructionstothemicrophoneorateachother.Eventhechildrenonthefirstfloor—beautifullydressedlittlemannequins,shepherdedbyaharriedyoungFilipina—didn’tsayhellobutkepttheireyesontheplushcarpetasIwalkedpast.WhenIsmiledatthegirl,hereyeswidenedasifIhaddonesomethingdeeplysuspicious.

TheresidentsoftheLaverywalkedstraightoutandintoidentikitblackcarsthatwaitedpatientlyatthecurb.Theyalwaysseemedtoknowwhosewaswhose.Mrs.DeWitt,asfarasIcouldsee,wastheonlypersonwhospoketoanyoneatall.ShetalkedtoDeanMartinconstantly,mutteringunderherbreathasshehobbledaroundtheblockaboutthe“wretchedRussians,thoseawfulChinese”fromthebuildingbehindourswhokepttheirowndriverswaitingoutsidetwenty-fourseven,cloggingupthestreet.ShewouldcomplainnoisilytoAshokorthebuilding’smanagementaboutAgnesplayingthepiano,andifwepassedherinthecorridorshewouldhurryby,occasionallylettingslipavaguelyaudibletut.

2.Incontrast,inshopseveryonetalkedtoyou.Theassistantsfollowedyouaround,theirheadstiltedforwardasiftohearyoubetter,alwayscheckingtoseewhethertherewasanywaytheycouldserveyoubetterorwhethertheycouldputthisinaroomforyou.Ihadn’thadsomuchattentionsinceTreenaandIhadbeencaughtshopliftingaMarsBarfromthepostofficewhenIwaseightandMrs.Barkershadowedus,likeanMI5operative,everytimewewentinthereforSherbetDibDabsforthenextthreeyears.

AndallNewYorkshopassistantswantedyoutohaveaniceday.Evenifyouwerejustbuyingacartonoforangejuiceoranewspaper.Atfirst,encouragedbytheirniceness,Iresponded,“Oh!Well,youhaveanicedaytoo!”andtheywerealwaysalittletakenaback,asifIsimplydidn’tunderstandtherulesofNewYorkconversation.

AsforAshok—nobodypassedthethresholdwithoutexchangingafewwordswithhim.Butthatwasbusiness.Heknewhisjob.Hewasalwayscheckingyouwereokay,thatyouhadeverythingyouneeded.“Youcan’tgooutinscuffedshoes,MissLouisa!”Hecouldpullanumbrellafromhissleevelikeamagicianfortheshortwalktothecurb,acceptingtipswiththediscreetsleightofhandofacardhuckster.Hecouldpulldollarsfromhiscuffs,discreetlythankingthetrafficcopwhosmoothedthewayofthisgrocerydriverorthatdry-cleaningdelivery,andwhistleabrightyellowtaxioutofthinairwithasoundonlydogscouldhear.Hewasnotjustthegatekeepertoourbuildingbutitsheartbeat,keepingthingsmovinginandout,ensuringthateverythingwentsmoothly,abloodsupply,aroundit.

3.NewYorkers—thosewhodidn’ttakelimosfromourapartmentbuilding—walkedreally,reallyfast,stridingalongsidewalksand

dippinginandoutofcrowdsasiftheyhadthosesensorsattachedthatautomaticallystopyoubumpingintootherpeople.Theyheldphones,orStyrofoamcoffeecups,andbeforesevena.m.atleasthalfofthemwouldbeinworkoutgear.EverytimeIslowedIheardamutteredcurseinmyear,orfeltsomeone’sbagswingintomyback.Istoppedwearingmymoredecorativeshoes—theonesthatmademetotter,myJapanesegeishaflip-flops,ormyseventiesstripyplatformboots—infavorofsneakerssothatIcouldmovewiththecurrentinsteadofbeinganobstaclethatpartedthewaters.Ifyouhadseenmefromabove,IlikedtothinkyouwouldneverhaveknownthatIdidn’tbelong.

DuringthosefirstweekendsIwalked,too,forhours.IhadinitiallyassumedthatNathanandIwouldhangouttogether,exploringnewplaces.Butheseemedtohavebuiltasocialcircleofblokeymen,thekindwhoreallyhadnointerestinfemalecompanyunlesstheyhadsunkseveralbeersfirst.Hespenthoursinthegym,andtoppedeachweekendoffwithadateortwo.WhenIsuggestedwegotoamuseumorperhapstowalktheHighLinehewouldsmileawkwardlyandtellmehealreadyhadplans.SoIwalkedalone,downthroughMidtowntotheMeatpackingDistrict,toGreenwichVillage,toSoHo,veeringoffmainstreets,followingwhateverlookedinteresting,mymapinmyhand,tryingtorememberwhichwaythetrafficwent.IsawthatManhattanhaddistinctdistricts,fromthetoweringbuildingsofMidtowntotheachinglycoolcobbledroadsaroundCrosbyStreet,whereeverysecondpersonlookedlikeamodelorasiftheyownedanInstagramfeeddevotedtocleaneating.Iwalkedwithnowhereparticulartogo,andnowhereIhadtobe.Iatesaladatachopped-saladbar,orderingsomethingwithcilantroandblackbeansbecauseIhadnevereateneitherofthem.Icaughtthesubway,tryingnottolooklikeatouristasIfathomedhowtobuyaticketandidentifythelegendarycrazies,andwaitedtenminutesformyheartratetoreturntonormalwhenIemergedbackintodaylight.AndthenIwalkedacrosstheBrooklynBridge,asWillhaddone,andfeltmyheartliftatthesightoftheglintingwaterbelow,feelingtherumbleofthetrafficbeneathmyfeet,hearingonceagainhisvoiceinmyhead.Liveboldly,Clark.

IstoppedhalfwayacrossandstoodverystillasIgazedacrosstheEastRiver,feelingbrieflysuspended,almostgiddywiththesenseofnolongerbeingtiedtoanyplaceatall.Anothertick.AndslowlyIstopped

tickingoffexperiences,becauseprettymucheverythingwasnewandstrange.

OnthosefirstwalksIsaw:

Amaninfulldragridingabicycleandsingingshowtunesthroughamicrophoneandspeakers.Severalpeopleapplaudedasherodepast.

Fourgirlsplayingjumpropebetweentwofirehydrants.TheyhadtworopesgoingatonceandIstoppedtoclapwhentheyfinallystoppedjumpingandtheysmiledshylyatme.

Adogonaskateboard.WhenItextedmysistertotellher,shetoldmeIwasdrunk.

RobertDeNiro.

AtleastIthinkitwasRobertDeNiro.ItwasearlyeveningandIwasfeelingbrieflyhomesickandhewalkedpastmeonthecornerofSpringStreetandBroadway,andIactuallysaid,“Oh,myGod.RobertDeNiro,”outloudbeforeIcouldstopmyselfashewalkedpastandhedidn’tturnroundandIcouldn’tbesureafterwardwhetherthatwasbecausehewasjustsomerandomwhothoughtIwastalkingtomyselforwhetherthatwasexactlywhatyouwoulddoifyouwereRobertDeNiroandsomewomanonthesidewalkstartedbleatingyourname.

Idecidedthelatter.Again,mysisteraccusedmeofbeingdrunk.Isentherapicturefrommyphonebutshesaid,Thatcouldbethebackofanyone’shead,youdoofus,andaddedthatIwasnotjustdrunkbutgenuinelyquitestupid.ItwasatthatpointthatIstartedtofeelslightlylesshomesick.

IwantedtotellSamthis.Iwantedtotellhimallofit,inbeautifulhandwrittenlettersoratleastinlong,ramblinge-mailsthatwewouldlatersaveandprintoutandthatwouldbefoundintheatticofourhousewhenwehadbeenmarriedfiftyyearsforourgrandchildrentocooover.ButIwassotiredthosefirstfewweeksthatallIdidwase-mailhimabouthowtiredIwas.

—I’msotired.Imissyou.

—Me,too.—No,likereally,reallytired.LikecryatTVadvertisementsandfallasleepwhilebrushingmyteethandendupwithtoothpasteallovermychesttired.

—Okay,nowyougotme.

Itriednottomindhowlittlehee-mailedme.Itriedtoremindmyselfthathewasdoingareal,hardjob,savinglivesandmakingadifferencewhileIwassittingoutsidemanicurists’studiosandrunningaroundCentralPark.

Hissupervisorhadchangedtherota.Hewasworkingfournightsonthetrotandstillwaitingtobeassignedanewpermanentpartner.Thatshouldhavemadeiteasierforustotalkbutsomehowitdidn’t.IwouldcheckinonmyphoneintheminutesIhadfreeeveryeveningbutthatwasusuallythetimehewasheadingofftobeginhisshift.

SometimesIfeltcuriouslydisjointed,asifIhadsimplydreamedhimup.

Oneweek,hereassuredme.Onemoreweek.

Howhardcoulditbe?

—Agneswasplayingthepianoagain.Sheplayedwhenshewashappyorunhappy,angryorfrustrated,pickingtumultuouspieces,highinemotion,closinghereyes,asherhandsrovedupanddownthekeyboard,andswayingonthepianostool.Thepreviouseveningshehadplayedanocturne,andasIpassedtheopendoorofthedrawingroom,I’dwatchedforamomentasMr.Gopniksatdownbesideheronthestool.Evenasshebecamewhollyabsorbedinthemusic,itwasclearthatshewasplayingforhim.Inotedhowcontenthewasjusttositandturnthepagesforher.Whenshe’dfinishedshe’dbeamedathim,andhehadloweredhisheadtokissherhand.ItiptoedpastthedoorasifIhadn’tseen.

Iwasinthestudygoingovertheweek’seventsandhadgottenasfarasThursday(Children’sCancerCharitylunch,MarriageofFigaro)whenIbecameawareofarappingatthefrontdoor.Ilariawaswiththepetbehaviorist—FelixhaddonesomethingunmentionableinMr.Gopnik’sofficeagain—soIwalkedouttothehallwayandopenedit.

Mrs.DeWittstoodinfrontofme,hercaneraisedasiftostrike.Iduckedinstinctivelyandthen,whensheloweredit,straightened,mypalmsraised.Ittookmeasecondtograspshehadsimplyusedittoraponthedoor.

“CanIhelpyou?”

“Tellhertoquitthatinfernalracket!”Hertinyetchedfacewaspucewithfury.

“I’msorry?”

“Themasseuse.Themail-orderbride.Whatever.Icanhearitallthewaydownthecorridor.”Shewaswearinga1970sPucci-styledustercoatwithgreenandpinkswirlsandanemeraldgreenturban.EvenasIbristledatherinsults,Iwastransfixed.“Uh,Agnesisactuallyatrainedphysicaltherapist.Andit’sMozart.”

“Idon’tcareifit’sChampiontheWonderHorseplayingthekazoowithhisyou-know-what.Tellhertopipedown.Shelivesinanapartment.Sheshouldhavesomeconsiderationforotherresidents!”

DeanMartingrowledatme,asifinagreement.Iwasgoingtosaysomethingelsebuttryingtoworkoutwhichofhiseyeswasactuallylookingatmewasweirdlydistracting.“I’llpassthaton,Mrs.DeWitt,”Isaid,myprofessionalsmileinplace.

“Whatdoyoumean‘passiton’?”Don’tjust‘passiton.’Makeherstop.Shedrivesmecrazywiththewretchedpianola.Day,night,whenever.Thisusedtobeapeacefulbuilding.”

“But,tobefair,yourdogisalwaysbar—”

“Theotheronewasjustasbad.Miserablewoman.Alwayswithherquackingfriends,quackquackquackinthecorridor,cloggingupthestreetwiththeiroversizedcars.Ugh.I’mnotsurprisedhetradedherin.”

“I’mnotsureMr.Gopnik—”

“‘Trainedphysicaltherapist.’GoodLord,isthatwhatwe’recallingitthesedays?IsupposethatmakesmechiefnegotiatorattheUnitedNations.”Shepattedherfacewithahandkerchief.

“AsIunderstandit,thegreatjoyofAmericaisthatyoucanbewhateveryouwanttobe.”Ismiled.

Shenarrowedhereyes.Iheldmysmile.

“AreyouEnglish?”

“Yes.”Isensedapossiblesoftening.“Why?Doyouhaverelativesthere,Mrs.DeWitt?”

“Don’tberidiculous.”Shelookedmeupanddown.“IjustthoughtEnglishgirlsweremeanttohavestyle.”Andwiththatsheturnedand,withadismissivewave,hobbledoffdownthecorridor,DeanMartincastingresentfulglancesbehindher.

—“Wasthatthecrazyoldwitchacrossthecorridor?”Agnescalled,asIclosedthedoorsoftly.“Ugh.Nowondernobodyevercomestoseeher.Sheislikehorribledried-uppieceofsuszonydorsz.”

Therewasabriefsilence.Iheardpagesbeingturned.

AndthenAgnesstartedathunderous,cascadingpiece,herfingerscrashingonthekeyboard,hittingthepedalsohardthatIfeltthewoodfloorsvibrate.

IfixedmysmileagainasIwalkedacrossthehallway,andcheckedmywatchwithaninternalsigh.Onlytwohourstogo.

S

8

amwasflyinginthatday,andstayinguntilMondayevening.HehadbookedusintoahotelafewblocksfromTimesSquare.Given

whatAgneshadsaidabouthowweshouldn’tbeapart,Ihadaskedifshemightgivemepartoftheafternoonoff.ShehadsaidmaybeinwhatIfeltwasapositivetone,althoughIgotthedistinctfeelingthatSamcomingfortheweekendwasanirritationtoher.Still,IwalkedtoPennStation,abounceinmystep,andaweekendbagatmyheels,andcaughttheAirTraintoJFK.BythetimeIgottotheairport,slightlyaheadoftime,Iwasbuzzingwithanticipation.

ThearrivalsboardsaidSam’sflighthadlandedandthathewasawaitinghisluggagesoIhurriedintotheLadiestocheckmyhairandmakeup.Alittlesweatyfromthewalkandthepackedtrain,Itouchedupmymascaraandlipstick,andswipedatmyhairwithabrush.Iwaswearingturquoisesilkculotteswithablackpolo-neckandblackankleboots.Iwantedtolooklikemyself,butalsoasifIhadchangedinsomeindefinableway,perhapsbecomealittlemoremysterious.Idodgedoutofthewayofanexhausted-lookingwomanwithanoversizedwheeliecase,gavemyselfalittlespritzofperfume,thenfinallyjudgedmyselfthekindofwomanwhomeetsherloveratinternationalairports.

Allthesame,asIwalkedout,heartthumping,andpeeredupattheboard,Ifeltoddlynervous.Wehadbeenapartonlyfourweeks.Thismanhadseenmeatmyworst,broken,panicked,sad,contrary,andstillapparentlylikedme.HewasstillSam,Itoldmyself.MySam.Nothinghadchangedsincethefirsttimehehadrungmydoorbellandaskedme,ham-fistedly,throughtheintercom,foradate.

Thesignstillsaid:AWAITINGLUGGAGE

Iwedgedmyselfintopositionatthebarrier,checkedmyhairagainandtrainedmyeyesonthedoubledoors,smilinginvoluntarilyattheshrieksofhappinessaslong-separatedcouplesfoundeachother.I

thought,That’llbeusinaminute.Itookadeepbreath,notingthatmypalmshadstartedtosweat.Atrickleofpeoplemadetheirwaythrough,andmyfacekeptsettlingintowhatIsuspectedwasaslightlymad-lookingrictusofanticipation,eyebrowsraised,delighted,likeapoliticianfake-spottingsomeoneinacrowd.

Andthen,asIrummagedinmybagforahandkerchief,Ididadouble-take.There,afewyardsawayfrommeinthemassofpeople,stoodSam,aheadtallerthananyonearoundhim,scanningthecrowd,justasIwas.Imuttered,“Excuseme,”tothepersononmyrightatthebarrier,duckedunderit,andrantowardhim.HeturnedjustasIgottohimandpromptlywhackedme,hard,intheshinwithhisbag.

“Oh,shoot.Areyouokay?Lou?...Lou?”

Iclutchedmyleg,tryingnottoswear.TearshadsprungtomyeyesandwhenIspokeitcamethroughagaspofpain.“Itsaidyourluggagewasn’tthrough!”Isaid,teethclenched.“Ican’tbelieveImissedourgreatreunion!Iwasintheloo!”

“Icamehandluggageonly.”Heputhishandonmyshoulder.“Isyourlegokay?”

“ButIhaditallplanned!Ihadasignandeverything!”Iwrestledit,speciallylaminated,outofmyjacketandstraightened,tryingtoignorethethrobbinginmyshin.WORLD’SHANDSOMESTPARAMEDIC.“Thiswasmeanttobeoneofthedefiningmomentsofourrelationship!Oneofthosemomentsyoulookbackonandgo,‘Aah,doyourememberthattimeImetyouatJFK?’”

“It’sstillagreatmoment,”hesaidhopefully.“It’sgoodtoseeyou.”

“Goodtoseeme?”

“Great.It’sgreattoseeyou.Sorry.I’mknackered.Didn’tsleep.”

Irubbedmyshin.Westaredateachotherforaminute.“It’snogood,”Isaid.“Youhavetogoagain.”

“Goagain?”

“Tothebarrier.AndthenI’lldowhatIplanned,whichisholdupmysign,thenruntowardyouandwekissandwestartitallproperly.”

Hestaredatme.“Seriously?”

“It’llbeworthit.Goon.Please.”

IttookhimamomentlongertoconfirmthatIwasn’tjoking,thenhebegantowalkagainstthetideofarrivals.Severalpeopleturnedtostareathim,andsomebodytutted.

“Stop!”Iyelledacrossthenoisyconcourse.“That’lldo!”

Buthedidn’thearme.Hekeptwalking,allthewaytothedoubledoors—Ihadafleetingfearthathemightjustjumpbackontheplane.

“Sam!”Iyelled.“STOP!”

Everyoneturned.Thenheturned,andsawme.AndashestartedtowalktowardmeagainIduckedbackunderthebarrier.“Here!Sam!It’sme!”Iwavedmysignandashewalkedtowardmehewasgrinningattheridiculousnessofitall.

Idroppedthesignandrantowardhim,andthistimehedidn’tbashmeintheshinbutlethisbagfallathisfeetandsweptmeupandwekissedlikepeopledointhemovies,fullyandwithabsolutejoyandwithoutself-consciousnessorfearsaboutcoffeebreath.Orperhapswedid.Icouldn’ttellyou.BecausefromthemomentSampickedmeupIwasoblivioustoeverythingelse,tothebagsandthepeopleandtheeyesofthecrowds.Oh,God,butthefeelofhisarmsaroundme,thesoftnessofhislipsonmine.Ididn’twanttolethimgo.IheldontohimandfeltthestrengthofhimaroundmeandbreathedinthescentofhisskinandIburiedmyfaceinhisneck,myskinagainsthis,feelinglikeeverycellinmybodyhadmissedhim.

“Better,youinsaneperson?”hesaid,whenhefinallypulledbacksothathecouldseemeproperly.Ithinkmylipstickmayhavebeenhalfwayacrossmyface.Ialmostdefinitelyhadstubblerash.Myribshurtwherehewasholdingmesotightly.

“Oh,yes,”Isaid,unabletostopgrinning.“Much.”

—Wedecidedtodropourbagsatthehotelfirst,metryingnottogabblewithexcitement.Iwastalkingnonsense—astreamofdisjointedthoughtsandobservationscomingoutofmymouthunfiltered.Hewatchedmethewayyoumightlookatyourdogifitdidanunprompteddance:withfaintamusementandvaguelysuppressed

alarm.Butwhentheliftdoorsclosedbehindus,hepulledmetowardhim,tookmyfaceinhishandsandkissedmeagain.

“Wasthattostopmetalking?”Isaidwhenhereleasedme.

“No.ThatwasbecauseI’vewantedtodothatforfourlongweeksandIplantodoitasmanytimesasIcanuntilIgohomeagain.”

“That’sagoodline.”

“Tookmemostoftheflight.”

Igazedathimashefedthekeycardintothedoorand,forthefive-hundredthtime,marveledatmyluckinfindinghimwhenI’dthoughtIcouldneverloveanyoneagain.Ifeltimpulsive,romantic,acharacterinaSunday-afternoonmovie.

“Aaaandhereweare.”

Westoppedinthedoorway.ThehotelroomwassmallerthanmybedroomattheGopniks’,carpetedinabrownplaid,andthebed,ratherthantheluxuriousexpanseofwhiteFrettelinenIhadenvisaged,wasasunkendoublewithaburgundy-and-orangecheckedbedspread.Itriednottothinkaboutwhenitmightlasthavebeencleaned.AsSamclosedthedoorbehindus,IsetdownmybagandedgedaroundthebeduntilIcouldpeerthroughthebathroomdoor.Therewasashowerandnobath,andwhenyouputthelightontheextractorwhined,likeatoddleratasupermarketcheckout.Theroomwasscentedwithacombinationofoldnicotineandindustrialairfreshener.

“Youhateit.”Hiseyesscannedmyface.

“No!It’sperfect!”

“It’snotperfect.Sorry.IgotitoffthisbookingwebsitewhenI’djustfinishedanightshift.Wantmetogodownstairsandseeiftheyhaveotherrooms?”

“Iheardhersayingitwasfullybooked.Anyway,it’sfine!Ithasabedandashowerandit’sinthemiddleofNewYorkandithasyouinit.Whichmeansit’sallwonderful!”

“Aw,crap.Ishouldhaverunitpastyou.”

Ineverwasanygoodatlying.HereachedformyhandandIsqueezedhis.

“It’sfine.Really.”

Westoodandstaredatthebed.AndIputmyhandovermymouthuntilIrealizedIcouldn’tnotsaythethingIwastryingnottosay.“Weshouldprobablycheckforbedbugs,though.”

“Seriously?”

“There’sanepidemicofthem,accordingtoIlaria.”

Sam’sshoulderssagged.

“Evensomeoftheposhesthotelshavethem.”Isteppedforwardandpulledbackthecoversabruptly,scanningthewhitesheetbeforestoopingtocheckthemattressedge.Imovedcloser.“Nothing!”Isaid.“Sothat’sgood!We’reinabedbug-freehotel!”Igaveasmallthumbs-up.“Yay!”

Therewasalongsilence.

“Let’sgoforawalk,”hesaid.

Wewentforawalk.Itwas,atleast,agreatlocation.WestrolledhalfadozenblocksdownSixthAvenueandbackupFifth,zigzaggingandfollowingwheretheurgetookus,metryingnottotalkendlesslyaboutmyselforNewYork,whichwasharderthanI’dthought,giventhatSamwasmostlysilent.Hetookmyhandinhis,andIleanedagainsthisshoulderandtriednottosneaktoomanyglancesathim.Therewassomethingunexpectedlyoddabouthavinghimthere.Ifoundmyselffixingontinydetails,ascratchonhishand,aslightchangeinthelengthofhishair,tryingtoreclaimhiminmyimagination.

“You’velostyourlimp,”Isaid,aswepausedtolookinthewindowoftheMuseumofModernArt.Ifeltnervousthathewasn’ttalking,asiftheterriblehotelroomhadruinedeverything.

“Sohaveyou.”

“I’vebeenrunning!”Isaid.“Itoldyou!IgoaroundCentralParkeverymorningwithAgnesandGeorge,hertrainer.Here—feelmylegs!”SamsqueezedmyupperthighasIheldittowardhimandlookedsuitablyimpressed.“Youcanletgonow,”Isaid,whenpeoplestartedtostare.

“Sorry,”hesaid.“It’sbeenawhile.”

Ihadforgottenhowmuchhepreferredtolistenthantalk.Ittookawhilebeforeheofferedupanythingabouthimself.Hefinallyhada

newpartner.Aftertwofalsestarts—ayoungmanwho’ddecidedhedidn’twanttobeaparamedic,andTim,amiddle-agedunionrep,whoapparentlyhatedallmankind(notagreatmind-setforthejob)—hehadbeenpairedwithawomanfromNorthKensingtonstationwhohadrecentlymovedandwantedtoworksomewhereclosertohome.

“What’sshelike?”

“She’snotDonna,”hesaid,“butshe’sokay.Leastsheseemstoknowwhatshe’sdoing.”

HehadmetDonnaforcoffeetheweekpreviously.Herfatherwasnotrespondingtochemotherapy,butshehaddisguisedhersadnessundersarcasmandjokes,asDonnaalwaysdid.“Iwantedtotellhershedidn’thaveto,”hesaid.“SheknowswhatIwentthroughwithmysister.But”—helookedatmesideways—“weallcopewiththesethingsinourownways.”

Jake,hetoldme,wasdoingwellatcollege.Hesenthislove.Hisdad,Sam’sbrother-in-law,haddroppedoutofgrieftherapy,sayingitwasn’tforhim,eventhoughithadstoppedhiscompulsivebeddingofstrangewomen.“He’seatinghiswaythroughhisfeelingsnow.Putonastonesinceyouleft.”

“Andyou?”

“Ah.I’mcoping.”

Hesaiditsimply,butitcausedsomethinginmyhearttocrackalittle.

“It’snotforever,”Isaid,aswestopped.

“Iknow.”

“Andwe’regoingtodoloadsoffunstuffwhileyou’rehere.”

“Whathaveyougotplanned?”

“Um,basicallyit’sYouGettingNaked.Followedbysupper.FollowedbymoreYouGettingNaked.MaybeawalkaroundCentralPark,somecornytouriststuff,liketheStatenIslandferryandTimesSquare,andsomeshoppingintheEastVillageandsomereallygoodfoodwithaddedYouGettingNaked.”

Hegrinned.“DoIgetYouGettingNakedtoo?”

“Oh,yes,it’satwo-for-onedeal.”Ileanedmyheadagainsthim.“Seriously,though,I’dloveyoutocomeandseewhereIwork.MaybemeetNathanandAshokandallthepeopleIgoonabout.Mr.andMrs.Gopnikwillbeoutoftownsoyouprobablywon’tmeetthembutyou’llatleastgetanideaofitallinyourhead.”

Hestoppedandturnedmetofacehim.“Lou.Idon’treallycarewhatwedoaslongaswe’retogether.”Hecoloredalittleashesaidit,asifthewordshadsurprisedevenhim.

“That’squiteromantic,Mr.Fielding.”

“Itellyouwhat,though.IneedtoeatsomethingprettyfastifI’mgoingtofulfillthisGettingNakedbit.Wherecanwegetsomefood?”

WewerewalkingpastRadioCity,surroundedbyhugeofficebuildings.“There’sacoffeeshop,”Isaid.

“Oh,no,”hesaid,clappinghishandstogether.“There’smyboy.AgenuineNewYorkfoodtruck!”Hepointedtowardoneoftheever-presentfoodtrucks,thisoneadvertising“stackedburritos”:“Wemake’emanywayyoulike’em.”Ifollowedhimandwaitedwhileheorderedsomethingthatappearedtobethesizeofhisforearmandsmelledofhotcheeseandunidentifiedfattymeat.“Wedidn’thaveplanstoeatouttonight,right?”Hewedgedtheendintohismouth.

Icouldn’thelpbutlaugh.“Whateverkeepsyouawake.ThoughIsuspectthat’sgoingtoputyouinafoodcoma.”

“Oh,God,thisissogood.Wantsome?”

Idid,actually.ButIwaswearingreallyniceunderwearandIdidn’twantbitsofmehangingoverthetop.SoIwaiteduntilhehadfinishedit,noisilylickinghisfingers,thentossinghisnapkinintothebin.Hesighedwithdeepsatisfaction.“Right,”hesaid,takingmyarm,andeverythingfeltsuddenly,blissfullynormal.“Aboutthisnakedthing.”

—Wewalkedbacktoourhotelinsilence.Inolongerfeltawkward,asifthetimeaparthadcreatedsomeunexpecteddistancebetweenus.Ididn’twanttotalkanymore.Ijustwantedtofeelhisskinagainstmine.Iwantedtobecompletelyhisagain,enfolded,possessed.WeheadeddownSixthAvenue,pastRockefellerCenter,andInolonger

noticedthetouristswhostoodinourway.Ifeltlockedintoaninvisiblebubble,allmysensestrainedonthewarmhandthathadclosedaroundmine,thearmthatcreptaroundmyshoulders.Hiseverymovementfeltheavywithintent.Iwasalmostbreathlesswithit.Icouldlivewiththeabsences,Ithought,ifthetimeswespenttogetherfeltasdeliciousasthis.

Wewerebarelyintheliftwhenheturnedandpulledmetohim.Wekissed,andImelted,lostmyselfinthefeelofhimagainstme,mybloodpulsinginmyearssothatIbarelyheardtheliftdoorsopen.Westaggeredout.

“Doorthing,”hesaid,pattinghispocketswithsomeurgency.“Doorthing!WheredidIputit?”

“I’vegotit,”Isaid,wrestlingitoutofmybackpocket.

“ThankGod,”hesaid,ashekickedthedoorshutbehindus,hisvoicelowinmyear.“YouhavenoideahowlongI’vebeenthinkingaboutthis.”

—TwominuteslaterIwaslyingontheBurgundyBedspreadofDoom,sweatcoolingonmyskin,wonderingwhetheritwouldbereallybadifIreacheddowntogetmyknickers.Despitethebedbugchecks,therewasstillsomethingaboutthiscoverthatmademewantabarrierbetweenitandanypartofmybarebody.

Sam’svoicefloatedintotheairbesideme.“Sorry,”hemurmured.“IknewIwaspleasedtoseeyou,butnotthatpleased.”

“It’sfine,”Isaid,turningtofacehim.Hehadthiswayofpullingmeintohim,likehewasgatheringmeup,sothatIwastotallyenclosed.Ihadneverunderstoodwomenwhosaidamanmadethemfeelsafe—butthatwashowIfeltwithSam.Hiseyesweredrooping,battlingsleep.Icalculateditwasaroundthreeinthemorningforhimnow.Hedroppedakissonmynose.“GivemetwentyminutesandI’llbegoodtogo.”

Iranmyfingerlightlyalonghisface,tracinghislips,andshiftedsothathecouldpullthecoversoverus.Iplacedmylegoverhis,sothattherewasalmostnopartofmenottouchinghim.Eventhatmovement

causedsomethinginmetoignite.Idon’tknowwhatitwasaboutSamthatmademeunlikemyself—withoutinhibition,fullofhunger.IwasnotsureIcouldtouchhisskinwithoutfeelingthatreflexiveinternalheat.Icouldglanceoverathisshoulders,theheftofhisforearms,thebabysoftdarkhairswherehisneckbecamehishairline,andIwouldfeelalmostincandescentwithlust.

“Iloveyou,LouisaClark,”hesaidsoftly.

“Twentyminutes,hmm?”Isaid,smiling,andhookedhimintighter.

Buthedroppedintosleeplikesomeonesteppingoffacliff.Iwatchedhimforawhile,wonderingwhetheritwouldbepossibletowakehim,andwhatmeansImightemploytodoit,butthenIrememberedhowdisorientedandexhaustedIhadbeenwhenI’darrived.AndthenIthoughtofhowhehadjustdoneaweekoftwelve-hourshifts.Andthatitwasonlyafewhoursintoourwholethreedaystogether.WithasighIreleasedhimandfloppedontomyback.Itwasdarkoutsidenow,thesoundsofthedistanttrafficfloatinguptous.IfeltamillionthingsandIwasdisconcertedtofindthatonewasdisappointment.

Stop,Itoldmyselffirmly.Myexpectationsforthisweekendhadsimplyrisen,likeasoufflé,toohighforsustainedcontactwiththeatmosphere.Hewashere,andweweretogether,andinafewhourswewouldbeawakeagain.Gotosleep,Clark,Itoldmyself.Ipulledhisarmoverme,inhalingthescentofhiswarmskin.Andclosedmyeyes.

—Anhourandahalflater,Iwaslyingonthefarsideofthebed,scrollingthroughFacebookonmyphone,marvelingatMum’sapparentlyinfiniteappetiteformotivationalquotesandphotographsofThominhisschooluniform.Itwashalfpastten,andsleepwasuninterestedinstoppingby.Iclimbedoutofbedandusedthebathroom,leavingthelightoffsothatSamwouldn’tbewokenbythescreechingfan.Ihesitatedbeforeclimbingbackin.ThesaggingmattressmeantthatSamhadtippedgentlyintothemiddle,leavingmeafewinchesontheedgeunlessIprettymuchlayontopofhim.Iwonderedidlyifanhourandahalf’ssleepwasenough.AndthenIclimbedin,slidmybodyagainsthiswarmoneand,afteramoment’shesitation,Ikissedhim.

Sam’sbodycametobeforehedid.Hisarmpulledmein,hisbighandslidingthelengthofmybody,andhekissedmeback,slow,sleep-filledkissesthatweretenderandsoftandmademybodyarchagainsthis.Ishiftedsothathisweightwasonme,myhandseekinghis,myfingerslinkingwithhis,asighofpleasureescapingme.Hewantedme.HeopenedhiseyesinthedimlightandIlookedintothem,heavywithlonging,notingwithsurprisethathehadalreadybrokenintoasweat.

Hegazedatmeforamoment.

“Hello,handsome,”Iwhispered.

Hemadeasiftospeakbutnothingcameout.

Helookedofftotheside.Andthensuddenlyheclamberedoffme.

“What?”Isaid.“WhatdidIsay?”

“Sorry,”hesaid.“Holdon.”

Heboltedforthebathroom,hurlingitshutbehindhim.Iheardan“Oh,God,”andthensoundsthat,foronce,Iwasgratefulthatthescreechingextractorfanlargelyobscured.

Isatthere,frozen,thenclimbedoutofbed,pullingonaT-shirt.“Sam?”

Ileanedintothedoor,pressingmyearagainstit,thenbackedaway.Intimacy,Iobserved,couldonlysurvivesomuchinthewayofsoundeffects.

“Sam?Areyouokay?”

“Fine,”camehismuffledvoice.

Hewasnotfine.

“What’sgoingon?”

Alonggap.Thesoundofflushing.

“I—uh—IthinkImayhavefoodpoisoning.”

“Seriously?CanIdoanything?”

“No.Just—justdon’tcomein.Okay?”Thiswasfollowedbymoreretchingandsoftcursing.“Don’tcomein.”

—

Wespentalmosttwohourslikethat:himlockedinsomeawfulbattlewithhisinternalorgansononesideofthedoor,mesittinganxiouslyinmyT-shirtontheother.Herefusedtoletmecheckonhim—hispride,Ithink,forbadeit.

Themanwhofinallycameoutshortlybeforeoneo’clockwasthecolorofputty,withaVaselineglaze.Iscrambledtomyfeetasthedooropenedandhestaggeredslightly,asifsurprisedtoseemestillthere.Ireachedoutahand,asifIhadanyhopeofstoppingsomeonehissizefalling.“WhatshallIdo?Doyouneedadoctor?”

“No.Just...justgottositthisoneout.”Hefloppedontothebed,pantingandclutchinghisstomach.Hiseyeswereringedwithblackshadows,andhestaredstraightahead.“Literally.”

“I’llgetyousomewater.”Istaredathim.“Actually,I’mgoingtoruntoapharmacyandgetyousomeDioralyteorwhatevertheyhavehere.”Hedidn’tevenspeak,justtoppledontohisside,staringstraightahead,hisbodystilldampwithsweat.

—Igottherequiredmedication,offeringupsilentthankstotheCitythatDidn’tJustNotSleepbutOfferedRehydrationPowdersToo.Samchuggedonedown,andthen,withanapology,retreatedtothebathroomagain.OccasionallyIwouldpassabottleofwaterthroughagapinthedoor,andintheendIturnedonthetelevision.

“Sorry,”hemuttered,whenhestumbledoutagain,shortlybeforefour.AndthenhecollapsedontotheBedspreadofDoomandfellintoabrief,disjointedsleep.

Isleptforacoupleofhours,coveredwiththehotelrobe,andwoketofindhimstillasleep.Ishoweredandgotdressed,lettingmyselfoutsilentlysothatIcouldgrabacoffeefromthemachineinthelobby.Ifeltbleary.Atleast,Itoldmyself,westillhadtwodaystogo.

ButwhenIwalkedbackintotheroomSamwasinthebathroomagain.

“Reallysorry,”hesaid,whenheemerged.Ihadpulledthecurtainsandindaylighthelooked,ifanything,grayeragainstthehotelsheets.“I’mnotsureI’muptomuchtoday.”

“That’sfine!”Isaid.

“Imightbeokaybythisafternoon,”hesaid.

“Fine!”

“Maybenottheferrytrip,though.ThinkIdon’twanttobeanywherewhere...”

“...therearecommunalloos.Igetit.”

Hesighed.“ThisisnotquitethedayIhadinmind.”

“It’sfine,”Isaid,climbingontothebedbesidehim.

“Willyoustopsayingit’sfine,”hesaidirritably.

Ihesitatedamoment,stung,thensaidicily,“Fine.”

Helookedatmefromthecornerofhiseye.“Sorry.”

“Stopapologizing.”

Wesatonthebedspread,bothlookingstraightahead.Andthenhishandreachedacrossformine.“Listen,”hesaideventually.“I’mprobablyjustgoingtohanghereforacoupleofhours.Tryandgetmystrengthback.Don’tfeelyouhavetositwithme.Goshoppingorsomething.”

“Butyou’reonlyheretillMonday.Idon’twanttodoanythingwithoutyou.”

“I’mgoodfornothing,Lou.”

Helookedlikehecouldhavepunchedawall,ifhe’donlyhadthestrengthtoraisehisfist.

—Iwalkedtwoblockstoanewsstandandboughtanarmfulofnewspapersandmagazines.Ithenboughtmyselfadecentcoffeeandabranmuffin,andaplainwhitebagelforwhenhemightwanttoeatsomething.

“Supplies,”Isaid,droppingthemonmysideofthebed.“Mightaswelljustburrowin.”Andthatwashowwespenttheday.IreadeverysinglesectionoftheNewYorkTimes,includingthebaseballreports.I

puttheDoNotDisturbsignonthedoor,watchedhimdozingandwaitedforcolortoreturntohisface.

Maybehe’llfeelbetterintimeforustohaveawalkindaylight.

Maybewecouldgrabadrinkinthehotelbar.

Sittingupwouldbegood.

Okay,somaybehe’llbebettertomorrow.

Atnineforty-fivewhenIturnedoffthetelevisionchatshow,pushedallthenewspapersoffthebedandburroweddownundertheduvet,theonlypartofmybodystilltouchinghiswasmyfingers,entwinedwithhisatthetips.

—HewokefeelingalittlebrighteronSunday.Ithinkbythentherewassolittleinhissystemthattherewasnothinglefttocomeout.Iboughthimsomeclearsoupandheateittentativelyandpronouncedhimselfwellenoughtogoforawalk.Twentyminuteslaterwejoggedbackandhelockedhimselfintothebathroom.Hewasreallyangrythen.Itriedtotellhimitwasokaybutthatjustseemedtomakehimangrier.There’snotmuchthat’smorepatheticthanasix-foot-fourman-mountaintryingtobefuriouswhilehecanbarelyliftaglassofwater.

Ididleavehimforabitthenbecausemydisappointmentwasstartingtoshow.Ineededtowalkthestreetsandremindmyselfthatthiswasn’tasign,itdidn’tmeananything,andthatitwaseasytoloseperspectivewhenyou’dhadnosleepandhadbeenstuckforforty-eighthourswithagastro-intestinallychallengedmanandabathroomwithdeeplyinadequatesoundproofing.

ButthefactthatitwasnowSundayleftmeheartbroken.Iwasbackatworktomorrow.AndwehaddonenoneofthethingsI’dplanned.Wehadn’tgonetoaballgameorontheStatenIslandferry.Wehadn’tclimbedtothetopoftheEmpireStateorwalkedtheHighLinearminarm.ThatnightwesatinbedandheatesomeboiledriceIhadpickedupfromasushirestaurantandIateagrilledchickensandwichthattastedofnothing.

“Ontherighttracknow,”hemurmured,asIpulledthecoveroverhim.

“Great,”Isaid.Andthenhewasasleep.

—Icouldn’tfaceanothereveningofscrollingthroughmyphonesoIgotupquietly,lefthimanote,andheadedout.Ifeltmiserableandoddlyangry.Whyhadheeatensomethingthathadgivenhimfoodpoisoning?Whycouldn’themakehimselfbetterquicker?Hewasaparamedicafterall.Whycouldn’thehavepickedanicerhotel?IwalkeddownSixthAvenue,myhandsthrustdeepintomypockets,thetrafficblaringaroundme,andbeforelongIfoundmyselfheadedtowardhome.

Home.

Withastart,IrealizedthatwashowInowthoughtofit.

Ashokwasundertheawning,chattingtoanotherdoorman,whomovedawayassoonasIapproached.

“Hey,MissLouisa.Aren’tyoumeanttobewiththatboyfriendofyours?”

“He’ssick,”Isaid.“Foodpoisoning.”

“You’rekiddingme.Whereishenow?”

“Sleeping.Ijust...couldn’tfacesittinginthatroomforanothertwelvehours.”Ifeltsuddenly,oddly,closetotears.IthinkAshokcouldseeitbecausehemotionedmetocomein.Inhislittleporter’sroomheboiledakettleandmademeaminttea.Isatathisdeskandsippedit,whilehepeeredoutnowandthentomakesureMrs.DeWittwasn’taroundtoaccusehimofslacking.“Anyway,”Isaid,“whyareyouonduty?Ithoughtitwasthenightguy.”

“He’ssicktoo.Mywifeissupermadatmerightnow.She’smeanttobeatoneofherlibrarymeetingsbutwedon’thaveanybodytolookafterthekids.ShesaysifIspendonemoreofmydaysoffhereshe’sgoingtohaveawordwithMr.Ovitzherself.Andnobodywantsthat.”Heshookhishead.“Mywifeisafearsomewoman,MissLouisa.Youdonotwanttoupsetmywife.”

“I’doffertohelp.ButIthinkI’dbettergobackandcheckonSam.”

“Besweet,”hesaid,asIhandedhimhismug.“Hecamealongwaytoseeyou.AndIcanguaranteeheisfeelingwayworsethanyouarerightnow.”

—WhenIgotbacktotheroom,Samwasawake,proppeduponpillowsandwatchingthegrainytelevision.HelookedupasIopenedthedoor.

“Ijustwentforawalk.I—I—”

“Couldn’tfaceonemoreminutestuckinherewithme.”

Istoodinthedoorway.Hisheadwassunkintohisshoulders.Helookedpaleandunutterablydepressed.

“Lou—ifyouknewhowhardI’mkickingmyself—”

“It’sfi—”Istoppedmyselfjustintime.“Really,”Isaid.“We’regood.”

Iranhimashower,madehimgetinandwashedhishair,squeezingthelastoutofthetinyhotelbottle,thenwatchedthesudsslidedownthehugeslopeofhisshoulders.AsIdidhereachedup,tookmyhandsilently,andkissedtheinsideofmywristsoftly,akissofapology.Iplacedthetoweloverhisshouldersandwemadeourwayouttothebedroom.Helaybackonthebedwithasigh.Ichangedoutofmyclothesandlaydownbesidehim,wishingIdidn’tstillfeelsoflat.

“TellmesomethingaboutyouthatIdon’tknow,”hesaid.

Iturnedtowardhim.“Oh,youknoweverything.I’manopenbook.”

“C’mon.Indulgeme.”Hisvoicewaslowagainstmyear.Icouldn’tthinkofanything.IstillfeltreallyoddlyannoyedaboutthisweekendeventhoughIknowthat’sunfairofme.

“Okay,”hesaid,whenitwasclearIwasn’tgoingtospeak.“I’llstartthen.Iamnevereatinganythingbutwhitetoastagain.”

“Funny.”

Hestudiedmyfaceforamoment.Whenhespokeagainhisvoicewasunusuallyquiet.“Andthingshaven’tbeeneasyathome.”

“Whatdoyoumean?”

Ittookaminutebeforehespokeagain,asifhewasn’tsureeventhenifheshould.“It’swork.Youknow,beforeIgotshotIwasn’tafraidofanything.Icouldhandlemyself.IguessIreckonedIwasabitofatoughguy.Now,though,whathappened,it’satthebackofmymindallthetime.”

Itriednottolookstartled.

Herubbedathisface.“SinceI’vebeenbackIfindmyselfassessingsituationsaswegoin...differently,tryingtoworkoutexitroutes,potentialsourcesoftrouble.Evenwhenthere’snoreasonto.”

“You’refrightened?”

“Yeah.Me.”Helaugheddrily,andshookhishead.“They’veofferedmecounseling.Oh,IknowthedrillfromwhenIwasinthearmy.Talkitthrough,understandit’syourmind’swayofprocessingwhathappened.Iknowitall.Butit’sdisconcerting.”Herolledontohisback.“Totellyouthetruth,Idon’tfeellikemyself.”

Iwaited.

“That’swhyithitsohardwhenDonnaleftbecause...becauseIknewshe’dalwayslookoutforme.”

“Butthisnewpartnerwilllookoutforyou,surely.What’shername?”

“Katie.”

“Katiewilllookoutforyou.Imean,she’sexperienced,andyouguysmustbetrainedtotakecareofeachother,right?”

Hisgazeslidtowardme.

“Youwon’tbeshotagain,Sam.Iknowyouwon’t.”

AfterwardIrealizeditwasastupidthingtosay.I’dsaiditbecauseIcouldn’tbeartheideaofhimbeingunhappy.I’dsaiditbecauseIwantedittobetrue.

“I’llbefine,”hesaid,quietly.

IfeltasifI’dfailedhim.Iwonderedhowlonghe’dwantedtotellmethat.Welaythereforawhile.Iranafingerlightlyalonghisarm,tryingtoworkoutwhattosay.

“You?”hemurmured.

“Mewhat?”

“TellmesomethingIdon’tknow.Aboutyou.”

Iwasgoingtotellhimheknewalltheimportantstuff.IwasgoingtobemyNewYorkself,fulloflife,go-getting,impenetrable.Iwasgoingtosaysomethingtomakehimlaugh.Buthehadtoldmehistruth.

IturnedsothatIwasfacinghim.“Thereisonething.ButIdon’twantyoutoseemedifferently.IfItellyou.”

Hefrowned.

“It’ssomethingthathappenedalongtimeago.Butyoutoldmeathing.SoI’mgoingtodothesame.”Itookabreaththenandtoldhim.ItoldhimthestoryIhadonlyevertoldWill,amanwhohadlistenedandthenreleasedmefromtheholdithadhadoverme.ItoldSamthestoryofagirlwho,tenyearspreviously,haddrunktoomuchandsmokedtoomuchandfoundtohercostthatjustbecauseagangofboyscamefromgoodfamiliesitdidn’tmakethemgood.Itolditinacalmvoice,alittledetached.Thesedaysitdidn’treallyfeellikeithadhappenedtome,afterall.Samlistenedintheneardark,hiseyesonmine,sayingnothing.

“It’soneofthereasonscomingtoNewYorkanddoingthiswassoimportanttome.Iboxedmyselfinforyears,Sam.ItoldmyselfthatwaswhatIneededtofeelsafe.Andnow...well,nowIguessIneedtopushmyself.IneedtoknowwhatI’mcapableofifIstoplookingdown.”

WhenIhadfinishedhewassilentforalongtime,longenoughthatIhadamomentarydoubtastowhetherIshouldhavetoldhimatall.Buthereachedoutahandandstrokedmyhair.“I’msorry,”hesaid.“IwishI’dbeentheretoprotectyou.Iwish—”

“It’sfine,”Isaid.“Itwasalongtimeago.”

“It’snotfine.”Hepulledmetohim.Irestedmyheadagainsthischest,absorbingthesteadybeatofhisheart.

“Just,youknow,don’tlookatmedifferently,”Iwhispered.

“Ican’thelplookingatyoudifferently.”

ItiltedmyheadsothatIcouldseehim.

“OnlyinthatIthinkyou’reevenmoreamazing,”hesaid,andhisarmsclosedaroundme.“Ontopofalltheotherreasonstoloveyou,you’rebrave,andstrong,andyoujustremindedme...weallhaveourhurdles.I’llgetovermine.ButIpromiseyou,LouisaClark.”Hisvoice,whenitcame,waslowandtender.“Nobodyisevergoingtohurtyouagain.”

M

9

From:BusyBee@gmail.comTo:SillyLily@gmail.com

Hey,Lily!InhasteasI’mtappingthisoutonthesubway(I’malwaysinhastethesedays)

butlovelytohearfromyou.Gladschoolisgoingsowell,thoughitsoundslikeyouwerequiteluckywiththesmokingthing.Mrs.Traynorisright—itwouldbeashameifyougotexpelledbeforeyou’deventakenyourexams.

ButI’mnotgoingtolectureyou.NewYorkisamazing.I’menjoyingeverymoment.And,yes,itwouldbelovelyifyoucameoutherebutIthinkyou’dhavetostayinahotelsoyoumightwanttospeaktoyourparentsfirst.Also,I’mquitebusyasmyhourswiththeGopniksarelongsoIwouldn’thavemuchtimetohangoutjustnow.

Samisfine,thanks.No,hehasn’tdumpedmeyet.Infacthe’shererightnow.Heheadshomelatertoday.Youcantalktohimaboutborrowinghismotorbikewhenhe’sback.Ithinkthatmaybeoneforthetwoofyoutosortoutbetweenyou.

Okay—mystopiscomingup.GiveMrs.Tmylove.TellherI’vebeendoingthethingsyourdaddidinhisletters(notallofthem:Ihaven’tbeenonanydateswithleggyblondPRgirls).Louxxx

yalarmwentoffatsixthirtya.m.,abrittlemicro-sirenbreakingthesilence.IhadtobebackattheGopniks’forseventhirty.Ilet

outasoftgroanasIreachedacrosstothebedsidetableandfumbledtoturnitoff.IhadfigureditwouldtakemefifteenminutestowalkbacktoCentralPark.Imentallyranthrougharapidto-dolist,wonderingiftherewasanyshampooleftinthebathroomandwhetherIwouldneedtoironmytop.

Sam’sarmreachedacrossandpulledmetowardhim.“Don’tgo,”hesaidsleepily.

“Ihaveto.”Hisarmwaspinningme.

“Belate.”Heopenedoneeye.Hesmelledwarmandsweetandhekepthisgazeonmineasheslowlyslidaheavy,muscularlegoverme.

Itwasimpossibletorefusehim.Samwasfeelingbetter.Quitealotbetter,apparently.

“Ineedtogetdressed.”

Hewaskissingmycollarbone,featherykissesthatmademeshiver.Hismouth,lightandfocused,begantotraceapatterndownwards.Helookedupatmefromunderthecover,oneeyebrowraised.“I’dforgottenthesescars.Ireallylovethesescarshere.”Heloweredhisheadandkissedthesilveryridgesonmyhipthatmarkedmysurgery,makingmesquirm,thendisappeared.

“Sam,Ineedtogo.Really.”Myfingersclosedaroundthebedspread.“Sam...Sam...Ireally...oh.”

Sometimelater,myskinpricklingwithdryingsweat,breathinghard,Ilayonmystomachwearingastupidsmile,mymusclesachinginunexpectedplaces.MyhairwasovermyfacebutIcouldn’tsummontheenergytopushitaway.Astrandroseandfellwithmybreath.Samlaybesideme.Hishandfeltitswayacrossthesheettomine.“Imissedyou,”hesaid.Heshiftedandrolledoversothathewasontopofme,holdingmeinplace.“LouisaClark,”hemurmured,andhisvoice,impossiblydeep,resonatedsomewhereinsideme.“Youdosomethingtome.”

“Ithinkitwasyouwhodidsomethingtome,ifwe’regoingtogettechnicalaboutit.”

Hisfacewasfilledwithtenderness.IliftedmyownsothatIcouldkisshim.Itwasasifthelastforty-eighthourshadfallenaway.Iwasintherightplace,withtherightman,andhisarmswerearoundmeandhisbodywasbeautifulandfamiliar.Iranafingerdownhischeek,thenleanedinandkissedhimslowly.

“Don’tdothatagain,”hesaid,hiseyesonmine.

“Why?”

“BecausethenIwon’tbeabletohelpmyselfandyou’realreadylateandIdon’twanttoberesponsibleforyoulosingyourjob.”

Iturnedmyheadtoseethealarm.Iblinked.“Quartertoeight?Areyoukidding?Howthehellisitaquartertoeight?”Iwriggledoutfromunderhim,myarmsflapping,andhoppedtothebathroom.“Oh,myGod.Iamsolate.Oh,no—oh,nonononono.”

Ithrewmyselfunderashowersorapidit’spossiblethedropletsdidn’tmakecontactwithmybody,andwhenIemergedhestoodandheldoutitemsofclothingformesothatIcouldslideintothem.

“Shoes.Wherearemyshoes?”

Heheldthemup.“Hair,”hesaid,gesturing.“Youneedtocombyourhair.It’sall...well...”

“What?”

“Matted.Sexy.Just-had-sexhair.I’llpackyourthings,”hesaid.AsIranforthedoorhecaughtmebythearmandpulledmetohim.“Oryoucould,youknow,justbeatinybitlater.”

“Iamlater.Solater.”

“It’sjustonce.She’syournewbestmate.They’rehardlygoingtofireyou.”HeputhisarmsaroundmeandkissedmeandranhislipsdownthesideofmynecksothatIshivered.“Andthisismylastmorninghere...”

“Sam...”

“Fiveminutes.”

“It’sneverfiveminutes.Oh,man—Ican’tbelieveI’msayingthatlikeit’sabadthing.”

Hegrowledwithfrustration.“Dammit.Ifeelokaytoday.Likereallyokay.”

“Believeme,Icantell.”

“Sorry,”hesaid.Andthen:“No,I’mnot.Notremotely.”

Igrinnedathim,closedmyeyesandkissedhimback,feelingeventhenhoweasyitwouldbejusttotopplebackontotheBurgundyBedspreadofDoomandlosemyselfagain.“Meeither.I’llseeyoulater,though.”Iwriggledoutofhisarmsandranoutoftheroomandalongthecorridor,listeningtohisyelled“Iloveyou!”Andthinkingthatdespitepotentialbedbugs,unsanitarybedspreads,andinadequatebathroomsoundproofing,actually,thiswasaverynicehotelindeed.

—

Mr.Gopnikwassufferingacutepaininhislegsandhadbeenawakehalfthenight,whichhadleftAgnesanxiousandfractious.Shehadhadabadweekendatthecountryclub,theotherwomenfreezingheroutofconversationandgossipingaboutherinthespa.FromthewayNathanwhisperedthisasIpassedhiminthelobby,itsoundedlikethirteen-year-oldgirlsonatoxicsleepover.

“You’relate,”Agnesgrowled,asshereturnedfromherrunwithGeorge,moppingherfacewithatowel.InthenextroomIcouldhearMr.Gopnik’suncharacteristicallyraisedvoiceonthetelephone.Shedidn’tlookatmeasshespoke.

“I’msorry.It’sbecausemy...”Ibegan,butshehadalreadywalkedpast.

“She’sfreakingoutaboutthecharityreceptionthisevening,”murmuredMichael,headingpastmewithanarmfulofdry-cleaningandaclipboard.

IrackedmymentalRolodex.“Children’sCancerHospital?”

“Theveryone,”hesaid.“She’smeanttobringadoodle.”

“Adoodle?”

“Alittlepicture.Onaspecialcard.Theyauctionthemoffatthedinner.”

“Sohowhardisthat?Shecandoasmileyfaceoraflowerorsomething.I’lldoitifshelikes.Icandoameansmilinghorse.Icanputahatonittoo,withtheearsstickingout.”IwasstillfullofSamandfoundithardtoseetheprobleminanything.

Helookedatme.“Sweetheart.Youthink‘doodle’meansactualdoodle?Oh,no.Ithastoberealart.”

“IgotaBinGCSEart.”

“You’resosweet.No,Louisa,theydon’tdoitthemselves.EveryartistbetweenhereandBrooklynBridgehasapparentlyspenttheweekendcreatingsomedeliciouslittlepen-and-inkstudyforcold,hardcash.Sheonlyfoundoutlastnight.OverheardtwooftheWitchestalkingaboutitbeforeshelefttheclubandwhensheaskedthemtheytoldherthetruth.Soguesswhatyou’redoingtoday?Haveagreatmorning!”

Heblewmeakissandhurriedoutofthedoor.

—WhileAgnesshoweredandhadbreakfastIdidanonlinesearchof“artistsinNewYork.”Itwasaboutasmuchuseassearching“dogswithtails.”ThefewwhohadwebsitesandbotheredtopickupthephoneansweredmyrequestlikeI’dsuggestedtheywaltznakedaroundthenearestshoppingmall.“YouwantMr.Fischltodoa...doodle?Foracharitylunch?”Twoputthephonedownonme.Artists,itturnedout,tookthemselvesveryseriously.

IcalledeveryoneIcouldfind.IcalledgalleristsinChelsea.IcalledtheNewYorkAcademyofArt.AllthewhileItriednottothinkaboutwhatSamwasdoing.Hewouldbehavinganicebrunchinthatdinerwe’dtalkedabout.HewouldbewalkingtheHighLine,likeweweremeantto.IneededtobebackintimetotakethatferryridewithhimbeforeheleftforEngland.Todoitatduskwouldberomantic.Ipicturedus,hisarmaroundme,gazingupattheStatueofLiberty,droppingakissonmyhair.Idraggedmythoughtsbackandrackedmybrains.AndthenIthoughtabouttheonlyotherpersonIknewinNewYorkwhomightbeabletohelp.

—“Josh?”

“Speaking?”Thesoundofamillionmalevoicesbehindhim.

“It’s—it’sLouisaClark.WemetattheYellowBall?”

“Louisa!Greattohearfromyou!Howareyoudoing?”Hesoundedsorelaxed,asifstrangewomencalledhimeverydayoftheweek.Theyprobablydid.“Holdon.Letmetakethisoutside...Sowhat’sup?”

Hehadthiswayofmakingyoufeelinstantlyatease.IwonderedifAmericanswerebornwithit.

“Actually,I’minabitofabindandIdon’tknowmanypeopleinNewYorksoIwonderedifyoumightbeabletohelp.”

“Tryme.”

Iexplainedthesituation,leavingoutAgnes’smood,herparanoia,myutterstammeringterrorfacedwiththeNewYorkartscene.

“Shouldn’tbetoohard.Whendoyouneedthisthingby?”

“That’sthetrickybit.Tonight.”

Asharpintakeofbreath.“Oooh-kay.Yeah.That’salittletougher.”

Iranahandthroughmyhair.“Iknow.It’snuts.IfI’dknownaboutitsoonerImighthavebeenabletodosomething.I’mreallysorrytohavebotheredyou.”

“No,no.We’llfixthis.CanIcallyouback?”

Agneswasoutonthebalcony,smoking.TurnsoutIwasn’ttheonlypersonwhousedthespaceafterall.Itwascoldandshewasswaddledinahugecashmerewrap,herfingersfaintlypinkwhereherhandemergedfromthesoftwool.

“I’veputoutanumberofcalls.I’mjustwaitingforsomeonetogetbacktome.”

“Youknowwhattheywillsay,Louisa?IfIbringthemstupiddoodle?”

Iwaited.

“TheywillsayIhavenoculture.WhatcanyouexpectfromstupidPolishmasseuse?Ortheywillsaythatnobodywantedtodoitforme.”

“It’sonlytwelvetwenty.We’vestillgottime.”

“Idon’tknowwhyIbother,”shesaidsoftly.

Strictlyspeaking,Iwantedtosay,itwasn’therdoingthebothering.HerchiefconcernrightnowseemedtobeSmokingandLookingMoody.ButIknewmyplace.Justthenmyphonerang.

“Louisa?”

“Josh?”

“IthinkIhavesomeonewhocanhelp.CanyougetovertoEastWilliamsburg?”

—TwentyminuteslaterwewereinthecarheadedtowardtheMidtownTunnel.

Aswesatinthetraffic,Garryimpassiveandsilentinthefront,AgnescalledMr.Gopnik,anxiousabouthishealth,hispain.“IsNathancomingtotheoffice?Didyouhavepainkillers?...Areyousureyou’reokay,darling?Youdon’twantmetocomebringyouanything?...No...I’minthecar.Ihavetosortsomethingforthisevening.Yes,I’mstillgoing.It’sallfine.”

Icouldjustmakeouthisvoiceattheotherend.Low,reassuring.

Shehungupandgazedoutofthewindow,heavingalongsigh.Iwaitedamoment,thenstartedrunningthroughmynotes.

“So,apparentlythisStevenLipkottisup-and-cominginthefine-artworld.He’shadshowsinsomeveryimportantplaces.Andhe’s”—Iscannedmynotes—“figurative.Notabstract.Soyoujustneedtotellhimwhatyouwanthimtodrawandhe’lldoit.I’mnotsurehowmuchitwillcost,though.”

“Itdoesn’tmatter,”saidAgnes.“Isgoingtobedisaster.”

IturnedbacktotheiPadanddidanonlinesearchontheartist’sname.Withrelief,Inotedthatthedrawingswereindeedbeautiful:sinuousdepictionsofthebody.IhandedtheiPadtoAgnessothatshecouldseeandinamomenthermoodlifted.“Thisisgood.”Shesoundedalmostsurprised.

“Yup.Ifyoucanthinkofwhatyouwant,wecangethimtodrawitandbebackfor...fourmaybe?”AndthenIcanleave,Iaddedsilently.Whileshescrolledthroughtheotherimages,ItextedSam.

—Howyoudoing?

—Notbad.Wentforanicewalk.Boughtsouvenir

beerhatforJake.Don’tlaugh.

—WishIwaswithyou.

Apause.

—Sowhattimedoyouthinkyou’llgetoff?I

workedoutIshouldleavefortheairportby

seven.

—Hopingforfour.Willstayintouchxxxxx

NewYorktrafficmeantittookusanhourtogettotheaddressJoshhadgivenme:ascruffy,featurelessformerofficebuildingattheback

ofanindustrialblock.Garrypulledupwithaskepticalsniff.“Yousurethisistheplace?”hesaid,turningwitheffortinhisseat.

Icheckedtheaddress.“That’swhatitsays.”

“Iwillstayincar,Louisa.IamgoingtocallLeonardagain.”

Theuppercorridorwaslinedwithdoors,acoupleofwhichwereopen,musicblaring.Iwalkedalongslowly,checkingthenumbers.Somehadtinsofwhiteemulsionpaintoutside,andIwalkedpastanopendoorrevealingawomaninbaggyjeansstretchingacanvasoverahugewoodframe.

“Hi!DoyouknowwhereStevenis?”

Shefiredabatteryofstaplesfromahugemetalgunintoaframe.“Fourteen.ButIthinkhejustwentoutforfood.”

Fourteenwasatthefarend.Iknocked,thenpushedthedoortentativelyandwalkedin.Thestudiowaslinedwithcanvases,twohugetablescoveredwithsloppytraysofoilpaintsandbatteredpastelcrayons.Thewallswerehungwithbeautifuloversizedpicturesofwomeninvariousstatesofundress,someunfinished.Theairsmelledofpaint,turpentine,andstalecigarettesmoke.

“Hello.”

Iturnedtoseeamanholdingawhiteplasticbag.Hewasaroundthirty,hisfeaturesregularbuthisgazeintense,hischinunshaven,hisclothescrumpledandutilitarian,asifhehadbarelynoticedwhathe’dputon.Helookedlikeamalemodelinaparticularlyesotericfashionmagazine.

“Hi.LouisaClark.Wespokeonthephoneearlier?Well,wedidn’t—yourfriendJoshtoldmetocome.”

“Oh,yeah.Youwanttobuyadrawing.”

“Notassuch.Weneedyoutodoadrawing.Justasmallone.”

Hesatdownonasmallstool,openedhiscartonofnoodles,andstartedtoeat,hoickingthemintohismouthwithrapidstrokesofhischopsticks.

“It’sforacharitything.Peopledothesedoo—Smalldrawings,”Icorrectedmyself.“AndapparentlyalotofthetopartistsinNewYorkaredoingthemforotherpeopleso—”

“‘Topartists,’”herepeated.

“Well.Yes.Apparentlyit’snotthedonethingtodoyourownandAgnes—myemployer—reallyneedssomeonebrillianttodooneforher.”Myvoicesoundedhighandanxious.“Imean,itshouldn’ttakeyoulong.We—wedon’twantanythingfancy...”

HewasstaringatmeandIheardmyvoicetrailoff,thinanduncertain.

“We—wecanpay.Quitewell,”Iadded.“Andit’sforcharity.”

Hetookanothermouthful,peeringintentlyintohiscarton.Istoodbythewindowandwaited.

“Yeah,”hesaidwhenhehadfinishedchewing.“I’mnotyourman.”

“ButJoshsaid—”

“Youwantmetocreatesomethingtosatisfytheegoofsomewomanwhocan’tdrawanddoesn’twanttobeshownupinfrontofherladieswholunch...”Heshookhishead.“Youwantmetodrawyouagreetingcard.”

“Mr.Lipkott.Please.Iprobablyhaven’texplaineditverywell.I—”

“Youexplaineditjustfine.”

“ButJoshsaid—”

“Joshsaidnothingaboutgreetingcards.Ihatethatcharitydinnershit.”

“Mealso.”Agnesstoodinthedoorway.Shetookastepintotheroom,glancingdowntomakesureshewasnotsteppingontooneofthetubesofpaintorbitsofpaperthatlitteredthefloor.Sheheldoutalong,palehand.“AgnesGopnik.Ihatethischarityshittoo.”

StevenLipkottstoodslowlyandthen,almostasifitwereanimpulsefromamorecourtlyagethathehadlittlecontrolover,raisedhishandtoshakehers.Hecouldn’ttakehiseyesfromherface.IhadforgottenthatAgnesgotyoulikethatatfirstmeeting.

“Mr.Lipkott—isthatright?Lipkott?Iknowthisisnotanormalthingforyou.ButIhavetogotothisthingwithroomofwitches.Youknow?Actualwitches.AndIdrawlikethree-year-oldinmittens.IfIhavetogoandshowthemmydrawingtheybitchaboutmemorethantheydoalready.”Shesatdownandpulledacigarettefromher

handbag.Shereachedacrossandpickedupalighterthatsatononeofhispaintingtablesandlithercigarette.StevenLipkottwasstillwatchingher,hischopstickslooseinhishand.

“Iamnotfromthisplace.IamPolishmasseuse.Thereisnoshameinthis.ButIdonotwanttogivethesewitcheschancetolookdownonmeagain.Doyouknowhowitistohavepeoplelookdownonyou?”Sheexhaled,gazingathim,herheadtilted,sothatsmoketrickledhorizontallytowardhim.Ithoughthemightactuallyhaveinhaled.

“I—uh—yeah.”

“SoitisonesmallthingIamaskingyou.Tohelpme.Iknowthisisnotyourthingandthatyouareseriousartist,butIreallyneedhelp.AndIwillpayyouverygoodmoney.”

Theroomfellsilent.Aphonevibratedinmybackpocket.Itriedtoignoreit.ForthatmomentIknewIshouldnotmove.Wethreestoodthereforaneternity.

“Okay,”hesaidfinally.“Butononecondition.”

“Nameit.”

“Idrawyou.”

Foraminutenobodyspoke.Agnesraisedaneyebrow,thentookaslowdragofhercigarette,hereyesnotleavinghis.“Me.”

“Can’tbethefirsttimesomeone’sasked.”

“Whyme?”

“Don’tplaytheingénue.”

Hesmiledthen,andshekeptherfacestraight,asifdecidingwhethertobeinsulted.Hereyesdroppedtoherfeet,and,whensheliftedthem,thereitwas,hersmile,small,speculative,aprizehebelievedhehadwon.

Shestubbedouthercigaretteonthefloor.“Howlongwillittake?”

Heshovedthecartonofnoodlestoonesideandreachedforawhitepadofthickpaper.Itmighthavebeenonlymewhonoticedthewayhisvoiceloweredinvolume.“Dependshowgoodyouareatkeepingstill.”

—

MinuteslaterIwasbackinthecar.Iclosedthedoor.Garrywaslisteningtohistapes.

“Porfavor,hablamásdespacio.”

“Pohrfah-VOR,AH-blahmahsdehs-PAHS-ee-oh.”Heslappedthedashboardwithafatpalm.“Ah,crap.Lemmetrythatagain.AHblamahsdehsPAHSeeoh.”Hepracticedthreemorelines,thenturnedtome.“Shegonnabelong?”

Istaredoutofthewindowattheblankwindowsofthesecondfloor.“Ireallyhopenot,”Isaid.

—Agnesfinallyemergedataquartertofour,anhourandthree-quartersafterGarryandIhadrunoutofouralreadylimitedconversation.AfterwatchingacablecomedyshowdownloadedonhisiPad(hedidn’toffertoshareitwithme)hehadnoddedoff,hischinsrestingonthebulkofhischestashesnoredlightly.Isatinthebackofthecargrowingincreasinglytenseastheminutestickedby,sendingperiodicmessagestoSamthatwerevariationson:She’snotbackyet.Stillnotback.Omigod,whatonearthisshedoinginthere?Hehadhadlunchinatinydeliacrosstownandsaidhewassohungryhecouldeatfifteenhorses.Hesoundedcheerful,relaxed,andeverywordweexchangedtoldmeIwasinthewrongplace,thatIshouldbebesidehim,leaningagainsthim,feelinghisvoicerumbleinmyear.IhadstartedtohateAgnes.

Andsuddenlythereshewas,stridingoutofthebuildingwithabroadsmileandaflatpackageunderherarm.

“Oh,thankGod,”Isaid.

Garrywokewithastartandhurriedaroundthecartoopenthedoorforher.Sheslidincalmly,asifshehadbeengonetwominutesinsteadoftwohours.Shebroughtwithherthefaintscentsofcigarettesandturpentine.

“WeneedtostopatMcNallyJacksononthewayback.Togetsomeprettypapertowrapitin.”

“Wehavewrappingpaperatthe—”

“Steventoldmeaboutthisspecialhand-pressedpaper.Iwanttowrapitinthisspecialpaper.Garry,youknowtheplaceImean?WecandropdowntoSoHoonthewayback,yes?”Shewavedahand.

Isatback,faintlydespairing.Garrysetoff,bumpingthelimogentlyoverthepotholedcarparkasheheadedbacktowhatheconsideredcivilization.

—WearrivedbackatFifthAvenueatfourforty.AsAgnesclimbedout,Ihurriedoutbesideher,clutchingthebagwiththespecialpaper.

“Agnes,I—Iwaswondering...whatyousaidaboutmeleavingearlytoday...”

“Idon’tknowwhethertoweartheTemperleyortheBadgleyMischkathisevening.Whatdoyouthink?”

Itriedtorecalleitherdress.Failed.IwastryingtocalculatehowlongitwouldtakemetogetovertoTimesSquare,whereSamwasnowwaiting.“TheTemperley,Ithink.Definitely.It’sperfect.Agnes—yourememberyousaidImightbeabletoleaveearlytoday?”

“Butit’ssuchadarkblue.I’mnotsurethisblueisagoodcoloronme.Andtheshoesthatgowithitrubonmyheel.”

“Wetalkedlastweek.Woulditbeokay?It’sjustIreallywanttoseeSamoffattheairport.”Ifoughttokeeptheirritationfrommyvoice.

“Sam?”ShenoddedagreetingatAshok.

“Myboyfriend.”

Sheconsideredthis.“Mm.Okay.Oh,theyaregoingtobesoimpressedwiththisdrawing.Stevenisgenius,youknow?Actualgenius.”

“SoIcango?”

“Sure.”

Myshoulderssaggedwithrelief.IfIleftintenminutesIcouldgetthesubwaysouthandbewithhimbyfivethirty.Thatwouldstillgiveusanhourandabittogether.Betterthannothing.

Theliftdoorsclosedbehindus.Agnesopenedacompactandcheckedherlipstick,poutingatherreflection.“ButmaybejuststayuntilI’mdressed.IneedsecondopiniononthisTemperley.”

—Agneschangedheroutfitfourtimes.IwastoolatetomeetSaminMidtown,TimesSquareoranywhereelse.InsteadIgottoJFKfifteenminutesbeforehehadtoheadthroughsecurity.IshovedmywaypasttheotherpassengerstowhereIcouldseehimstandinginfrontofthedeparturesboard,andhurledmyselfthroughtheairportdoorsandagainsthisback.“I’msorry.I’mso,sosorry.”

Weheldeachotherforaminute.

“Whathappened?”

“Agneshappened.”

“Wasn’tshegoingtoletyououtearly?Ithoughtshewasyourmate.”

“Shewasjustobsessedbythisartworkthinganditallwent...Oh,God,itwasmaddening.”Ithrewmyhandsintotheair.“WhatamIevendoinginthisstupidjob,Sam?Shemademewaitbecauseshecouldn’tworkoutwhatdresstowear.AtleastWillactuallyneededme.”

Hetiltedhisheadandtouchedhisforeheadtomine.“Wehadthismorning.”

Ikissedhim,reachingaroundhisnecksothatIcouldplacemywholeselfagainsthim.Westayedthere,eyesclosed,astheairportmovedandswayedaroundus.

Andthenmyphonerang.

“I’mignoringit,”Isaid,intohischest.

Itcontinuedtoring,insistently.

“Itmightbeher.”Heheldmegentlyawayfromhim.

Iletoutalowgrowl,thenpulledmyphonefrommybackpocketandputittomyear.“Agnes?”Istruggledtokeeptheirritationfrommyvoice.

“It’sJosh.Iwasjustcallingtoseehowtodaywent.”

“Josh!Um...oh.Yes,itwasfine.Thankyou!”Iturnedawayslightly,puttingmyhanduptomyotherear.IfeltSamstiffenbesideme.

“Sohedidthedrawingforyou?”

“Hedid.She’sreallyhappy.Thankyousomuchfororganizingit.Listen,I’minthemiddleofsomethingrightnow,butthankyou.Itreallywasincrediblykindofyou.”

“Gladitworkedout.Listen,givemeacall,yeah?Let’sgrabacoffeesometime.”

“Sure!”IendedthecalltofindSamwatchingme.

“Josh.”

Iputthephonebackintomypocket.

“Theguyyoumetattheball.”

“It’salongstory.”

“Okay.”

“HehelpedmesortthisdrawingforAgnestoday.Iwasdesperate.”

“Soyouhadhisnumber.”

“It’sNewYork.Everyonehaseveryone’snumber.”

Hedraggedhishandoverthetopofhisheadandturnedaway.

“It’snothing.Really.”Itookasteptowardhim,pulledhimbyhisbeltbuckle.Icouldfeeltheweekendslidingawayfrommeagain.“Sam...Sam...”

Hedeflated,puthisarmsaroundme.Herestedhischinonthetopofmyheadandmovedhisfromsidetoside.“Thisis...”

“Iknow,”Isaid.“Iknowitis.ButIloveyouandyoulovemeandatleastwemanagedtodoabitofthegetting-nakedthing.Anditwasgreat,wasn’tit?Thegetting-nakedthing?”

“For,like,fiveminutes.”

“Bestfiveminutesofthelastfourweeks.Fiveminutesthatwillkeepmegoingforthenextfour.”

“Exceptit’sseven.”

Islidmyhandsintohisbackpockets.“Don’tlet’sendthisbadly.Please.Idon’twantyoutogoawayangrybecauseofsomestupidcallfromsomeonewhoisliterallynothingtome.”

Hisfacesoftenedwhenheheldmygaze,asitalwaysdid.ItwasoneofthethingsIlovedabouthim,thewayhisfeatures,sobrutalinrepose,meltedwhenhelookedatme.“I’mnotpissedoffatyou.I’mpissedoffatmyself.Andairlinefoodorburritosorwhateveritwas.Andyourwomantherewhocan’tapparentlyputonadressbyherself.”

“I’llbebackforChristmas.Forawholeweek.”

Samfrowned.Hetookmyfaceinhishands.Theywerewarmandslightlyrough.Westoodthereforamoment,andthenwekissed,andsomedecadeslaterhestraightenedupandglancedattheboard.

“Andnowyouhavetogo.”

“AndnowIhavetogo.”

Iswallowedthelumpthathadriseninmythroat.Hekissedmeoncemore,thenswunghisbagoverhisshoulder.Istoodontheconcourse,watchingthespacewherehehadbeenforafullminuteaftersecurityhadswallowedhim.

—Ingeneral,I’mnotamoodyperson.I’mnotverygoodatthewholedoor-slamming,scowling,eye-rollingthing.ButthateveningImademywaybacktothecity,pushedmywaythroughthecrowdsonthesubwayplatform,elbowsout,andscowledlikeanative.ThroughoutthejourneyIfoundmyselfcheckingthetime.He’sinthedepartureslounge.He’llbeboarding.And...he’sgone.ThemomenthisplanewasduetotakeoffIfeltsomethingsinkinsidemeandmymooddarkenedevenfurther.IpickedupsometakeoutsushiandwalkedfromthesubwaystationtotheGopniks’building.WhenIgottomylittleroomIsatandstaredatthecontainer,thenatthewall,andknewIcouldn’tstaytherealonewithmythoughtssoIknockedonNathan’sdoor.

“C’min!”

NathanwaswatchingAmericanfootball,holdingabeer.HewaswearingapairofsurfershortsandaT-shirt.Helookedupatme

expectantly,andwiththefaintestofdelays,inthewaypeopledowhenthey’relettingyouknowthatthey’rereallylockedintosomethingelse.

“CanIeatmydinnerinherewithyou?”

Hetorehisgazeawayfromthescreenagain.“Badday?”

Inodded.

“Needahug?”

Ishookmyhead.“Justavirtualone.Ifyou’renicetomeI’llprobablycry.”

“Ah.Yourmangonehome,hashe?”

“Itwasadisaster,Nathan.HewassickforprettymuchthewholethingandthenAgneswouldn’tletmehavethetimeoffshepromisedmetodaysoIbarelygottoseehimandwhenIdiditkeptgetting...awkwardbetweenus.”

Nathanturneddownthetelevisionwithasigh,andpattedthesideofthebed.Iclimbedup,andplacedmytakeoutbagonmylapwhere,later,Iwoulddiscoversoysaucehadleakedthroughontomyworktrousers.Irestedmyheadonhisshoulder.

“Long-distancerelationshipsaretough,”Nathanpronounced,asifhewasthefirstpersontohaveconsideredsuchathing.Thenheadded,“Like,reallytough.”

“Right.”

“It’snotjustthesex,andtheinevitablejealousy—”

“We’renotjealouspeople.”

“Buthe’snotgoingtobethefirstpersonyoutellstuffto.Theday-to-daybitsandpieces.Andthatstuffisimportant.”

HeprofferedhisbeerandItookaswig,handingitbacktohim.“Wedidknowitwasgoingtobehard.ImeanwetalkedaboutallthisbeforeIleft.Butyouknowwhat’sreallybuggingme?”

Hedraggedhisgazebackfromthescreen.“Goon.”

“AgnesknewhowmuchIwantedtospendtimewithSam.We’dtalkedaboutit.Shewastheonesayingwehadtobetogether,thatweshouldn’tbeapart,blah-blah-blah.Andthenshemademestaywithhertilltheabsolutelastminute.”

“That’sthejob,Lou.Theycomefirst.”

“Butsheknewhowimportantitwastome.”

“Maybe.”

“She’smeanttobemyfriend.”

Nathanraisedaneyebrow.“Lou.TheTraynorswerenotnormalemployers.Willwasnotanormalemployer.NeitheraretheGopniks.Thesepeoplemayactnice,butultimatelyyouhavetorememberthisisapowerrelationship.It’sabusinesstransaction.”Hetookaswigofhisbeer.“YouknowwhathappenedtotheGopniks’lastsocialsecretary?AgnestoldOldManGopnikthatshewastalkingaboutherbehindherback,spreadingsecrets.Sotheysackedher.Aftertwenty-twoyears.Theysackedher.”

“Andwasshe?”

“Wasshewhat?”

“Spreadingsecrets?”

“Idon’tknow.Notthepoint,though,isit?”

Ididn’twanttocontradicthimbuttoexplainwhyAgnesandIweredifferentwouldhavemeantbetrayingher.SoIsaidnothing.

Nathanseemedabouttosaysomething,thenchangedhismind.

“What?”

“Look...nobodycanhaveeverything.”

“Whatdoyoumean?”

“Thisisareallygreatjob,right?Imean,youmightnotthinkthattonight,butyou’vegotagreatsituationintheheartofNewYork,agoodwage,andadecentemployer.Yougettogotoallsortsofgreatplaces,andsomeoccasionalperks.Theyboughtyouanearly-three-thousand-dollarballdress,right?IgottogototheBahamaswithMr.Gacoupleofmonthsago.Five-starhotel,beachfrontroom,thelot.Justforacoupleofhours’workaday.Sowe’relucky.Butinthelongterm,thecostofallthatmightturnouttobearelationshipwithsomeonewhoselifeiscompletelydifferentandamillionmilesaway.That’sthechoiceyoumakewhenyouheadout.”

Istaredathim.

“Ijustthinkyou’vegottoberealisticaboutthesethings.”

“You’renotreallyhelping,Nathan.”

“I’mbeingstraightwithyou.And,hey,lookonthebrightside.Iheardyoudidagreatjobtodaywiththedrawing.Mr.Gtoldmehewasreallyimpressed.”

“Theyreallylikedit?”Itriedtosuppressmyglowofpleasure.

“Aw,man.Seriously.Lovedit.She’sgoingtoknockthosecharityladiesdead.”

Ileanedagainsthim,andheswitchedthevolumebackup.“Thanks,Nathan,”Isaid,andopenedmysushi.“You’reamate.”

Hegrimacedslightly.“Yeah.Thatwholefishything.Anychanceyoucouldwaituntilyou’reinyourownroom?”

Iclosedmysushibox.Hewasright.Nobodycouldhaveeverything.

I’

10

From:BusyBee@gmail.comTo:MrandMrsBernardClark@yahoo.com

Hey,Mum,Sorryforthelatereply.It’squitebusyhere!Neveradullmoment!

I’mgladyoulikedthepictures.Yes,thecarpetsare100percentwool,someoftherugsaresilk,thewoodisdefinitelynotveneer,andIaskedIlariaandtheygettheircurtainsdry-cleanedonceayearwhiletheyspendamonthintheHamptons.ThecleanersareverythoroughbutIlariadoesthekitchenflooreverydayherselfbecauseshedoesn’ttrustthem.

Yes,Mrs.Gopnikdoeshaveawalk-inshowerandalsoawalk-inwardrobeinherdressingroom.SheisveryfondofherdressingroomandspendsalotoftimeinthereonthephonetohermuminPoland.Ididn’thavetimetocounttheshoeslikeyouaskedbutI’dsaytherearewelloverahundredpairs.Shehasthemstackedinboxeswithpicturesofthemstucktothefrontjustsosheknowswhichiswhich.Whenshegetsanewpairit’smyjobtotakethepicture.Shehasacamerajustforhershoeboxes!

I’mgladtheartcoursewentwellandtheBetterCommunicationforCouplesclasssoundsgrand,butyoumusttellDadthatit’snottodowithBedroomStuff.He’ssentmethreeemailsthisweek,askingifIthinkhecouldfakeaheartmurmur.

SorrytohearthatGranddad’sbeenundertheweather.Ishestillhidinghisvegetablesunderthetable?Areyousureyouhavetogiveupyournightclasses?Seemslikeashame.

Okay—gottogo.Agnesiscallingme.I’llletyouknowaboutChristmas,butdon’tworry,Iwillbethere.Loveyou

LouisaxxxPSNo,Ihaven’tseenRobertDeNiroagainbut,yes,ifIdoIwilldefinitelytellhimthatyoulikedhimverymuchinTheMission.

PPSNo,Ihonestlyhaven’tspentanytimeinAngolaandI’mnotinurgentneedofacashtransfer.Don’tanswerthoseones.

mnoexpertondepression.Ihadn’tevenunderstoodmyownafterWilldied.ButIfoundAgnes’smoodsespeciallyhardtofathom.

Mymother’sfriendswhosuffereddepression—andthereseemedtobeadismayingnumberofthem—seemedflattenedbylife,struggling

throughafogthatdescendeduntiltheycouldseenojoy,noprospectofpleasure.Itobscuredtheirwayforward.Youcouldseeitinthewaytheywalkedaroundtown,theirshouldersbowed,theirmouthssetinthinlinesofforbearance.Itwasasifsadnessseepedfromthem.

Agneswasdifferent.Shewasboisterousandgarrulousoneminute,thenweepyandfuriousthenext.I’dbeentoldthatshefeltisolated,judged,withoutallies.Butthatneverquitefit.BecausethemoretimeIspentwithher,themoreInoticedshewasnotreallycowedbythosewomen:shewasinfuriatedbythem.Shewouldrageabouttheunfairness,screamatMr.Gopnik;shewouldimitatethemcruellybehindhisback,andmutterfuriouslyaboutthefirstMrs.Gopnik,orIlariaandherschemingways.Shewasmercurial,ahumanflameofoutrage,growlingaboutcipaordebilordziwka.(IwouldGoogletheseinmytimeoffuntilmyearswentpink.)

Andthen,abruptly,shewassomeonequitedifferent—awomanwhodisappearedintoroomsandweptquietly,atense,frozenfaceafteralongphonecallinPolish.Hersadnessmanifesteditselfinheadaches,whichIwasneverquitesurewerereal.

ItalkedaboutittoTreenainthecoffeeshopwiththefreeWiFithatIhadsatinonmyfirstmorninginNewYork.WewereusingFaceTimeAudio,whichIpreferredtouslookingateachother’sfacesaswetalked—Igotdistractedbythewaymynoseseemedenormous,orwhatsomeonewasdoingbehindme.Ialsodidn’twanthertoseethesizeofthebutteredmuffinsIwaseating.

“Perhapsshe’sbipolar,”Treenasaid.

“Yeah.Ilookedthatup,butitdoesn’tseemtofit.She’snevermanic,assuch,justsortof...energetic.”

“I’mnotsuredepressionisaone-size-fits-allthing,Lou,”mysistersaid.“Besides,hasn’teveryonegotsomethingwrongwiththeminAmerica?Don’ttheyliketotakealotofpills?”

“UnlikeEngland,whereMumwouldhaveyougoforanicebriskwalk.”

“Totakeyououtofyourself.”Mysistersniggered.

“Turnthatfrownupsidedown.”

“Putanicebitoflippyon.Brightenyourfaceup.There.Whoneedsallthosesillymedications?”

SomethinghadhappenedtoTreena’sandmyrelationshipsinceIhadbeengone.Wecalledeachotheronceaweek,andforthefirsttimeinouradultlives,shehadstoppednaggingmeeverytimewespoke.Sheseemedgenuinelyinterestedinwhatmylifewaslike,quizzingmeaboutwork,theplacesIhadvisited,andwhatthepeoplearoundmedidallday.WhenIaskedforadvice,shegenerallygavemeaconsideredreplyinsteadofcallingmeadoofus,oraskingifIunderstoodwhatGooglewasfor.

Shelikedsomeone,shehadconfidedtwoweekspreviously.TheyhadgoneforhipstercocktailsatabarinShoreditch,thentoapop-upcinemainClapton,andshehadfeltquitegiddyforseveraldaysafterward.Theideaofmysistergiddywasanovelone.

“What’shelike?Youmustbeabletotellmesomethingnow.”

“I’mnotgoingtosayanythingyet.EverytimeItalkaboutthesethingstheygowrong.”

“Noteventome?”

“Fornow.It’s...Well.Anyway.I’mhappy.”

“Oh.Sothat’swhyyou’rebeingnice.”

“What?”

“You’regettingsome.IthoughtitwasbecauseyoufinallyapprovedofwhatI’mdoingwithmylife.”

Shelaughed.Mysisterdidn’tnormallylaugh,unlessitwasatme.“Ijustthinkit’snicethateverything’sworkingout.YouhaveagreatjobintheUSofA.Ilovemyjob.ThomandIarelovingbeinginthecity.Ifeellikethingsarereallyopeningupforallofus.”

ItwassuchanunlikelystatementformysistertomakethatIdidn’thavethehearttotellheraboutSam.Wetalkedabitmore,aboutMumwantingtotakeapart-timejobatthelocalschool,andGranddad’sdeterioratinghealth,whichmeantthatshehadn’tapplied.Ifinishedmymuffinandmycoffeeandrealizedthat,whileIwasinterested,Ididn’tfeelhomesickatall.

“You’renotgoingtostartspeakingwithabloodyawfultransatlanticaccent,though,right?”

“I’mme,Treen.That’shardlygoingtochange,”Isaid,inabloodyawfultransatlanticaccent.

“You’resuchadoofus,”shesaid.

—“Oh,goodness.You’restillhere.”

Mrs.DeWittwasjustexitingthebuildingasIarrivedhome,pullingonherglovesundertheawning.Isteppedback,neatlyavoidingDeanMartin’steethsnappingnearmyleg,andsmiledpolitelyather.“Goodmorning,Mrs.DeWitt.WhereelsewouldIbe?”

“IthoughttheEstonianlap-dancerwouldhavesackedyoubynow.I’msurprisedshe’snotfrightenedyou’llrunoffwiththeoldman,likeshedid.”

“Notreallymymodusoperandi,Mrs.DeWitt,”Isaidcheerfully.

“Iheardheryellingagaininthecorridortheothernight.Awfulracket.Atleasttheotheronejustsulkedforacoupleofdecades.Aloteasierontheneighbors.”

“I’llpassthaton.”

Sheshookherhead,andwasabouttomoveaway,butshestoppedandgazedatmyoutfit.Iwaswearingafine-pleatedgoldskirt,myfakefurgiletandabeaniehatcoloredlikeagiantstrawberrythatThomhadbeengivenforChristmastwoyearsagoandrefusedtowearbecauseitwas“girly.”OnmyfeetwereapairofbrightredpatentbroguesthatIhadboughtfromasaleinachildren’sshoeshop,air-punchingamidtheharassedmothersandscreechingtoddlerswhenIrealizedtheyfitted.

“Yourskirt.”

Iglanceddown,andbracedmyselfforwhateverbarbwascomingmyway.

“IusedtohaveonelikethatfromBiba.”

“ItisBiba!”Isaiddelightedly.“Igotitfromanonlineauctiontwoyearsago.Fourpoundsfifty!Onlyonetinyholeinthewaistband.”

“Ihavethatexactskirt.Iusedtotravelalotinthesixties.WheneverIwenttoLondonIwouldspendhoursinthatstore.IusedtoshipwholetrunksofBibadresseshometoManhattan.Wehadnothinglikeithere.”

“Soundslikeheaven.I’veseenpictures,”Isaid.“Whatanamazingthingtohavebeenabletodo.Whatdidyoudo?Imean,whydidyoutravelsomuch?”

“Iworkedinfashion.Forawomen’smagazine.Itwas—”Shelurchedforward,ambushedbyafitofcoughing,andIwaitedwhilesherecoveredherbreath.“Well.Anyway.Youlookquitereasonable,”shesaid,puttingherhandupagainstthewall.Thensheturnedandhobbledawayupthestreet,DeanMartincastingbalefulglancessimultaneouslyatmeandthecurbbehindhim.

—Therestoftheweekwas,asMichaelwouldsay,interesting.Tabitha’sapartmentinSoHowasbeingredecoratedandourapartment,foraweekorso,becamethebattlegroundforaseriesofturfwarsapparentlyinvisibletothemalegaze,butonlytooobvioustoAgnes,whomIcouldhearhissingatMr.GopnikwhenshethoughtTabithawasoutofrange.

Ilariarelishedherroleasfoot-soldier.ShemadeapointofservingTabitha’sfavoritedishes—spicycurriesandredmeat—noneofwhichAgneswouldeat,andprofessedherselfignorantofthatwhenAgnescomplained.ShemadesureTabitha’slaundrywasdonefirst,andleftfoldedneatlyonherbed,whileAgnesracedthroughtheapartmentinatowelingrobetryingtoworkoutwhathadhappenedtotheblouseshehadplannedtowearthatday.

IntheeveningsTabithawouldplantherselfinthesittingroomwhileAgneswasonthephonetohermotherinPoland.Shewouldhumnoisily,scrollingthroughheriPad,untilAgnes,silentlyenraged,wouldgetupanddecamptoherdressingroom.OccasionallyTabithainvitedgirlfriendstotheapartmentandtheytookoverthekitchenorthetelevisionroom,agaggleofnoisyvoices,gossiping,giggling,aringofblondheadsthatfellsilentifAgneshappenedtowalkpast.

“It’sherhousetoo,mydarling,”Mr.Gopnikwouldsaymildly,whenAgnesprotested.“Shedidgrowuphere.”

“ShetreatsmelikeIamtemporaryfixture.”

“She’llgetusedtoyouintime.She’sstillachildinmanyways.”

“She’stwenty-four.”Agneswouldmakealowgrowlingnoise,asoundIwasquitesurenoEnglishwomenhadevermastered(Ididtryafewtimes)andthrowupherhandsinexasperation.Michaelwouldwalkpastme,hisfacefrozen,hiseyesslidingtowardmineinmutesolidarity.

—AgnesaskedmetosendaparceltoPolandviaFedEx.Shewantedmetopaycash,andkeepholdofthereceipt.Theboxwaslarge,squareandnotparticularlyheavy,andwehadtheconversationinherstudy,whichshehadtakentolocking,toIlaria’sdisgust.

“Whatisit?”

“Justpresentformymother.”Shewavedahand.“ButLeonardthinksIspendtoomuchonmyfamilysoIdon’twanthimtoknoweverythingthatIsend.”

IhumpeditdowntotheFedExofficeatWestFifty-seventhStreetandwaitedinline.WhenIfilledouttheformwiththeassistant,heasked:“Whatarethecontents?ForCustomspurposes?”andIrealizedIdidn’tknow.ItextedAgnesandsherespondedswiftly:

—Justsayisgiftsforfamily.

“Butwhatkindofgifts,ma’am?”saidtheman,wearily.

Itextedagain.Therewasanaudiblesighfromsomeoneinthequeuebehindme.

—Tchotchkes.

Istaredatthemessage.ThenIheldoutmyphone.“Sorry.Ican’tpronouncethat.”

Hepeeredatit.“Yeah,lady.That’snotreallyhelpingme.”

ItextedAgnes.

—Tellhimmindhisownbusiness!Whatbusiness

ofhimwhatIwanttosendmymother!

Ishovedmyphoneintomypocket.“Shesaysit’scosmetics,ajumper,andacoupleofDVDs.”

“Value?”

“Ahundredandeighty-fivedollarsandfifty-twocents.”

“Finally,”mutteredtheFedExemployee.AndIhandedoverthecashandhopednobodycouldseethecrossedfingersonmyotherhand.

—OnFridayafternoon,whenAgnesbeganherpianolesson,IretreatedtomyroomandcalledEngland.AsIdialedSam’snumber,Ifeltthefamiliarflutterofexcitementjustattheprospectofhearinghisvoice.SomedaysImissedhimsomuchIcarrieditroundlikeanache.Isatandwaitedasitrang.

Andawomananswered.

“Hello?”shesaid.Shewaswell-spoken,hervoiceslightlyraspyattheedges,asifshehadsmokedtoomanycigarettes.

“Oh,I’msorry.Imusthavedialedthewrongnumber.”Ibrieflypulledthephonefrommyearandstaredatthescreen.

“Whoareyouafter?”

“Sam?SamFielding?”

“He’sintheshower.Holdon,I’llgethim.”Herhandwentoverthereceiverandsheyelledhisname,hervoicebrieflymuffled.Iwentverystill.TherewerenoyoungwomeninSam’sfamily.“He’sjustcoming,”shesaid,afteramoment.“WhoshallIsayiscalling?”

“Louisa.”

“Oh.Okay.”

Long-distancephonecallsmakeyouoddlyattunedtoslightvariationsintoneandemphasisandtherewassomethinginthat“Oh”thatmademeuneasy.IwasabouttoaskwhomIwastalkingtowhenSampickedup.

“Hey!”

“Hey!”Itcameoutstrangelybroken,asmymouthhaddriedunexpectedly,andIhadtosayittwice.

“What’sup?”

“Nothing!Imeannothingurgent.I—Ijust,youknow,wantedtohearyourvoice.”

“Holdon.I’llclosethisdoor.”Icouldpicturehiminthelittlerailwaycarriage,pullingthebedroomdoorto.Whenhecamebackonhesoundedcheery,quiteunlikethelasttimewehadspoken.“Sowhat’sgoingon?Everythingokaywithyou?What’sthetimethere?”

“Justaftertwo.Um,whowasthat?”

“Oh.That’sKatie.”

“Katie.”

“KatieIngram.Mynewpartner?”

“Katie!Okay!So...uh...what’sshedoinginyourhouse?”

“Oh,she’sjustgivingmealifttoDonna’sleavingdo.Bike’sgoneintothegarage.Problemwiththeexhaust.”

“Shereallyislookingafteryou,then!”Iwondered,absently,ifhewaswearingatowel.

“Yeah.Sheonlylivesdowntheroadsoitmadesense.”Hesaiditwiththecasualneutralityofsomeoneawarehewasbeinglistenedtobytwowomen.

“Sowhereareyoualloffto?”

“ThattapasplaceinHackney?Theonethatusedtobeachurch?I’mnotsureweeverwentthere.”

“Achurch!Ha-ha-ha!Soyou’llallhavetobeonyourbestbehavior!”Ilaughed,tooloudly.

“Bunchofparamedicsonanightout?Idoubtit.”

Therewasashortsilence.Itriedtoignoretheknotinmystomach.Sam’svoicesoftened.“Yousureyou’reokay?Yousoundalittle—”

“I’mfine!Totally!LikeIsaid.Ijustwantedtohearyourvoice.”

“Sweetheart,it’sgreattospeaktoyoubutIhavetogo.Katiedidmeabigfavorgivingmealiftandwe’relatealready.”

“Okay!Well,havealovelyevening!Don’tdoanythingIwouldn’t!”Iwastalkinginexclamationmarks.“AndgiveDonnamybest!”

“Willdo.We’llspeaksoon.”

“Loveyou.”ItsoundedmoreplaintivethanI’dintended.“Writetome!”

“Ah,Lou...”hesaid.

Andthenhewasgone.AndIwasleftstaringatmyphoneinatoo-silentroom.

—IorganizedaprivateviewofanewfilmatasmallscreeningroomforthewivesofMr.Gopnik’sbusinessassociates,andthehorsd’oeuvresthatwouldgowithit.IdisputedabillforflowersthathadnotbeenreceivedandthenIrandowntoSephoraandpickeduptwobottlesofnailvarnishthatAgneshadseeninVogueandwantedtotakewithhertothecountry.

AndtwominutesaftermyshiftfinishedandtheGopniksdepartedfortheirweekendretreat,IsaidnothankyoutoIlaria’sofferofleftovermeatballsandranbacktomyroom.

Reader,Ididthestupidthing.IlookedheruponFacebook.

Itdidn’ttakemorethanfortyminutestofilterthisKatieIngramfromtheotherhundredorso.Herprofilewasunlocked,andcontainedthelogofortheNHS.Herjobdescriptionsaid:“Paramedic:LoveMyJob!!!”Shehadhairthatcouldhavebeenredorstrawberryblond,itwashardtotellfromthephotographs,andshewaspossiblyinherlatetwenties,pretty,withasnubnose.Inthefirstthirtyphotographsshehadpostedshewaslaughingwithfriends,frozeninthemiddleofGoodTimes.Shelookedannoyinglygoodinabikini(Skiathos2014!!Whatalaugh!!!!),shehadasmall,hairydog,apenchantforvertiginouslyhighheels,andabestfriendwithlong,darkhairwhowasfondofkissinghercheekinpictures(IbrieflyentertainedthehopethatshewasgaybutshebelongedtoaFacebookgroupcalled:Handsupifyou’resecretlydelightedthatBradPittissingleagain!!).

Her“relationshipstatus”wassettosingle.

Iscrolledbackthroughherfeed,secretlyhatingmyselffordoingso,butunabletostopmyself.Iscannedherphotographs,tryingtofindonewhereshelookedfat,orsulky,orperhapstherecipientofsometerriblescalyskindisease.IclickedandIclicked.AndjustasIwas

abouttoclosemylaptopIstopped.Thereitwas,postedthreeweekspreviously.KatieIngramstoodonabrightwinter’sday,inherdarkgreenuniform,herpackproudlyatherfeet,outsidetheambulancestationineastLondon.ThistimeherarmwasaroundSam,whostoodinhisuniform,armsfolded,smilingatthecamera.

“BestpartnerintheWORLD,”readthecaption.“Lovingmynewjob!”

Justbelowit,herdark-hairedfriendhadcommented:“Iwonderwhy...?!”andaddedawinkyface.

—Hereisthethingaboutjealousy.It’snotagoodlook.Andtherationalpartofyouknowsthat.Youarenotthejealoussort!Thatsortofwomanisawful!Anditmakesnosense!Ifsomeonelikesyou,theywillstaywithyou;iftheydon’tlikeyouenoughtostaywithyou,theyaren’tworthbeingwithanyway.Youknowthat.Youareasensible,maturewomanoftwenty-eightyears.Youhavereadtheself-helparticles.YouhavewatchedDr.Phil.

Butwhenyoulive3,500milesfromyourhandsome,kind,sexyparamedicboyfriendandhehasanewpartnerwhosoundsandlookslikePussyGalore—awomanwhospendsatleasttwelvehoursadayincloseproximitytothemanyoulove,amanwhohasconfessedalreadytohowhardheisfindingthephysicalseparation—thentherationalpartofyougetsfirmlysquashedbythegigantic,squattingtoadthatisyourirrationalself.

Itdidn’tmatterwhatIdid,Icouldn’tscrubthatimageofthetwoofthemfrommymind.Itlodgeditself,awhiteonblacknegative,somewherebehindmyeyesandhauntedme:herlightlytannedarmtightaroundhiswaist,herfingersrestinglightlyonthewaistbandofhisuniform.Weretheysidebysideatalatebar,hernudginghimatsomesharedjoke?Wasshethekindoftouchy-feelywomanwhowouldreachoverandpathisarmforemphasis?Didshesmellgood,sothatwhenhelefthereachdayhewouldfeel,insomeindefinableway,hewasmissingsomething?

IknewthiswasthewaytomadnessyetIcouldn’tstopmyself.Ithoughtaboutcallinghim,butnothingsaysstalky,insecuregirlfriend

likesomeonewhocallsatfoura.m.Mythoughtswhirredandtumbledandfellinagreattoxiccloud.AndIhatedmyselfforthem.Andtheywhirredandfellsomemore.

“Oh,whycouldn’tyoujusthavebeenpartneredwithanicefatman?”Imurmuredtotheceiling.AndsometimeinthesmallhoursIfinallyfellasleep.

—OnMondayweran(Istoppedonlyonce),thenwentshoppinginMacy’sandboughtabunchofchildren’sclothesforAgnes’sniece.IsentthemofftoKrakówfromtheFedExoffice,thistimeconfidentofthecontents.

Overlunchshespoketomeabouthersister,howshehadbeenmarriedtooyoung,tothemanagerofalocalbrewery,whotreatedherwithlittlerespect,andhowshenowfeltsodowntroddenandworthlessthatAgnescouldnotpersuadehertoleave.“Shecriestomymothereverydaybecauseofwhathesaystoher.She’sfatorshe’suglyorhecouldhavedonebetter.Thatstinkingdickheadpieceofchickenshit.Adogwouldnotpissonhislegifithaddrunkahundredbucketsofwater.”

Herultimateaim,sheconfided,overherchardandbeetrootsalad,wastobringhersistertoNewYork,awayfromthatman.“IthinkIcangetLeonardtogiveherajob.Maybeassecretaryinhisoffice.Or,better,housekeeperinourapartment!ThenwecouldgetridofIlaria!Mysisterisverygood,youknow.Veryconscientious.Butshedoesn’twanttoleaveKraków.”

“Maybeshedoesn’twanttodisruptherdaughter’seducation.MysisterwasverynervousaboutmovingThomtoLondon,”Isaid.

“Mm,”saidAgnes.ButIcouldtellshedidn’treallythinkthatwasanobstacle.Iwonderedifrichpeoplejustdidn’tseeobstaclestoanything.

—WehadbarelybeenbackhalfanhourbeforesheglancedatherphoneandannouncedweweregoingtoEastWilliamsburg.

“Theartist?ButIthought—”

“Stevenisteachingmetodraw.Drawinglessons.”

Iblinked.“Okay.”

“IssurpriseforLeonardsoyoumustnotsayanything.”

Shedidn’tlookatmeforthewholejourney.

—“You’relate,”saidNathanwhenIarrivedhome.Hewasheadingofftoplaybasketballwithsomefriendsfromhisgym,hiskitbagslungoverhisshoulderandahoodieoverhishair.

“Yeah.”Idroppedmybagandfilledthekettle.Ihadacartonofnoodlesinaplasticbagandputthemonthecounter.

“Beenanywherenice?”

Ihesitated.“Just...hereandthere.Youknowwhatshe’slike.”Iswitchedonthekettle.

“Youokay?”

“I’mfine.”

IcouldfeelhisgazeonmeuntilIturnedandforcedasmile.Thenheclappedmeonthebackandturnedtoheadout.“Somedays,eh?”

Somedays,indeed.Istaredatthekitchenworktop.Ididn’tknowwhattosaytohim.Ididn’tknowhowtoexplainthetwoandahalfhoursGarryandIhadwaitedinthecarforher,myeyesflickingrepeatedlyuptothelightattheobscuredwindowandbacktomyphone.AfteranhourGarry,boredofhislanguagetapes,hadtextedAgnestosayhewasbeingmovedonbyaparkingattendantandsheshouldtexthimassoonassheneededtogo,butshedidn’trespond.Wedrovearoundtheblockandhefilledthecarwithfuel,thensuggestedwegetacoffee.“Shedidn’tsayhowlongshe’dbe.Thatusuallymeansshe’llbeacouplahoursatleast.”

“Thishashappenedbefore?”

“Mrs.Gdoesasshepleases.”

Heboughtmeacoffeeinanear-emptydiner,wherethelaminatedmenushowedpoorlylitphotographsofeverysingledish,andwesatinsilence,eachmonitoringourphones,incaseshecalled,andwatchingtheWilliamsburgduskturngraduallytoaneon-litnight.Ihadmovedtothemostexcitingcityonearth,yetsomedaysIfeltmylifehadshrunk:limotoapartment;apartmentbacktolimo.

“SohaveyouworkedfortheGopniksforlong?”

Garryslowlystirredtwosugarsintohiscoffee,screwingupthewrappersinafatfist.“Yearandahalf.”

“Whodidyouworkforbefore?”

“Someoneelse.”

Itookasipofmycoffee,whichwassurprisinglygood.“Younevermindit?”

Helookedupatmefromunderheavybrows.

“Allthehangingaround?”Iclarified.“Imean—doesshedothisoften?”

Hekeptstirringhiscoffee,hiseyesbackonhismug.“Kid,”hesaid,afteraminute.“Idon’tmeantoberude.ButIcanseeyouain’tbeeninthisbusinesslong,andyou’lllastawholelotlongerifyoudon’taskquestions.”Hesatbackinhischair,hisbulkspreadinggentlyacrosshislap.“I’mthedriver.I’mtherewhentheyneedme.IspeakwhenI’mspokento.Iseenothing,hearnothing,forgeteverything.That’swhyI’vestayedinthisgamethirty-twoyears,andhowI’veputtwoungratefulkidsthroughcollege.Intwoandahalfyears,ItakeearlyretirementandmovetomybeachpropertyinCostaRica.That’showyoudoit.”Hewipedhisnosewithapapernapkin,makinghisjowlsjudder.“Yougetme?”

“Seenothing,hearnothing...”

“...forgeteverything.Yougotit.Youwantadoughnut?Theydogooddoughnutshere.Make’emfreshthroughouttheday.”Hegotupandmovedheavilyovertothecounter.Whenhecamebackhesaidnothingmoretome,justnodded,satisfied,whenItoldhimthat,yes,thedoughnutswereverygoodindeed.

—

Agnessaidnothingwhensherejoinedus.Afterafewminutes,sheasked,“DidLeonardcall?Iaccidentallyturnmyphoneoff.”

“No.”

“Hemustbeattheoffice.Iwillcallhim.”Shestraightenedherhair,thensettledbackinherseat.“Thatwasverygoodlesson.IreallyfeellikeI’mlearningmanythings.Stevenisverygoodartist,”sheannounced.

Ittookmeuntilwewerehalfwayhometonoticeshewasn’tcarryinganydrawings.

G

11

DearThom,

I’msendingyouabaseballcapbecauseNathanandIwenttoareal-lifebaseballgameyesterdayandalltheplayersworethem(actuallytheyworehelmetsbutthisisthetraditionalversion).IgotoneforyouandoneforsomeoneelseIknow.GetyourmumtotakeapictureofyouinitandIcanputitonmywall!

No,I’mafraidtherearen’tanycowboysinthispartofAmericasadly—buttodayIamgoingtoacountryclubsoIwillkeepaneyeoutincaseoneridesby.

Thankyoufortheverynicepictureofmybum-bumwithmyimaginarydog.Ihadn’trealizedmybacksidewasthatshadeofpurpleunderneathmytrousers,butIshallbearthatinmindifIeverdecidetowalknakedpasttheStatueofLibertylikeinyourpicture.

IthinkyourversionofNewYorkmaybeevenmoreexcitingthantherealthing.

Lotsoflove,

AuntieLouxxx

randPinesCountryClubsprawledacrossacresoflushcountryside,itstreesandfieldsrollingsoperfectlyandinsucha

vividshadeofgreentheymighthavesprungfromtheimaginationofaseven-year-oldwithcrayons.

Onacrisp,cleardayGarrydroveusslowlyupthelongdrive,andwhenthecarpulledupinfrontofthesprawlingwhitebuilding,ayoungmaninapaleblueuniformsteppedforwardandopenedAgnes’sdoor.

“Goodmorning,Mrs.Gopnik.Howareyoutoday?”

“Verygood,thankyou,Randy.Andhowareyou?”

“Couldn’tbebetter,ma’am.Gettingbusyintherealready.Bigday!”

Mr.Gopnikhavingbeendetainedatwork,ithadfallentoAgnestopresentMary,oneofthelong-servingstaffathiscountryclub,witharetirementgift.Agneshadmadeherfeelingsclearformuchoftheweekabouthavingtodothis.Shehatedthecountryclub.TheformerMrs.Gopnik’scronieswouldbethere.AndAgneshatedspeakinginpublic.ShecouldnotdoitwithoutLeonard.But,foronce,hewasimmovable.Itwillhelpyouclaimyourplace,darling.AndLouisawillbewithyou.

Wepracticedherspeechandwemadeaplan.WewouldarriveintheGreatRoomaslateaspossible,atthelastmomentbeforethestarterswereservedsothatwecouldsitdownwithapologies,blamingManhattantraffic.MaryLander,theretireeinquestion,wouldstandafterthecoffeeattwop.m.,andafewpeoplewouldsaynicewordsabouther.ThenAgneswouldstand,apologizeforMr.Gopnik’sunavoidableabsence,andsayafewmorenicewordsaboutMarybeforehandingoverherretirementgift.Wewouldwaitadiplomatichalf-hourlongerthenleave,pleadingimportantbusinessinthecity.

“Youthinkthisdressisokay?”Shewaswearinganunusuallyconservativetwo-piece:ashiftdressinfuchsiawithapalershort-sleevedjacketandastringofpearls.Notherusuallook,butIunderstoodthatsheneededtofeelasifshewaswearingarmor.

“Perfect.”ShetookabreathandInudgedher,smiling.Shetookmyhandbrieflyandsqueezedit.

“Inandout,”Isaid.“Nothingtoit.”

“Twogiantfingers,”shemurmured,andgavemeasmallsmile.

Thebuildingitselfwassprawlingandlight,paintedmagnolia,withhugevasesofflowersandreproductionantiquefurnitureeverywhere.Itsoak-paneledhalls,itsportraitsoffoundersonthewalls,andsilentstaffmovingfromroomtoroomwereaccompaniedbythegentlehushofquietconversation,theoccasionalclinkofacoffeecuporglass.Everyviewwasbeautiful,everyneedseeminglyalreadymet.

TheGreatRoomwasfull,sixtyorsoround,elegantlydecoratedtables,filledwithwell-dressedwomen,chattingoverglassesofstillmineralwaterorfruitpunch.Hairwasuniformlyperfectlyblow-dried,

andthepreferredmodeofdresswasexpensivelyelegant—well-cutdresseswithboucléjackets,orcarefullymatchedseparates.Theairwasthickwithaheadymixofperfume.Atsometablesasolitarymansatflankedbywomen,buttheyseemedoddlyneuteredinsuchalargelyfemaleroom.

Tothecasualobserver—orperhapsanaverageman—almostnothingwouldhaveseemedamiss.Afaintmovementofheads,asubtledipinthenoiselevelaswepassed,theslightpursingoflips.IwalkedbehindAgnes,andshefalteredsuddenly,sothatIalmostcollidedwithherback.AndthenIsawthetablesetting:Tabitha,ayoungman,anolderman,twowomenIdidnotrecognize,and,besideme,anolderwomanwholiftedherheadandlookedAgnessquareintheeye.Asthewaitersteppedforwardandpulledoutherseat,AgneswasseatedoppositetheBigPurpleherself,KathrynGopnik.

“Goodafternoon,”Agnessaid,offeringituptothetableasawholeandmanagingnottolookatthefirstMrs.Gopnikasshedidso.

“Goodafternoon,Mrs.Gopnik,”themanwhowasseatedonmysideofthetablereplied.

“Mr.Henry,”saidAgnes,hersmilewavering.“Tab.Youdidn’tsayyouwerecomingtoday.”

“I’mnotsurewehavetoinformyouofallourmovements,dowe,Agnes?”Tabithasaid.

“Andwhomightyoube?”Theelderlygentlemanonmyrightturnedtome.IwasabouttosayIwasAgnes’sfriendfromLondon,butrealizedthatwasnowgoingtobeimpossible.“I’mLouisa,”Isaid.“LouisaClark.”

“EmmettHenry,”hesaid,holdingoutagnarledhand.“Delightedtomeetyou.IsthatanEnglishaccent?”

“Itis.”Ilookeduptothankawaitresswhowaspouringmesomewater.

“Howverydelightful.Andareyouovervisiting?”

“LouisaworksasAgnes’sassistant,Emmett.”Tabitha’svoiceliftedacrossthetable.“Agneshasdevelopedthemostextraordinaryhabitofbringingherstafftosocialoccasions.”

Mycheeksfloodedwithcolor.IfelttheburnofKathrynGopnik’sscrutiny,alongwiththeeyesoftherestofthetable.

Emmettconsideredthis.“Well,youknow,myDoratookhernurseLibbywithherabsolutelyeverywhereforthelasttenyears.Restaurants,thetheater,whereverwewent.SheusedtosayoldLibbywasabetterconversationalistthanIwas.”Hepattedmyhandandchuckled,andseveralotherpeopleatthetablejoinedinobligingly.“Idaresayshewasright.”

And,justlikethat,Iwassavedfromsocialignominybyaneighty-six-year-oldman.EmmettHenrychattedtomethroughtheshrimpstarter,tellingmeabouthislongassociationwiththecountryclub,hisyearsasalawyerinManhattan,hisretirementtoaseniorcitizens’facilityashortdistanceaway.

“Icomehereeveryday,youknow.Itkeepsmeactive,andtherearealwayspeopletotalkto.It’smyhomeawayfromhome.”

“It’sbeautiful,”Isaid,peeringbehindme.Severalheadsimmediatelyturnedaway.“Icanseewhyyou’dwanttocome.”AgnesseemedoutwardlycomposedbutIcoulddetectaslighttremortoherhands.

“Oh,thisisaveryhistoricbuilding,dear.”Emmettwasgesturingtothesideoftheroomwhereaplaquestood.“Itdatesfrom”—hepausedtoensureIhadthefullimpact,thenpronouncedcarefully—“1937.”

Ididn’tliketotellhimthatinourstreetinEnglandwehadcouncilhousingolderthanthat.IthinkMummightevenhavehadapairoftightsolderthanthat.Inodded,smiled,atemychickenwithwildmushroomsandwonderediftherewasanywayIcouldmoveclosertoAgnes,whowasclearlymiserable.

Themealdragged.Emmetttoldmeendlesstalesoftheclub,andamusingthingssaidanddonebypeopleIhadneverheardof,andoccasionallyAgneslookedupandIsmiledather,butIcouldseehersinking.Glancesflickeredsurreptitiouslytowardourtableandheadsdippedtowardheads.ThetwoMrs.Gopnikssittinginchesawayfromeachother!Canyouimagine!Afterthemaincourse,Iexcusedmyselffrommyseat.

“Agnes,wouldyoumindshowingmewheretheLadiesis?”Isaid.Ifiguredeventenminutesawayfromthisroomwouldhelp.

Beforeshecouldanswer,KathrynGopnikplacedhernapkinonthetableandturnedtome.“I’llshowyou,dear.I’mheadedthatway.”Shepickedupherhandbagandstoodbesideme,waiting.IglancedatAgnes,butshedidn’tmove.

Agnesnodded.“Yougo.I’ll—finishmychicken,”shesaid.

IfollowedMrs.GopnikthroughthetablesoftheGreatRoomandoutintothehallway,mymindracing.Wewalkedalongacarpetedcorridor,meafewpacesbehindher,andstoppedattheLadies.Sheopenedthemahoganydoorandstoodback,allowingmeinbeforeher.

“Thankyou,”Imuttered,andheadedintoacubicle.Ididn’tevenwanttowee.Isatontheseat:ifIstayedtherelongenoughshemightleavebeforeIcameout,butwhenIemergedshewasatthebasins,touchingupherlipstick.HergazeslidtowardmeasIwashedmyhands.

“Soyouliveinmyoldhome,”shesaid.

“Yes.”Theredidn’tseemmuchpointinlyingaboutit.

Shepursedherlips,then,satisfied,closedherlipstick.“Thismustallfeelratherawkwardforyou.”

“Ijustdomyjob.”

“Mm.”Shetookoutasmallhairbrushanddraggeditlightlyoverherhair.Iwonderedifitwouldberudetoleave,orifetiquettesaidIshouldalsoreturntothetablewithher.Idriedmyhandsandleanedtowardthemirror,checkingundermyeyesforsmudgesandtakingasmuchtimeaspossible.

“Howismyhusband?”

Iblinked.

“Leonard.Howishe?Surelyyou’renotbetrayinganygreatconfidencebytellingmethat.”Herreflectionlookedoutatme.

“I...Idon’tseehimmuch.Butheseemsfine.”

“Iwaswonderingwhyhewasn’there.Whetherhisarthritishadflaredupagain.”

“Oh.No.Ithinkhehasaworkthingtoday.”

“A‘workthing.’Well.Isupposethat’sgoodnews.”Sheplacedherhairbrushcarefullybackinherbagandpulledoutapowdercompact.

Shepattedhernoseonce,twice,oneachside,beforeclosingit.Iwasrunningoutofthingstodo.Irummagedinmybag,tryingtorememberifIhadbroughtapowdercompactwithme.AndthenMrs.Gopnikturnedtofaceme.“Ishehappy?”

“I’msorry?”

“It’sastraightforwardquestion.”

Myheartbumpedawkwardlyagainstmyribcage.

Hervoicewasmellifluous,even.“Tabwon’ttalktomeabouthim.She’squiteangryatherfatherstill,thoughsheloveshimdesperately.Alwayswasadaddy’sgirl.SoIdon’tthinkit’spossibleforhertopaintanaccuratepicture.”

“Mrs.Gopnik,withrespect,Ireallydon’tthinkit’smyplaceto—”

Sheturnedherheadaway.“No.Isupposenot.”Sheplacedhercompactcarefullyinherhandbag.“I’mprettysureIcanguesswhatyou’vebeentoldaboutme,Miss...?”

“Clark.”

“MissClark.AndI’msureyou’realsoawarethatlifeisrarelyblack-and-white.”

“Ido.”Iswallowed.“IalsoknowAgnesisagoodperson.Smart.Kind.Cultured.Andnotagolddigger.Asyousay,thesethingsarerarelyclear-cut.”

Hereyesmetmineintheglass.Westoodforafewsecondslonger,thensheclosedherhandbagand,afteralastglanceatherreflection,shegaveatightsmile.“I’mgladLeonardiswell.”

Wereturnedtothetablejustastheplateswerebeingcleared.Shesaidnotanotherwordtomefortherestoftheafternoon.

—Thedessertswereservedalongsidethecoffee,theconversationebbed,andlunchdraggedtoaclose.SeveralelderlyladieswerehelpedtotheLadies,theirwalkersextricatedwithgentlecommotionsfromchairlegsastheywent.Themaninthesuitstoodonthesmallpodiumatthefront,sweatinggentlyintohiscollar,thankedeverybodyforcoming,thensaidafewwordsaboutupcomingeventsattheclub,includinga

charitynightintwoweeks,whichwasapparentlysoldout(aroundofapplausegreetedthisnews).Finally,hesaid,theyhadanannouncementtomake,andnoddedtowardourtable.

Agnesletoutabreathandstood,theroom’seyesuponher.Shewalkedtothepodium,takingthemanager’splaceatthemicrophone.Asshewaited,hebroughtanolderAfricanAmericanwomaninadarksuittothefrontoftheroom.Thewomanflutteredherhandsasifeveryoneweremakinganunnecessaryfuss.Agnessmiledather,tookadeepbreath,asIhadinstructedher,thenlaidhertwosmallcardscarefullyonthestand,andbegantospeak,hervoiceclearanddeliberate.

“Goodafternoon,everybody.Thankyouforcomingtoday,andthankyoutoallthestaffforsuchadeliciouslunch.”

Hervoicewasperfectlymodulated,thewordspolishedlikestonesoverhoursofpracticethepreviousweek.Therewasanapprovingmurmur.IglancedatMrs.Gopnik,whoseexpressionwasunreadable.

“Asmanyofyouknow,thisisMaryLander’slastdayattheclub.Wewouldliketowishheraveryhappyretirement.Leonardwishesmetotellyou,Mary,heissoverysorrynottobeabletocometoday.Heappreciateseverythingyouhavedonefortheclubandheknowsthateveryoneelseheredoestoo.”Shepaused,asIhadinstructedher.Theroomwassilent,thewomen’sfacesattentive.“MarystartedhereatGrandPinesin1967asakitchenattendantandroseuptobecomeassistanthousemanager.Everybodyherehasverymuchenjoyedyourcompanyandyourhardworkovertheyears,Mary,andwewillallmissyouverymuch.We—andtheothermembersofthisclub—wouldliketoofferyouasmalltokenofourappreciationandwesincerelyhopethatyourretirementismostenjoyable.”

TherewasapoliteroundofapplauseandAgneswashandedaglasssculptureofascroll,withMary’snameengravedonit.Shehandedittotheolderwoman,smiling,andstoodstillassomepeopletookpictures.Thenshemovedtotheedgeoftheplatformandreturnedtoourtable,herfaceflashingreliefasshewasallowedtoleavethelimelight.IwatchedasMarysmiledformorepictures,thistimewiththemanager.IwasabouttoleanovertoAgnestocongratulateherwhenKathrynGopnikstood.

“Actually,”shesaid,hervoicecuttingacrossthechatter,“I’dliketosayafewwords.”

Aswewatched,shemadeherwayupontothepodium,whereshewalkedpastthestand.ShetookMary’sgiftfromherandhandedittothemanager.ThensheclaspedMary’shandsinherown.“Oh,Mary,”shesaid,andthen,turningsothattheywerefacingoutward:“Mary,Mary,Mary.Whatadarlingyou’vebeen.”

Therewasaspontaneousburstofapplauseacrosstheroom.Mrs.Gopniknodded,waitinguntilitdieddown.“Overtheyearsmydaughterhasgrownupwithyouwatchingoverher—andus—duringthehundreds,no,thousandsofhourswe’vespenthere.Suchhappy,happytimes.Ifwe’vehadtheslightestproblemyou’vealwaysbeenthere,sortingthingsout,bandagingscrapedkneesorputtingendlessicepacksonbumpedheads.Ithinkweallremembertheincidentintheboathouse!”

Therewasarippleoflaughter.

“You’veespeciallylovedourchildren,andthisplacealwaysfeltlikeasanctuarytoLeonardandmebecauseitwastheoneplaceweknewourfamilywouldbesafeandhappy.Thosebeautifullawnshaveseensomanygreattimes,andbeenwitnesstosomuchlaughter.Whilewe’dbeoffplayinggolforhavingadeliciouscocktailwithfriendsthereatthesidelines,you’dbewatchingoverchildrenorhandingoutglassesofthatinimitableicedtea.WeallloveMary’sspecialicedtea,don’twe,friends?”

Therewasacheer.IwatchedasAgnesgrewrigid,clappingroboticallyasifshewasn’tquitesurewhatelsetodo.

Emmettleanedintome.“Mary’sicedteaisquiteathing.Idon’tknowwhatsheputsintoitbut,mygoodness,it’slethal.”Heraisedhiseyestotheheavens.

“Tabithacameoutspeciallyfromthecity,likesomanyofustoday,becauseIknowthatshethinksofyounotjustasstaffatthisclub,butaspartofthefamily.Andweallknowthere’snosubstituteforfamily!”

IdarednotlookatAgnesnow,astheapplausebrokeoutagain.

“Mary,”KathrynGopniksaid,whenithaddieddown,“youhavehelpedperpetuatethetruevaluesofthisplace—valuesthatsomemayfindold-fashionedbutwhichwefeelmakesthiscountryclubwhatitis:

consistency,excellence,andloyalty.Youhavebeenitssmilingface,itsbeatingheart.IknowIspeakforeveryonewhenIsayitsimplywon’tbethesamewithoutyou.”Theolderwomanwasnowbeaming,hereyesglitteringwithtears.“Everyone,chargeyourglassesandraisethemtoourwonderfulMary.”

Theroomerupted.Thosewhowereabletostandstood.AsEmmettclamberedunsteadilytohisfeet,Iglancedaround,andthen,feelingsomehowtreacherous,Ididtoo.Agneswasthelasttorisefromherchair,stillclapping,hersmileaglossyrictusonherface.

—Therewassomethingcomfortingaboutatrulyheavingbar,onewhereyouhadtothrustyourarmthroughaqueuethreedeeptogettheattentionofabartender,andwhereyou’dbeluckyiftwo-thirdsofyourdrinkremainedintheglassbythetimeyou’dfoughtyourwaybacktoyourtable.Balthazar,Nathantoldme,wassomethingofaSoHoinstitution:alwaysjammed,alwaysfun,astapleoftheNewYorkbarscene.Andtonight,evenonaSunday,itwaspacked,busyenoughforthenoise,theever-movingbarmen,thelightsandtheclattertodrivetheday’seventsfrommyhead.

Wesankacoupleofbeerseach,standingatthebar,andNathanintroducedmetotheguysheknewfromhisgym,whosenamesIforgotalmostimmediatelybutwhowerefunnyandniceandjustneededonewomanasanexcusetobouncecheerfulinsultsoffeachother.EventuallywefoughtourwaytoatablewhereIdranksomemoreandateacheeseburgerandfeltabitbetter.Ataroundteno’clock,whentheboyswerebusydoinggruntingimpressionsofothergym-goers,completewithfacialexpressionsandbulgingveins,Igotuptogotothebathroom.Istayedtherefortenminutes,relishingtherelativesilenceasItouchedupmymakeupandruffledmyhair.ItriednottothinkaboutwhatSamwasdoing.Ithadstoppedbeingacomforttome,andhadinsteadstartedtogivemeaknotinmystomach.ThenIheadedbackout.

“Areyoustalkingme?”

Ispunroundinthecorridor.TherestoodJoshuaRyaninashirtandjeans,hiseyebrowsraised.

“What?Oh.Hi!”Myhandwentinstinctivelytomyhair.“No—no,I’mjustherewithsomefriends.”

“I’mkiddingyou.Howareyou,LouisaClark?LongwayfromCentralPark.”Hestoopedtokissmycheek.Hesmelleddelicious,oflimesandsomethingsoftandmusky.“Wow.Thatwasalmostpoetic.”

“JustworkingmywaythroughallthebarsinManhattan.Youknowhowitis.”

“Oh,yeah.The‘trysomethingnew’thing.Youlookcute.Ilikethewhole”—hegesturedtowardmyshiftdressandshort-sleevedcardigan—“preppyvibe.”

“Ihadtogotoacountryclubtoday.”

“It’sagoodlookonyou.Wanttogrababeer?”

“I—Ican’treallyleavemyfriends.”Helookedmomentarilydisappointed.“But,hey,”Iadded,“comeandjoinus!”

“Great!LetmejusttellthepeopleI’mwith.I’mtaggingalongonadate—they’llbegladtoshakeme.Whereareyou?”

IfoughtmywaybacktoNathan,myfaceskinsuddenlyflushedandafaintbuzzinginmyears.Itdidn’tmatterhowwronghisaccent,howdifferenthiseyebrows,theslantattheedgeofhiseyesthatwentthewrongway,itwasimpossibletolookatJoshandnotseeWillthere.Iwonderedifitwouldeverstopjoltingme.Iwonderedatmyunconsciousinternaluseoftheword“ever.”

“Ibumpedintoafriend!”Isaid,justasJoshappeared.

“Afriend,”saidNathan.

“Nathan,Dean,Arun,thisisJoshRyan.”

“Youforgot‘theThird.’”Hegrinnedatme,likewe’dexchangedaprivatejoke.“Hey.”Joshheldoutahand,leanedforward,andshookNathan’s.IsawNathan’seyestraveloverhimandflickertowardme.Iraisedabright,neutralsmile,asifIhadloadsofgood-lookingmalefriendsdottedalloverManhattanwhomightjustwanttocomeandjoinusinbars.

“CanIbuyanyoneabeer?”saidJosh.“Theydogreatfoodheretooifanyone’sinterested.”

“A‘friend’?”murmuredNathan,asJoshsteppeduptothebar.

“Yes.Afriend.ImethimattheYellowBall.WithAgnes.”

“Helookslike—”

“Iknow.”

Nathanconsideredthis.Helookedatme,thenatJosh.“Thatwhole‘sayingyes’thingofyours.Youhaven’t...”

“IloveSam,Nathan.”

“Sureyoudo,mate.I’mjustsaying.”

IfeltNathan’sscrutinyduringtherestoftheevening.JoshandIsomehowendedupontheedgeofthetableawayfromeveryoneelse,wherehetalkedabouthisjobandtheinsanemixtureofopiatesandantidepressantshisworkcolleaguesshoveledintothemselveseverydayjusttocopewiththedemandsoftheoffice,andhowhardhewastryingnottooffendhiseasilyoffendedboss,andhowhekeptfailing,andtheapartmentheneverhadtimetodecorateandwhathadhappenedwhenhisclean-freakmothervisitedfromBoston.InoddedandsmiledandlistenedandtriedtomakesurethatwhenIfoundmyselfwatchinghisfaceitwasinanappropriate,interestedwayratherthanaslightlyobsessive,wistfuloh-but-you’re-so-like-himway.

“Andhowaboutyou,LouisaClark?You’vesaidalmostnothingaboutyourselfallevening.How’stheholidaygoing?Whendoyouhavetoheadback?”

Thejob.IrealizedwithalurchthatthelasttimewehadmetIhadliedaboutwhoIwas.AndalsothatIwastoodrunktomaintainanykindoflie,ortofeelasashamedasIprobablyshouldaboutconfessing.“Josh,Ihavetotellyousomething.”

Heleanedforward.“Ah.You’remarried.”

“Nope.”

“Well,that’ssomething.Youhaveanincurabledisease?Weekslefttolive?”

Ishookmyhead.

“You’rebored?You’rebored.You’dreallyrathertalktosomeoneelsenow?Igetit.I’vebarelydrawnbreath.”

Istartedtolaugh.“No.Notthat.You’regreatcompany.”Ilookeddownatmyfeet.“I’m...notwhoItoldyouIwas.I’mnotAgnes’s

friendfromEngland.IjustsaidthatbecausesheneededanallyattheYellowBall.I’m,well,I’mherassistant.I’mjustanassistant.”

WhenIlookeduphewasgazingatme.

“And?”

Istaredathim.Hiseyeshadtinyflecksofgoldinthem.

“Louisa.ThisisNewYork.Everyonetalksthemselvesup.Everybanktellerisajuniorvicepresident.Everybartenderhasaproductioncompany.IguessedyouhadtoworkforAgnesbecauseofthewayyouwererunningaroundafterher.Nofriendwoulddothat.Unlesstheywere,like,reallystupid.Whichyouplainlyarenot.”

“Andyoudon’tmind?”

“Hey.I’mjustgladyou’renotmarried.Unlessyouaremarried.Thatbitwasn’talietoo,wasit?”

Hehadtakenholdofoneofmyhands.Ifeltmybreathgiveslightlyinmychest,andIhadtoswallowbeforeIspoke.“No.ButIdohaveaboyfriend.”

Hekepthiseyesonmine,perhapssearchingtoseewhethertherewassomepunchlinecoming,thenreleasedmyhandreluctantly.“Ah.Well,that’sapity.”Heleanedbackinhischair,andtookasipofhisdrink.“Sohowcomeheisn’there?”

“Becausehe’sinEngland.”

“Andhe’scomingover?”

“No.”

Hepulledaface,thekindoffacepeoplemakewhentheythinkyou’redoingsomethingstupidbutdon’twanttosaysooutloud.Heshrugged.“Thenwecanbefriends.Youknoweveryonedateshere,right?Doesn’thavetobeathing.I’llbeyourincrediblyhandsomemalewalker.”

“Doyoumeandatingasin‘havingsexwith’?”

“Whoa.YouEnglishgirlsdon’tminceyourwords.”

“Ijustdon’twanttoleadyoudownthegardenpath.”

“You’retellingmethisisn’tgoingtobeafriends-with-benefitsthing.Okay,LouisaClark.Igetit.”

Itriednottosmile.Andfailed.

“You’reverycute,”hesaid.“Andyou’refunny.Anddirect.AndnotlikeanygirlI’veevermet.”

“Andyou’reverycharming.”

“That’sbecauseI’malittlebitenraptured.”

“AndI’malittlebitdrunk.”

“Oh,nowI’mwounded.Reallywounded.”Heclutchedathisheart.

ItwasatthispointthatIturnedmyheadandsawNathanwatching.Hegaveafaintlifttohiseyebrow,thentappedhiswrist.Itwasenoughtobringmebacktoearth.“Youknow—Ireallyhavetogo.Earlystart.”

“I’vegonetoofar.I’vefrightenedyouoff.”

“Oh,I’mnotthateasilyfrightened.ButIdohaveatrickydayatworktomorrow.Andmymorningrundoesn’tworksowellonseveralpintsofbeerandatequilachaser.”

“Willyoucallme?Foraplatonicbeer?SoIcanmoonatyoualittle?”

“Ihavetowarnyou,‘mooning’meanssomethingquitedifferentinEngland,”Itoldhim,andheexplodedwithlaughter.

“Well,Ipromisenottodothat.Unless,ofcourse,youwantmeto.”

“That’squitetheoffer.”

“Imeanit.Callme.”

Iwalkedout,feelinghiseyesonmybackthewholeway.AsNathanhailedayellowtaxi,Iturnedasthedoorwasclosing.Icouldonlyjustmakehimoutthroughatinygapasitswungshut,butitwasenoughtoseehewasstillwatchingme.Andsmiling.

—IcalledSam.“Hey,”Isaid,whenhepickedup.

“Lou?WhyamIevenasking?Whoelsewouldringmeatfourforty-fiveinthemorning?”

“Sowhatareyoudoing?”Ilaybackonmybedandletmyshoesdropfrommyfeetontothecarpetedfloor.

“Justbackoffashift.Reading.Howareyou?Yousoundcheerful.”

“Beentoabar.Toughday.ButIfeelalotbetternow.AndIjustwantedtohearyourvoice.BecauseImissyou.Andyou’remyboyfriend.”

“Andyou’redrunk.”Helaughed.

“Imightbe.Alittle.Didyousayyouwerereading?”

“Yup.Anovel.”

“Really?Ithoughtyoudidn’treadfiction.”

“Oh,Katiegotitforme.InsistedI’denjoyit.Ican’tfacetheendlessinquisitionsifIkeepnotreadingit.”

“She’sbuyingyoubooks?”Ipushedmyselfupright,mygoodmoodsuddenlydissipating.

“Why?Whatdoesbuyingmeabookmean?”Hesoundedhalfamused.

“Itmeansshefanciesyou.”

“Itdoesnot.”

“Ittotallydoes.”Alcoholhadloosenedmyinhibitions.IfeltthewordscomingbeforeIcouldstopthem.“Ifwomentrytomakeyoureadsomethingit’sbecausetheyfancyyou.Theywanttobeinyourhead.Theywanttomakeyouthinkofstuff.”

Iheardhimchuckle.“Andwhatifit’samotorcyclerepairmanual?”

“Stillcounts.Becausethenshe’dbetryingtoshowyouwhatacool,sexy,motorbike-lovingkindofchicksheis.”

“Well,thisisn’taboutmotorbikes.It’ssomeFrenchthing.”

“French?Thisisbad.What’sthetitle?”

“Madamede.”

“Madamedewhat?”

“JustMadamede.It’saboutageneralandsomeearringsand...”

“Andwhat?”

“Hehasanaffair.”

“She’smakingyoureadbooksaboutFrenchpeoplewhohaveaffairs?Oh,myGod.Shetotallyfanciesyou.”

“You’rewrong,Lou.”

“Iknowwhensomeonefanciessomeone,Sam.”

“Really.”Hehadbeguntosoundtired.

“So,amanmadeapassatmetonight.Iknewhefanciedme.SoItoldhimstraightoffIwaswithsomeone.Iheadeditoff.”

“Oh,youdid?Whowasthat,then?”

“HisnameisJosh.”

“Josh.WouldthatbethesameJoshwhocalledyouwhenIwasleaving?”

EventhroughmyslightlydrunkenfugIhadbeguntorealizethisconversationwasabadidea.“Yes.”

“Andyoujusthappenedtobumpintohiminabar.”

“Idid!IwastherewithNathan.AndIliterallyranintohimoutsidetheLadies.”

“Sowhatdidhesay?”Hisvoicenowheldafaintedge.

“He...hesaiditwasapity.”

“Andisit?”

“What?”

“Apity?”

Therewasashortsilence.Ifeltsuddenly,horriblysober.“I’mjusttellingyouwhathesaid.I’mwithyou,Sam.I’mliterallyjustusingthisasanexampleofhowIcouldtellthatsomeonefanciedmeandhowIheadeditoffbeforehecouldgetthewrongidea.Whichisaconceptyouseemtobeunwillingtograsp.”

“No.Seemstomeyou’recallingmeupinthemiddleofthenighttohaveagoatmeaboutmyworkpartnerwhohaslentmeabook,butyou’refinewithyougoingoutandhavingdrunkconversationswiththisJoshaboutrelationships.Jesus.Youwouldn’tevenadmitwewereinarelationshipuntilIpushedyouintoit.Andnowyou’llhappilytalkaboutintimatestufftosomeguyyoujustmetinabar.Ifyoureallyjustmethiminabar.”

“Itjusttookmetime,Sam!Ithoughtyouwereplayingaround!”

“Ittookyoutimebecauseyouwerestillinlovewiththememoryofanotherguy.Adeadguy.Andyou’renowinNewYorkbecause,well,hewantedyoutogothere.SoIhavenoideawhyyou’rebeingweirdandjealousaboutKatie.YounevermindedhowmuchtimeIspentwithDonna.”

“BecauseDonnadidn’tfancyyou.”

“You’veneverevenmetKatie!Howcouldyoupossiblyknowwhethershefanciesmeornot?”

“I’veseenthepictures!”

“Whatpictures?”heexploded.

Iwasanidiot.Iclosedmyeyes.“OnherFacebookpage.Shehaspictures.Ofyouandher.”Iswallowed.“Apicture.”

Therewasalongsilence.Thekindofsilencethatsays,Areyouserious?Thekindofominoussilencethatcomeswhilesomebodyquietlyadjustshisviewofwhoyouare.WhenSamspokeagainhisvoicewaslowandcontrolled.“ThisisaridiculousdiscussionandI’vegottogetsomesleep.”

“Sam,I—”

“Gotosleep,Lou.We’llspeaklater.”Herangoff.

I

12

barelyslept,allthethingsIwishedIhadandhadn’tsaidwhirringaroundmyheadinanendlesscarousel,andwokegroggilytothe

soundofknocking.Istumbledoutofbed,andopenedmydoortofindMrs.DeWittstandingthereinherdressing-gown.Shelookedtinyandfrailwithouthermakeupandsethair,andherfacewastwistedwithanxiety.

“Oh,you’rethere,”shesaid,likeIwouldhavebeenanywhereelse.“Come.Come.Ineedyourhelp.”

“Wh-what?Wholetyouin?”

“Thebigone.TheAustralian.Comeon.Notimetowaste.”

Irubbedmyeyes,strugglingtocometo.

“He’shelpedmebeforebutsaidhecouldn’tleaveMr.Gopnik.Oh,whatdoesitmatter?IopenedmydoorthismorningtoputmytrashoutandDeanMartinranoutandhe’ssomewhereinthebuilding.Ihavenoideawhere.Ican’tfindhimbymyself.”Hervoicewasquaveringyetimperious,andherhandsflutteredaroundherhead.“Hurry.Hurrynow.I’mafraidsomebodywillopenthedoorsdownstairsandhe’llgetoutontothesidewalk.”Shewrungherhandstogether.“He’snotgoodbyhimselfoutdoors.Andsomeonemightstealhim.He’sapedigree,youknow.”

Igrabbedmykeyandfollowedheroutintothehall,stillinmyT-shirt.

“Wherehaveyoulooked?”

“Well,nowhere,dear.I’mnotgoodatwalking.That’swhyIneedyoutodoit.I’mgoingtogoandgetmystick.”ShelookedatmeasifIhadsaidsomethingparticularlystupid.Isighed,tryingtoimaginewhatIwoulddoifIwereasmall,wonky-eyedpugwithanunexpectedtasteoffreedom.

“He’sallIhave.Youhavetofindhim.”Shestartedtocough,asifherlungscouldn’tcopewiththetension.

“I’lltrythemainlobbyfirst.”

Irandownstairs,onthebasisthatDeanMartinwasunlikelytobeabletocallthelift,andscannedthecorridorforasmall,angrycanine.Empty.Icheckedmywatch,notingwithmilddismaythatthiswasbecauseitwasnotyetsixa.m.IpeeredbehindandunderAshok’sdesk,thenrantohisoffice,whichwaslocked.IcalledDeanMartin’snamesoftlythewholetime,feelingfaintlystupidasIdidso.Nosign.Iranbackupthestairsanddidthesamethingonourfloors,checkingthekitchenandbackcorridors.Nothing.Ididthesameonthefourthfloor,beforerationalizingthatifIwasnowoutofbreath,thechancesofasmallfatpugbeingabletorunupthatmanyflightsofstairsatspeedwasprettyunlikely.AndthenoutsideIheardthefamiliarwhineofthegarbagetruck.AndIthoughtaboutourolddog,whohadaspectacularabilitytotolerate—andevenenjoy—themostdisgustingsmellsknowntohumanity.

Iheadedtotheserviceentrance.There,entranced,stoodDeanMartin,drooling,asthegarbagemenwheeledthehuge,stinkingbinsbackwardandforwardfromourbuildingtotheirtruck.Iapproachedhimslowly,butthenoisewassogreatandhisattentionsolockedontherubbishthathedidn’thearmeuntiltheexactmomentIreacheddownandgrabbedhim.

Haveyoueverheldaragingpug?Ihaven’tfeltanythingsquirmthathardsinceIhadtopinatwo-year-oldThomdownonasofawhilemysisterextricatedaroguemarblefromhisleftnostril.AsIwrestledDeanMartinundermyarm,thedogthrewhimselfleftandright,hiseyesbulgingwithfury,hisoutragedyappingfillingthesilentbuilding.Ihadtowrapmyarmsaroundhim,myheadatanangletostophissnappingjawreachingme.FromupstairsIheardMrs.DeWittcallingdown:“DeanMartin?Isthathim?”

IttookeverythingIhadtoholdhim.Iranupthelastflightofstairs,desperatetohandhimover.

“Gothim!”Igasped.Mrs.DeWittsteppedforward,herarmsoutstretched.Shehadaleadreadyandshereachedoutandsnappeditontohiscollar,justasIloweredhimtotheground.Atwhichpoint,

withaspeedwhollyincommensuratewithhissizeandshape,hewhippedroundandsankhisteethintomylefthand.

Iftherehadbeenanyoneleftinthebuildingwhohadn’talreadybeenwokenbythebarking,myscreamwouldprobablyhavedoneit.ItwasatleastloudenoughtoshockDeanMartinintolettinggo.Ibentdoubleovermyhandandswore,thebloodalreadyblisteringonthewound.“Yourdogbitme!Hebloodybitme!”

Mrs.DeWitttookabreathandstoodalittlestraighter.“Well,ofcoursehedid,withyouholdinghimthattightly.Hewasprobablydesperatelyuncomfortable!”Sheshooedthelittledoginside,wherehecontinuedtogrowlatme,teethbared.“There,see?”shesaid,gesturingtowardhim.“Yourshoutingandscreamingfrightenedhim.He’sterriblyagitatednow.Youhavetolearnaboutdogsifyou’regoingtohandlethemcorrectly.”

Icouldn’tspeak.Myjawhaddropped,cartoon-style.ItwasatthismomentthatMr.Gopnik,intracksuitbottomsandaT-shirt,threwopenhisfrontdoor.

“Whatonearthisthisracket?”hesaid,stridingoutintothecorridor.Iwasstartledbytheferocityofhisvoice.Hetookinthescenebeforehim,meinmyT-shirtandknickers,clutchingmybleedinghand,andtheoldwomaninherdressing-gown,thedogsnappingatherfeet.BehindMr.GopnikIcouldjustmakeoutNathaninhisuniform,atowelraisedtohisface.“Whatthehellisgoingon?”

“Oh,askthewretchedgirl.Shestartedit.”Mrs.DeWittscoopedDeanMartinupinherthinarmsagain,thenwaggedafingeratMr.Gopnik.“Anddon’tyoudarelecturemeonnoiseinthisbuilding,youngman!YourapartmentisaveritableVegascasinowiththeamountofto-ingsandfro-ings.I’mamazednobodyhascomplainedtoMr.Ovitz.”Withherheadhigh,sheturnedandshutthedoor.

Mr.Gopnikblinkedtwice,lookedatme,thenbackatthecloseddoor.Therewasashortsilence.Andthen,unexpectedly,hebegantolaugh.“‘Youngman’!Well,”hesaid,shakinghishead,“it’salongtimesinceanyonecalledmethat.”HeturnedtoNathanbehindhim.“Youmustbedoingsomethingright.”

Fromsomewhereinsidetheapartmentamuffledvoiceliftedinresponse:“Don’tflatteryourself,Gopnik!”

—Mr.GopniksentmeinthecarwithGarrytogetatetanusshotfromhispersonalphysician.Isatinawaitingroomthatresembledtheloungeofaluxuryhotel,andwasseenbyamiddle-agedIraniandoctor,whowaspossiblythemostsolicitouspersonIhadevermet.WhenIglancedatthebill,tobepaidbyMr.Gopnik’ssecretary,IforgotthebiteandthoughtImightpassoutinstead.

AgneshadalreadyheardthestorybythetimeIgotback.Iwasapparentlythetalkofthebuilding.“Youmustsue!”shesaidcheerfully.“Sheisawful,troublemakingoldwoman.Andthatdogisplainlydangerous.Iamnotsureissafeforustoliveinsamebuilding.Doyouneedtimeoff?IfyouneedtimeoffmaybeIcansueherforlostservices.”

Isaidnothing,nursingmydarkfeelingstowardMrs.DeWittandDeanMartin.“Nogooddeedgoesunpunished,eh?”Nathansaid,whenIbumpedintohiminthekitchen.Heheldupmyhand,checkingoutthebandage.“Jeez.Thatlittledogisropeable.”

ButevenasIfeltquietlyfuriouswithher,IkeptrememberingwhatMrs.DeWitthadsaidwhenshehadfirstcometomydoor.He’sallIhave.

—AlthoughTabithamovedbacktoherapartmentthatweek,themoodinthebuildingremainedfractious,muted,andmarkedwithoccasionalexplosions.Mr.GopnikcontinuedtospendlonghoursatworkwhileAgnesfilledmuchofourtimetogetheronthephonetohermotherinPolish.Igotthefeelingtherewassomekindoffamilycrisisgoingon.IlariaburnedoneofAgnes’sfavoriteshirts—agenuineaccident,Ibelieved,asshehadbeencomplainingaboutthetemperaturecontrolsonthenewironforweeks—andwhenAgnesscreamedatherthatshewasdisloyal,atraitor,asukainherhouse,andhurledthedamagedshirtather,IlariafinallyeruptedandtoldMr.Gopnikthatshecouldnotworkhereanymore,itwasimpossible,nobodycouldhaveworkedharderandforlessrewardovertheseyears.Shecouldnolongerstanditandwashandinginhernotice.Mr.Gopnik,withsoftwordsandan

empathetichead-tilt,persuadedhertochangehermind(hemightalsohaveofferedhardcash),andthisapparentactofbetrayalcausedAgnestoslamherdoorhardenoughtotopplethesecondlittleChinesevasefromthehalltablewithamusicalcrash,andforhertospendanentireeveningweepinginherdressingroom.

WhenIappearedthenextmorningAgneswasseatedbesideherhusbandatthebreakfasttable,herheadrestingonhisshoulderashemurmuredintoherear,theirfingersentwined.SheapologizedformallytoIlariaashewatched,smiling,andwhenheleftforworkshesworefuriously,inPolish,forthewholetimeittookustojogaroundCentralPark.

ThateveningsheannouncedshewasgoingtoPolandforalongweekend,toseeherfamily,andIfeltafaintreliefwhenIgatheredshedidnotwantmetocometoo.Sometimesbeinginthatapartment,enormousasitwas,withAgnes’sever-changingmoodsandtheswingingtensionsbetweenherandMr.Gopnik,Ilaria,andhisfamilyfeltimpossiblyclaustrophobic.Thethoughtofbeingaloneforafewdaysfeltlikealittleoasis.

“Whatwouldyoulikemetodowhileyou’regone?”Isaid.

“Havesomedaysoff!”shesaid,smiling.“Youaremyfriend,Louisa!IthinkyoumusthaveanicetimewhileIamaway.Oh,Iamsoexcitedtoseemyfamily.Soexcited.”Sheclappedherhands.“JusttoPoland!Nostupidcharitythingstogoto!Iamsohappy.”

IrememberedhowreluctantshehadbeentoleaveherhusbandevenforanightwhenIhadarrived.Andpushedthethoughtaway.

WhenIwalkedbackintothekitchen,stillponderingthischange,Ilariawascrossingherself.

“Areyouokay,Ilaria?”

“I’mpraying,”shesaid,notlookingupfromherpan.

“Iseverythingallright?”

“Isfine.I’mprayingthatthatputadoesn’tcomebackagain.”

—

Ie-mailedSam,thegermofanideafloodingmewithexcitement.Iwouldhaverunghim,buthehadbeensilentsinceourphonecallandIwasafraidhewasstillannoyedwithme.ItoldhimIhadbeengivenanunexpectedthree-dayweekend,hadlookedupflights,andthoughtImightsplurgeonanunexpectedtriphome.Sohowaboutit?Whatelsewerewagesfor?Isigneditwithasmileyface,anairplaneemoji,someheartsandkisses.

Theanswercamebackwithinanhour.

Sorry.I’mworkingflatoutandSaturdaynightIpromisedtotakeJaketotheO2toseesomeband.It’saniceideabutthisisn’tagreatweekend.Sx

Istaredatthee-mailandtriednottofeelchilled.It’saniceidea.AsifI’dsuggestedacasualstrollaroundthepark.

“Ishecoolingonme?”

Nathanreadittwice.“No.He’stellingyouhe’sbusyandthisisn’tagreattimeforyoutocomehomeunexpectedly.”

“He’scoolingonme.There’snothinginthate-mail.Nolove,no...desire.”

“Orhemighthavebeenonhiswaytoworkwhenhewroteit.Oronthejohn.Ortalkingtohisboss.He’sjustbeingabloke.”

Ididn’tbuyit.IknewSam.Istaredatthosetwolinesagainandagain,tryingtodissecttheirtone,theirhiddenintent.IwentonFacebook,hatingmyselffordoingso,andcheckedtoseewhetherKatieIngramhadannouncedthatshewasdoingsomethingspecialthatweekend.(Annoyingly,shehadn’tpostedanythingatall.Whichwasexactlywhatyouwoulddoifyouwereplanningtoseducesomeoneelse’shotparamedicboyfriend.)AndthenItookabreathandwrotehimaresponse.Well,severalresponses,butthiswastheonlyoneIdidn’tdelete.

—Noproblem.Itwasalongshot!HopeyouhavealovelytimewithJake.Lx

AndthenIpressed“send,”marvelingathowfarthewordsofane-mailcoulddeviatefromwhatyouactuallyfelt.

—AgnesleftontheThursdayevening,ladenwithgifts.Iwavedheroffwithbigsmilesandcollapsedinfrontofthetelevision.

OnFridaymorningIwenttoanexhibitionofChineseoperacostumesattheMetCostumeInstituteandspentanhouradmiringtheintricatelyembroidered,brightlycoloredrobes,themirroredsheenofthesilks.Fromthere,inspired,ItraveledtoWestThirty-seventhtovisitsomefabricandhaberdasherystoresIhadlookedupthepreviousweek.TheOctoberdaywascoolandcrisp,heraldingtheonsetofwinter.Itookthesubway,andenjoyeditsgrubby,fuggywarmth.Ispentanhourscanningtheshelves,losingmyselfamongtheboltsofpatternedfabric.IhaddecidedtoputtogethermyownmoodboardforAgnesforwhenshereturned,coveringthelittlechaiselongueandthecushionswithbright,cheerfulcolors—jadegreensandpinks,gorgeousprintswithparrotsandpineapples,farfromthemuteddamasksanddrapesthattheexpensiveinteriordecoratorskeptofferingher.ThosewereallFirstMrs.Gopnikcolors.Agnesneededtoputherownstampontheapartment—somethingboldandlivelyandbeautiful.IexplainedwhatIwasdoing,andthewomanatthedesktoldmeaboutanothershop,intheEastVillage—asecondhandclothesoutfitwheretheykeptboltsofvintagefabricattheback.

Itwasanunpromisingstorefront—agrubby1970sexteriorthatpromiseda“VintageClothesEmporium,alldecades,allstyles,lowprices.”ButIwalkedinandstoppedinmytracks.Theshopwasawarehouse,setwithcarouselsofclothesindistinctsectionsunderhomemadesignsthatsaid“1940s,”“1960s,”“ClothesThatDreamsAreMadeOf,”and“BargainCorner:NoShameInARippedSeam.”Theairsmelledmusky,ofdecades-oldperfume,moth-eatenfur,andlong-forgotteneveningsout.Igulpedinthescentlikeoxygen,feelingasifIhadsomehowrecoveredapartofmyselfIhadbarelyknownIwasmissing.Itrailedaroundthestore,tryingonarmfulsofclothesbydesignersIhadneverheardof,theirnamesawhisperedechoofsomelong-forgottenage—TailoredbyMichel,FonsecaofNewJersey,MissAramis—runningmyfingersoverinvisiblestitching,placingChinesesilksandchiffonagainstmycheek.Icouldhaveboughtadozenthings,butIfinallysettledonatealbluefittedcocktaildresswithhugefurcuffsandascoopneck(Itoldmyselffurdidn’tcountifitdatedfromsixtyyearsago),apairofvintagedenimrailroaddungarees,andacheckedshirtthatmademewanttochopdownatreeormayberideahorsewithaswishytail.Icouldhavestayedthereallday.

“I’vehadmyeyeonthatdressforsoooolong,”saidthegirlatthecheckoutdesk,asIplaceditonthecounter.Shewasheavilytattooed,

herdyedblackhairsweptupinahugechignonandhereyeslinedwithdarkkohl.“ButIcouldn’tgetmytushintoit.Youlookedcute.”Hervoicewasraspy,thickenedbycigarettesandimpossiblycool.

“IhavenoideawhenI’llwearit,butIhavetohaveit.”

“That’showIfeelaboutclothesallthetime.Theytalktoyou,right?Thatdresshasbeenscreamingatme:Buymeyouidiot!Andmaybelayoffthepotatochips!”Shestrokedit.“Bye-bye,littlebluefriend.I’msorryIletyoudown.”

“Yourstoreisamazing.”

“Oh,we’rehanginginhere.BuffetedbythecruelwindsofrentrisesandManhattaniteswhowouldrathergotoTJMaxxthanbuysomethingoriginalandbeautiful.Lookatthatquality.”Shehelduptheliningofthedress,pointingtothetinystitches.“HowareyougoingtogetworklikethatoutofsomesweatshopinIndonesia?NobodyinthewholeofNewYorkstatehasadresslikethis.”Sheraisedhereyebrows.“Exceptyou,Britishlady.Whereisthatbeautyfrom?”

IwaswearingagreenmilitarygreatcoatthatmydadjokedsmelledlikeithadbeenintheCrimeanWar,andaredbeanie.UnderneathIhadmyturquoiseDr.Martensboots,apairoftweedshorts,andtights.

“I’mlovingthatlook.Youeverwannaoffloadthatcoat,Icouldsellitlikethat.”Shesnappedherfingerssoloudlythatmyheadshotbackward.“Militarycoats.Nevergettired.IhavearedinfantrycoatthatmygrandmaswearsshestolefromaguardsmanatBuckinghamPalace.Icutthebackoffandturneditintoabum-freezer.Youknowwhatabum-freezeris,right?Youwannaseeapicture?”

Idid.Webondedoverthatshortjacketthewayotherpeoplebondoverpicturesofbabies.HernamewasLydiaandshelivedinBrooklyn.Sheandhersister,Angelica,hadinheritedthestorefromtheirparentssevenyearspreviously.Theyhadasmallbutloyalclientele,andweremostlykeptafloatbyvisitsfromTVandfilmcostumedesignerswhowouldbuythingstoripapartandre-tailor.Mostoftheirclothes,shesaid,camefromestatesales.“Floridaisthebest.Youhavethesegrandmaswithhugeair-conditionedclosetsstuffedfullofcocktaildressesfromthe1950sthattheynevergotridof.Weflydowneverycoupleofmonthsandmostlyrestockfromgrievingrelatives.Butit’sgettingharder.There’ssomuchcompetitionthesedays.”Shegaveme

acardwiththeirwebsiteande-mail.“Youeverhaveanythingyouwanttosell,youjustgivemeacall.”

“Lydia,”Isaid,whenshehadpackedmyclotheswithtissueandplacedtheminabag,“IthinkI’mabuyermorethanaseller.Butthankyou.Yourstoreisthegreatest.You’rethegreatest.Ifeellike...IfeellikeI’mathome.”

“Youareadorable.”Shesaidthiswithnochangeinherfacialexpressionwhatsoever.Sheheldupafinger,thenstoopedbelowthecounter.Shecameupbearingapairofvintagesunglasses,darkwithpaleblueplasticframes.

“Someonelefttheseheremonthsago.Iwasgoingtoputthemupforsalebutitjustoccurredtometheywouldlookfabulousonyou,especiallyinthatdress.”

“Iprobablyshouldn’t,”Ibegan.“I’vealreadyspentso—”

“Shh!Agift.Soyou’renowindebtedtousandhavetocomeback.There.Howcutedoyoulookinthose?”Sheheldupamirror.

Ihadtoadmit,Ididlookcute.Iadjustedtheshadesonmynose.“Well,thisisofficiallymybestdayinNewYork.Lydia,I’llseeyounextweek.Andbasicallyspendallmymoneyinherefromnowon.”

“Cool!Thisishowweemotionallyblackmailourcustomersintokeepingusafloat!”ShelitaSobranieandwavedmeoff.

—Ispenttheafternoonputtingtogetherthemoodboardandtryingonmynewclothes,andsuddenlyitwassixo’clockandIwassittingonmybedtappingmyfingersonmyknees.Ihadbeenthrilledwiththeideaofhavingtimetomyself,butnowtheeveningstretchedinfrontofmelikeableak,featurelesslandscape.ItextedNathan,whowasstillwithMr.Gopnik,toseeifhewantedtogooutforabitetoeatafterwork,buthehadadate,andsaidsonicely,butinthewaythatpeopledowhentheyreallydon’tneedafifthwheeltaggingalong.

IthoughtaboutcallingSamagain,butInolongerhadfaiththatourphonecallsweregoingtohappeninreallifethewaytheyhappenedinmyhead,andalthoughIkeptstaringatthephonemyfingersneverquitemadeittothedigits.IthoughtaboutJosh,andwondered

whetherifIcalledhimupandaskedtomeethimforadrinkhewouldthinkItMeantSomething.AndthenIwonderedifthefactthatIwantedtomeethimforadrinkdidActuallyMeanSomething.IcheckedKatieIngram’sFacebookpage,butshestillhadn’tposted.AndthenIheadedintothekitchenbeforeIcoulddoanythingelsethatstupidandaskedIlariaifshewantedanyhelpmakingsupper,whichcausedhertorockonherblack-slipperedheelandstareatmesuspiciouslyforafulltenseconds.“Youwanttohelpmemakesupper?”

“Yes,”Isaid,andsmiled.

“No,”shesaid,andturnedaway.

—UntilthateveningIhadn’trealizedquitehowfewpeopleIknewinNewYork.IhadbeensobusysinceI’darrivedandmylifehadbeensocomprehensivelybasedaroundAgnes,herscheduleandneeds,thatithadn’toccurredtomethatIhadn’tmadeanyfriendsofmyown.ButtherewassomethingaboutaFridaynightinthecitywithnoplansthatmadeyoufeellike...well,likeabitofaloser.

IwalkedtothegoodsushiplaceandboughtmisosoupandsomesashimiIhadn’thadbeforeandtriednottothink,Eel!I’mactuallyeatingeel!anddrankabeer,thenlayonmybed,flickedthroughthechannels,andpushedawaythoughtsofotherthings,suchaswhatSamwasdoing.ItoldmyselfIwasinNewYork,thecenteroftheuniverse.SowhatifIwashavingaFridaynightin?IwassimplyrestingafteraweekofmydemandingNewYorkjob.Icouldgooutanynightoftheweek,ifIreallywantedto.Itoldmyselfthisseveraltimes.Andthenmyphonepinged.

—YououtexploringNewYork’sfinestbars

again?

Iknewwhoitwaswithoutlooking.Somethinginsidemelurched.Ihesitatedamomentbeforeresponding.

—Justhavinganightin,actually.

—Fancyafriendlybeerwithanexhausted

corporatewageslave?Ifnothingelse,you

couldmakesureIdon’tgohomewithan

unsuitablewoman.

Istartedtosmile.AndthenItyped:WhatmakesyouthinkI’manykindofdefense?

—Areyousayingwelooklikewecouldneverbe

together?Oh,that’sharsh.

—ImeantwhatmakesyouthinkI’dstopyou

goinghomewithsomeoneelse?

—Thefactthatyou’reevenrespondingtomy

messages?(Headdedasmileyfacetothis.)

Istoppedtyping,feelingsuddenlydisloyal.Istaredatmyphone,watchingthecursorwinkimpatiently.Intheendhetyped,DidIblowit?Ijustblewit,didn’tI?Damn,Louisa

Clark.Ijustwantedabeerwithaprettygirlona

FridaynightandIwaspreparedtooverlookthe

feelingofvaguedejectionthatcomeswithknowing

she’sinlovewithsomeoneelse.That’showmuchI

enjoyyourcompany.Comeforabeer?Onebeer?

Ilaybackonthepillow,thinking.Iclosedmyeyesandgroaned.AndthenIsatupandtyped,I’mreallysorry,Josh.Ican’t.x

Hedidn’trespond.Ihadoffendedhim.Iwouldneverhearfromhimagain.

Andthenmyphonepinged.Okay.Well,ifIgetmyselfintroubleI’mtextingyoufirstthingtomorrow

morningtocomegetmeandpretendtobemycrazy

jealousgirlfriend.Bepreparedtohithard.Deal?

IfoundIwaslaughing.TheleastIcando.Haveagoodnight.X

—Youtoo.Nottoogood,though.Theonlything

keepingmegoingrightnowisthethoughtof

yousecretlyregrettingnotcomingoutwithme.

X

Ididregretitalittle.OfcourseIdid.ThereareonlysomanyepisodesofTheBigBangTheoryagirlcanwatch.Iturnedoffthe

televisionandIstaredattheceilingandIthoughtaboutmyboyfriendontheothersideoftheworldandIthoughtaboutanAmericanwholookedlikeWillTraynorandactuallywantedtospendtimewithme,notagirlwithwildblondhairwholookedlikesheworesequinedG-stringsunderheruniform.IthoughtaboutringingmysisterbutIdidn’twanttodisturbThom.

ForthefirsttimesinceIhadarrivedinAmericaIhadanalmostphysicalsenseofbeinginthewrongplace,asifIwerebeingtuggedbyinvisiblecordstosomewhereamillionmilesaway.AtonepointIfeltsobadthatwhenIwalkedintomybathroomandsawalargechestnut-coloredcockroachonthesinkIdidn’tscream,likeIhadpreviously,butbrieflyconsideredmakingitapet,likeacharacterinachildren’snovel.AndthenIrealizedthatIwasnowofficiallythinkinglikeamadwomanandsprayeditwithRaidinstead.

Atten,irritableandrestless,IwalkedtothekitchenandstoletwoofNathan’sbeers,leavinganapologeticnoteunderhisdoor,anddrankthem,oneaftertheother,gulpingsofastthatIhadtosuppressahugebelch.Ifeltbadaboutthatdamnedcockroach.Whatwashedoingafterall?Justgoingabouthiscockroachybusiness.Maybehe’dbeenlonely.Maybehe’dwantedtomakefriendswithme.IwentandpeeredunderthebasinwhereI’dkickedhimbuthewasdefinitelydead.Thismademeirrationallyangry.I’dthoughtyouweren’tmeanttobeabletokillcockroaches.I’dbeenliedtoaboutcockroaches.Iaddedthistomylistofthingstofeelfuriousabout.

IputmyearphonesinandsangmywaydrunkenlythroughsomeBeyoncésongsthatIknewwouldmakemefeelworse,butsomehowIdidn’tcare.Iscrolledthroughmyphone,lookingatthefewpicturesIhadofSamandmetogether,tryingtodetectthestrengthofhisfeelingsfromthewayheputhisarmaroundme,orthewayhebenthisheadtowardmine.Istaredatthemandtriedtorecallwhatitwasthathadmademefeelsosure,sosecureinhisarms.ThenIpickedupmylaptop,clickedopenane-mail,andaddressedittohim.

Doyoustillmissme?

AndIpressedsend,realizing,asitwhooshedintotheether,thatIhadnowcondemnedmyselftounknownhoursofe-mail-relatedanxietywhileIwaitedforhimtorespond.

I

13

wokefeelingsick,anditwasn’tthebeer.Ittookfewerthantensecondsforthevaguefeelingofnauseatoseepalongasynapseand

connectwiththememoryofwhatIhaddonethepreviousevening.IopenedmylaptopslowlyandballedmyfistsintomyeyeswhenIdiscoveredthat,yes,Ihadindeedsentitand,no,hehadn’tresponded.EvenwhenIpressed“refresh”fourteentimes.

Ilayinthefetalpositionforabit,tryingtomaketheknotinmystomachgoaway.AndthenIwonderedaboutcallinghimandexplaininglightlythatHah!I’dbeenabitmerryandhomesickandI’djustwantedtohearhisvoiceandyouknow,sorry...buthehadtoldmehewouldbeworkingallSaturday,whichmeantthatrightnowhewouldbeintherigwithKatieIngram.Andsomethinginmebalkedathavingthatconversationwithherinearshot.

ForthefirsttimesinceIhadcometoworkfortheGopniks,theweekendstretchedoutinfrontofmelikeaninterminablejourneyoverbleakterrain.

SoIdidwhateverygirldoeswhenshe’sfarfromhomeandalittlesad.IatehalfapacketofchocolateDigestivesandcalledmymother.

“Lou!Isthatyou?Holdon,I’minthemiddleofwashingGranddad’ssmalls.Letmeturnthehotwateroff.”Iheardmymotherwalkingtotheothersideofthekitchen,theradio,hummingdistantlyinthebackground,abruptlysilenced,andIwasinstantlytransportedtoourlittlehouseinRenfrewRoad.

“Hello!I’mback!Iseverythingallright?”Shesoundedbreathless.Ipicturedheruntyingherapron.Shealwaysremovedherapronforimportantcalls.

“Fine!I’vebarelyhadaminutetotalkproperlysoIthoughtI’dgiveyouaring.”

“Isitnotfearfulexpensive?Ithoughtyouonlywantedtosende-mails.You’renotgoingtobehitwithoneofthosethousand-poundbills,areyou?Isawawholethingonthetelevisionaboutpeoplegettingcaughtoutusingtheirphonesonholiday.You’dhavetosellyourhousewhenyougothome,justtogetthemoffyourback.”

“Icheckedtherates.It’sgoodtohearyourvoice,Mum.”

Mum’sdelightatspeakingtomemademefeelalittleashamedfornothavingcalledbefore.Sherattledon,tellingmeabouthowsheplannedtostartthepoetrynightclasseswhenGranddadwasfeelingbetter,andtheSyrianrefugeeswhohadmovedinattheendofthestreet—shewasgivingthemEnglishlessons.“OfcourseIcan’tunderstandathingthey’resayinghalfthetimebutwedrawpictures,youknow?AndZeinah—that’sthemother—shealwayscooksmealittlesomethingtosaythankyou.Whatshecandowithflakypastryyouwouldn’tbelieve.Really,they’reawfulnice,thebunchofthem.”

ShesaidthatDadhadbeentoldtoloseweightbythenewdoctor;Granddad’shearingwasgoing,andthetelevisionwasonsoloudthateverytimeheturneditonshenearlydidalittlewee;andDymphnafromtwodoorsdownwashavingababyandtheycouldhearherretchingmorning,noon,andnight.Isatinmybedandlistenedandfeltoddlycomfortedthatlifecontinued,asnormal,somewhereelseintheworld.

“Haveyouspokentoyoursister?”

“Notforacoupleofdays,why?”

Sheloweredhervoice,asifTreenawereintheroominsteadoffortymilesaway.“Shehasaman.”

“Oh,yeah,Iknow.”

“Youknow?What’shelike?Shewon’ttellusathing.She’saftergoingoutwithhimtwoorthreetimesaweeknow.ShekeepshummingandsmilingwhenItalkabouthim.It’sveryodd.”

“Odd?”

“Tohaveyoursistersmilingsomuch.I’vebeenquiteunnerved.Imean,it’slovelyandall,butshe’snotherself.Lou,IwentdowntoLondontospendthenightwithherandThomsoshecouldgoout,andwhenshecamebackshewassinging.”

“Woah.”

“Iknow.Almostintunetoo.Itoldyourdadandheaccusedmeofbeingunromantic.Unromantic!Itoldhimonlysomeonewhotrulybelievedinromancecouldstaymarriedafterwashinghisundercrackersforthirtyyears.”

“Mum!”

“Oh,Lord.Iforgot.Youwouldn’thavehadyourbreakfastyet.Well.Anyway.Ifyouspeaktohertryandgetsomeinformationoutofher.How’syourfella,bytheway?”

“Sam?Oh,he’s...fine.”

“That’sgrand.Hecametoyourflatacoupleoftimesafteryou’dgone.Ithinkhejustwantedtofeelclosetoyou,blesshim.Treenasaidhewasawfulsad.Keptlookingforjobstodoaroundtheplace.Cameuphereforaroastdinnerwithustoo.Buthehasn’tbeenbyforawhilenow.”

“He’sreallybusy,Mum.”

“I’msureheis.That’sajobandahalf,isn’tit?Right,well,Imustletyougobeforethiscallbankruptsthebothofus.DidItellyouI’mseeingMariathisweek?ThetoiletattendantfromthatlovelyhotelwewenttobackinAugust?I’mgoingtoLondontoseeTreenaandThomonFriday,andI’mgoingtopopinandhavelunchwithMariafirst.”

“Inthetoilets?”

“Don’tberidiculous.There’satwo-for-onepastadealatthatItalianchainnearLeicesterSquare.Ican’trememberthename.She’sveryfussyaboutwhereshegoes—shesaysyoushouldjudgearestaurantkitchenbythecleanlinessoftheLadies.Thisonehasaverygoodmaintenanceschedule,apparently.Everyhouronthehour.Iseverythinggoodwithyou?How’stheglamorouslifeofFifthStreet?”

“Avenue.FifthAvenue,Mum.It’sgreat.It’sall...amazing.”

“Don’tforgettosendmesomemorepictures.IshowedMrs.EdwardsthatoneofyouattheYellowBallandshesaidyoulookedlikeafilmstar.Didn’tsaywhichone,butIknowshemeantwell.IwastellingDaddyweshouldcomeandvisityoubeforeyou’retooimportanttoknowus!”

“Likethat’sgoingtohappen.”

“We’reawfulproud,sweetheart.Ican’tbelieveIhaveadaughterinNewYorkhighsociety,ridinginlimousinesandhobnobbingwiththeflashHarrys.”

Ilookedaroundmylittleroom,withthe1980swallpaperandthedeadcockroachunderthebasin.“Yeah,”Isaid.“I’mreallylucky.”

—TryingnottothinkaboutthesignificanceofSamnolongerstoppingbymyflatjusttofeelclosetome,Igotdressed.Idrankacoffeeandwentdownstairs.IwouldheadbacktotheVintageClothesEmporium.IhadthefeelingLydiawouldn’tmindifIjusthungout.

Ipickedmyclothescarefully—thistimeIworeaChinesemandarin-styleblouseinturquoisewithblackwoolculottesandapairofredballetslippers.Justtheactofcreatingalookthatdidn’tinvolveapoloshirtandnylonslacksmademefeelmorelikemyself.Itiedmyhairintotwoplaits,joinedatthebackwithalittleredbow,thenaddedthesunglassesLydiahadgivenmeandsomeearringsintheshapeoftheStatueofLibertythathadbeenirresistible,despitecomingfromastalloftouristtat.

IheardthecommotionasIheadeddownthestairs.IwonderedbrieflywhatMrs.DeWittwasuptonow,butwhenIturnedthecornerIsawthattheraisedvoicewascomingfromayoungAsianwoman,whoappearedtobethrustingasmallchildatAshok.“Yousaidthiswasmyday.Youpromised.Ihavetogoonthemarch!”

“Ican’tdoit,baby.Vincentisoff.Theygotnobodytomindthelobby.”

“Thenyourkidscansitherewhileyoudoit.I’mgoingonthismarch,Ashok.Theyneedme.”

“Ican’tmindthekidshere!”

“Thelibraryisgoingtoclose,baby.Youunderstandthat?Youknowthatistheoneplacewithair-conditioningIcangointhesummer!AnditistheoneplaceIcanfeelsane.YoutellmewhereelseintheHeightsI’msupposedtotakethesekidswhenI’maloneeighteenhoursaday.”

AshoklookedupasIstoodthere.“Oh,hi,MissLouisa.”

Thewomanturned.I’mnotsurewhatIhadexpectedofAshok’swife,butitwasnotthisfierce-lookingwomaninjeansandabandanna,hercurlyhairtumblingdownherback.

“Morning.”

“Goodmorning.”Sheturnedaway.“I’mnotdiscussingthisanyfurther,baby.YoutoldmeSaturdaywasmine.Iamgoingonthemarchtoprotectavaluablepublicresource.Thatisit.”

“There’sanothermarchnextweek.”

“Wehavetokeepupthepressure!Thisisthetimewhenthecitycouncilorsdecidefunding!Ifwe’renotouttherenow,thelocalnewsdoesn’treportit,andthentheythinknobodycares.YouknowhowPRworks,baby?Youknowhowtheworldworks?”

“Iwilllosemyjobifmybosscomesdownhereandseesthreekids.Yes,Iloveyou,Nadia.Idoloveyou.Don’tcry,sweetheart.”Heturnedtothetoddlerinhisarmsandkissedherwetcheek.“Daddyjusthastodohisjobtoday.”

“I’mgoingnow,baby.I’llbebackearlyafternoon.”

“Don’tyougo.Don’tyoudare—hey!”

Shewalkedaway,herpalmup,asiftowardofffurtherprotest,andswungoutofthebuilding,stoopingtopickupaplacardshe’dleftbythedoor.Asifperfectlychoreographed,allthreesmallchildrenbegantocry.Ashoksworesoftly.“WhattheSamHillamIsupposedtodonow?”

“I’lldoit.”I’dsaiditbeforeIknewwhatIwasdoing.

“What?”

“Nobody’sin.I’lltakethemupstairs.”

“Areyouserious?”

“IlariagoestoseehersisteronSaturdays.Mr.Gopnik’sathisclub.I’llparktheminfrontofthetelevision.Howhardcanitbe?”

Helookedatme.“Youdon’thavechildren,doyou,MissLouisa?”Andthenherecoveredhimself.“But,man,thatwouldbealifesaver.IfMr.OvitzstopsbyandseesmewiththesethreeI’llbefiredbeforeyoucansay,uh...”Hethoughtforamoment.

“You’refired?”

“Exactly.Okay.LemmecomeupwithyouandI’llexplainwhoiswhoandwholikeswhat.Hey,kids,you’regonnahaveanadventureupstairswithMissLouisa!Howcoolisthat?”Threechildrenstaredatmewithwet,snottyfaces.Ismiledbrightlyatthem.And,intandem,allthreebegantocryagain.

—Ifyoueverfindyourselfinamelancholystateofmind,removedfromyourfamilyandalittleunsureaboutthepersonyoulove,Icanhighlyrecommendbeingleftintemporarychargeofthreesmallstrangers,atleasttwoofwhomarestillunabletogotothelavatoryunaided.Thephrase“livinginthemoment”onlyreallymadesensetomeonceI’dfoundmyselfchasingacrawlingbaby,whoseobscenelyfillednappyhunghalfoff,acrossapricelessAubussonrug,whilesimultaneouslytryingtostopafour-year-oldchasingatraumatizedcat.Themiddlechild,Abhik,couldbepacifiedwithbiscuits,andIparkedhiminfrontofcartoonsintheTVroomshovelingcrumbswithfathandsintohisdribblingmouthwhileItriedtoshepherdtheothertwointoatleastthesametwenty-square-footradius.Theywerefunnyandsweetandmercurialandexhausting,squawkingandrunningandcollidingrepeatedlywithfurniture.Vaseswobbled;bookswerehauledfromshelvesandhastilyshovedback.Noise—andvariousunsavoryscents—filledtheair.AtonepointIsatonthefloorclutchingtwoaroundtheirwaistswhileRachana,theeldest,pokedmeintheeyewithstickyfingersandlaughed.Ilaughedtoo.Itwaskindoffunny,inathankGodthiswillbeoversoonkindofway.

Aftertwohours,AshokcameupandtoldmehiswifewascaughtupinherprotestandcouldIdoanotherhour?Isaidyes.Heworethewide-eyedlookofthetrulydesperateand,afterall,Ihadnothingelsetodo.Idid,however,taketheprecautionofmovingthemintomyroom,whereIputonsomecartoons,triedtokeepthemfromopeningthedoor,andaccepted,withsomedistantpartofme,thattheairinthispartofthebuildingmightneversmellthesameagain.IwasjusttryingtostopAbhikfromputtingcockroachsprayintohismouthwhentherewasaknockonmydoor.

“Holdon,Ashok!”Iyelled,tryingtowrestlethecanisteroffthechildbeforehisfathersaw.

ButitwasIlaria’sfacethatappearedroundmydoor.Shestaredatme,thenatthechildren,thenbackatme.Abhikbrieflystoppedcrying,gazingatherwithhugebrowneyes.

“Um.Hi,Ilaria!”

Shesaidnothing.

“I’m—I’mjusthelpingAshokoutforacoupleofhours.Iknowit’snotidealbut,um,pleasedon’tsayanything.They’llonlybehereatinybitlonger.”

Sheeyedthesceneamomentlonger,thensniffedtheair.

“I’llfumigatetheroomafterward.Pleasedon’ttellMr.Gopnik.Ipromiseitwon’thappenagain.IknowIshouldhaveaskedfirstbuttherewasnobodyhereandAshokwasdesperate.”AsIspoke,Rachanaranwailingtowardtheolderwomanandhurledherselflikearugbyballatherstomach.Iwinced,asIlariastaggeredbackward.“They’llbegoneanyminute.IcancallAshokrightnow.Really.Nobodyhastoknow...”

ButIlariasimplyadjustedherblouse,thenscoopedthelittlegirlupinonearm.“Youarethirsty,compañera?”Withoutabackwardglance,sheshuffledoff,Rachanahuddledagainstherhugechest,herlittlethumbpluggedintohermouth.

AsIsatthere,Ilaria’svoiceechoeddownthecorridor.“Bringthemtothekitchen.”

—Ilariafriedabatchofbananafritters,handingthechildrensmallpiecesofbananatokeepthemoccupiedwhileshecooked,andIrefilledcupsofwaterandtriedtostopthesmallerchildrentopplingoffthekitchenchairs.Shedidn’ttalktome,butkeptupalowcroon,herfacefilledwithunexpectedsweetness,hervoicelowandmusicalasshechattedtothem.Thechildren,likedogsrespondingtoanefficienttrainer,wereimmediatelyquietandbiddable,holdingoutdimpledhandsforanotherpieceofbanana,rememberingtheirpleasesandthank-yous,accordingtoIlaria’sinstructions.Theyateandate,growingsmileyandplacid,thebabyrubbingballedfistsintohereyesasifshewerereadyforbed.

“Hungry,”Ilariasaid,noddingtowardtheemptyplates.

ItriedtorecallwhetherAshokhadtoldmeaboutfoodinthebaby’srucksackbutIhadbeentoodistractedtolook.Iwasjustgratefultohaveagrown-upintheroom.“You’rebrilliantwithkids,”Isaid,chewingapieceoffritter.

Sheshrugged.Butshelookedquietlygratified.“Youshouldchangethelittleone.Wecanmakeabedforherinyourbottomdrawer.”

Istaredather.

“Becauseshewillfalloutofyourbed?”Sherolledhereyes,asifthisshouldhavebeenobvious.

“Oh.Sure.”

ItookNadiabacktomyroomandchangedher,wincing.Idrewthecurtains.AndthenIpulledoutmybottomdrawer,arrangedmyjumperssothattheylinedit,andlaidNadiadowninsidethem,waitingforhertogotosleep.Shefoughtitatfirst,herbigeyesstaringatme,herchubbyhandsreachingupformine,butIcouldtellitwasabattleshewouldlose.ItriedtocopyIlariaandsoftlysangalullaby.Well,itwasn’tstrictlyspeakingalullaby:theonlythingIcouldrememberthewordstowas“TheMolahonkeySong,”whichjustmadeherchuckle,andanotheraboutHitlerhavingonlyonetesticlethatDadhadsungwhenIwassmall.Butthebabyseemedtolikeit.Hereyesbegantoclose.

IheardAshok’sfootstepsinthehall,andthedooropenbehindme.

“Don’tcomein,”Iwhispered.“She’snearlythere...Himmlerhadsomethingsimilar...”

Ashokstayedwherehewas.

“ButpooroldGoebbelshadnoballsatall.”

Andjustlikethatshewasasleep.Iwaitedamoment,placedmyturquoisecashmereround-neckoverhertokeepherfromgettingchilly,andthenIclimbedtomyfeet.

“Youcanleaveherinhere,ifyoulike,”Iwhispered.“Ilaria’sinthekitchenwiththeothertwo.Ithinkshe’s—”

Iturnedandletoutayelp.Samstoodinmydoorway,hisarmsfoldedandahalfsmileonhisface.Acarryallsatonthefloorbetween

hisfeet.Iblinkedathim,wonderingifIwashallucinating.Andthenmyhandsroseslowlytomyface.

“Surprise!”hemouthedsilently,andIstumbledacrosstheroomandpushedhimoutintothehallwhereIcouldkisshim.

—HehadplanneditthenightIhadtoldhimaboutmyunexpectedfreeweekend,hetoldme.Jakehadbeennoproblem—therewasnoshortageoffriendshappytotakeafreeconcertticket—andhehadreorganizedhiswork,beggingfavorsandswappingshifts.Thenhehadbookedalast-minutecheapflightandcometosurpriseme.

“You’reluckyIdidn’tdecidetodothesametoyou.”

“Thethoughtdidcrossmymind,atthirtythousandfeet.Ihadthissuddenvisionofyouflyingintheoppositedirection.”

“Howlonghavewegot?”

“Onlyforty-eighthours,I’mafraid.IhavetoleaveearlyMondaymorning.But,Lou,Ijust—Ididn’twanttowaitanotherfewweeks.”

Hedidn’tsayanymorebutIknewwhathemeant.“I’msohappyyoudid.Thankyou.Thankyou.Sowholetyouin?”

“YourmanatReception.Hewarnedmeaboutthekids.ThenaskedmewhetherI’drecoveredfrommyfoodpoisoning.”Heraisedaneyebrow.

“Yeah.Therearenosecretsinthisbuilding.”

“Healsotoldmethatyouwereadollandthenicestpersonhere.WhichIknewalready,ofcourse.AndthensomelittleoldladywithayappydogcamealongthecorridorandstartedyellingathimaboutrefusecollectionsoIlefthimtoit.”

WedrankcoffeeuntilAshok’swifearrivedandtookthechildrenback.HernamewasMeenaand,glowingwiththeresidualenergyofhercommunitymarch,shethankedmewholeheartedlyandtoldusaboutthelibraryinWashingtonHeightstheyweretryingtosave.Ilariadidn’tseemtowanttohandAbhikbacktoher:shewasbusychucklingtohim,gentlypinchinghischeeksandmakinghimlaugh.Thewholetimewestoodtherewiththetwowomen,chatting,IfeltSam’shandon

thesmallofmyback,hishugeframefillingourkitchen,hisfreehandaroundoneofourcoffeecups,andIfeltsuddenlyasifthisplacewereafewdegreesmoremyhomebecauseIwouldnowbeabletopicturehiminit.

“Verypleasedtomeetyou,”hehadsaidtoIlaria,holdingouthishand,andinsteadofhernormallookofblanksuspicion,shehadsmiled,asmallsmile,andshakenit.Irealizedhowfewpeopletookthetroubletointroducethemselvestoher.SheandIwereinvisibles,mostofthetime,andIlaria—perhapsbyvirtueofherageornationality—evenmoresothanme.

“MakesureMr.Gopnikdoesn’tseehim,”shemuttered,asSamwenttothebathroom.“Noboyfriendsallowedinthebuilding.Usetheserviceentrance.”Sheshookherheadasifshecouldn’tbelieveshewasaccedingtosomethingsoimmoral.

“Ilaria,Iwon’tforgetthis.Thankyou,”Isaid.Iputmyarmsoutasiftohugherbutshegavemethegimletstare.Istoppedinmytracksandturneditintoasortofdoublethumbs-upinstead.

—Weatepizza—withsafevegetariantoppings—andthenwestoppedinadark,grubbybarwherebaseballblaredfromasmallTVscreenoverourheadsandsatatatinytablewithourkneespressedtogether.HalfthetimeIhadnoideawhatweweretalkingaboutbecauseIcouldn’tbelieveSamwasthere,infrontofme,leaningbackinhischair,laughingatthingsIsaidandrunninghishandoverhishead.AsifbymutualconsentwekeptoffthetopicsofKatieIngramandJosh,andinsteadwetalkedaboutourfamilies.JakehadanewgirlfriendandwasrarelyatSam’sanymore.Hemissedhim,hesaid,evenasheunderstoodthatnoseventeen-year-oldboyreallywantedtobehangingaroundwithhisuncle.“He’salothappier,andhisdadstillhasn’tsortedhimselfout,soIshouldjustbegladforhim.Butit’sweird.Igotusedtohavinghimaround.”

“Youcanalwaysgoandseemyfamily,”Isaid.

“Iknow.”

“CanIjusttellyouforthefifty-eighthtimehowhappyIamthatyou’rehere?”

“Youcantellmeanythingyoulike,LouisaClark,”hesaidsoftly,andliftedmyknucklestohislips.

—Westayedatthebaruntileleven.Oddly,despitetheamountoftimewehadtogether,neitherofusfeltthepanickyurgencywe’dhadlasttimetomakethemostofeveryminute.ThathewastherewassuchanunexpectedbonusthatIthinkwehadbothsilentlyagreedjusttoenjoybeingaroundeachother.Therewasnoneedtosightsee,totickoffexperiences,ortoruntobed.Itwas,astheyoungpeoplesay,allgood.

Wefelloutofthebarwrappedaroundeachother,ashappydrunksdo,andIsteppedontothecurb,puttwofingersintomymouth,andwhistled,notflinchingastheyellowcabscreechedtoahaltinfrontofme.IturnedtomotionSamin,buthewasstaringatme.

“Oh.Yeah.Ashoktaughtme.Youhavetokindofputyourfingersunderneathyourtongue.Look—likethis.”

Ibeamedathim,butsomethingabouthisexpressiontroubledme.Ithoughthe’denjoymylittletaxi-summoningflourish,butinsteaditwasasifhesuddenlydidn’trecognizeme.

Wearrivedbacktoasilentbuilding.TheLaverystoodhushedandmajesticoverlookingthepark,risingoutofthenoiseandchaosofthecityasifitweresomehowabovethatkindofthing.Samstoppedaswereachedthecoveredwalkwaythatextendedfromthefrontdoorandgazedupatthestructuretoweringabovehim,atitsmonumentalbrickfaçade,itsPalladian-stylewindows.Heshookhishead,almosttohimself,andwewalkedin.Themarblelobbywashushed,nightmandozinginAshok’soffice.Weignoredtheserviceliftandwalkedupthestaircase,ourfeetmuffledonthehugesweepofroyalbluecarpet,ourhandsslidingalongthepolishedbrassbalustrade,thenwalkedupanotherflightuntilwewereontheGopniks’corridor.InthedistanceDeanMartinstartedtobark.Iletusinandclosedthehugedoorsoftlybehindus.

Nathan’slightwasoff,andalongthecorridorIlaria’sTVburbleddistantly.SamandItiptoedthroughthelargehall,pastthekitchenanddowntomyroom.IbrushedmyteethandchangedintoaT-shirt,wishing,suddenly,thatIsleptinsomethingalittlemoresophisticated.

WhenIemergedSamwassittingonthebed,staringatthewall.Istoppedbrushing,andlookedathimasquizzicallyasyoucan,whenyouhaveamouthfullofpeppermint-flavoredfoam.

“What?”

“It’s...strange,”hesaid.

“MyT-shirt?”

“No.Beinghere.Inthisplace.”

Iturnedbacktothebathroomandspatandrinsedmymouth.

“It’sfine,”Ibegan,turningoffthetap.“IlariaiscoolandMr.Gopnikwon’tbebackuntilSundayevening.Ifyou’rereallyuncomfortabletomorrowI’llbookusaroominthislittlehotelNathanknowstwoblocksdownandwecan—”

Heshookhishead.“Notthis.You.Here.Whenwewereatthehotelitwasjustlikeyouandmeasnormal.Wewerejustinadifferentlocation.Here,Icanfinallyseehoweverythinghaschangedforyou.YouliveonFifthAvenue,forcryingoutloud.Oneofthemostexpensiveaddressesintheworld.Youworkinthiscrazybuilding.Everywheresmellsofmoney.Andit’stotallynormaltoyou.”

Ifeltoddlydefensive.“I’mstillme.”

“Sure,”hesaid.“Butyou’reinadifferentplacenow.Literally.”

Hesaiditevenly,buttherewassomethingintheconversationthatmademefeeluneasy.Ipaddeduptohiminmybarefeet,putmyhandsonhisshouldersandsaid,withalittlemoreurgencythanIhadintended,“I’mstilljustLouisaClark,yourslightlywonkygirlfromStortfold.”Whenhedidn’tspeak,Iadded,“I’mjustthehiredhelphere,Sam.”

Helookedintomyeyes,thenreachedahandupandstrokedmycheek.“Youdon’tgetit.Youcan’tseehowyou’vechanged.You’redifferent,Lou.Youwalkaroundthesecitystreetslikeyouownthem.Youhailtaxiswithawhistleandtheycome.Evenyourstrideisdifferent.It’slike...Idon’tknow.You’vegrownintoyourself.Ormaybeyou’vegrownintosomeoneelse.”

“See,nowyou’resayinganicethingandyetsomehowitsoundslikeabadthing.”

“Notbad,”hesaid.“Just...different.”

ImovedthensothatIwasastridehim,mybarelegspressedagainsthisjeans.Iputmyfaceupclosetohis,mynoseagainsthis,mymouthinchesfromhisown.Iloopedmyarmsaroundhisneck,sothatIcouldfeelthesoftnessofhisshortdarkhairagainstmyskin,hiswarmbreathonmychest.Itwasdark,andacoldneonlightbeamedanarrowrayacrossmybed.Ikissedhim,andwiththatkissItriedtoconveysomethingofwhathemeanttome,thefactthatIcouldhailamilliontaxiswithawhistleandstillknowthathewastheonlypersonIwouldwanttoclimbintoonewith.Ikissedhim,mykissesincreasinglydeepandintense,pressingintohim,untilhegaveintome,untilhishandsclosedaroundmywaistandslidupward,untilIfelttheexactmomenthestoppedthinking.Hepulledmesharplyintohim,hismouthcrushingmine,andIgaspedashetwisted,pushingmebackdown,hiswholebeingreducedtooneintention.

ThatnightIgavesomethingtoSam.Iwasuninhibited,unlikemyself.IbecamesomeoneotherthanmyselfbecauseIwassodesperatetoshowhimthetruthofmyneedforhim.Itwasafight,evenifhedidn’tknowit.Ihidmyownpowerandmadehimblindwithhis.Therewasnotenderness,nosoftwords.WhenoureyesmetIwasalmostangrywithhim.Itisstillme,Itoldhimsilently.Don’tyoudaredoubtme.Notafterallthis.Hecoveredmyeyes,placedhismouthagainstmyhair,andhepossessedme.Ilethim.Iwantedhimhalfmadwithit.Iwantedhimtofeellikehe’dtakeneverything.IhavenoideawhatsoundsImadebutwhenitwasovermyearswereringing.

“Thatwas...different,”hesaid,whenwecouldbreatheagain.Hishandslidacrossme,tendernow,histhumbgentlystrokingmythigh.“You’veneverbeenlikethatbefore.”

“MaybeInevermissedyouthatmuchbefore.”Ileanedoverandkissedhischest.Itleftsaltonmylips.Welaythereinthedark,blinkingattheneonstripacrosstheceiling.

“It’sthesamesky,”hesaid,intothedark.“That’swhatwehavetokeepremembering.We’restillunderthesamesky.”

Inthedistanceapolicesirenstarted,followedbyanotherinadiscordantdescant.Ineverreallyregisteredthemanymore:thesoundsofNewYorkhadbecomefamiliar,fadingintounheardwhitenoise.Samturnedtome,hisfaceshadowed.“Istartedtoforgetthings,youknow.AllthelittlepartsofyouthatIlove.Icouldn’trememberthescentofyourhair.”Heloweredhisheadtomineandbreathedin.“Or

theshapeofyourjaw.OrthewayyourskinshiverswhenIdothis...”HeranafingerlightlydownfrommycollarboneandIhalfsmiledatmybody’sinvoluntaryreaction.“Thatlovelydazedwayyoulookatmeafterward...Ihadtocomehere,toremindmyself.”

“I’mstillme,Sam,”Isaid.

Hekissedme,hislipslandingsoftly,four,fivetimesonmine,awhisper.“Well,whicheveryouyouare,LouisaClark,Iloveyou,”hesaid,androlledslowly,withasigh,ontohisback.

ButitwasatthatpointIhadtoacknowledgeanuncomfortabletruth.Ihadbeendifferentwithhim.Anditwasn’tjustbecauseIwantedtoshowhimhowmuchIwantedhim,howmuchIadoredhim,thoughthathadbeenpartofit.

Onsomedark,hiddenlevel,IhadwantedtoshowhimIwasbetterthanher.

W

14

esleptuntilafterten,thenwalkeddowntowntothedinernearColumbusCircle.Weateuntilourstomachshurt,drankgallons

ofstewedcoffee,andsatoppositeeachotherwithourkneesentwined.

“Gladyoucame?”Isaid,likeIdidn’tknowtheanswer.

Hereachedoutahandandplaceditgentlybehindmyneck,leaningforwardacrossthetableuntilhecouldkissme,oblivioustotheotherdiners,untilIhadalltheanswerIneeded.Aroundussatmiddle-agedcoupleswithweekendnewspapers,groupsofoutlandishlydressednightclubberswhohadn’tbeentobedyettalkingovereachother,exhaustedcoupleswithcrankychildren.

Samsatbackinhischairandletoutalongsigh.“Mysisteralwayswantedtocomehere,youknow.Seemsstupidthatsheneverdid.”

“Really?”Ireachedforhishandandheturnedhispalmupwardtotakemine,thenclosedhisfingersoverit.

“Yeah.Shehadthiswholelistofthingsshewantedtodo,likegotoabaseballgame.TheKicks?TheKnicks?Someteamshewantedtosee.AndeatinaNewYorkdiner.AndmostofallshewantedtogotothetopoftheRockefellerCenter.”

“NottheEmpireState?”

“Nah.ShesaidtheRockefellerwasmeanttobebetter—someglassobservatorythingyoucouldlookthrough.ApparentlyyoucanseetheStatueofLibertyfromthere.”

Isqueezedhishand.“Wecouldgotoday.”

“Wecould,”hesaid.“Makesyouthink,though,doesn’tit?”Hereachedforhiscoffee.“Youhavetotakeyourchanceswhenyoucan.”

Avaguemelancholysettledoverhim.Ididn’tattempttoshakeit.Iknewbetterthananyonehowsometimesyoujustneededtobeallowed

tofeelsad.Iwaitedamoment,thensaid,“Ifeelthateveryday.”

Heturnedbacktome.

“I’mgoingtosayaWillTraynorthingnow.”Isaiditlikeawarning.

“Okay.”

“There’salmostnotadaythatI’mherewhenIdon’tthinkhe’dbeproudofme.”

IfeltthetiniestbitanxiousasIsaidit,consciousofhowIhadtestedSamintheearlydaysofourrelationshipbygoingonandonaboutWill,aboutwhathehadmeanttome,abouttheWill-shapedholehehadleftbehind.Buthejustnodded.“Ithinkhewould,too.”Hestrokedhisthumbdownmyfinger.“IknowIam.Proudofyou.Imean,Imissyoulikehell.But,Jeez,you’reamazing,Lou.You’vecometoacityyoudidn’tknowandyou’vemadethisjob,withitsmillionairesandbillionaires,workforyou,andyou’vemadefriends,andyou’vecreatedthiswholethingforyourself.Peoplelivetheirwholeliveswithoutdoingonetenthofthat.”Hegesturedaroundhim.

“Youcoulddoittoo.”Itjustfelloutofmymouth.“Ilookeditup.TheNewYorkauthoritiesalwaysneedgoodparamedics.ButI’msurewecouldgetroundthat.”IsaiditjokinglybutassoonasthewordswereoutIrealizedhowbadlyIwantedittohappen.Ileanedforwardoverthetable.“Sam.WecouldrentalittleapartmentoutinQueensorsomewhereandthenwecouldbetogethereverynight,dependingonwhowasworkingwhatinsanehours,andwecoulddothiseverySundaymorning.Wecouldbetogether.Howamazingwouldthatbe?”

Youonlygetonelife.Iheardthewordsringinginmyears.Sayyes,Itoldhimsilently.Justsayyes.

Hereachedacrossformyhand.Thenhesighed.“Ican’t,Lou.Myhouseisn’tbuilt.EvenifIdecidedtorentitout,I’dhavetofinishit.AndIcan’tleaveJakejustyet.HeneedstoknowI’mstillaround.Justabitlonger.”

Iforcedmyfaceintoasmile,thekindofsmilethatsaidIhadn’ttakenitatallseriously.“Sure!Itwasjustastupididea.”

Hepressedhislipsagainstmypalm.“Notstupid.Justimpossiblerightnow.”

—Wedecidedbyunspokenagreementnottomentionpotentiallydifficultsubjectsagain,andthatkilledasurprisingnumber—hiswork,hishomelife,ourfuture—andwewalkedtheHighLine,thenpeeledofftogototheVintageClothesEmporiumwhereIgreetedLydialikeanoldfriendanddressedupina1970spinksequinedjumpsuit,thena1950sfurcoatandasailorcapandmadeSamlaugh.

“Nowthis,”hesaid,asIcameoutofthechangingroominapinkandyellownylonpsychedelicshiftdress,“istheLouisaClarkIknowandlove.”

“Didsheshowyouthebluecocktaildressyet?Theonewiththesleeves?”

“Ican’tdecidebetweenthisandthefur.”

“Sweetheart,”saidLydia,lightingaSobranie,“youcan’twearfuronFifthAvenue.Peoplewon’trealizeyou’redoingitironically.”

WhenIfinallyleftthechangingroom,Samwasstandingatthecounter.Heheldoutapackage.

“It’sthesixtiesdress,”Lydiasaidhelpfully.

“Youboughtitforme?”Itookitfromhim.“Really?Youdidn’tthinkitwastooloud?”

“It’stotallyinsane,”Samsaid,straight-faced.“Butyoulookedsohappywearingit...so...”

“Oh,my,he’sakeeper,”whisperedLydia,asweheadedout,hercigarettewedgedintothecornerofhermouth.“Also,nexttimegethimtobuyyouthejumpsuit.Youlookedlikeatotalboss.”

—Wewentbacktotheapartmentforacoupleofhoursandnapped,fullydressedandwrappedaroundeachotherchastely,overloadedwithcarbohydrates.Atfourwerosegroggilyandagreedweshouldheadoutanddoourlastexcursion,asSamhadtocatchtheeighta.m.flightfromJFKthefollowingday.WhilehepackeduphisfewthingsIwent

tomaketeainthekitchenwhereIfoundNathanmixingsomekindofproteinshake.Hegrinned.“Ihearyourmanishere.”

“Isabsolutelynothingprivateinthiscorridor?”Ifilledthekettleandflickedtheswitch.

“Notwhenthewallsarethisthin,mate,no,”hesaid.“I’mkidding!”hesaid,asIflushedtomyhairline.“Didn’thearathing.Nicetoknowfromthecolorofyourfacethatyouhadagoodnight,though!”

IwasabouttohithimwhenSamappearedatthedoor.Nathanstoppedinfrontofhim,reachedoutahand.“Ah.ThefamousSam.Nicetofinallymeetyou,mate.”

“Andyou.”Iwaitedanxiouslytoseeiftheyweregoingtogetallalphamalewitheachother.ButNathanwasnaturallytoolaidbackandSamwasstillsweetenedfromtwenty-fourhoursoffoodandsex.Theyjustshookhands,grinnedateachother,andexchangedpleasantries.

“Areyouguysgoingouttonight?”NathanswiggedathisdrinkasIhandedSamamugoftea.

“Wethoughtwemightheaduptothetopof30Rockefeller.It’skindofamission.”

“Aw,mates.Youdon’twanttobestandingintouristqueuesonyourlastnight.CometotheHolidayCocktailLoungeoverintheEastVillage.I’mmeetingmymatesthere—Lou,youmettheguyslasttimeweheadedout.They’redoingsomepromotheretonight.It’salwaysagoodbuzz.”

IlookedoveratSam.Heshrugged.Wecouldpopbyforahalfhour,Isaid.ThenmaybewecouldgouptoTopoftheRockbyourselves.Itwasopentillelevenfifteen.

—Threehourslaterwewerewedgedaroundaclutteredtable,mybrainspinninggentlyfromthecocktailsthathadlanded,oneafteranother,onitssurface.IhadwornmypsychedelicshiftdressbecauseIwantedtoshowSamhowmuchIlovedit.He,meanwhile,inthewaythatmenwholovethecompanyofothermendo,hadbondedwithNathanand

hisfriends.Theywereloudlyrunningdowneachother’smusicalchoicesandcomparinggighorrorstoriesfromtheiryouth.

WithonepartofmybeingIsmiledandjoinedintheconversationandwiththeotherImadementalcalculationsastohowoftenIcouldcontributefinanciallysothatSamcouldcomeheretwiceasmuchaswehadoriginallyplanned.Surelyhecouldseehowgoodthiswas.Howgoodweweretogether.

Samgotuptobuythenextround.“I’llgetacoupleofmenus,”hemouthed.Inodded.IknewIshouldprobablyeatsomethingifonlysoIdidn’tdisgracemyselflateron.

AndthenIfeltahandonmyshoulder.

“Youreallyarestalkingme!”Joshbeameddownatme,whiteteethinawidesmile.Istoodabruptly,flushing.Iturned,butSamwasatthebar,hisbacktous.“Josh!Hi!”

“Youknowthisisprettymuchmyotherfavoritebar,right?”Hewaswearingasoft,stripedblueshirt,thesleevesrolledup.

“Ididn’t!”Myvoicewastoohigh,myspeechtoofast.

“Ibelieveyou.Youwantadrink?Theydoanold-fashionedthatissomethingelse.”Hereachedoutandtouchedmyelbow.

Isprangbackasifhe’dburnedme.“Yes,Iknow.Andno.Thankyou.I’mherewithfriendsand...”IturnedjustintimeforSamtoarriveback,holdingatrayofdrinks,acoupleofmenusunderhisarm.

“Hey,”hesaid,andglancedatJosh,beforeheplacedthetrayonthetable.Thenhestraightenedupslowlyandreallylookedathim.

Istood,myhandsstiffbymyside.“Josh,thisisSam,my—myboyfriend.Sam,thisis—thisisJosh.”

SamwasstaringatJosh,asifheweretryingtotakesomethingin.“Yeah,”Samsaidfinally.“IthinkIcouldhaveworkedthatout.”Helookedatme,thenbackatJosh.

“Do—doyouguyswantadrink?Imean,Icanseeyou’vegotsomebutI’dbegladtolineupsomemore.”Joshgesturedtowardthebar.

“No.Thanks,mate,”saidSam,whohadremainedstandingsothathewasagoodhalf-headtallerthanJosh.“Ithinkwe’regoodhere.”

Therewasanawkwardsilence.

“Okaythen.”Joshlookedatmeandnodded.“Greattomeetyou,Sam.Youhereforlong?’

“Longenough.”Sam’ssmiledidn’tstretchasfarashiseyes.Ihadneverseenhimquitesoprickly.

“Well,then...I’llleaveyouguystoit.Louisa—I’llseeyouaround.Haveagreatevening.”Hehelduphispalms,apacifyinggesture.Iopenedmymouthbuttherewasnothingtosaythatsoundedright,soIwaved,aweird,flutteringgesturewithmyfingers.

Samsatdownheavily.IglancedacrossthetableatNathan,whosefacewasastudyinneutrality.Theotherguysdidn’tappeartohavenoticedanythingandwerestilltalkingaboutticketpricesattheirlastgig.Samwasbrieflylostinthought.Hefinallylookedup.Ireachedforhishandbuthedidn’tsqueezemineback.

—Themooddidn’trecover.Thebarwastoonoisyformetotalktohim,andIwasn’tsurewhatIwantedtosay.Isippedmycocktailandranthroughahundredloopingargumentsinmyhead.Samswiggedhisdrinkandnoddedandsmiledattheguys’jokes,butIsawtheticinhisjawandknewhisheartwasnolongerinit.Attenwepeeledoffandgotataxitowardhome.

Ilethimhailit.

Wewentupintheservicelift,asinstructed,andlistenedbeforewecreptintomyroom.Mr.Gopnikappearedtobeinbed.Samdidn’tspeak.Hewentintothebathroomtochangeandclosedthedoorbehindhim,hisbackrigid.IheardhimbrushhisteethandgargleasIcreptintobed,feelingwrong-footedandangryatthesametime.Heseemedtobeinthereforever.Finally,heopenedthedoorandstoodthereinhisboxers.Hisscarsstillranlividredacrosshisstomach.“I’mbeingadick.”

“Yes.Yes,youare.”

Heletoutahugebreath.HelookedatmyphotographofWill,nestledbetweentheoneofhimselfandtheoneofmysisterwithThom,whosefingerwasuphisnose.“Sorry.Itjustthrewme.Howmuchhelookslike...”

“Iknow.Butyoumightaswellsayyouspendingtimewithmysisterandherlookinglikemeisweird.”

“Exceptshedoesn’tlooklikeyou.”Heraisedhiseyebrows.“What?”

“I’mwaitingforyoutosayI’mmilesbetter-looking.”

“Youaremilesbetter-looking.”

Ipushedthecoversbacktolethiminandheclimbedinbesideme.

“You’remuchbetter-lookingthanyoursister.Heapsbetter.You’rebasicallyasupermodel.”Heplacedahandonmyhip.Itwaswarmandheavy.“Butwithshorterlegs.How’sthatworkingforyou?”

Itriednottosmile.“Better.Butquiterudeaboutmyshortlegs.”

“They’rebeautifullegs.Myfavoritelegs.Supermodellegsarejust—boring.”Hemovedacrosssothathewasoverme.EverytimehedidthatitwaslikebitsofmesparkedintoinvoluntarylifeandIhadtoworkhardnottowriggle.Herestedonhiselbows,pinningmeinplaceandlookingdownatmyface,whichIwastryingtomakesterneventhoughmyheartwasthumping.

“Ithinkyoumayhavefrightenedthelifeoutofthatpoorman,”Isaid.“Youlookedlikeyouslightlywantedtohithim.”

“That’sbecauseIslightlydid.”

“Youareanidiot,SamFielding.”Ireachedupandkissedhim,andwhenhekissedmebackhewassmilingagain.Hischinwasthickwithstubblewherehehadn’tbotheredtoshave.

Thistimehewastender.Partlybecausewenowbelievedthewallswerethinandhewasn’treallymeanttobethere.ButIthinkwewerebothcarefulofeachotheraftertheunexpectedeventsoftheevening.Everytimehetouchedmeitwaswithakindofreverence.Hetoldmehelovedme,hisvoicelowandsoft,andhelookedstraightintomyeyeswhenhesaidit.Thewordsreverberatedthroughmelikelittleearthquakes.

Iloveyou.

Iloveyou.

Iloveyoutoo.

—Wehadsetthealarmforaquartertofive,andIwokecursing,draggedfromsleepbytheshrillsound.BesidemeSamgroanedandpulledapillowoverhishead.Ihadtopushhimawake.

Ipropelledhim,grumbling,intothebathroom,turnedontheshower,andpaddedtothekitchentomakeusbothcoffee.WhenIcamebackIheardthethunkofthewaterbeingturnedoff.Isatonthesideofthebed,sippedmycoffeeandwonderedwhosesmartideaithadbeentodrinkstrongcocktailsonaSundayevening.ThebathroomdooropenedjustasIfloppedbackdown.

“CanIblameyouforthecocktails?Ineedsomeonetoblame.”Myheadwasthumping.Iraisedandlowereditgently.“Whatevenwasinthosethings?”Iplacedmyfingertipsagainstmytemples.“Theymusthavebeendoublemeasures.Idon’tnormallyfeelthisgrim.Oh,man.Weshouldhavejustgoneto30Rock.”

Hedidn’tsayanything.IturnedmyheadsothatIcouldseehim.Hewasstandinginthedoorwayofthebathroom.“Youwanttotalktomeaboutthis?”

“Aboutwhat?”Ipushedmyselfupright.Hewaswearingatowelaroundhiswaistandholdingasmallwhiterectangularbox.ForabriefmomentIthoughthewastryingtogivemejewelry,andIalmostlaughed.Butwhenheheldtheboxtowardmehewasn’tsmiling.

Itookitfromhim.Andstared,disbelieving,atapregnancytest.Theboxwasopened,andthewhiteplasticwandwaslooseinside.Icheckedit,somedistantpartofmenotingthattherewerenobluelines,thenlookedupathim,temporarilylostforwords.

Hesatdownheavilyonthesideofthebed.“Weusedacondom,right?ThelasttimeIwasover.Weusedacondom.”

“Wha—?Wheredidyoufindthat?”

“Inyourbin.Ijustwenttoputmyrazorinthere.”

“It’snotmine,Sam.”

“Yousharethisroomwithsomeoneelse?”

“No.”

“Thenhowcanyounotknowwhoseitis?”

“Idon’tknow!But—butit’snotmine!Ihaven’thadsexwithanyoneelse!”IrealizedasIwasprotestingthatthemereactofinsistingyouhadn’thadsexwithsomeoneelsemadeyousoundlikeyouweretryingtohidethefactthatyouhadhadsexwithsomeoneelse.“IknowhowitlooksbutIhavenoideawhythatthingisinmybathroom!”

“Isthiswhyyou’realwaysonatmeaboutKatie?Becauseyou’reactuallyfeelingguiltyaboutseeingsomeoneelse?Whatisittheycallit?Transference?Is—isthatwhyyouwereso...sodifferenttheothernight?”

Theairdisappearedfromtheroom.IfeltasifI’dbeenslapped.Istaredathim.“Youreallythinkthat?Aftereverythingwe’vebeenthrough?”

Hedidn’tsayanything.

“You—youreallythinkI’dcheatonyou?”

Hewaspale,asshockedasIfelt.“Ijustthinkifitlookslikeaduckanditquackslikeaduck,then,youknow,it’susuallyaduck.”

“Iamnotabloodyduck...Sam.Sam.”

Heturnedhisheadreluctantly.

“Iwouldn’tcheatonyou.It’snotmine.Youhavetobelieveme.”

Hiseyesscannedmyface.

“Idon’tknowhowmanytimesIcansayit.It’snotmine.”

“We’vebeentogethersuchashorttime.Andsomuchofithasbeenspentapart.Idon’t...”

“Youdon’twhat?”

“It’soneofthosesituations,youknow?Ifyoutoldyourmatesinthepub?They’dgiveyouthatlooklike—mate...”

“Thendon’ttalktoyourbloodymatesinthepub!Listentome!”

“Iwantto,Lou!”

“Thenwhatthehellisyourproblem?”

“HelookedjustlikeWillTraynor!”Itburstoutofhimlikeithadnowhereelsetogo.Hesatdown.Heputhisheadinhishands.And

thenhesaiditagain,quietly.“HelookedjustlikeWillTraynor.”

Myeyeshadfilledwithtears.Iwipedthemawaywiththeheelofmyhand,knowingthatIhadprobablynowsmudgedyesterday’smascaraallovermycheeksbutnotreallycaring.WhenIspokemyvoicewaslowandsevereanddidn’treallysoundlikemine.

“I’mgoingtosaythisonemoretime.Iamnotsleepingwithanyoneelse.Ifyoudon’tbelievemeI...Well,Idon’tknowwhatyou’redoinghere.”

Hedidn’treplybutIfeltasifhisanswerfloatedsilentlybetweenus:NeitherdoI.Hestoodandwalkedovertohisbag.Hepulledsomepantsfrominsideandputthemon,yankingthemupwithshort,angrymovements.“Ihavetogo.”

Icouldn’tsayanythingelse.Isatonthebedandwatchedhim,feelingsimultaneouslybereftandfurious.Isaidnothingwhilehedressedandthrewtherestofhisbelongingsintohisbag.Thenheslungitoverhisshoulder,walkedtothedoorandturned.

“Safetrip,”Isaid.Icouldn’tsmile.

“I’llcallyouwhenI’mhome.”

“Okay.”

Hestoopedandkissedmycheek.Ididn’tlookupwhenheopenedthedoor.Hestoodthereamomentlongerandthenheleft,closingitsilentlybehindhim.

—Agnescamehomeatmidday.Garrypickedherupfromtheairportandshearrivedbackoddlysubdued,asifshewerereluctanttobethere.Shegreetedmefrombehindsunglasseswithacursoryhello,andretreatedtoherdressingroom,whereshestayedwiththedoorlockedforthenextfourhours.Atteatimesheemerged,showeredanddressed,andforcedasmilewhenIenteredherstudybearingthecompletedmoodboards.Italkedherthroughthecolorsandfabrics,andshenoddeddistractedly,butIcouldtellshehadn’treallyregisteredwhatIhaddone.Iletherdrinkhertea,thenwaiteduntilIknewIlariahadgonedownstairs.Iclosedthestudydoorsothatsheglancedupatme.

“Agnes,”Isaidquietly.“Thisisaslightlyoddquestion,butdidyouputapregnancytestinmybathroom?”

Sheblinkedatmeoverherteacup.Andthensheputhercupdownonitssaucerandpulledaface.“Oh.That.Yes,Iwasgoingtotellyou.”

Ifeltangerriseupinmelikebile.“Youweregoingtotellme?Youknowmyboyfriendfoundit?”

“Yourboyfriendcamefortheweekend?That’ssonice!Didyouhavelovelytime?”

“Rightupuntilhefoundausedpregnancytestinmybathroom.”

“Butyoutellhimit’snotyours,yes?”

“Idid,Agnes.But,funnilyenough,mentendtogetalittleshirtywhentheyfindpregnancytestsintheirgirlfriends’bathrooms.Especiallygirlfriendswholivethreethousandmilesaway.”

Shewavedherhand,asifshooingmyconcernsaway.“Oh,forgoodness’sake.Ifhetrustsyouhewillbefine.Youarenotcheatingonhim.Heshouldnotbesostupid.”

“Butwhy?Whywouldyouputapregnancytestinmybathroom?”

Shestopped.Sheglancedaroundme,asiftocheckthatthestudydoorreallywasclosed.Andsuddenlyherexpressiongrewserious.“BecauseifIhadleftitinmybathroomIlariawouldhavefoundit,”shesaidflatly.“AndIcannothaveIlariaseeingthisthing.”SheliftedherhandsasifIwerebeingspectacularlydim.“Leonardwasveryclearwhenwemarry.Nochildren.Thiswasourdeal.”

“Really?Butthat’snot...Whatifyoudecideyouwantthem?”

Shepursedherlips.“Iwon’t.”

“But—butyou’remyage.Howcanyouknowforsure?Ican’ttellmostdaysifI’mgoingtowanttostickwiththesamebrandofhairconditioner.Lotsofpeoplechangetheirmindwhen—”

“IamnothavingchildrenwithLeonard,”shesnapped.“Okay?Enoughwiththetalkofchildren.”

Istood,alittlereluctantly,andherheadwhippedaround,herexpressionfierce.“I’msorry.I’msorryifIcausedyoutrouble.”Shepushedatherbrowwiththeheelofherpalm.“Okay?I’msorry.NowIamgoingforarun.Onmyown.”

—IlariawasinthekitchenwhenIwalkedinafewmomentslater.Shewaspushingahugelumpofdougharoundamixingbowlwithfierce,evenstrokesandshedidn’tlookup.

“Youthinksheisyourfriend.”

Istopped,mymughalfwaytothecoffeemachine.

Shepushedthedoughwithparticularforce.“Theputawouldsellyoudowntheriverifitmeantshesavedherself.”

“Nothelpful,Ilaria,”Isaid.ItwasperhapsthefirsttimeIhadeveransweredherback.Ifilledmymugandwalkedtothedoor.“And,believeitornot,youdon’tknoweverything.”

Iheardhersnortfromhalfwaydownthehall.

—IheadeddowntoAshok’sdesktopickupAgnes’sdry-cleaning,stoppingtochatforafewmomentstotrytopushasidemydarkmood.Ashokwasalwayseven,alwaysupbeat.Talkingwithhimwaslikehavingawindowonalighterworld.WhenIarrivedbackattheapartmenttherewasasmall,slightlywrinkledplasticbagproppedupoutsideourfrontdoor.Istoopedtopickitupandfound,tomysurprise,thatitwasaddressedtome.Oratleastto“LouisaIthinkhernameis.”

Iopeneditinmyroom.Inside,wrappedinrecycledtissuepaper,wasavintageBibascarf,decoratedwithaprintofpeacockfeathers.Iopeneditoutanddrapeditaroundmyneck,admiringthesubtlesheenofthefabric,thewayitshimmeredeveninthedimlight.Itsmelledofclovesandoldperfume.ThenIreachedintothebagandpulledoutasmallcard.Thenameatthetopread,inloopingdarkblueprint:MargotDeWitt.Underneath,inashakyscrawl,waswritten:Thankyouforsavingmydog.

15

From:BusyBee@gmail.comTo:MrandMrsBernardClark@yahoo.com

Hi,Mum,Yes,Halloweeniskindofabigdealhere.Iwalkedaroundthecityanditwas

verysweet.Therewerelotsoflittleghostsandwitchescarryingbasketsofsweets,withtheirparentsfollowingatadistancewithtorches.Someofthemhadevendresseduptoo.Andpeoplehereseemtoreallygetintoit,notlikeourstreetwherehalftheneighborsturntheirlightsoutorhideinthebackroomtostopkidsknocking.Allthewindowsarefullofplasticpumpkinsorfakeghostsandeveryoneseemstolovedressingup.NobodyeveneggedanyoneelsethatIcouldsee.

Butnotrick-or-treatersinourbuilding.We’renotreallyinthekindofneighborhoodwherepeopleknockoneachother’sdoors.Maybethey’dcallouttoeachother’sdrivers.Alsothey’dhavetogetpastthenightmanandhecanbekindofscaryinhimself.

It’sThanksgivingnext.They’dbarelyclearedawaytheghostsilhouettesbeforetheadvertsforturkeystarted.I’mnotentirelysureevenwhatThanksgiving’sabout—mostlyeating,Ithink.Mostholidayshereseemtobe.

I’mfine.I’msorryIhaven’tcalledmuch.GivemylovetoDadandGranddad.Imissyou.

Loux

Mr.Gopnik,newlysentimentalaboutfamilygatheringsinthewaythatrecentlydivorcedmenoftenare,haddecreedthathewantedaThanksgivingdinnerattheapartmentwithhisclosestfamilypresent,capitalizingonthefactthattheformerMrs.GopnikwasheadedtoVermontwithhersister.Theprospectofthishappyevent—alongwiththefactthathewasstillworkingeighteen-hourdays—wasenoughtosendAgnesintoapersistentfunk.

Samsentmeatextmessageonhisreturn—twenty-fourhoursafterhisreturn,actually—tosayhewastiredandthiswasharderthanhe’dthought.IansweredwithasimpleyesbecauseintruthIwastiredtoo.

IranwithAgnesandGeorgeearlyinthemorning.WhenIdidn’trunIwokeinthelittleroomwiththesoundsofthecityinmyearsandapictureofSam,standinginmybathroomdoorway,inmyhead.I

wouldliethere,shiftingandturning,untilIwastangledinthesheets,mymoodblackened.Thewholedaywouldbetarnishedbeforeithadevenstarted.WhenIhadtogetupandoutinmyrunningshoes,Iwokeupalreadyonthemove,forcedtocontemplateotherpeople’slives,thepullinmythighs,thecoldairinmychest,thesoundofmybreathinginmyears.Ifelttaut,strong,bracedtobatawaywhatevercrapthedaywaslikelytogreetmewith.

Andthatweektherewassignificantcrap.Garry’sdaughterdroppedoutofcollege,puttinghiminafoulmood,sothateverytimeAgnesleftthecarhewouldrailaboutungratefulchildrenwhodidn’tunderstandsacrificeorthevalueofaworkingman’sdollar.IlariawasreducedtoconstantmutefurybyAgnes’smorebizarrehabits,suchasorderingfoodshesubsequentlydecidedshedidn’twanttoeat,orlockingherdressingroomwhenshewasn’tinit,sothatIlariacouldn’tputherclothesaway.“Shewantsmetoputherunderwearinthehallway?Shewantshersexytimeoutfitsonfulldisplaytothegroceryman?Whatisshehidinginthereanyway?”

Michaelflittedthroughtheapartmentlikeaghost,wearingtheexhausted,harriedexpressionofamandoingtwojobs—andevenNathanlostsomeofhisequanimityandsnappedattheJapanesecatladywhenshesuggestedthattheunexpecteddepositinNathan’sshoewastheresultofhis“badenergy.”“I’llgiveherbadruddyenergy,”hegrumbled,ashedroppedhisrunningshoesintoabin.Mrs.DeWittknockedonourdoortwiceinaweektocomplainaboutthepiano,andinretaliationAgnesputonarecordingofapiececalled“TheDevil’sStaircase,”andturnedituploudjustbeforewewentout.“Ligeti,”shesniffed,checkinghermakeupinhercompactasweheadeddowninthelift,thehammering,atonalnotesclimbingandrecedingaboveus.IquietlytextedIlariainprivateandaskedhertoturnitoffoncewehadgone.

Thetemperaturedropped,thesidewalksbecameevenmorecongested,andtheChristmasdisplaysbegantocreepintotheshopfronts,likeagaudy,glitteringrash.Ibookedmyflightshomewithlittleanticipation,nolongerknowingwhatkindofwelcomeI’dbereturningto.Icalledmysister,hopingshewouldn’tasktoomanyquestions.Ineedn’thaveworried.ShewasastalkativeasIhadeverknownher,chattingaboutThom’sschoolprojects,hisnewfriendsfromtheestate,hisfootballprowess.Iaskedheraboutherboyfriendandshegrewuncharacteristicallyquiet.

“Areyougoingtotellusanythingabouthim?Youknowit’sdrivingMumnuts.”

“AreyoustillcominghomeatChristmas?”

“Yup.”

“ThenImightintroduceyou.Ifyoucanmanagenottobeacompleteeejitforacoupleofhours.”

“HashemetThom?”

“Thisweekend,”shesaid,hervoicesuddenlyalittlelessconfident.“I’vekeptthemseparatetillnow.Whatifitdoesn’twork?Imean,Eddieloveskidsbutwhatiftheydon’t—”

“Eddie!”

Shesighed.“Yes.Eddie.”

“Eddie.EddieandTreena.EddieandTreenasittinginatree.K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

“Youaresuchachild.”

ItwasthefirsttimeIhadlaughedallweek.“They’llbefine,”Isaid.“Andonceyou’vedonethatyoucantakehimtomeetMumandDad.Thenyou’llbetheoneshekeepsaskingaboutweddingbellsandIcantakeaMaternalGuiltTripVacation.”

“It’s‘holiday.’You’renotAmerican.Andlikethat’severgoingtohappen.Youknowshe’sworriedyou’llbetoograndtotalktothematChristmas?Shethinksyouwon’twanttogetinDaddy’svanfromtheairportbecauseyou’vegotusedtoridinginlimousines.”

“It’strue.Ihave.”

“Seriously,what’sgoingon?You’vesaidnothingaboutwhat’shappeningwithyou.”

“LovingNewYork,”Isaid,smoothasamantra.“Workinghard.”

“Oh,crap.I’vegottogo.Thom’swokenup.”

“Letmeknowhowitgoes.”

“Iwill.Unlessitgoesbadly,inwhichcaseI’llbeemigratingwithoutsayingawordtoanyoneeverfortherestofmylife.”

“That’sourfamily.Alwaysaproportionateresponse.”

—Saturdayserveditselfupcoldwithasideorderofgales.Ihadn’tknownquitehowbrutalthewindscouldbeinNewYork.Itwasasifthetallbuildingsfunneledanybreeze,polishingithardandfastintosomethingicyandfierceandsolid.IfrequentlyfeltasifIwerewalkinginsomekindofsadisticwindtunnel.Ikeptmyheaddown,mybodyatanangleof45degreesand,occasionallyreachingouttoclutchatfirehydrantsorlampposts,IcaughtthesubwaytotheVintageClothesEmporium,stayedforacoffeetothawout,andboughtazebra-printcoatatthemarked-downbargainpriceoftwelvedollars.Intruth,Ilingered.Ididn’twanttogobacktomysilentlittleroom,withIlaria’snewsprogramburblingdownthecorridor,itsghostlyechoesofSam,andthetemptationtocheckmye-maileveryfifteenminutes.IgothomewhenitwasalreadydarkandIwascoldandwearyenoughnottoberestlessorsubmergedinthatpersistentNewYorkfeeling—thatstayinginmeantIwasmissingoutonsomething.

IsatandwatchedTVinmyroomandthoughtaboutwritingSamane-mailbutIwasstillangryenoughnottofeelconciliatoryandwasn’tsurewhatIhadtosaywasabouttomakeanythingbetter.I’dborrowedanovelbyJohnUpdikefromMr.Gopnik’sshelvesbutitwasallaboutthecomplexitiesofmodernrelationships,andeveryoneinitseemedunhappyorwaslustingmadlyaftersomeoneelse,sointheendIturnedoffthelightandslept.

—ThenextmorningwhenIcamedownMeenawasinthelobby.Shewasminuschildrenthistime,butaccompaniedbyAshok,whowasnotinhisuniform.Istartledalittleatthesightofhimincivvies,rootlingunderhisdesk.Itoccurredtomesuddenlyhowmucheasieritwasfortherichtorefusetoknowanythingaboutuswhenweweren’tdressedasindividuals.

“Hey,MissLouisa,”hesaid.“Forgotmyhat.Hadtopopinbeforeweheadtothelibrary.”

“Theonetheywanttoclose?”

“Yup,”Ashoksaid.“Youwanttocomewithus?”

“Comehelpussaveourlibrary,Louisa!”Meenaclappedmeonthebackwithamitten-cladhand.“Weneedallthehelpwecanget!”

Ihadbeenplanningtogotothecoffeeshop,butIhadnothingelsetodoandSundaystretchedaheadofme,likeawasteland,soIagreed.Theyhandedmeaplacard,saying“ALIBRARYISMORETHANBOOKS,”andcheckedthatIhadahatandgloves.“You’regoodforanhourortwo,butyougetreallychilledbythethird,”Meenasaid,aswewalkedout.Shewaswhatmyfatherwouldhavecalledballsy—avoluptuous,big-haired,sexyNewYorker,whohadasmartretortforeverythingherhusbandsaid,andlovedtoribhimabouthishair,hishandlingoftheirchildren,hissexualprowess.Shehadahuge,throatylaughandtooknocrapfromanyone.Heplainlyadoredher.Theycalledeachother“baby”sooftenthatIoccasionallywonderediftheyhadforgotteneachother’snames.

WecaughtthesubwaynorthtoWashingtonHeightsandtalkedabouthowhehadtakenthejobasatemporarymeasurewhenMeenafirstgotpregnant,andhowwhenthechildrenwereschoolagehewasgoingtostartlookingaroundforsomethingelse,somethingwithofficehours,sothathecouldhelpoutmore.(“Butthehealthbenefitsaregood.Makesithardtoleave.”)Theyhadmetatcollege—IwasashamedtoadmitIhadassumedtheywereanarrangedmarriage.

WhenI’dtoldher,Meenahadexplodedintolaughter.“Girl?YouthinkIwouldn’thavemademyparentspickmebetterthanhim?”

Ashok:“Youdidn’tsaythatlastnight,baby.”

Meena:“That’sbecauseIwasfocusedontheTV.”

Whenwefinallylaughedourwayupthesubwaystepsat163rdStreetIwassuddenlyinaverydifferentNewYork.

—ThebuildingsinthispartofWashingtonHeightslookedexhausted:boarded-upshopfrontswithsaggingfireescapes,liquorshops,fried-chickenshops,andbeautysalonswithcurledandfadedpicturesofoutdatedhairstylesinthewindows.Asoftlycursingmanwalkedpastus,pushingashoppingtrolleyfullofplasticbags.Groupsofkidsslouchedoncorners,catcallingtoeachother,andthecurbwaspunctuatedbyrefusebagsthatlaystackedinunrulyheaps,orvomited

theircontentsontotheroad.TherewasnoneoftheglossofLowerManhattan,noneofthepurposefulaspirationthatwasshotthroughtheveryairofMidtown.Theatmosphereherewasscentedwithfriedfoodanddisillusionment.

MeenaandAshokappearednottonotice.Theystrodealong,theirheadsbenttogether,checkingphonestomakesureMeena’smotherwasn’thavingproblemswiththekids.MeenaturnedtoseeifIwaswiththemandsmiled.Iglancedbehindme,tuckedmywalletdeeperinsidemyjacket,andhurriedafterthem.

Weheardtheprotestbeforewesawit,avibrationintheairthatgraduallybecamedistinct,adistantchant.Weroundedacornerandthere,infrontofasootyred-brickbuilding,stoodaroundahundredandfiftypeople,wavingplacardsandchanting,theirvoicesmostlyaimedtowardasmallcameracrew.Asweapproached,Meenathrusthersignintotheair.“Educationforall!”sheyelled.“Don’ttakeawayourkids’safespaces!”Wepiercedthecrowdandwereswiftlyswallowedbyit.IhadthoughtNewYorkwasdiverse,butnowIrealizedallIhadseenwasthecolorofpeople’sskin,thestylesoftheirclothes.Herewasaverydifferentrangeofpeople.Therewereoldwomeninknittedcaps,hipsterswithbabiesstrappedtotheirbacks,youngblackmenwiththeirhairneatlybraided,andelderlyIndianwomeninsaris.Peoplewereanimated,joinedinacommonpurpose,andutterly,communallyintentongettingtheirpointacross.Ijoinedinwiththechanting,seeingMeena’sbeamingsmile,thewayshehuggedfellowprotestersasshemovedthroughthecrowd.

“Theysaidit’llbeontheeveningnews.”Anelderlywomanturnedtome,noddingwithsatisfaction.“That’stheonlythingthecitycounciltakesanynoticeof.Theyallwannabeonthenews.”

Ismiled.

“Everyyearit’sthesame,right?Everyyearwehavetofightalittlehardertokeepthecommunitytogether.Everyyearwehavetoholdtightertowhat’sours.”

“I—I’msorry.Idon’treallyknow.I’mjustherewithfriends.”

“Butyoucametohelpus.That’swhatmatters.”Sheplacedahandonmyarm.“Youknowmygrandsondoesamentoringprogramhere?Theypayhimtoteachotheryoungfolkthecomputers.Theyactuallypayhim.Heteachesadultstoo.Hehelpsthemapplyforjobs.”She

clappedherglovedhandstogether,tryingtokeepwarm.“Ifthecouncilcloseit,allthosepeoplewillhavenowheretogo.Andyoucanbetthecitycouncilorswillbethefirstpeoplecomplainingabouttheyoungfolkhangingaroundonstreetcorners.Youknowit.”ShesmiledatmeasifIdid.

Ahead,Meenawasholdinguphersignagain.Ashok,besideher,stoopedtogreetafriend’ssmallboy,pickinghimupandliftinghimabovethecrowdsothathecouldseebetter.Helookedcompletelydifferentinthiscrowdwithouthisdoormanoutfit.Forallwetalked,Ihadonlyreallyseenhimthroughtheprismofhisuniform.Ihadn’twonderedabouthislifebeyondthelobbydesk,howhesupportedhisfamilyorhowlonghetraveledtoworkorwhathewaspaid.Isurveyedthecrowd,whichhadgrownalittlequieteroncethecameracrewdeparted,andfeltoddlyashamedathowlittleIhadreallyexploredNewYork.ThiswasasmuchthecityastheglossytowersofMidtown.

Wekeptupourchantforanotherhour.Carsandtrucksbeepedinsupportastheypassedandwewouldcheerinreturn.Twolibrarianscameoutandofferedtraysofhotdrinkstoasmanyastheycould.Ididn’ttakeone.BythenIhadnoticedtherippedseamsontheoldlady’scoat,thethreadbare,well-wornqualityoftheclothesaroundme.AnIndianwomanandhersonwalkedacrosstheroadwithlargefoiltraysofhotpakorasandwedivedonthem,thankingherprofusely.“Youaredoingimportantwork,”shesaid.“Wethankyou.”Mypakorawasfullofpeasandpotato,spicyenoughtomakemegaspandabsolutelydelicious.“Theybringthoseouttouseveryweek,Godblessthem,”saidtheoldlady,brushingpastrycrumbsfromherscarf.

Asquadcarcrawledbytwo,threetimes,theofficer’sfaceblankashescannedthecrowd.“Helpussaveourlibrary,sir!”Meenayelledathim.Heturnedhisfaceawaybuthiscolleaguesmiled.

AtonepointMeenaandIwentinsidetousetheloosandIgotachancetoseewhatIwasapparentlyfightingfor.Thebuildingwasold,withhighceilings,visiblepipeworkandahushedair;thewallswerecoveredwithpostersofferingadulteducation,meditationsessions,helpwithCVsandpaymentofsixdollarsperhourformentoringclasses.Butitwasfullofpeople,thechildren’sareathickwithyoungfamilies,thecomputersectionhummingwithadultsclickingcarefullyonkeyboards,notyetconfidentinwhattheyweredoing.Ahandfulofteenagerssatchattingquietlyinacorner,somereadingbooks,several

wearingearphones.Iwassurprisedtoseetwosecurityguardsstandingbythelibrarians’desk.

“Yeah.Wegetafewfights.It’sfreetoanyone,youknow?”whisperedMeena.“Drugsusually.You’realwaysgonnagetsometrouble.”Wepassedanoldwomanasweheadedbackdownthestairs.Herhatwasfilthy,herbluenyloncoatcreasedandstreet-worn,withripsintheshoulders,likeepaulets.Ifoundmyselfstaringafterherassheleveredherwayup,stepbystep,herbatteredslippersbarelystayingonherfeet,clutchingabagfromwhichonesolitarypaperbackpokedout.

Westayedoutsideforanotherhour—longenoughforareporterandanothernewscrewtostopby,askingquestions,promisingtheywoulddotheirbesttogetthestorytorun.Andthen,atone,thecrowdstartedtodisperse.Meena,Ashok,andIheadedbacktothesubway,thetwoofthemchattinganimatedlyaboutwhomtheyhadspokentoandtheprotestsplannedforthefollowingweek.

“Whatwillyoudoifitdoesclose?”Iaskedthemwhenwewereonthetrain.

“Honestly?”saidMeena,pushingherbandannabackonherhair.“Noidea.Butthey’llprobablycloseitintheend.There’sanother,better-equipped,buildingtwomilesawayandthey’llsaywecantakeourchildrenthere.Becauseobviouslyeveryonearoundherehasacar.Andit’sgoodfortheoldpeopletowalktwomilesintheninety-degreeheat.”Sherolledhereyes.“Butwekeepfightingtillthen,right?”

“Yougottahaveyourplacesforcommunity.”Ashokraisedahandemphatically,slicingtheair.“Yougottahaveplaceswherepeoplecanmeetandtalkandexchangeideasanditnotjustbeaboutmoney,youknow?Booksarewhatteachyouaboutlife.Booksteachyouempathy.Butyoucan’tbuybooksifyoubarelygotenoughtomakerent.Sothatlibraryisavitalresource!Youshutalibrary,Louisa,youdon’tjustshutdownabuilding,youshutdownhope.”

Therewasabriefsilence.

“Iloveyou,baby,”saidMeena,andkissedhimfullonthemouth.

“Iloveyoutoo,baby.”

TheygazedateachotherandIbrushedimaginarycrumbsfrommycoatandtriednottothinkaboutSam.

—AshokandMeenaheadedovertohermother’sapartmenttopickuptheirchildren,huggingmeandmakingmepromisetocomenextweek.ItookmyselftothedinerwhereIhadacoffeeandasliceofpie.Icouldn’tstopthinkingabouttheprotest,thepeopleinthelibrary,thegrimy,potholedstreetsthatsurroundedit.Ikeptpicturingtheripsinthatwoman’scoat,theelderlywomanbesidemeandherprideinhergrandson’smentoringwages.IthoughtaboutAshok’simpassionedpleaforcommunity.Irecalledhowmylifehadbeenchangedbyourlibrarybackhome,thewayWillhadinsistedthat“knowledgeispower.”HoweachbookInowread—almosteverydecisionImade—couldbetracedbacktothattime.

Ithoughtaboutthewaythateverysingleprotesterinthecrowdhadknownsomebodyelseorwaslinkedtosomebodyelseorboughtthemfoodordrinkorchattedtothem,howIhadfelttheenergyrushandpleasurethatcamefromasharedgoal.

Ithoughtaboutmynewhomewhere,inasilentbuildingofperhapsthirtypeople,nobodyspoketoanyone,excepttocomplainaboutsomesmallinfringementoftheirownpeace,wherenobodyapparentlyeitherlikedanyoneorcouldbebotheredtogettoknowthemenoughtofindout.

Isatuntilmypiegrewcoldinfrontofme.

—WhenIgotbackIdidtwothings:IwroteashortnotetoMrs.DeWittthankingherforthebeautifulscarf,tellingherthegifthadmademyweek,andthatifsheeverwantedfurtherhelpwiththedogIwouldbedelightedtolearnmoreaboutcaninecare.Iputitintoanenvelopeandsliditunderherdoor.

IknockedonIlaria’sdoor,tryingnottobeintimidatedwhensheopeneditandstaredatmewithopensuspicion.“IpassedthecoffeeshopwheretheysellthecinnamoncookiesyoulikesoIboughtyousome.Here.”Iheldoutthebagtoher.

Sheeyeditwarily.“Whatdoyouwant?”

“Nothing!”Isaid.“Just...thanksforthewholethingwiththekidstheotherday.And,youknow,weworktogetherandstuffso...”Ishrugged.“It’sjustsomecookies.”

Iheldthemafewinchesclosertohersothatshewasobligedtotakethemfromme.Shelookedatthebag,thenatme,andIhadthefeelingshewasabouttothrustitbackatme,sobeforeshecouldIwavedandhurriedbacktomyroom.

ThateveningIwentonlineandlookedupeverythingIcouldfindoutaboutthelibrary:thenewsstoriesaboutitsbudgetcuts,threatenedclosures,smallsuccessstories—Localteencreditslibraryforcollegescholarship—printingoutkeypiecesandsavingalltheusefulinformationintoafile.

Andataquartertonine,ane-mailpoppedintomyinbox.ItwastitledSORRY.

Lou,

I’vebeenonlatesallweekandIwantedtowritewhenIhadmorethanfiveminutesandknewIwasn’tgoingtomessthingsupmore.I’mnotgreatwithwords.AndI’mguessingonlyonewordisreallyimportanthere.I’msorry.Iknowyouwouldn’tcheat.Iwasanidiotevenforthinkingit.

Thethingisit’shardbeingsofarapartandnotknowingwhat’sgoingoninyourlife.Whenwemeetit’slikethevolume’sturneduptoohighoneverything.Wecan’tjustrelaxwitheachother.

IknowyourtimeinNewYorkisimportanttoyouandIdon’twantyoutostaystill.

I’msorry,again.

YourSamxxx

Itwastheclosestthinghe’dsentmetoaletter.Istaredatthewordsforafewmoments,tryingtounpickwhatIfelt.FinallyIopenedupane-mailandtyped:

Iknow.Iloveyou.WhenweseeeachotheratChristmashopefullywe’llhavetimejusttorelaxaroundeachother.Louxxx

Isentit,thenansweredane-mailfromMumandwroteonetoTreena.Itypedthemonautopilot,thinkingaboutSamthewholetime.Yes,Mum,IwillcheckoutthenewpicturesofthegardenonFacebook.Yes,IknowBernice’sdaughterpullsthatduckfaceinallherpictures.It’smeanttobeattractive.

Iloggedontomybank,andthenontoFacebookandfoundmyselfsmiling,despitemyself,attheendlesspicturesofBernice’sdaughter

withherrubberizedpout.IsawMum’spicturesofourlittlegarden,thenewchairsshehadboughtfromthegardencenter.Then,almostonawhim,IfoundmyselfflickingtoKatieIngram’spage.AlmostimmediatelyIwishedIhadn’t.There,inglorioustechnicolor,weresevenrecentlyuploadedpicturesofaparamedics’nightout,possiblytheonetheyhadbeenheadedtowhenIhadcalled.

Or,worse,possiblynot.

TherewasKatie,inadarkpinkshirtthatlookedlikesilk,hersmilewide,hereyesknowing,leaningacrossthetabletomakeapoint,orherthroatbaredasshethrewbackherheadinalaugh.TherewasSam,inhisbatteredjacketandagrayT-shirt,hisbighandclaspingaglassofwhatlookedlikelimecordial,afewinchestallerthaneveryoneelse.Ineverypicturethegroupwashappy,laughingatsharedjokes.Samlookedutterlyrelaxedandcompletelyathome.Andineverypicture,KatieIngramwaspressedupnexttohim,nestledintohisarmpitastheysataroundthepubtable,orgazingupathim,onehandrestinglightlyonhisshoulder.

I

16

haveprojectforyou.”Iwasseatedinthecornerathersuper-trendyhairdresser’s,waitingwhileAgneshadherhaircoloredandblow-

dried.Ihadbeenwatchingthelocalnewsreportsofthelibrary-closureprotest,andswitchedmyphoneoffhurriedlywhensheapproached,herhairincarefullyfoldedlayersoftinfoil.Shesatdownbesideme,ignoringthecoloristwhoclearlywantedherbackinherseat.

“Iwantyoutofindmeverysmallpiano.ToshiptoPoland.”

ShesaidthisasifshewasaskingmetobuyapacketofgumfromDuaneReade.

“Averysmallpiano.”

“Averyspecialsmallpianoforchildtolearnon.Isformysister’slittlegirl,”shesaid.“Itmustbeverygoodquality,though.”

“AretherenosmallpianosyoucanbuyinPoland?”

“Notthisgood.IwantittocomefromHossweinerandJackson.Thesearebestpianosintheworld.Andyoumustorganizespecialshippingwithclimatecontrolsoitisnotaffectedbycoldormoistureasthiswillalterthetone.Buttheshopshouldbeabletohelpwiththis.”

“Howoldisyoursister’skidagain?”

“Sheisfour.”

“Uh...okay.”

“Anditneedstobethebestsoshecanhearthedifference.Thereishugedifference,youknow,betweentones.IslikeplayingStradivariuscomparedtocheapfiddle.”

“Sure.”

“Buthereisthing.”Sheturnedaway,ignoringthenowfranticcolorist,whowasgesturingatherheadfromacrossthesalonandtappingatanonexistentwatch.“Idonotwantthistoappearonmycreditcard.Soyoumustwithdrawmoneyeveryweektopayforthis.Bitbybit.Okay?Ihavesomecashalready.”

“But...Mr.Gopnikwouldn’tmind,surely?”

“HethinksIspendtoomuchonmyniece.Hedoesn’tunderstand.AndifTabithadiscoversthisshetwisteverythingtomakemelooklikebadperson.Youknowwhatsheislike,Louisa.Soyoucandothis?”Shelookedatmeintentlyfromunderthelayersoffoil.

“Uh,okay.”

“Youarewonderful.Iamsohappytohavefriendlikeyou.”Shehuggedmeabruptlysothatthefoilscrushedagainstmyearandthecoloristimmediatelyranovertoseewhatdamagemyfacehaddone.

—Icalledtheshopandgotthemtosendmethecostsfortwovarietiesofminiaturepianoplusshipping.OnceI’dfinishedblinking,IprintedouttherelevantquotesandshowedthemtoAgnesinherdressingroom.

“That’squiteapresent,”Isaid.

Shewavedahand.

Iswallowed.“Andtheshippingisanothertwoandahalfthousanddollarsontop.”

Iblinked.Agnesdidn’t.Shewalkedovertoherdresserandunlockeditwithakeyshekeptinherjeans.AsIwatched,shepulledoutanuntidywedgeoffifty-dollarbillsasfatasherarm.“Here.Thisiseightthousandfivehundred.IneedyoutogoeverymorningandgettherestfromtheATM.Fivehundredatime.Okay?”

Ididn’tfeelentirelycomfortablewiththeideaofextractingsomuchmoneywithoutMr.Gopnik’sknowledge.ButIknewthatAgnes’slinkstoherPolishfamilywereintense,andIalsoknewbetterthanmosthowyoucouldlongtofeelclosetothosewhowerefaraway.WhowasItoquestionhowshewasspendinghermoney?Iwasprettysuresheowneddressesthatcostmorethanthatlittlepiano,afterall.

Forthenexttendays,atsomepointduringdaylighthours,IdutifullywalkedtotheATMonLexingtonAvenueandcollectedthemoney,stuffingthenotesdeepintomybrabeforewalkingback,bracedtofightoffmuggerswhonevermaterialized.IwouldgivethemoneytoAgneswhenwewerealone,andshewouldaddittothestashinthedresser,thenlockitagain.EventuallyItookthewholelottothepianostore,signedtherequisiteformandcounteditoutinfrontofabemusedshopassistant.ThepianowouldarriveinPolandintimeforChristmas.

ItwastheonlythingthatseemedtogiveAgnesanyjoy.EveryweekwedroveovertoStevenLipkott’sstudioforherartlesson,andGarryandIwouldsilentlyoverdoseoncaffeineandsugarintheBestDoughnutPlace,orIwouldmurmuragreementwithhisviewsonungratefuladultchildren,andcaramelsprinkledoughnuts.WewouldpickupAgnesacoupleofhourslaterandtrytoignorethefactthatshehadnodrawingswithher.

Herresentmentattherelentlesscharitycircuithadgrownevergreater.Shehadstoppedtryingtobenicetotheotherwomen,Michaeltoldme,inwhispersoversnatchedcoffeesinthekitchen.Shejustsat,beautifulandsullen,waitingforeacheventtobeover.“Iguessyoucan’tblameher,givenhowbitchythey’vebeentoher.Butit’sdrivinghimalittlenuts.It’simportantforhimtohave,well,ifnotatrophywife,someonewho’satleastpreparedtosmileoccasionally.”

Mr.Gopniklookedexhaustedbyworkandbylifeingeneral.Michaeltoldmethingsattheofficeweredifficult.Ahugedealtopropupabankinsomeemergingeconomyhadgonewrongandtheywereallworkingaroundtheclocktotrytosaveit.Atthesametime—orperhapsbecauseofit—NathansaidMr.Gopnik’sarthritishadflaredupandtheyweredoingextrasessionstokeephimmovingnormally.Hetookalotofpills.Aprivatedoctorsawhimtwiceaweek.

“Ihatethislife,”Agnessaidtome,aswewalkedacrosstheparkafterward.“Allthismoneyhegivesawayandforwhat?Sowecansitfourtimesaweekandeatdried-upcanapéswithdried-uppeople.Andsothesedried-upwomencanbitchaboutme.”ShestoppedforaminuteandlookedbackatthebuildingandIsawthathereyeshadfilledwithtears.Hervoicedropped.“Sometimes,Louisa,IthinkIcannotdothisanymore.”

“Helovesyou,”Isaid.Ididn’tknowwhatelsetosay.

Shewipedhereyeswiththepalmofherhandandshookherhead,asifsheweretryingtoridherselfoftheemotion.“Iknow.”Shesmiledatme,anditwastheleastconvincingsmileI’deverseen.“ButitisalongtimesinceIbelievedlovesolvedeverything.”

Onimpulse,Isteppedforwardandhuggedher.AfterwardIrealizedIcouldn’tsaywhetherI’ddoneitforherormyself.

—ItwasshortlybeforetheThanksgivingdinnerthattheideafirstoccurredtome.Agneshadrefusedtogetoutofbedallday,facedwithamental-healthcharitydothatevening.Shesaidshewastoodepressedtoattend,apparentlyrefusingtoseetheirony.

Ithoughtaboutitforaslongasittookmetodrinkamugoftea,andthenIdecidedIhadlittletolose.

“Mr.Gopnik?”Iknockedonhisstudydoorandwaitedforhimtoinvitemein.

Helookedup,hispaleblueshirtimmaculate,hiseyesdraggeddownwardwithweariness.MostdaysIfeltalittlesorryforhim,inthewaythatyoucanfeelsorryforacagedbearwhilemaintainingahealthyandslightlyfearfulrespectforit.

“Whatisit?”

“I—I’msorrytobotheryou.ButIhadanidea.It’ssomethingIthinkmighthelpAgnes.”

Heleanedbackinhisleatherchairandsignaledtometoclosethedoor.Inoticedtherewasaleadglasstumblerofbrandyonhisdesk.Thatwasearlierthanusual.

“MayIspeakfrankly?”Isaid.Ifeltalittlesickwithnerves.

“Pleasedo.”

“Okay.Well,Icouldn’thelpbutnoticeAgnesisnotas,um,happyasshemightbe.”

“That’sanunderstatement,”hesaidquietly.

“Itseemstomethatalotofherissuesrelatetobeingpluckedfromheroldlifeandnotreallyintegratingwithhernewone.Shetoldme

shecan’tspendtimewithheroldfriendsbecausetheydon’treallyunderstandhernewlife,andfromwhatI’veseen,well,alotofthenewonesdon’tseemthatkeentobefriendswithhereither.Ithinktheyfeelitwouldbe...disloyal.”

“Tomyex-wife.”

“Yes.Soshehasnojob,andnocommunity.Andthisbuildinghasnorealcommunity.Youhaveyourwork,andpeoplearoundyouyou’veknownforyears,wholikeyouandrespectyou.ButAgnesdoesn’t.Iknowshefindsthecharitycircuitparticularlyhard.Butthephilanthropicsideofthingsisreallyimportanttoyou.SoIhadanidea.”

“Goon.”

“Well,there’sthislibraryupinWashingtonHeightswhichisthreatenedwithclosure.I’vegotalltheinformationhere.”Ipushedmyfileacrosshisdesk.“It’sarealcommunitylibrary,usedbyalldifferentnationalitiesandagesandtypesofpeople,andit’sabsolutelyvitalforthelocalsthatitstaysopen.They’refightingsohardtosaveit.”

“That’sanissueforthecitycouncil.”

“Well,maybe.ButIspoketooneofthelibrariansandshesaidthatinthepastthey’vereceivedindividualdonationsthathavehelpedkeepthemgoing.”Ileanedforward.“Ifyoujustwentthere,Mr.Gopnik,you’dsee—therearementoringprogramsandmotherskeepingtheirchildrenwarmandsafeandpeoplereallytryingtomakethingsbetter.Inapracticalway.AndIknowit’snotasglamorousastheeventsyouattend—Imean,there’snotgoingtobeaballthere,butit’sstillcharity,right?AndIthoughtmaybe...well,maybeyoucouldgetinvolved.Andevenbetter,ifAgnesgotinvolvedshecouldbepartofacommunity.Shecouldmakeitherownproject.Youandshecoulddosomethingamazing.”

“WashingtonHeights?”

“Youshouldgothere.It’saverymixedarea.Quitedifferentfrom...here.Imeansomebitsofitaregentrifiedbutthisbit—”

“IknowWashingtonHeights,Louisa.”Hetappedhisfingersonthedesk.“HaveyouspokentoAgnesaboutthis?”

“IthoughtIshouldprobablymentionittoyoufirst.”

Hepulledthefiletowardhimandflickeditopen.Hefrownedatthefirstsheet—anewspapercuttingofoneoftheearlyprotests.ThesecondwasabudgetstatementIhadpulledfromthecitycouncil’swebsite,showingitslatestfinancialyear.

“Mr.Gopnik,Ireallythinkyoucouldmakeadifference.NotjusttoAgnesbuttoawholecommunity.”

ItwasatthispointthatIrealizedheappearedunmoved,dismissiveeven.Itwasn’taseachangeinhisexpression,butafainthardening,aloweringofhisgaze.Anditoccurredtomethattobeaswealthyashewas,wasprobablytoreceiveahundredsuchrequestsformoneyeachday,orsuggestionsastowhatheshoulddowithit.Andthatperhaps,bybeingpartofthat,Ihadsteppedoversomeinvisibleemployee/employerline.

“Anyway.Itwasjustanidea.Possiblynotagreatone.I’msorryifI’vesaidtoomuch.I’llgetbacktowork.Don’tfeelyouhavetolookatthatstuffifyou’rebusy.Icantakeitwithmeifyou—”

“It’sfine,Louisa.”Hepressedhisfingersagainsthistemples,hiseyesclosed.

Istood,notsureifIwasbeingdismissed.

Finallyhelookedupatme.“CanyougoandtalktoAgnes,please?FindoutwhetherI’mgoingtohavetogotothisdinneralone?”

“Yes.Ofcourse.”Ibackedoutoftheroom.

—Shewenttothemental-healthdinner.Wedidn’thearanyfightingwhentheygothomebutthenextdayIdiscoveredshehadsleptinherdressingroom.

—InthetwoweeksbeforeIwasduetoheadhomeforChristmasIdevelopedanalmostobsessiveFacebookhabit.IfoundmyselfcheckingKatieIngram’spagemorningandevening,readingthepublicconversationsshehadwithherfriends,checkingfornewphotographsshemighthaveposted.Oneofherfriendshadaskedhowshewas

enjoyingherjobandshehadwritten,“ILOVEit!”withawinkyface(shewasirritatinglyfondofwinkyfaces).Anotherdayshehadposted:“Reallytoughdaytoday.ThankGodformyamazingpartner!#blessed”

ShepostedonemorepictureofSam,atthewheeloftheambulance.Hewaslaughing,liftinghishandasiftostopher,andthesightofhisface,theintimacyoftheshot,thewayitplacedmeinthecabwiththem,tookmybreathaway.

Wehadscheduledacallforthepreviousevening,histime,andwhenI’dcalledhehadn’tpickedup.I’dtriedagain,twice,withnoanswer.Twohourslater,justasIwasgettingworried,Ireceivedatextmessage:Sorry—youstillthere?

“Areyouokay?Wasitwork?”Isaid,whenhecalledme.

Therewasthefaintesthesitationbeforeheresponded.“Notexactly.”

“Whatdoyoumean?”IwasinthecarwithGarry,waitingwhileAgneshadapedicure,andIwasconsciousthathemightbelisteningin,nomatterhowengrossedheappearedtobeinthesportspagesofhisNewYorkPost.

“IwashelpingKatiewithsomething.”

Mystomachdroppedmerelyatthementionofhername.“Helpingherwithwhat?”Itriedtokeepmyvoicelight.

“Justawardrobe.Ikea.Sheboughtitandcouldn’tputittogetherbyherselfsoIsaidI’dgiveherahand.”

Ifeltsick.“Youwenttoherhouse?”

“Flat.Itwasjusttohelpherwithapieceoffurniture,Lou.Shedoesn’thaveanyoneelse.AndIonlylivedowntheroad.”

“Youtookyourtoolbox.”Irememberedhowheusedtocometomyflatandfixthings.IthadbeenoneofthefirstthingsI’dlovedabouthim.

“Yes.Itookmytoolbox.AndallIdidwashelpherwithanIkeawardrobe.”Hisvoicehadgrownweary.

“Sam?”

“What?”

“Didyouoffertogothere?Ordidsheaskyou?”

“Doesitmatter?”

Iwantedtotellhimitdid,becauseitwasobviousthatshewastryingtostealhimfromme.Shewasalternatelyplayingthehelplessfemale,thefunpartygirl,theunderstandingbestfriendandworkcolleague.Hewaseitherblindtoitor,worse,hewasn’t.Therewasn’tasinglepicturethatshehadpostedonlineinwhichshewasn’tgluedtohisside,likesomekindoflipstickedleech.SometimesIwonderedifshe’dguessedI’dbelookingatthem,andifshegotsatisfactionfromknowingthediscomfortthiscausedme,whetherinfactthiswaspartofherplan,tomakememiserableandparanoid.Iwasn’tsuremenwouldeverunderstandtheinfinitelysubtleweaponrywomenusedagainsteachother.

Thesilencebetweenusonthephoneopenedupandbecameasinkhole.IknewIcouldn’twin.IfItriedtowarnhimaboutwhatwashappening,Ibecameajealousharpy.IfIdidn’t,he’dcarryonwalkingblindlyintohermantrap.Untilthedayhesuddenlyrealizedhewasmissingherasmuchashehadevermissedme.Orhefoundhersofthandcreepingintohisatthepubassheleanedonhimforcomfortafteratoughday.Ortheybondedoversomesharedadrenalinerush,somenear-deathincident,andfoundthemselveskissingand—

Iclosedmyeyes.

“Sowhendoyougetback?”

“Thetwenty-third.”

“Great.I’lltryandmovesomeshifts.I’llbeworkingforsomeoftheChristmasperiod,though,Lou.Youknowthejob.Itdoesn’tstop.”

Hesighed.Therewasapausebeforehespokeagain.“Listen.Iwasthinking.MaybeitwouldbeagoodideaifyouandKatiemeteachother.Thenyoucanseeshe’sokay.She’snottryingtobeanythingotherthanamate.”

Likehellsheisn’t.

“Great!Soundslovely,”Isaid.

“Ithinkyou’lllikeher.”

“ThenI’msureIwill.”

LikeI’dlikeEbolavirus.Orgratingoffmyownelbows.Ormaybeeatingthatcheesethathaslivebugsinit.

Hesoundedrelievedwhenhesaid,“Can’twaittoseeyou.You’rebackaweek,right?”

Iloweredmyhead,tryingtomufflemyvoicealittle.“Sam,does—doesKatiereallywanttomeetme?Isthis,like,somethingyou’vediscussed?”

“Yeah.”Andthen,whenIsaidnothing,headded,“Imean,notinany...Wedidn’ttalkaboutwhathappenedwithyouandmeoranything.Butshegetsthatitmustbehardforus.”

“Isee.”Ifeltmyjawtighten.

“Shethinksyousoundgreat.ObviouslyItoldhershe’dgotthatwrong.”

Ilaughed,andI’mnotsuretheworld’sworstactorcouldhavemadeitsoundlessconvincing.

“You’llseewhenyoumeether.Can’twait.”

Whenherangoff,IlookeduptofindGarrywaslookingatmeintherearviewmirror.Oureyesmetforamoment,thenhisslidaway.

—GiventhatIlivedinoneoftheworld’sbusiestmetropolises,IhadbeguntounderstandthattheworldasIknewitwasactuallyverysmall,shrink-wrappedaroundthedemandsoftheGopniksfromsixinthemorningoftenuntillateevening.Mylifehadbecomecompletelyintertwinedwiththeirs.JustasIhadwithWill,I’dbecomeattunedtoAgnes’severymood,abletodetectfromthesubtlestsignswhethershewasdepressed,angry,orsimplyinneedoffood.Inowknewwhenherperiodsweredue,andmarkedtheminmypersonaldiarysothatIcouldbebracedforfivedaysofheightenedemotionorextra-emphaticpianoplaying.Iknewhowtobecomeinvisibleduringtimesoffamilyconflictorwhentobeever-present.Ibecameashadow,somuchsothatsometimesIfeltalmostevanescent—usefulonlyinrelationtosomeoneelse.

MylifebeforetheGopnikshadreceded,becomeafaint,ghostlything,experiencedthroughoddphonecalls(whenGopnikschedules

allowed)orsporadice-mails.IfailedtoringmysisterfortwoweeksandcriedwhenmymothersentmeahandwrittenletterwithphotographsofherandThomatatheatermatinee“justincaseyou’veforgottenwhatwelooklike.”

Itcouldgetalittlemuch.Soasabalance,eventhoughIwasexhausted,ItraveledtothelibraryeveryweekendwithAshokandMeena—onceevengoingbymyselfwhentheirchildrenwereill.Igotbetteratdressingforthecoldandmademyownplacard—Knowledgeispower!—withitsprivatenodtoWill.IwouldheadbackonthetrainandafterwardmakemywaydowntotheEastVillagetohaveacoffeeattheVintageClothesEmporiumandlookoverwhatevernewitemsLydiaandhersisterhadinstock.

Mr.Gopniknevermentionedthelibraryagain.Irealizedwithmilddisappointmentthatcharitycouldmeansomethingquitedifferenthere:thatitwasnotenoughtogive,youhadtobeseentobegiving.Hospitalsborethenamesoftheirdonorsinsix-foot-highlettersabovethedoor.Ballswerenamedafterthosewhofundedthem.Evenbusesborelistsofnamesalongsidetheirrearwindows.Mr.andMrs.LeonardGopnikwereknownasgenerousbenefactorsbecausetheywerevisibleinsocietyasbeingso.Ascruffylibraryinarundownneighborhoodofferednosuchkudos.

—AshokandMeenahadinvitedmeforThanksgivingattheirapartmentinWashingtonHeights,horrifiedwhenIrevealedIhadnoplans.“Youcan’tspendThanksgivingonyourown!”Ashoksaid,andIdecidednottomentionthatfewpeopleinEnglandevenknewwhatitwas.“Mymothermakestheturkey—butdon’texpectittobedoneAmerican-style,”Meenasaid.“Wecan’tstandallthatblandfood.Thisisgoingtobesomeserioustandooriturkey.”

Itwasnoefforttosayyestosomethingnew:Iwasquiteexcited.Iboughtabottleofchampagne,somefancychocolates,andsomeflowersforMeena’smother,thenputonmybluecocktaildresswiththefursleeves,figuringanIndianThanksgivingwouldbeasuitablefirstoutingforit—or,atleast,onewithnodiscernibledresscode.IlariawasflatoutpreparingfortheGopniks’familydinnerandIdecidednot

todisturbher.Iletmyselfout,checkingthatIhadtheinstructionsAshokhadgivenme.

AsIheadeddownthecorridor,InoticedthatMrs.DeWitt’sdoorwasopen.Iheardthetelevisionburblingfromdeepinsidetheapartment.AfewfeetfromthedoorDeanMartinstoodinthehallwayglaringatme.Iwonderedifhewasabouttomakeanotherbreakforfreedom,andrangthedoorbell.

Mrs.DeWittemergedintothecorridor.

“Mrs.DeWitt?IthinkDeanMartinmaybeabouttogoforawalk.”Thedogpotteredbacktowardher.Sheleanedagainstthewall.Shelookedfrailandtired.“Canyoushutthedoor,dear?Imusthavenotcloseditproperly.”

“Willdo.HappyThanksgiving,Mrs.DeWitt,”Isaid.

“Isit?Ihadn’tnoticed.”Shedisappearedbackintotheroom,thedogbehindher,andIclosedthefrontdoor.IhadneverseenherwithsomuchasacasualcallerandfeltabriefsadnessatthethoughtofherspendingThanksgivingalone.

IwasjustturningtoleavewhenAgnescamedownthecorridorinhergymkit.Sheseemedstartledtoseeme.“Whereareyougoing?”

“Todinner?”Ididn’twanttosaywhoIwasgoingwith.Ididn’tknowhowtheemployersofthebuildingwouldfeeliftheythoughtthestaffweregettingtogetherwithoutthem.Shelookedatmeinhorror.

“Butyoucan’tgo,Louisa.Leonard’sfamilyiscominghere.Ican’tdothisbymyself.Itoldthemyouwouldbehere.”

“Youdid?But—”

“Youmuststay.”

Ilookedatthedoor.Myheartsank.

Andthenhervoicedropped.“Please,Louisa.You’remyfriend.Ineedyou.”

—IrangAshokandtoldhim.Myoneconsolationwasthat,doingthejobhedid,hegraspedthesituationimmediately.“I’msosorry,”I

whisperedintothephone.“Ireallywantedtocome.”

“Nah.Yougottostay.Hey,Meena’syellingtotellyoushe’sgoingtosavesometurkeyforyou.I’llbringitwithmetomorrow...Baby,Itoldher!Idid!Shesaysdrinkalltheirexpensivewine.Okay?”

Ifelt,briefly,ontheedgeoftears.Ihadlookedforwardtoaneveningfullofgigglingchildren,deliciousfood,andlaughter.InsteadIwasgoingtobeashadowagain,asilentpropinanicyroom.

Myfearswerejustified.

ThreeothermembersoftheGopnikfamilycametoThanksgiving:hisbrother,anolder,grayer,moreanemicversionofMr.Gopnik,whoapparentlydidsomethinginlaw.ProbablyrantheUSDepartmentofJustice.Hebroughtwithhimtheirmother,whosatinawheelchair,refusedtotakeoffherfurcoatfortheentireeveningandcomplainedloudlythatshecouldn’thearwhatanyonewassaying.Mr.Gopnik’sbrother’swife,aformerviolinistapparentlyofsomenote,accompaniedthem.ShewastheonlypersontherewhobotheredtoaskwhatIdid.ShegreetedAgneswithtwokissesandthekindofprofessionalsmilethatcouldhavebeenmeantforanyone.

Tabithamadeupthenumbers,arrivinglateandbringingwithhertheairofsomeonewhohasspenttheircabrideindeeptelephonediscussionabouthowmuchtheydidnotwanttobethere.Momentsaftershegottherewewereseatedtoeatinthediningroom—whichwasoffthemainlivingroomanddominatedbyahugeovalmahoganydiningtable.

Itisfairtosaytheconversationwasstilted.Mr.Gopnikandhisbrotherfellimmediatelyintoconversationaboutthelegalrestrictionsinthecountrywherehewascurrentlydoingbusiness,andthetwowivesaskedeachotherafewstiffquestions,likepeoplepracticingsmalltalkinaforeignlanguage.

“Howhaveyoubeen,Agnes?”

“Fine,thankyou.Andyou,Veronica?”

“Verywell.Youlookverywell.That’saverynicedress.”

“Thankyou.Youalsolookverynice.”

“DidIhearthatyouhadbeentoPoland?I’msureLeonardsaidyouwerevisitingyourmother.”

“Iwastheretwoweeksago.Itwaslovelytoseeher,thankyou.”

IsatbetweenTabithaandAgnes,watchingAgnesdrinktoomuchwhitewineandTabithaflickmutinouslythroughherphoneandoccasionallyrollhereyes.Isippedatthepumpkinandsagesoup,nodded,smiled,andtriednottothinklonginglyofAshok’sapartmentandthejoyfulchaosthere.IwouldhaveaskedTabithaaboutherweek—anythingtomovethestutteringconversationalong—butshehadmadesomanyacidasidesaboutthehorrorofhaving“staff”atfamilyeventsthatIdidn’thavethenerve.

Ilariabroughtoutdishafterdish.“ThePolishputadoesnotcook.SosomebodyhastogiveuptheirThanksgiving,”shemutteredafterward.Shehadlaidonafeastofturkey,roastpotatoes,andabunchofthingsIhadneverseenservedasanaccompanimentbutsuspectedwereabouttoleavemewithinstantaneousType2diabetes—candiedsweetpotatocasserolewithmarshmallowtopping,greenbeanswithhoneyandbacon,roastedacornsquashwithmaple-bacondrizzle,butterycornbread,andcarrotsroastedwithhoneyandspice.Therewerealsopopovers—akindofYorkshirepudding—andIpeeredatthemsurreptitiouslytoseeiftheyweredrapedwithsyrup,too.

Ofcourseonlythemenatemuchofit.Tabithapushedhersaroundherplate.Agnesatesometurkeyandalmostnothingelse.Ihadalittleofeverything,gratefulforsomethingtodoandalsothatIlarianolongerslammeddishesdowninfrontofme.Infact,shelookedatmesidewaysafewtimesasiftoexpresssilentsympathyformypredicament.Themenkepttalkingbusiness,unawareoforunwillingtoacknowledgethepermafrostattheotherendofthetable.

OccasionallythesilencewasbrokenbytheelderlyMrs.Gopnikdemandingsomebodyhelphertosomepotatooraskingloudly,forthefourthtime,whatonearththewomanhaddonetothecarrots.Severalpeoplewouldanswerheratonce,asifrelievedtohaveafocus,nomatterhowirrational.

“That’sanunusualdress,Louisa,”saidVeronica,afteraparticularlylongsilence.“Verystriking.DidyoubuyitinManhattan?Onedoesn’toftenseefursleevesthesedays.”

“Thankyou.IboughtitintheEastVillage.”

“IsitMarcJacobs?”

“Um,no.It’svintage.”

“Vintage,”snortedTabitha.

“Whatdidshesay?”saidMrs.Gopnikloudly.

“She’stalkingaboutthegirl’sdress,Mother,”saidMr.Gopnik’sbrother.“Shesaysit’svintage.”

“Vintagewhat?”

“Whatisproblemwith‘vintage,’Tab?”saidAgnescoolly.

Ishrankbackwardintomyseat.

“It’ssuchameaninglessterm,isn’tit?It’sjustawayofsaying‘secondhand.’Awayofdressingsomethinguptopretendit’ssomethingit’snot.”

Iwantedtotellherthatvintagemeantawholelotmorethanthat,butIdidn’tknowhowtoexpressit—andsuspectedIwasn’tmeantto.Ijustwantedthewholeconversationtomoveforwardandawayfromme.

“Ibelievevintageoutfitscanbequitethefashionnow,”saidVeronica,addressingmedirectlywithadiplomat’sskill.“Ofcourse,I’mfartoooldtounderstandtheyoungpeople’strendsthesedays.”

“Andfartoopolitetosaysuchthings,”mutteredAgnes.

“I’msorry?”saidTabitha.

“Oh,nowyouaresorry?”

“Imeant,whatdidyoujustsay?”

Mr.Gopniklookedupfromhisplate.Hiseyesdartedwarilyfromhiswifetohisdaughter.

“ImeanwhyyouhavetobesorudetoLouisa.Sheismyguesthere,evenifsheisstaff.Andyouhavetoberudeaboutheroutfit.”

“Iwasn’tbeingrude.Iwassimplystatingafact.”

“Thisishowbeingrudeisthesedays.ItellitlikeIseeit.I’mjustbeinghonest.Thelanguageofthebully.Weallknowhowthisis.”

“Whatdidyoujustcallme?”

“Agnes.Darling.”Mr.Gopnikreachedacrossandplacedhishandoverhers.

“Whataretheysaying?”saidMrs.Gopnik.“Tellthemtospeakup.”

“IsaidTabisbeingveryrudetomyfriend.”

“She’snotyourfriend,forcryingoutloud.She’syourpaidassistant.AlthoughIsuspectthat’sallyoucangetinthewayoffriends,thesedays.”

“Tab!”herfathersaid.“That’sahorriblethingtosay.”

“Well,it’strue.Nobodywantsanythingtodowithher.Youcan’tpretendyoudon’tseeitwhereverwego.Youknowthisfamilyisalaughingstock,Daddy?Youhavebecomeacliché.Sheisawalkingcliché.Andforwhat?Weallknowwhatherplanis.”

Agnesremovedhernapkinfromherlapandscreweditintoaball.“Myplan?Youwanttotellmewhatmyplanis?”

“Likeeveryothersharp-elbowedimmigrantonthemake.You’vesomehowmanagedtoconvinceDadtomarryyou.Nowyou’renodoubtdoingeverythingpossibletogetpregnantandpopoutababyortwo,thenwithinfiveyearsyou’lldivorcehim.Andyou’remadeforlife.Boom!Nomoremassages.JustBergdorfGoodman,adriver,andlunchwithyourPolishcovenalltheway.”

Mr.Gopnikleanedforwardoverthetable.“Tabitha,Idon’twantyoueverusingtheword‘immigrant’inaderogatorymannerinthishouseagain.Yourgreat-grandparentswereimmigrants.Youarethedescendantofimmigrants—”

“Notthatkindofimmigrant.”

“Whatdoesthismean?”saidAgnes,hercheeksflushed.

“DoIhavetospellitout?Therearethosewhoachievetheirgoalsthroughhardworkandtherearethosewhodoitbylyingontheir—”

“Likeyou?”yelledAgnes.“Likeyouwholivesofftrust-fundallowanceatageoftwenty-five?Youwhohavebarelyheldajobinyourlife?Iammeanttotakeexamplefromyou?AtleastIknowwhathardworkis—”

“Yes.Straddlingstrangemen’snakedbodies.Quitetheemployment.”

“That’senough!”Mr.Gopnikwasonhisfeet.“Youarequite,quitewrong,Tabitha,andyoumustapologize.”

“Why?BecauseIcanseeherwithoutrose-coloredspectacles?Daddy,I’msorrytosaythisbutyouaretotallyblindtowhatthis

womanreallyis.”

“No.Youaretheonewhoiswrong!”

“Soshe’snevergoingtowantchildren?She’stwenty-eightyearsold,Dad.Wakeup!”

“Whataretheytalkingabout?”saidoldMrs.Gopnik,querulously,toherdaughter-in-law.Veronicawhisperedsomethinginherear.“Butshesaidsomethingaboutnakedmen.Iheardher.”

“Notthatit’sanyofyourbusiness,Tabitha,buttherewillbenomorechildreninthishouse.AgnesandIagreedthispointbeforeImarriedher.”

Tabithapulledaface.“Oooh.Sheagreed.Likethatmeansanythingatall.Awomanlikeherwouldsayanythingtomarryyou!Daddy,Ihatetosayitbutyouarebeinghopelesslynaïve.Inayearorsotherewillbesomelittle‘accident’andshe’llpersuade—”

“Therewillbenoaccidents!”Mr.Gopnikslammedhishandonthetablesohardtheglasswarerattled.

“Howcanyouknow?”

“BecauseIhadagoddamnvasectomy!”Mr.Gopniksatdown.Hishandswereshaking.“Twomonthsbeforewegotmarried.AtMountSinai.WithAgnes’sfullagreement.Areyousatisfiednow?”

Theroomfellsilent.Tabithagapedatherfather.

Theoldwomanlookedfromlefttoright,andthensaid,peeringatMr.Gopnik,“Leonardhadanappendectomy?”

Alowhumhadstartedsomewhereinthebackofmyhead.AsifinthedistanceIheardMr.Gopnikinsistingthathisdaughterapologize,thenwatchedherpushbackherchairandleavethetablewithoutdoingso.IsawVeronicaexchangelookswithherhusbandandtakealong,wearyswigofherdrink.

AndthenIlookedatAgnes,whowasstaringmutelyatherplateonwhichherfoodwascongealinginhoneyed,bacon-strewnportions.AsMr.Gopnikreachedoutahandandsqueezedhers,myheartthumpedloudlyinmyears.

Shedidn’tlookatme.

I

17

flewhomeonDecember22,ladenwithpresentsandwearingmynewvintagezebra-printcoat,which,Iwouldlaterdiscover,was

strangelyandadverselyaffectedbythecirculationofrecycledairinthe767andsmelled,bythetimeIreachedHeathrow,likeadeceasedequid.

IhadactuallynotbeenduetoflyuntilChristmasEvebutAgneshadinsistedIgosoonerasshewasmakinganunheraldedshortstopbacktoPolandtoseehermother,whowasunwell,andtherewasapparentlynopointinmystayingtheretodonothingwhenIcouldbewithmyfamily.Mr.Gopnikhadpaidforthechangetomyticket.AgneshadbeenbothoverlyniceanddistantwithmesincetheThanksgivingdinner.Inturn,Iwasprofessionalandamenable.Sometimesmyheadwouldspinwiththeinformationitheld.ButIwouldthinkofGarry’swordswaybackintheautumnwhenI’darrived:

Seenothing,hearnothing,forgeteverything.

Somethinghadhappenedintherun-uptoChristmas,somelighteningofmymood.PerhapsIwasjustrelievedtobeleavingthathouseofdysfunction.OrperhapstheactofbuyingChristmaspresentshadresurrectedsomeburiedsenseoffuninmyrelationshipwithSam.WhenhadIlasthadamantobuyChristmaspresentsfor,afterall?ForthelasttwoyearsofourrelationshipPatrickhadsimplysentmee-mailswithlinkstospecificpiecesoffitnessequipmenthewanted.Don’tbotherwrappingthem,babe,incaseyougetitwrongandIneedtosendthemback.AllIhaddonewaspressabutton.IhadneverspentChristmaswithWill.NowIwentshouldertoshoulderwiththeothershoppersinSaks,tryingtoimaginemyboyfriendinthecashmeresweaters,myfacepressedagainstthem,thesoftcheckedshirtshelikedtowearinthegarden,thickoutdoorsocksfromREI.IboughttoysforThom,gettingasugarhighfromthescentsintheM&MstoreinTimesSquare.IboughtstationeryforTreenafromMcNally

JacksonandabeautifuldressinggownforGranddadfromMacy’s.Feelingflush,asIhadspentsolittleoverthepastmonths,IboughtMumalittlebraceletfromTiffanyandawind-upradioforDadtouseinhisshed.

Andthen,asanafterthought,IboughtastockingforSam.Ifilleditwithsmallgifts:aftershave,noveltygum,socks,andabeerholderintheshapeofawomanindenimhotpants.FinallyIwentbacktothetoystorewhereIhadboughtThom’spresentsandboughtafewpiecesofdollhousefurniture—abed,atableandchairs,asofa,andabathroomsuite.Iwrappedthemandwroteonthelabel:Untiltherealoneisfinished.Ifoundatinymedicalkitandincludedthattoo,marvelingatthedetailcontainedwithinit.AndsuddenlyChristmasfeltrealandexciting,andtheprospectofalmosttendaysawayfromtheGopniksandthecityfeltlikeagiftinitself.

—Iarrivedattheairport,prayingsilentlythattheweightofmygiftshadn’tpushedmeoverthelimit.Thewomanatcheck-intookmypassportandaskedmetoliftmysuitcaseontothescales—andfrownedasshelookedatthescreen.

“Isthereaproblem?”Isaidwhensheglancedatmypassport,thenbehindher.ImentallycalculatedhowmuchImighthavetopayfortheaddedweight.

“Oh,no,ma’am.Youshouldn’tbeinthisline.”

“You’rekidding.”MyheartsankasIlookedoverattheheavingqueuesbehindme.“Well,whereshouldIbe?”

“You’reinbusinessclass.”

“Business?”

“Yes,ma’am.You’vebeenupgraded.Youshouldbecheckinginoverthere.Butit’snoproblem.Icandoitforyouhere.”

Ishookmyhead.“Oh,Idon’tthinkso.I...”

Andthenmyphonedinged.Ilookeddown.

Youshouldbeattheairportbynow!Hopethis

makesyourjourneyhomeabitmorepleasant.

LittlegiftfromAgnes.

SeeyouintheNewYear,comrade!Michaelx

Iblinked.“That’sfine.Thankyou.”Iwatchedmyoversizedsuitcasedisappeardowntheconveyorbeltandputmyphonebackintomybag.

—Theairporthadbeenheaving,butinthebusiness-classsectionoftheplaneeverythingwascalmandpeaceful,alittleoasisofcollectivesmugnessremovedfromtheholiday-relatedchaosoutside.Onboard,Iinvestigatedmywashbagofcomplimentaryovernightgoodies,pulledonmyfreesocks,andtriednottotalktoomuchtothemaninthenextseat,whoeventuallyputhiseyemaskonandlayback.Ihadjustonehiccupwiththerecliningseatwhenmyshoegotcaughtinthefootrestbutthestewardwasperfectlylovelyandshowedmehowtogetitout.Iateduckinasherryglazeandlemontart,andthankedallthestaffwhobroughtmethings.IwatchedtwofilmsandrealizedIshouldreallytrytosleepforabit.Butitwashardwhenthewholeexperiencewassodelightful.ItwasexactlythekindofthingIwouldhavewrittenhomeabout—except,Ithought,withbutterfliesinmystomach,nowIwasgoingtogettotelleveryoneinperson.

IwasreturninghomeadifferentLouisaClark.ThatwaswhatSamhadsaid,andIhaddecidedtobelieveit.Iwasmoreconfident,moreprofessional,alongwayfromthesad,conflicted,physicallybrokenpersonofsixmonthsago.IthoughtaboutSam’sfacewhenIwouldsurprisehim,justashehadsurprisedme.HehadsentmeacopyofhisrotaforthenextfortnightsothatIcouldplanmyvisitstomyparents,andIhadcalculatedthatIcoulddropmybelongingsattheflat,grabafewhourswithmysister,thenheadovertohisandbetheretomeethimfortheendofhisshift.

Thistime,Ithought,wewouldgetitright.Wehadadecentlengthoftimetospendtogether.Andthistimewewouldsettleintosomekindofroutine—awayofexistingwithnotraumaormisunderstandings.Thefirstthreemonthswerealwaysgoingtobethehardest.Ipulledmyblanketovermeand,alreadytoofarovertheAtlanticforittobeofuse,triedandfailedtosleep,mystomachtightandmymindbuzzingasIwatchedthetinywinkingplaneslideitswayslowlyacrossmypixelatedscreen.

—Iarrivedatmyflatshortlyafterlunchtimeandletmyselfin,fumblingwithmykeys.Treenawasatwork,Thomwasstillatschool,andLondon’sgraywaspuncturedbyglitter,Christmaslights,andthesoundofshopsplayingChristmascarolsI’dheardamilliontimesbefore.Iwalkedupthestairsofmyoldbuilding,breathinginthefamiliarscentofcheapairfreshenerandLondondamp,thenopenedmyfrontdoor,droppedmysuitcasethefewinchestothefloor,andletoutabreath.

Home.Orsomethinglikeit.

Iwalkeddownthehall,sheddingmyjacket,andletmyselfintothelivingroom.Ihadbeenalittleafraidofreturninghere—rememberingthemonthsinwhichIhadbeensunkindepression,drinkingtoomuch,itsempty,unlovedroomsaself-inflictedrebukeformyfailuretosavethemanwhohadgivenittome.Butthis,Igraspedimmediately,wasnotthesameflat:inthreemonthsithadbeenutterlytransformed.Theonce-bareinteriorwasnowfullofcolor,paintingsbyThompinnedtoeverywall.TherewereembroideredcushionsonthesofaandanewupholsteredchairandcurtainsandashelfburstingwithDVDs.Thekitchenwascrammedwithfoodpacketsandnewcrockery.AcerealbowlandCocoPopsonarainbowplacematspokeofahurriedlyabandonedbreakfast.

Iopenedthedoortomyspareroom—nowThom’s—smilingatthefootballpostersandcartoon-printedduvet.Anewwardrobewasstuffedwithhisclothes.ThenIwalkedthroughtomybedroom—nowTreena’s—andfoundarumpledquilt,anewbookshelf,andblinds.Stillnotmuchinthewayofclothes,butshe’daddedachairandamirror,andthelittledressingtablewascoveredwiththemoisturizers,hairbrushes,andcosmeticsthattoldmemysistermighthavechangedbeyondrecognitioneveninthefewshortmonthsIhadbeengone.TheonlythingthattoldmeitwasTreena’sroomwasthebedsidereading:Tolley’sCapitalAllowancesandAnIntroductiontoPayroll.

IknewIwasovertiredbutIfeltwrong-footedallthesame.WasthishowSamhadfeltwhenheflewoutandsawmethesecondtime?HadIseemedsofamiliarandunfamiliaratthesametime?

Myeyesweregrittywithexhaustion,myinternalclockhaywire.Therewerestillthreehoursbeforethey’dgethome.Iwashedmyface,tookoffmyshoes,andlaydownonthesofawithasigh,thesoundofLondontrafficslowlyreceding.

—Iwoketoastickyhandpattingmycheek.Iblinked,tryingtobatitaway,buttherewasaweightonmychest.Itmoved.Ahandpattedmeagain.AndthenIopenedmyeyesandfoundmyselfstaringintoThom’s.

“AuntieLou!AuntieLou!”

Igroaned.“Hey,Thom.”

“Whatdidyougetme?”

“Letheratleastopenhereyesfirst.”

“You’reonmyboob,Thom.Ow.”

Released,Ipushedmyselfuprightandblinkedatmynephew,whowasnowbouncingupanddown.

“Whatdidyougetme?”

Mysisterstoopedandkissedmycheek,leavingonehandonmyshoulder,whichshesqueezed.ShesmelledofexpensiveperfumeandIpulledbackslightlytoseeherbetter.Shewaswearingmakeup.Propermakeup,subtlyblended,ratherthantheoneblueeyelinershehadreceivedfreewithamagazinein1994andkeptinadeskdrawertobeusedonevery“dressing-up”occasionforthenexttenyears.

“Youmadeit,then.Didn’tgetthewrongplaneandendupinCaracas.MeandDadhadabitofabeton.”

“Cheek.”Ireachedupandheldherhandforamomentlongerthaneitherofushadexpected.“Wow.Youlookpretty.”

Shedid.She’dhadherhairtrimmedtoshoulderlengthandithunginblow-driedwavesratherthantheusualscraped-backponytail.That,thewell-cutshirt,andthemascaraactuallymadeherlookbeautiful.

“Well.It’swork,really.YouhavetomaketheeffortintheCity.”Sheturnedawayasshesaidthis,soIdidn’tbelieveher.

“IthinkIneedtomeetthisEddie,”Isaid.“Icertainlyneverhadthismuchofaneffectonwhatyouwore.”

Shefilledthekettleandswitchediton.“That’sbecauseyouonlyeverdresslikesomeonegaveyouatwo-poundvoucherforajumblesaleandyoudecidedtoblowthelot.”

Itwasgrowingdarkoutside.Myjet-laggedbrainsuddenlyregisteredwhatthismeant.“Oh,wow.Whattimeisit?”

“Timeyougavememypresents?”Thom’sgappysmileswaminfrontofme,bothhandsraisedinprayer.

“You’refine,”saidTreena.“You’vegotanotherhourbeforeSamfinishes,plentyoftime.Thom—Louwillgiveyouwhatevershe’sgotonceshe’shadacupofteaandfoundherdeodorant.Also,whatthebloodyhellisthatstripycoatthingyoudroppedinthehall?Itsmellslikeoldfish.”

NowIwashome.

“Okay,Thom,”Isaid.“Theremaybesomepre-Christmasbitsforyouinthatbluebag.Bringitoverhere.”

—IttookashowerandfreshmakeupbeforeIfelthumanagain.Iputonasilverminiskirt,ablackturtleneck,andsuedewedge-heeledshoesIhadboughtattheVintageClothesEmporium,Mrs.DeWitt’sBibascarf,andaspritzofLaChasseauxPapillons,theperfumeWillhadconvincedmetobuy,whichalwaysgavemeconfidence.ThomandTreenawereeatingwhenIwasreadytoleave.Shehadofferedmesomepastawithcheeseandtomatobutmystomachhadstartedtoworkitswayintoknotsandmybodyclockwasscrewedup.

“Ilikethatthingyou’vedonewithyoureyes.Veryseductive,”Isaidtoher.

Shepulledaface.“Areyougoingtobeokaytodrive?Youplainlycan’tseeproperly.”

“It’snotfar.I’vehadapowernap.”

“Andwhenwillweexpectyouhome?Thisnewsofabedisbloodyamazing,incaseyou’rewondering.Propersprungmattress.Noneof

yourtwoinchesoffoamrubbish.”

“I’mhopingIwon’tneedtousethesofabedforadayortwo.”Igaveheracheesysmile.

“What’sthat?”Thomswallowedhismouthfulandpointedattheparcelundermyarm.

“Ah.That’saChristmasstocking.Sam’sworkingonChristmasDayandIwon’tseehimtilltheeveningsoIthoughtI’dgivehimsomethingtowakeupwith.”

“Hmm.Don’tasktoseewhat’sinthere,Thom.”

“There’snothinginitthatIcouldn’tgivetoGranddad.It’sjustabitoffun.”

Sheactuallywinkedatme.IofferedsilentthankstoEddieandhismiracle-workingways.

“Textmelater,yeah?JustsoIknowwhethertoputthechainon.”

Ikissedthembothandheadedforthefrontdoor.

“Don’tputhimoffwithyourterriblehalf-arsedAmericanaccent!”

IheldupamiddlefingerasIexitedtheflat.

“Anddon’tforgettodriveontheleft!Anddon’twearthecoatthatsmellslikeamackerel!”

IheardherlaughingasIshutthedoor.

—ForthepastthreemonthsIhadeitherwalked,hailedataxi,orbeenchauffeuredbyGarryinthehugeblacklimousine.Gettingusedtobeingbehindthewheelofmylittlehatchbackwithitsdodgyclutchandbiscuitcrumbsinthepassengerseattookasurprisingamountofconcentration.Isetoutintothelastoftheeveningrush-hourtraffic,putontheradio,andtriedtoignorethehammeringinmychest,notsurewhetheritwasthefearofdrivingortheprospectofseeingSamagain.

Theskywasdark,thestreetsthickwithshoppersandstrungwithChristmaslights,andmyshouldersdroppedslowlyfromsomewherearoundmyearsasIbrakedandlurchedmywaytothesuburbs.The

pavementsbecamevergesandthecrowdsthinnedanddisappeared,justtheoddpersonglimpsedinsteadthroughbrightlylitwindowsasIpassed.Andthen,shortlyaftereight,Islowedtoacrawl,peeringforwardoverthewheeltomakesureIhadtherightplaceintheunlitlane.

Therailwaycarriagesatglowinginthemiddleofthedarkfield,castingagoldenlightoutthroughitswindowsontothemudandgrass.Icouldjustmakeouthismotorbikeonthefarsideofthegate,tuckedintoitslittleshedbehindthehedge.HehadevenputalittlesprayofChristmaslightsinthehawthornatthefront.Hereallywashome.

Ipulledthecarintothepassingplace,cutthelights,andlookedatit.Then,almostasanafterthought,Ipickedupmyphone.Reallylookingforwardtoseeingyou,Ityped.Notlongnow!XXX

Therewasashortpause.Andthentheresponsepingedback.Metoo.Safeflight.xx

Igrinned.ThenIclimbedout,realizingtoolateIhadparkedoverapuddle,sothecold,muddywaterwashedstraightovermyshoes.Oh,thanksuniverse,Iwhispered.Nicetouch.

IplacedmycarefullypurchasedSantahatonmyheadandpulledhisstockingfromthepassengerseat,thenshutthedoorsoftly,lockingitmanuallysothatitdidn’tbeepandalerthimtothefactthatIwasthere.

MyfeetsquelchedasItiptoedforward,andIrecalledthefirsttimeIhadcomehere,howIhadbeensoakedbyasuddenshowerandendedupinhisclothes,myownsteaminginthefuggylittlebathroomastheydried.Thathadbeenanextraordinarynight,asifhehadpeeledoffallthelayersthatWill’sdeathhadbuiltuparoundme.Ihadasuddenflashbacktoourfirstkiss,tothefeelofhishugesockssoftonmychilledfeet,andahotshiverranthroughme.

Iopenedthegate,notingwithreliefthathehadmadearudimentarypathofpavingslabsovertotherailwaycarriagesinceIhadlastbeenthere.Acardrovepast,andinthebriefilluminationofitsheadlightsIglimpsedSam’spartiallybuilthouseaheadofme,itsroofnowonandwindowsalreadyfitted.Whereonewasstillmissing,bluetarpaulinflappedgentlyoverthegapsothatitseemedsuddenly,startlingly,arealthing,aplacewemightonedaylive.

Itiptoedafewmorepaces,thenpausedjustoutsidethedoor.Thesmellofsomethingwaftedoutofanopenwindow—acasseroleofsomesort?—richandtomatoey,withahintofgarlic.Ifeltunexpectedlyhungry.Samneveratepacketnoodlesorbeansoutofatin:everythingwasmadefromscratch,asifhedrewpleasurefromdoingthingsmethodically.ThenIsawhim—hisuniformstillon—atea-towelslungoverhisshoulderashestoopedtoseetoapan—andjustforamomentIstood,unseen,inthedarkandfeltutterlycalm.Iheardthedistantbreezeinthetrees,thesoftcluckofthehenslockednearbyintheircoop,thedistanthumoftrafficheadedtowardthecity.IfeltthecoolairagainstmyskinandthetangofChristmassyanticipationintheairIbreathed.

Everythingwaspossible.ThatwaswhatIhadlearned,theselastfewmonths.Lifemighthavebeencomplicated,butultimatelytherewasjustmeandthemanIlovedandhisrailwaycarriageandtheprospectofajoyouseveningahead.Itookabreath,lettingmyselfsavorthatthought,steppedforward,andputmyhandonthedoorhandle.

AndthenIsawher.

Shewalkedacrossthecarriagesayingsomethingunclear,hervoicemuffledbytheglass,herhairclippedupandtumblinginsoftcurlsaroundherface.Shewaswearingaman’sT-shirt—his?—andholdingawinebottle,andIsawhimshakehishead.Andthen,ashebentoverthestove,shewalkedupbehindhimandplacedherhandsonhisneck,leaningtowardhimandrubbingthemusclesarounditwithsmallcircularmotionsofherthumbs,amovementthatseemedbornoffamiliarity.Herthumbnailswerepainteddeeppink.AsIstoodthere,mybreathstalledinmychest,heleanedhisheadback,hiseyesclosed,asifsurrenderinghimselftoherfiercelittlehands.

Andthenheturnedtofaceher,smiling,hisheadtiltedtooneside,andshesteppedback,laughing,andraisedaglasstohim.

Ididn’tseeanythingelse.MyheartthumpedsoloudlyinmyearsthatIthoughtImightpassout.Istumbledbackward,thenturnedandranbackdownthepath,mybreathtooloud,myfeeticyinmywetshoes.EventhoughmycarwasprobablyfiftyyardsawayIheardhersuddenburstoflaughterechothroughtheopenwindow,likeaglassshattering.

—IsatinmycarinthecarparkbehindmybuildinguntilIcouldbesureThomhadgonetobed.Icouldn’thidewhatIfeltandIcouldn’tbeartoexplainittoTreenainfrontofhim.Iglancedupperiodically,watchingashisbedroomlightwentonandthen,halfanhourlater,wentoffagain.Iturnedofftheengineandletittickdown.Asitfaded,sodideverydreamIhadheldontoforthepastsixmonths.

Ishouldn’thavebeensurprised.WhywouldI?KatieIngramhadlaidhercardsonthetablefromthestart.WhathadshockedmewasthatSamhadbeencomplicit.Hehadn’tshruggedheroff.Hehadansweredme,andthenhehadcookedheramealandletherrubhisneck,anditwaspreparationfor...what?

EverytimeIpicturedthemIfoundmyselfclutchingmystomach,doubledover,asifI’dbeenpunched.Icouldn’tshaketheimageofthemfrommyhead.Thewayhetiltedhisheadbackatthepressureofherfingers.Thewayshehadlaughedconfidently,teasingly,asifatsomesharedjokebetweenthem.

ThestrangestthingwasthatIcouldn’tcry.WhatIfeltwasbiggerthangrief.Iwasnumb,mybrainhummingwithquestions—Howlong?Howfar?Why?—andthenIwouldfindmyselfdoubledoveragain,wantingtobesickwithit,thisnewknowledge,thisheftyblow,thispain,thispain,thispain.

I’mnotsurehowlongIsatthere,butataroundtenIwalkedslowlyupstairsandletmyselfintotheflat.IwashopingTreenahadgonetobedbutshewasinherpajamaswatchingthenews,herlaptoponherknee.ShewassmilingatsomethingonherscreenandjumpedwhenIopenedthedoor.

“Jesus,younearlyfrightenedthelifeoutofme—Lou?”Shepushedherlaptoptooneside.“Lou?Oh,no...”

It’salwaysthekindnessesthatfinishyouoff.Mysister,awomanwhofoundadultphysicalcontactmorediscomfitingthandentaltreatment,putherarmsaroundmeand,fromsomeunexpectedplacethatfeltlikeitwaslocatedinthedeepestpartofme,Ibegantosob,huge,breathless,snottytears.IcriedinawayIhadn’tcriedsinceWillhaddied,sobsthatcontainedthedeathofdreamsandthedreadknowledgeofmonthsofheartbreakahead.Wesankslowlydownonto

thesofaandIburiedmyheadinhershoulderandheldher,andthistimemysisterrestedherheadagainstmineandsheheldmeanddidn’tletmego.

N

18

eitherSamnormyparentshadexpectedtoseemesoforthenexttwodaysitwaseasytohideintheflatandpretendIwasn’tthere.

Iwasn’treadytoseeanyone.Iwasn’treadytospeaktoanyone.WhenSamtextedIignoredit,reasoningthathewouldbelieveIwasrunningaroundlikeaheadlesschickenbackinNewYork.Ifoundmyselfgazingrepeatedlyathistwomessages—“WhatdoyoufancydoingChristmasEve?Churchservice?Ortootired?”and“AreweseeingeachotherBoxingDay?”—andIwouldmarvelthatthisman,thismoststraightforwardandhonorableofmen,hadacquiredsuchablatantabilitytolietome.

ForthosetwodaysIpaintedonasmilewhileThomwasintheflat,foldingawaythesofabedashechattedoverbreakfastanddisappearingintotheshower.ThemomenthehadgoneIwouldreturntothesofaandliethere,gazingupattheceiling,tearstricklingfromthecornersofmyeyes,orcoldlymullingoverthemanywaysIappearedtohavegotitallwrong.

HadIleapedheadfirstintoarelationshipwithSambecauseIwasstillgrievingWill?HadIeverreallyknownhimatall?Weseewhatwewanttosee,afterall,especiallywhenblindedbyphysicalattraction.HadhedonewhathedidbecauseofJosh?BecauseofAgnes’spregnancytest?Didthereevenhavetobeareason?Inolongertrustedmyownjudgmentenoughtotell.

Foronce,Treenadidn’tbadgermetogetupordosomethingconstructive.Sheshookherhead,disbelieving,andcursedSamoutofThom’searshot.EveninthedepthsofmymiseryIwasleftmullingoverEddie’sapparentabilitytoinstillinmysistersomethingresemblingempathy.

Shedidn’toncesayitwasn’tahugesurprise,givenIwaslivingsomanythousandsofmilesaway,orthatImusthavedonesomethingtopushhimintoKatieIngram’sarms,orthatanyofthiswasinevitable.

ShelistenedwhenItoldhertheeventsthathadleduptothatnight,shemadesureIate,washed,andgotdressed.Andalthoughshewasn’tmuchofadrinker,shebroughthometwobottlesofwineandsaidshethoughtIwasallowedacoupleofdaysofwallowing(butaddedthatifIwassickIhadtoclearitupmyself).

BythetimeChristmasEvearrived,Ihadgrownahardshell,acarapace.Ifeltlikeanicestatue.Atsomepoint,Irealized,Iwasgoingtohavetospeaktohim,butIwasn’treadyyet.Iwasn’tsureIeverwouldbe.

“Whatwillyoudo?”saidTreena,sittingontheloowhileIhadabath.Shewasn’tseeingEddieuntilChristmasDay,andwaspaintinghertoenailsapalepinkinpreparation,althoughshewouldn’tadmitasmuch.OutinthelivingroomThomhadthetelevisionturneduptodeafeningvolumeandwasleapingonandoffthesofainapre-Christmasfrenzy.

“IwasthinkingImightjusttellhimImissedtheflight.Andthatwe’dspeakafterChristmas.”

Shepulledaface.“Youdon’tjustwanttospeaktohim?He’snotgoingtobelievethat.”

“Idon’treallycarewhathebelievesrightnow.IjustwanttohaveChristmaswithmyfamilyandnodrama.”IsankunderthewatersothatIcouldn’thearTreenashoutingatThomtoturnthesounddown.

Hedidn’tbelieveme.Histextmessagesaid:What?Howcouldyoumisstheflight?

Ijustdid,Ityped.I’llseeyouBoxingDay.

IobservedtoolateIhadn’tputanykissesonit.Therewasalongsilence,andthenasinglewordinresponse:Okay.

—TreenadroveustoStortfold,Thombouncingintherearseatforthefullhourandahalfittookustogetthere.WelistenedtoChristmascarolsontheradioandspokelittle.WewereamileoutoftownwhenIthankedherforherconsideration,andshewhisperedthatitwasn’tforme:Eddiehadn’tactuallymetMumandDadeithersoshewasfeelingnauseousatthethoughtofChristmasDay.

“It’llbefine,”Itoldher.Thesmilesheflashedmewasn’tveryconvincing.

“C’mon.Theylikedthataccountantblokeyoudatedearlierthisyear.Andtobehonest,Treen,you’vebeensinglesolongIthinkyoucouldprobablybringhomeanyonewhowasn’tAttilatheHunrightnowandthey’dbedelighted.”

“Well,thattheoryisabouttobetested.”

WepulledupbeforeIcouldsayanymoreandIcheckedmyeyes,whichwerestillpea-sizedfromtheamountofcryingI’ddone,andclimbedoutofthecar.Mymotherburstoutofthefrontdoorandrandownthepath,likeasprinteroutofthestartinggates.Shethrewherarmsaroundme,holdingmesotightlyIcouldfeelherheartthumping.

“Lookatyou!”sheexclaimed,holdingmeatarms’lengthbeforepullingmeinagain.Shepushedalockofhairfrommyfaceandturnedtomyfather,whostoodonthestep,hisarmscrossed,beaming.“Lookhowwonderfulyoulook!Bernard!Lookhowgrandshelooks!Oh,we’vemissedyousomuch!Haveyoulostweight?Youlooklikeyou’velostweight.Youlooktired.Youneedtoeatsomething.Comeindoors.I’llbettheydidn’tgiveyoubreakfastonthatplane.I’veheardit’sallpowderedegganyhow.”

ShehuggedThom,andbeforemyfathercouldstepforward,shegrabbedmybagsandmarchedbackupthepath,beckoningusalltofollow.

“Hello,sweetheart,”saidDad,softly,andIsteppedintohisarms.Astheyclosedaroundme,Ifinallyallowedmyselftoexhale.

—Granddadhadn’tmadeitasfarasthestep.Hehadhadanothersmallstroke,Mumwhispered,andnowhadtroublestandinguporwalking,sospentmostofhisdaylighthoursintheuprightchairinthelivingroom.(“Wedidn’twanttoworryyou.”)HewasdressedsmartlyinashirtandpulloverinhonoroftheoccasionandsmiledlopsidedlywhenIwalkedin.HeheldupashakinghandandIhuggedhim,notingwithsomedistantpartofmehowmuchsmallerheseemed.

But,then,everythingseemedsmaller.Myparents’house,withitstwenty-year-oldwallpaper,itsartworkchosenlessforaestheticreasonsthanbecauseithadbeengivenbysomeoneniceorcoveredcertaindentsinthewall,itssaggingthree-piecesuite,itstinydiningarea,wherethechairshitthewallifyoupushedthembacktoofar,andaceilinglightthatstartedonlyafewinchesabovemyfather’shead.Ifoundmyselfcomparingitdistantlytothegrandapartmentwithitsacresofpolishedfloors,itshuge,ornateceilings,theclamoroussweepofManhattanoutsideourdoor.IhadthoughtImightfeelcomfortedatbeinghome.

InsteadIfeltuntethered,asifsuddenlyitoccurredtomethat,atthemoment,Ibelongedinneitherplace.

—Weatealightsupperofroastbeef,potatoes,Yorkshirepuddings,andtrifle,justalittlesomethingMumhad“knockedtogether”beforetomorrow’smainevent.Dadwaskeepingtheturkeyintheshedasitwouldn’tfitinthefridgeandwentouttocheckeveryhalfanhourthatithadn’tfallenintotheclutchesofHoudini,nextdoor’scat.Mumgaveusarundownonthevarioustragediesthathadbefallenourneighbors:“Well,ofcourse,thatwasbeforeAndrew’sshingles.Heshowedmehisstomach—putmequiteoffmyWeetabix—andI’vetoldDymphnasheneedstoputthosefeetupbeforethebaby’sborn.Honestly,hervaricoseveinsarelikeaB-roadmapoftheChilterns.DidItellyouMrs.Kemp’sfatherdied?He’stheonedidfouryearsforarmedrobberybeforetheydiscoveredithadbeenthatblokefromthepostofficewhohadthesamehairplugs.”Mumrattledon.

ItwasonlywhenshewasclearingtheplatesthatDadleanedovertomeandsaid,“Wouldyoubelieveshe’snervous?”

“Nervousofwhat?”

“You.Allyourachievements.Shewashalfafraidyouwouldn’twanttocomebackhere.Thatyou’dspendChristmaswithyourfellaandheadstraightbacktoNewYork.”

“WhywouldIwanttodothat?”

Heshrugged.“Idon’tknow.Shethoughtyoumighthaveoutgrownus.Itoldhershewasbeingdaft.Don’ttakethatthewrongway,love.

She’sbloodyproudofyou.Sheprintsoutallyourpicturesandputstheminascrapbookandborestheneighborsrigidshowingthemoff.Tobehonest,sheboresmerigid,andI’mrelatedtoyou.”Hegrinnedandsqueezedmyshoulder.

IfeltbrieflyashamedathowmuchtimeI’dintendedspendingatSam’s.I’dplannedtoleaveMumtohandlealltheChristmasstuff,myfamily,andGranddad,likeIalwaysdid.

IleftTreenaandThomwithDadandtooktherestoftheplatesthroughtothekitchenwhereMumandIwashedupincompanionablesilenceforawhile.Sheturnedtome.“Youdolooktired,love.Haveyouthejetlag?”

“Abit.”

“Yousitdownwiththeothers.I’lltakecareofthis.”

Iforcedmyshouldersback.“No,Mum.Ihaven’tseenyouformonths.Whydon’tyoutellmewhat’sgoingon?How’syournightschool?Andwhat’sthedoctorsayingaboutGranddad?”

—Theeveningstretchedandthetelevisionburbledinthecorneroftheroomandthetemperatureroseuntilwewereallsemicomatoseandcradlingourbellieslikesomeoneheavilypregnantinthewayonedidafteroneofmymother’slightsuppers.Thethoughtthatwewoulddothisagaintomorrowmademystomachturngentlyinprotest.Granddaddozedinthechairandwelefthimtherewhilewewenttomidnightmass.IstoodinthechurchsurroundedbypeoplewhomIhadknownsinceIwassmall,nudgingandsmilingatme,andIsangthecarolsIrememberedandmouthedtheonesIdidn’tandtriednottothinkaboutwhatSamwasdoingatthatexactmoment,asIdidapproximately118timesaday.OccasionallyTreenawouldcatchmyeyefromalongthepewandgivemeasmall,encouragingsmileandIgaveoneback,asiftosay,I’mfine,allgood,eventhoughIwasn’tandnothingwas.Itwasarelieftopeelofftotheboxroomwhenwegotback.PerhapsitwasbecauseIwasinmychildhoodhome,orIwasexhaustedfromthreedaysofhighemotion,butIsleptsoundlyforthefirsttimesinceIhadarrivedinEngland.

—IwasdimlyawareofTreenabeingwokenatfivea.m.andsomeexcitedthudding,thenDadyellingatThomthatitwasstillthemiddleoftheruddynightandifhedidn’tgobacktobedhewouldtellFatherRuddyChristmastocomeandtakealltheruddypresentsbackagain.ThenexttimeIwoke,MumwasputtingamugofteaonmybedsidetableandtellingmethatifIcouldgetdressedwewereabouttostartopeningthepresents.Itwasaquarterpasteleven.

Ipickedupthelittleclock,squinted,andshookit.

“Youneededit,”shesaid,strokedmyhead,thenwentofftoseetothesprouts.

IdescendedtwentyminuteslaterinthecomedyreindeerjumperwiththeilluminatednoseIhadboughtinMacy’sbecauseIknewThomwouldenjoyit.Everyoneelsewasalreadydown,dressed,andbreakfasted.IkissedthemallandwishedthemahappyChristmas,turnedmyreindeernoseonandoff,thendistributedmyowngifts,allthewhiletryingnottothinkofthemanwhoshouldhavebeentherecipientofacashmeresweaterandareallysoftcheckedflannelshirt,whichwerelanguishingatthebottomofmycase.

Iwouldn’tthinkabouthimtoday,Itoldmyselffirmly.TimewithmyfamilywaspreciousandIwouldn’truinitbyfeelingsad.

Mygiftswentdownatreat,apparentlygivenanextralayerofdesirabilitybyhavingcomefromNewYork,evenifIwasprettysureyoucouldhavegotprettymuchthesamethingsfromArgos.“AllthewayfromNewYork!”Mumwouldsayinawe,aftereveryitemwasunwrapped,untilTreenarolledhereyesandThomstartedmimickingher.Ofcourse,thegiftthatwentdownbestwasthecheapest:aplasticsnowglobeIhadboughtatatouriststallinTimesSquare.IwasprettysureitwouldbeleakingquietlyintoThom’schestofdrawersbeforetheweekwasout.

InreturnIreceived:

SocksfromGranddad(99percentsurethesehadbeenchosenandboughtbyMum)

SoapsfromDad(ditto)

Asmallsilverframewithapictureofourfamilyalreadyfittedintoit(“Soyoucantakeuswithyouwhereveryougo”—Mum.“Whytheheckwouldshewanttodothat?ShewenttoruddyNewYorktogetawayfromusall”—Dad.)

Adevicethatremovednostrilhair,fromTreena.(“Don’tlookatmelikethat.You’regettingtothatage.”)

ApictureofaChristmastreewithapoemunderneathitfromThom.Onclosequestioning,itturnedouthehadn’tactuallymadeithimself.“Ourteachersayswedon’tstickthedecorationsontherightplacessoshedoesthemandwejustputournamesonthem.”

IreceivedagiftfromLily,droppedinthepreviousdaybeforesheandMrs.Traynorwentskiing—“Shelookswell,Lou.ThoughsherunsMrs.TraynorprettyraggedfromwhatI’veheard”—avintagering,ahugegreenstoneinasilversettingthatfittedperfectlyonmylittlefinger.Ihadsentherapairofsilverearringsthatlookedlikecuffs,assuredbythefearsomelytrendySoHoshopassistantthattheywereperfectforateenagegirl.Especiallyonenowapparentlypronetopiercingsinunexpectedplaces.

IthankedeveryoneandwatchedGranddadnodoff.IsmiledandIthinkIputonaprettygoodimpressionofsomeonewhowasenjoyingtheday.Mumwassmarterthanthat.

“Iseverythingokay,love?Youseemveryflat.”Sheladledgoosefatoverthepotatoesandsteppedbackasitsprayedoutinanangrymist.“Oh,willyoulookatthose?They’regoingtobelovelyandcrisp.”

“I’mfine.”

“Isitthejetlagstill?RonniefromthreedoorsdownsaidwhenhewenttoFloridaittookhimthreeweekstostopwalkingintowalls.”

“That’sprettymuchit.”

“Ican’tbelieveIhaveadaughterwhogetsjetlag.I’mtheenvyofeveryoneattheclub,youknow.”

Ilookedup.“You’vebeenthereagain?”

AfterWillhadendedhislife,myparentshadbeenostracizedatthesocialclubthey’dbelongedtoforyears,blamedvicariouslyformy

actionsingoingalongwithhisplan.ItwasoneofthemanythingsIhadfeltguiltyabout.

“Well,thatMarjoriehasmovedtoCirencester.Youknowshewastheworstforthegossip.AndthenStuartfromthegaragetoldDadheshouldcomedownandhaveagameofpoolsometime.Justcasual-like.Anditwasallfine.”Sheshrugged.“And,youknow,allthatbusinesswasacoupleofyearsagonow.Peoplehaveotherthingstothinkabout.”

Peoplehaveotherthingstothinkabout.Idon’tknowwhythatinnocentstatementcaughtmebythethroat,butitdid.AsIwastryingtoswallowasuddenwaveofgrief,Mumshovedthetrayofpotatoesbackintotheoven.Sheshutthedoorwithasatisfiedclunk,thenturnedtome,pullingtheovenglovesfromherhands.

“Ialmostforgot—thestrangestthing.YourmancalledthismorningtosaywhatwerewegoingtodoaboutyourflightBoxingDayanddidwemindifhepickedyouuphimself?”

Ifroze.“What?”

Sheliftedalidonapan,releasedaburpofsteam,andputitdownagain.“Well,Itoldhimhemusthavebeenmistakenandyouwereherealready,sohesaidhe’dpopoverlater.Honestly,theshiftsmustbetakingitoutofhim.Iheardathingontheradiowheretheysaidworkingnightscanbeawfulbadforyourbrain.Youmightwanttotellhim.”

“What—when’shecoming?”

Mumglancedattheclock.“Um...Ithinkhesaidhewasfinishingmidafternoonandhe’dheadoverafterward.AllthatwayonChristmasDay!Here,haveyoumetTreena’sfellowyet?Haveyounoticedthewayshe’sdressingthesedays?”Sheglancedbehindheratthedoorandhervoicewasfullofwonder.“It’salmostlikeshe’sbecominganormalperson.”

—IsatthroughChristmaslunchonhighalert,outwardlycalmbutflinchingeverytimesomeonepassedourdoor.Everybiteofmymother’scookingturnedtopowderinmymouth.Everybadcracker

jokemyfatherreadoutwentstraightovermyhead.Icouldn’teat,couldn’thear,couldn’tfeel.Iwaslockedinabelljarofmiserableanticipation.IglancedatTreenabutsheseemedpreoccupiedtoo,andIrealizedshewaswaitingonEddie’sarrival.Howhardcoulditbe?Ithought,grimly.Atleastherboyfriendwasn’tcheatingonher.Atleasthewantedtobewithher.

Itbegantorain,andthedropsspatmeanlyonthewindows,theskydarkeningtofitmymood.Ourlittlehouse,strungwithtinselandglitter-strewngreetingcards,shrankaroundus,andIfeltalternatelyasifIcouldn’tbreatheinitandterrifiedofanythingthatlaybeyondit.OccasionallyIsawMum’seyesslidetowardme,asifshewaswonderingwhatwasgoingon,butshedidn’tsayanythingandIdidn’tvolunteerit.

Ihelpedclearthedishesandchatted—Ithoughtconvincingly—aboutthejoysofgrocerydeliveryinNewYork,andfinallythedoorbellwentandmylegsturnedtojelly.

Mumturnedtolookatme.“Areyouokay,Louisa?You’vegonequitepale.”

“I’lltellyoulater,Mum.”

Mymotherstaredatmehard,thenherfacesoftened.“I’llbehere.”Shereachedoutandtuckedastrandofhairbehindmyear.“Whateverthisisallabout,I’llbehere.”

—SamstoodonthefrontstepinasoftcobaltjumperIhadn’tseenbefore.Iwonderedwhohadgivenittohim.Hegavemeahalfsmilebutdidn’tstooptokissmeorthrowhisarmsaroundmelikeinourpreviousmeetings.Wegazedwarilyateachother.

“Doyouwanttocomein?”Myvoicesoundedoddlyformal.

“Thanks.”

Iwalkedinfrontofhimdownthenarrowcorridor,waitedwhilehegreetedmyparentsthroughthelivingroomdoor,thenledhimintothekitchen,closingthedoorbehindus.Ifeltacutelyawareofhispresence,asifwewerebothmildlyelectrified.

“Wouldyoulikesometea?”

“Sure...Nicejumper.”

“Oh...Thanks.”

“You’ve...leftyournoseon.”

“Right.”Ireacheddownandturneditoff,notwillingtoindulgeanythingthatmightsoftenthemoodbetweenus.

Hesatdownatthetable,hisbodysomehowtoobigforourkitchenchairs,hiseyesstillonme,andclaspedhishandsonitssurface,likesomeoneawaitingajobinterview.InthelivingroomIcouldhearDadlaughingatsomefilm,andThom’sshrillvoicedemandingtoknowwhatwasfunny.IbusiedmyselfmakingteabutIcouldfeelhiseyesburningintomybackthewholetime.

“So,”Samsaid,whenIhandedhimamugandsatdown,“you’rehere.”

Inearlybuckledthen.Ilookedacrossthetableathishandsomeface,atthebroadshouldersandthehandswrappedgentlyaroundthemugandathoughtpoppedintomyhead:Icannotbearitifheleavesme.

ButthenIfoundmyselfstandingagainonthatchillystep,herslimfingersonhisneck,myfeeticyinmywetshoes,andIgrewcoldagain.

“Igotbacktwodaysago,”Isaid.

Thebriefestofpauses.“Okay.”

“IthoughtI’dcomeandsurpriseyou.Thursdayevening.”Iscratchedatamarkonthetablecloth.“Turnsoutitwasmewhogotthesurprise.”

Iwatchedrealizationdawnslowlyacrosshisface:hisslightfrown,hiseyesgrowingdistant,thentheirfaintclosurewhenhegraspedwhatImighthaveseen.“Lou,Idon’tknowwhatyousaw,but—”

“Butwhat?‘It’snotwhatyouthink’?”

“Well,itisanditisn’t.”

Itwaslikeapunch.

“Let’snotdothis,Sam.”

Helookedup.

“I’mprettyclearaboutwhatIsaw.Ifyoutryandconvincemeitwasn’twhatIthink,I’llwanttobelieveyousobadlythatImightactuallydoit.AndwhatI’verealizedtheselasttwodaysisthatthis...thisisn’tgoodforme.Itisn’tgoodforeitherofus.”

Samputhismugdown.Hedraggedhishandoverhisfaceandlookedofftotheside.“Idon’tloveher,Lou.”

“Idon’treallycarewhatyoufeelabouther.”

“Well,Iwantyoutoknow.Yes,youwererightaboutKatie.Imayhavemisreadthesignals.Shedoeslikeme.”

Iletoutabitterlaugh.“Andyoulikeher.”

“Idon’tknowwhatIthinkabouther.You’rethepersonwho’sinmyhead.You’rethepersonIwakeupthinkingabout.Butthethingis,you’re—”

“Nothere.Don’tyoublamethisonme.Don’tyoudareblamethisonme.Youtoldmetogo.Youtoldmetogo.”

Wesatinsilenceforafewmoments.Ifoundmyselfstaringathishands—thestrong,batteredknuckles,thewaytheylookedsohard,sopowerful,butwerecapableofsuchtenderness.Istareddeterminedlyatthemarkonthecloth.

“Youknow,Lou,IthoughtI’dbefinebymyself.I’vebeenonmyownalongtime,afterall.Butyoucrackedsomethingopeninme.”

“Oh,soit’smyfault.”

“I’mnotsayingthat!”heburstout.“I’mtryingtoexplain.I’msaying—I’msayingI’mnolongerasgoodatbeingonmyownasIthoughtIwas.AftermysisterdiedIdidn’twanttofeelanythingforanyoneagain,okay?IhadroomtocareforJake,butnobodyelse.Ihadmyjobandmyhalf-builthouse,andmychickens,andthatwasfine.Iwasjust...gettingonwithitall.Andthenyoucamealongandfelloffthatbloodybuilding,andliterallythefirsttimeyouheldontomyhandIfeltsomethinggiveinme.AndsuddenlyIhadsomeoneIlookedforwardtotalkingto.SomeonewhounderstoodhowIfelt.Really,reallyunderstood.IcoulddrivepastyourflatandknowthatattheendofacrapdayIwasgoingtobeabletocalluptoyouorpopinlaterandfeelbetter.And,yesIknowwehadsomeissues,butitjustfelt—deepdown—liketherewassomethingrightinthere,youknow?”

Hisheadwasbowedoverhistea,hisjawclenched.

“Andthenjustaswewereclose—closerthanI’veeverfelttoanotherlivingsoul—youwere...youwerejustgone.AndIfeltlike—likesomeonehadgivenmethisgift,thiskeytoeverything,withonehand,thensnatcheditawaywiththeother.”

“Thenwhydidyouletmego?”

Hisvoiceexplodedintotheroom.“Because—becauseI’mnotthatman,Lou!I’mnotthemanwho’sgoingtoinsistthatyoustay.I’mnotthemanwho’sgoingtostopyouhavingtheadventuresandgrowinganddoingallthestuffthatyou’redoingoutthere.I’mnotthatguy!”

“No—you’retheguywhohooksupwithsomeoneelseassoonasI’vegone!Someoneinthesamezipcode!”

“It’sapost-code!You’reinEngland,forChrist’ssake!”

“Yup,andyouhavenoideahowmuchIwishIwasn’t.”

Samturnedawayfromme,clearlystrugglingtocontainhimself.Beyondthekitchendoors,althoughthetelevisionwasstillon,Iwasdimlyawareofsilenceinthefrontroom.

AfterafewminutesIsaidquietly.“Ican’tdothis,Sam.”

“Youcan’tdowhat?”

“Ican’tbeworryingaboutKatieIngramandherattemptstoseduceyou—becausewhateverhappenedthatnightIcouldseewhatshewanted,evenifIdon’tknowwhatyouwanted.It’smakingmecrazyandit’smakingmesad,andworse”—Iswallowedhard—“it’smakingmehateyou.AndIcan’timaginehowinthreeshortmonthsI’vegottothatpoint.”

“Louisa—”

Therewasadiscreetknockatthedoor.Mymother’sfaceappeared.“I’msorrytodisturbyoubothbutwouldyoumindverymuchifIquicklymadesometea?Granddad’sgasping.”

“Sure.”Ikeptmyfaceturnedaway.

Shebustledinandfilledthekettle,herbacktous.“They’rewatchingsomefilmaboutaliens.NotveryChristmassy.IrememberwhenChristmasDaywasallWizardofOzorTheSoundofMusicorsomethingthateveryonecouldwatchtogether.Nowthey’rewatching

allthiswhiz-bam-shootingnonsenseandGranddadandIcan’tunderstandawordanyone’ssaying.”

Mymotherrattledon,plainlymortifiedathavingtobethere,tappingtheworksurfacewithherfingersasshewaitedforthekettletoboil.“Youknowwehaven’tevenwatchedtheQueen’sSpeech?Daddyputitontheoldrecordingboxthing.Butit’snotthesameifyouwatchitafterward,isit?Iliketowatchitwheneveryoneelseiswatchingit.Thepooroldwoman,wedgedinallthosevideoboxesuntileveryone’sfinishedthealiensandthecartoons.You’dthinkaftersixty-oddyearsofservice—howlonghasshebeenonthatthrone?—theleastwecoulddoiswatchherdoherthingwhenshedoesit.Mindyou,DaddytellsmeI’mbeingridiculousassheprobablyrecordeditweeksago.Sam,willyouhavesomecake?”

“Notforme,thanks,Josie.”

“Lou?”

“No.Thanks,Mum.”

“I’llleaveyoutoit.”Shesmiledawkwardly,loadedafruitcakethesizeofatractorwheelontothetray,andhurriedout.Samgotupandclosedthedoorbehindher.

Wesatinsilence,listeningtothekitchenclockticking,theairleaden.Ifeltcrushedundertheweightofthethingsunsaidbetweenus.

Samtookalongswigofhistea.Iwantedhimtoleave.IthoughtImightdieifhedid.

“I’msorry,”hesaidfinally.“Abouttheothernight.Ineverwantedto...Well,itwasbadlyjudged.”

Ishookmyhead.Icouldn’tspeakanymore.

“Ididn’tsleepwithher.Ifyouwon’thearanythingelse,Idoneedyoutohearthat.”

“Yousaid—”

Helookedup.

“Yousaid...nobodywouldeverhurtmeagain.Yousaidthat.WhenyoucametoNewYork.”Myvoiceemergedfromsomewhereinmychest.“Ineverthoughtforamomentyouwouldbetheonetodoit.”

“Louisa—”

“IthinkI’dlikeyoutogonow.”

Hestoodheavilyandhesitated,bothhandsonthetableinfrontofhim.Icouldn’tlookathim.Icouldn’tseethefaceIlovedabouttodisappearfrommylifeforever.Hestraightenedup,letoutanaudiblebreathandturnedawayfromme.

Hepulledapackagefromhisinsidepocketandplaceditonthetable.“MerryChristmas,”hesaid.Andthenhewalkedtothedoor.

Ifollowedhimbackdownthecorridor,elevenlongsteps,andthenwewereonthefrontporch.Icouldn’tlookathimorIwouldbelost.Iwouldpleadwithhimtostay,promisetogiveupmyjob,beghimtochangehisjob,nottoseeKatieIngramagain.Iwouldbecomepathetic,thekindofwomanIpitied.Thekindofwomanhehadneverwanted.

Istood,myshouldersrigid,andIrefusedtolookanyfartherthanhisstupid,oversizedfeet.Acarpulledup.Adoorslammedsomewheredownthestreet.Birdssang.AndIstood,lockedinmyownprivatemiseryinamomentthatstubbornlyrefusedtoend.

Andthen,abruptly,hesteppedforwardandhisarmsclosedaroundme.Hepulledmetohim,andinthatembraceIfelteverythingthatwehadmeanttoeachother,theloveandthepainandthebloodyimpossibilityofitall.Andmyface,unseenbyhim,crumpled.

Idon’tknowhowlongwestoodthere.Probablyonlyseconds.Buttimebrieflystopped,stretched,disappeared.Itwasjusthimandmeandthisawfuldeadfeelingcreepingfrommyheadtomyfeet,asifIwereturningtostone.

“Don’t.Don’ttouchme,”IsaidwhenIcouldn’tbearitanymore.Myvoicewaschokedandunlikeitself,andIpushedhimback,awayfromme.

“Lou—”

Exceptitwasn’thisvoice.Itwasmysister’s.

“Lou,couldyoujust—sorry—getoutoftheway,please?Ineedtogetpast.”

Iblinked,andturnedmyhead.Mysister,herhandsraised,wastryingtoedgepastusfromthenarrowdoorwaytothepath.“Sorry,”shesaid.“Ijustneedto...”

Samreleasedme,quiteabruptly,andwalkedawaywithlongstrides,hisshouldershunchedandrigid,justpausingasthegateopened.Hedidn’tlookback.

“IsthatourTreena’snewblokearriving?”saidMum,behindme.Shewaswrenchingoffherapronandstraighteningherhairinonefluidmovement.“Ithoughthewascomingatfour.Ihaven’tevenputmylippyon...Areyouallright?”

Treenaturnedand,throughtheblurofmytears,Icouldjustmakeoutherfaceasshegaveasmall,hopefulsmile.“Mum,Dad,thisisEddie,”shesaid.

Andaslimblackwomaninashortflowerydressgaveusahesitantwave.

A

19

sitturnsout,asadistractionfromlosingthesecondgreatloveofyourlife,Icanhighlyrecommendyoursistercomingouton

ChristmasDay,especiallywithayoungwomanofcolorcalledEdwina.

Mumcoveredherinitialshockwithaflurryofovereffusivewelcomesandthepromiseofteamaking,shepherdingEddieandTreenaintothelivingroom,pausingmomentarilytogivemealookthat,ifmymotherhadbeenthetypetoswear,wouldhavesaidWTAFbeforeshedisappearedbackdownthecorridortothekitchen.Thomemergedfromthelivingroom,yelled,“Eddie!”gaveourguestahugehug,waitedonjiggyfeettobehandedhispresentandrippeditapart,thenranoffwithanewLegoset.

AndDad,utterlysilenced,simplystaredatwhatwasunfoldingbeforehim,likesomeonedumpedintoahallucinogenicdream.IsawTreena’suncharacteristicallyanxiousexpression,felttherisingsenseofpanicintheair,andknewIhadtoact.ImurmuredatDadtoclosehismouth,thensteppedforwardandheldoutmyhand.“Eddie!”Isaid.“Hi!I’mLouisa.Mysisterwillnodoubthavetoldyouallthebadstuff.”

“Actually,”Eddiesaid,“she’sonlytoldmewonderfulthings.YouliveinNewYork,don’tyou?”

“Mostly.”Ihopedmysmiledidn’tlookasforcedasitfelt.

“IlivedinBrooklynfortwoyearsafterIleftcollege.Istillmissit.”

Sheshedherbronze-coloredcoat,waitingwhileTreenawedgeditontoouroverstackedpegs.Shewastiny,aporcelaindoll,withthemostexquisitelysymmetricalfeaturesI’deverseenandeyesthatslantedupwardwithextravagantblacklashes.Shechattedawayaswewentintothelivingroom—perhapstoopolitetoacknowledgemyparents’barelyconcealedshock—andstoopedtoshakehandswith

Granddad,whosmiledhislopsidedsmileather,thenwentbacktostaringatthetelevision.

Ihadneverseenmysisterlikethis.Itwasasifwehadjustbeenintroducedtotwostrangersratherthanone.TherewasEddie—impeccablypolite,interesting,engaged,steeringuswithgracethroughthesechoppyconversationalwaters—andtherewasNewTreena,herexpressionfaintlyunsure,hersmilealittlefragile,herhandoccasionallyreachingacrossthesofatosqueezehergirlfriend’sasifforreassurance.Dad’sjawdroppedafullthreeinchesthefirsttimeshedidit,andMumjabbedhisribrepeatedlywithherelbowuntilhecloseditagain.

“So!Edwina!”saidMum,pouringthetea.“Treena’stoldus—um—solittleaboutyou.How—howdidyoutwomeet?”

Eddiesmiled.“IrunaninteriorsshopnearKatrina’sflatandshejustpoppedinafewtimestogetcushionsandfabricandwestartedtalking.Wewentforadrink,andlatertothecinema...and,youknow,itturnedoutwehadalotincommon.”

Ifoundmyselfnodding,tryingtoworkoutwhatmysistercouldpossiblyhaveincommonwiththepolished,elegantcreatureinfrontofme.

“Thingsincommon!Howlovely.Thingsincommonareagreatthing.Yes.And—andwhereisityoucome—Oh,goodness.Idon’tmean...”

“WheredoIcomefrom?Blackheath.Iknow—peoplerarelymovetonorthLondonfromsouth.MyparentsmovedtoBorehamwoodwhentheyretiredthreeyearsago.SoI’moneofthoserarities—anorthandsouthLondoner.”ShebeamedatTreena,asifthiswassomesharedjoke,beforeturningbacktoMum.“Haveyoualwayslivedaroundhere?”

“MumandDadwillleaveStortfoldintheircoffins,”Treenasaid.

“Nottoosoon,wehope!”Isaid.

“Itlookslikeabeautifultown.Icanseewhyyou’dwanttostay,”Eddiesaid,holdingupherplate.“Thiscakeisamazing,Mrs.Clark.Doyoumakeityourself?Mymothermakesonewithrumandsheswearsyouhavetosteepthefruitforthreemonthstogetthefullflavor.”

“Katrinaisgay?”saidDad.

“It’sgood,Mum,”saidTreena.“Thesultanasare...really...moist.”

Dadlookedfromoneofustotheother.“OurTreenalikesgirls?Andnobody’ssayinganything?Andjustwhangingonaboutfeckingcushionsandcake?”

“Bernard,”saidmymother.

“PerhapsIshouldgiveyouallamoment,”saidEddie.

“No,stay,Eddie.”TreenaglancedatThom,whowasengrossedinthetelevision,andsaid,“Yes,Dad.Ilikewomen.Or,atleast,IlikeEddie.”

“Treenamightbegenderfluid,”saidMum,nervously.“Isthattherightexpression?Theyoungpeopleatnightschooltellmealotofthemareneitheronethingnortheother,thesedays.There’saspectrum.Oraspeculum.Icanneverrememberwhich.”

Dadblinked.

Mumswallowedagulpofteasoaudiblythatitwasalmostpainful.

“Well,personally,”Isaid,whenTreenahadstoppedpattingherontheback,“Ijustthinkit’sgreatthatanyonewouldwanttogooutwithTreena.Anyoneatall.Youknow,anyonewitheyesandearsandaheartandstuff.”Treenashotmealookofgenuinegratitude.

“Youdidalwayswearjeansalot.Growingup,”Mummused,wipinghermouth.“PerhapsIshouldhavemadeyouwearmoredresses.”

“It’sgotnothingtodowithjeans,Mum.Genes,maybe.”

“Well,itcertainlydoesn’truninourfamily,”saidDad.“Nooffense,Edwina.”

“Nonetaken,Mr.Clark.”

“I’mgay,Dad.I’mgay,andI’mhappierthanI’veeverbeenandit’sreallynoneofanyoneelse’sbusinesshowIchoosetobehappy,butI’dreallylikeitifyouandMumcouldbehappyformebecauseIamand,moreimportantly,I’mhopingthatEddiewillbeinmyandThom’slivesforaverylongtime.”SheglancedoveratEddie,whosmiledreassuringly.

Therewasalongsilence.

“You’veneversaidanything,”saidDadaccusingly.“Youneveractedgay.”

“How’sagaypersonsupposedtoact?”Treenasaid.

“Well.Gay.Like...youneverbroughthomeagirlbefore.”

“Ineverbroughthomeanyonebefore.ApartfromSundeep.Thataccountant.Andyoudidn’tlikehimbecausehedidn’tlikefootball.”

“Ilikefootball,”saidEddiehelpfully.

Dadsatandstaredathisplate.Finallyhesighed,andrubbedhiseyeswithbothpalms.Whenhestopped,hiswholefaceseemeddazed,likesomeonewokenabruptlyfromsleep.Mumwaswatchinghimintently,anxietywritlargeacrossherface.

“Eddie.Edwina.I’msorryifI’mcomingacrossasanoldfart.I’mnotahomophobic,really,but...”

“Oh,God,”saidTreena.“There’sabut.”

Dadshookhishead.“ButI’llprobablysaythewrongthinganywayandcauseallsortsofoffensebecauseI’mjustanaul’fellawhodoesn’tunderstandallthenewlingoandthewaythingsaredone—mywifewilltellyouthat.Allthisbeingsaid,evenIknowthatallthatmattersinthelongrunisthatthesetwogirlsofminearehappy.Andifyoumakeherhappy,Eddie,likeSammakesourLouhappy,thengoodonyou.I’mverygladtoknowyou.”

HestoodandreachedahandacrossthecoffeetableandafteramomentEddieleanedforwardandshookit.

“Right.Nowlet’shaveabitofthatcake.”

Mumgavealittlesighofreliefandreachedfortheknife.

AndIdidthebestIcouldtosmile,thenhurriedlylefttheroom.

—Thereisadefinitehierarchytoheartbreak.Iworkeditout.Topofthelististhedeathofthepersonyoulove.Thereisnosituationlikelytoelicitmoreshockandoutrightsympathy:faceswillfall,acaringhandreachouttosqueezeyourshoulder.Oh,God,I’msosorry.Afterthatit’sprobablybeingleftforsomeoneelse—thebetrayal,thewickedness

ofthetwopeopleconcernedbringingforthaffirmationsofoutrage,ofsolidarity.Oh,thatmusthavebeensuchashockforyou.Youcouldaddforcedseparation,religiousobstacles,seriousillness.ButWedriftedapartbecausewewerelivingonseparatecontinentsis,whiletrue,unlikelytopromptmorethananodofacknowledgment,apragmaticshrugofunderstanding.Yeah,thesethingshappen.

Isawthatreaction,albeitdressedupinmaternalconcern,inmymother’sresponsetomynews,andthenmyfather’s.Well,that’sanawfulshame.ButIsupposeit’snotahugesurprise,andfeltfaintlystunginawayIcouldn’texpress—Whatdoyoumeannotahugesurprise?ILOVEDHIM.

BoxingDayslidbyslowly,thehoursturgidandsad.Isleptfitfully,gladofthedistractionthatEddiecreatedsothatIdidn’thavetobethefocusofattention.Ilayinthebathandonthebedinthelittleboxroom,wipedawaytheoddtearandhopednobodywouldnotice.Mumbroughtmeteaandtriednottotalktoomuchabouttheradianthappinessofmysister.

Anditwaslovelytosee.Oritwouldhavebeen,hadInotbeensoheartbroken.IwatchedthetwoofthemsurreptitiouslyholdinghandsunderthetablewhileMumservedsupper,theirheadsbenttogetherwhiletheydiscussedsomethinginamagazine,theirfeettouchingastheywatchedtelevision,Thomwedginghiswaybetweenthemwiththeconfidenceoftheutterlyloved,indifferenttowhowasdoingtheloving.Oncewewerepastthehugesurprise,itmadeperfectsensetome:Treenawassohappy,relaxedinthiswoman’scompanyinawayIhadneverseen.Occasionallyshewouldcastmefleetingglancesthatwereshyandquietlytriumphant,andIwouldsmileback,hopingitdidn’tlookasfakeasitfelt.

BecauseallIfeltwasasecondgiganticholewheremyhearthadbeen.Withouttheangerthathadfueledmeforthepastforty-eighthoursIwasavoid.SamhadgoneandIhadasgoodassenthimaway.Tootherpeopletheendofmyrelationshipmighthavebeencomprehensible,buttomeitsomehowmadenosenseatall.

—OnBoxingDayafternoon,asmyfamilydozedonthesofa(Ihadforgottenhowmuchtimeinourhouseholdwasspenteither

discussing,eating,ordigestingfood),Irousedmyselfandwalkedtothecastle.Itwasempty,barabriskwomaninawindbreakerwithherdog.Shenoddedhelloinawaythatsuggestedshewantednopartinanyfurtherconversation,andImademywayuptherampartsandontoabenchwhereIcouldlookoutoverthemazeandthesouthernhalfofStortfold.Iletthestiffbreezestingthetipsofmyearsandmyfeetgrowcold,andItoldmyselfthatIwouldn’talwaysfeelsosad.IletmyselfthinkaboutWill,andhowmanyafternoonswehadspentaroundthiscastle,andhowIhadsurvivedhisdeath,andItoldmyselffirmlythatthisnewpainwasalesserone:Iwasnotfacingmonthsofsadnesssodeepitmademefeelnauseous.IwouldnotthinkaboutSam.Iwouldnotthinkabouthimwiththatwoman.IwouldnotlookatFacebook.Iwouldreturntomyexciting,eventful,richnewlifeinNewYork,andonceIwasfullyawayfromhim,thepartsofmethatfeltscorched,destroyed,wouldeventuallyheal.PerhapswehadnotbeenthethingI’dthoughtwewere.Perhapstheintensityofourfirstmeeting—whocouldresistaparamedicafterall?—hadmadeusbelievetheintensitywasours.MaybeIhadjustneededsomeonetostopmegrieving.MaybeithadbeenareboundrelationshipandIwouldfeelbettersoonerthanIthought.

Itoldmyselfthisoverandoveragain,butsomepartofmestubbornlyrefusedtolisten.Andfinally,whenIgottiredofpretendingitwasallgoingtobefine,Iclosedmyeyes,putmyheadintomyhands,andcried.Atanemptycastleonadaywheneveryoneelsewasathome,Iletgriefcoursethroughme,andIsobbedwithoutinhibitionorfearofdiscovery.IcriedinawaythatIcouldn’tcryinthelittlehouseonRenfrewRoad,andwouldn’tbeabletoonceIgotbacktotheGopniks’,withangerandsadness,akindofemotionalbloodletting.

“Youfecker,”Isobbedintomyknees.“Iwasonlygonethreemonths...”

Myvoicesoundedstrange,strangled.AndlikeThom,whousedtolookathisownreflectiondeliberatelywhencryingandthencryevenharder,thesoundofthosewordswassosadandhorriblyfinalthatImademyselfcryevenharder.“Damnyou,Sam.Damnyouformakingmethinkitwasworththerisk.”

“SocanIsitdowntoo,oristhis,like,aprivateGriefFest?”

Myheadshotup.InfrontofmestoodLily,wrappedinahugeblackparkaandaredscarf,herarmsfoldedoverherchest,lookingasifshe

mighthavebeenstandingtherestudyingmeforsometime.Shegrinned,asifsomehowthesightofmeinmydarkesthourwasactuallyquiteamusing,thenwaitedwhileIpulledmyselftogether.

“Well,IguessIdon’tneedtoaskwhat’sgoingoninyourlife,”shesaid,andpunchedmehardinthearm.

“HowdidyouknowIwashere?”

“IwalkedroundtoyourhousetosayhiasI’vebeenhomefromskiingtwodaysandyouhaven’tevenbotheredtocall.”

“I’msorry,”Isaid.“It’sbeen...”

“It’sbeenhardbecauseyougotdumpedbySexySam.Wasitthatblondwitch?”

Iblewmynoseandstaredather.

“IhadafewdaysinLondonbeforeChristmassoIwenttotheambulancestationtosayhiandshewasthere,hangingoffhimlikesomekindofhumanmildew.”

Isniffed.“Youcouldtell.”

“God,yes.IwasgoingtowarnyoubutthenIthought,What’sthepoint?It’snotlikeyoucoulddoanythingaboutitfromNewYork.Ugh.Menaresostupid,though.Howcouldhenotseethroughthat?”

“Oh,Lily,Ihavemissedyou.”Ihadn’tknownquitehowmuchuntilthatmoment.Will’sdaughter,inallhermercurial,teenageglory.ShesatdownbesidemeandIleanedagainsther,asifsheweretheadult.Wegazedintothedistance.IcouldjustmakeoutWill’shome,GrantchesterHouse.

“Imeanjustbecauseshe’sprettyandhashugetitsandoneofthosepornymouthsthatlooklikethey’reallabouttheblowjobs—”

“Okay,youcanstopnow.”

“Anyway,Iwouldn’tcryanymoreifIwereyou,”shesaidsagely.“One,nomanisworthit.EvenKatyPerrywilltellyouthat.Butalsoyoureyesgoreally,reallysmallwhenyoucry.Like,microdotkindofsmall.”

Icouldn’thelpbutlaugh.

Shestoodupandheldoutahand.“C’mon.Let’swalkdowntoyours.There’snowhereopenonBoxingDayandGrandpaandDella

andtheBabyThatCanDoNoWrongaredoingmyheadin.I’vegotawholetwenty-fourmorehourstokillbeforeGrannycomestopickmeup.Ugh.Didyougetsnailtrailsonmyjacket?Youdid!Youaretotallywipingthatoff.”

—Overteaatourhouse,Lilyfilledmeinonthenewshere-mailshadn’tcovered—howshelovedhernewschoolbuthadn’tquitegottogripswiththeworkasshewasmeantto.(“Turnsoutmissingloadsofschooldoeshaveaneffect.WhichisactuallyquiteirritatingontheadultI-told-you-sofront.”)SheenjoyedlivingwithhergrandmothersomuchthatshefeltabletobitchaboutherinthewaythatLilydidaboutpeopleshetrulyloved—withhumorandakindofcheerfulsarcasm.Grannywassounreasonableaboutherpaintingthewallsofherroomblack.Andshewouldn’tletherdrivethecar,eventhoughLilytotallyknewhowtodriveandjustwantedtogetaheadbeforeshecouldstartlessons.Itwasonlywhentalkingaboutherownmotherthatherupbeatdemeanorfellaway.Lily’smotherhadfinallyleftherstepfather—“ofcourse”—butthearchitectdowntheroadwhomshehadplannedtomakehernexthusbandhadnotplayedball,refusingtoleavehiswife.HermotherwasnowlivingalifeofhystericalmiseryinrentedaccommodationinHollandParkwiththetwinsandmakingherwaythroughasuccessionofFilipinanannieswho,despiteanastonishingleveloftolerance,wererarelytolerantenoughtosurviveTanyaHoughton-Millerformorethanacoupleofweeks.

“IneverthoughtI’dfeelsorryfortheboys,butIdo,”shesaid.“Ugh.Ireallywantacigarette.IonlyeverwantonewhenI’mtalkingaboutmymum.Youdon’thavetobeFreudtoworkthatout,right?”

“I’msorry,Lily.”

“Don’tbe.I’mfine.I’mwithGrannyandatschool.Mymother’sdramadoesn’treallytouchmeanymore.Well,sheleaveslongmessagesonmyvoicemail,weepingortellingmeI’mselfishfornotmovingbacktobewithherbutIdon’tcare.”Sheshudderedbriefly.“SometimesIthinkifI’dstayedthereIwouldhavegonecompletelymental.”Ithoughtbacktothefigurewhohadappearedonmydoorstepallthosemonthsago—drunk,unhappy,isolated—andfelta

briefburstofquietpleasurethatbytakingherinIhadhelpedWill’sdaughterbuildthishappyrelationshipwithhergrandmother.

Mumcameinandout,replenishingthetraywithcutsofham,cheese,andwarmedmincepies,andseemeddelightedthatLilywasthere,especiallywhenLily,hermouthfull,gaveherthefullrun-downongoings-oninthebighouse.Lilydidn’tthinkMr.Traynorwasveryhappy.Della,hisnewwife,wasfindingmotherhoodachallengeandfussedoverthebabyincessantly,flinchingandweepingwheneveritsquawked.Whichwas,basically,allthetime.

“Grandpaspendsmostofhistimeinhisstudy,whichjustmakesherevencrosser.Butwhenhetriestohelpshejustshoutsathimandtellshimhe’sdoingeverythingwrong.Steven!Don’tholdherlikethat!Steven!You’vegotthatmatineejacketcompletelybacktofront!I’dtellhertodoone,buthe’stoonice.”

“He’sthegenerationthatwouldhavehadverylittletodowithbabies,”Mumsaidkindly.“Idon’tthinkyourfatherwouldhavechangedasinglenappy.”

“HealwaysasksafterGrannysoItoldhimshehadanewman.”

“Mrs.Traynorhasaboyfriend?”Mymother’seyesroundedlikesaucers.

“No.Ofcourseshedoesn’t.Grannysaysshe’senjoyingherfreedom.Buthedoesn’tneedtoknowthat,doeshe?ItoldGrandpathatasilverfoxwithanAstonMartinandallhisownhaircomestotakeherouttwiceaweekandIdon’tknowhisnamebutit’snicetoseeGrannylookingsohappyagain.Icantellhereallywantstoaskquestionsbuthedoesn’tdarewhileDella’stheresohejustnodsandsmilesthisreallyfakesmileandsays,‘Verygood,’andgoesofftohisstudyagain.”

“Lily!”saidmymother.“Youcan’ttelllieslikethat!”

“Whynot?”

“Because,well,it’snottrue!”

“Loadsofthingsinlifearen’ttrue.FatherChristmasisn’ttrue.ButIbetyoutoldThomabouthimanyway.Grandpa’sgotsomeoneelse.It’sgoodforhim—andforGranny—ifhethinksshe’shavinglovelyminibreaksinPariswithahotrichpensioner.Andtheyneverspeaktoeachother,sowhat’stheharm?”

Aslogicwent,itwasprettyimpressive.IcouldtellbecauseMum’smouthwasworkinglikesomeonefeelingaloosetooth,butshecouldn’tcomeupwithanyotherreasonwhyLilywaswrong.

“Anyway,”saidLily,“I’dbettergetback.Familydinner.Ho-ho-ho.”

ItwasatthismomentthatTreenaandEddiewalkedin,havingbeenouttotheplayparkwithThom.IsawMum’ssuddenlookofbarelyconcealedanxietyandthought,Oh,Lily,don’tsaysomethingawful.Igesturedtowardthem.“ThisisLily,Eddie.Eddie,Lily.Lilyisthedaughterofmyoldemployer,Will.Eddieis—”

“Mygirlfriend,”saidTreena.

“Oh.Nice.”LilyshookEddie’shand,thenturnedbacktome.“So.I’mstillplanningonmakingGrannybringmeouttoNewYork.Shesaysshewon’tdoitwhileit’sthiscoldbutshewillinthespring.Sobepreparedtotakeafewdaysoff.Apriltotallyqualifiesasspring,yes?Upforit?”

“Can’twait,”Isaid.Tothesideofme,Mumdeflatedquietlywithrelief.

Lilyhuggedmehard,thenranfromthefrontstep.Iwatchedhergoandenviedtherobustnessoftheyoung.

I

20

From:BusyBee@gmail.comTo:KatrinaClark@scottsherwinbarker.com

Greatpicture,Treen!Reallylovely.Ilikeditalmostasmuchasthefouryousentyesterday.No,myfavoriteisstilltheoneyousentTuesday.Thethreeofyouatthepark.Yes,Eddiehasgotreallyniceeyes.Youdefinitelylookhappy.I’mreallyglad.

Reyourotherpoint:IdothinkitmightbealittleearlytoframeoneandsendittoMumandDadbut,hey,youknowbest.

LovetoThommo,Lx

PSI’mfine.Thanksforasking.

arrivedbackinthekindofNewYorkblizzardthatyouseeonthenews,whereonlythetopsofcarsarevisibleandchildrensledge

downnormallytraffic-filledstreetsandeventheweatherforecasterscan’tquitehidetheirchildishglee.Thewideavenueswereclear,forcedintocompliancebythemayor,thecity’shugesnowplowschuggingdutifullyupanddownthemajorthoroughfareslikegiganticbeastsofburden.

Imightnormallyhavebeenthrilledtoseesnowlikethat,butmypersonalweatherfrontwasgrayanddamp,andithungovermelikeachillweight,suckingthejoyfromanysituation.

Ihadneverhadmyheartbrokenbefore,atleastnotbysomeoneliving.IhadwalkedawayfromPatrickknowingdeepdownthat,forbothofus,ourrelationshiphadbecomeahabit,apairofshoesyoumightnotreallylovebutworebecauseyoucouldn’tbebotheredtogetnewones.WhenWillhaddiedIhadthoughtIwouldneverfeelanythingagain.

Itturnedouttherewaslittlecomforttobehadinknowingthepersonyou’dlovedandlostwasstillbreathing.Mybrain,sadisticorganthatitwas,insistedonreturningtoSamagainandagainthroughoutmyday.Whatwashedoingnow?Whatwashethinking?

Washewithher?Didheregretwhathadpassedbetweenus?Hadhethoughtofmeatall?Ihadadozensilentargumentswithhimaday,someofwhichIevenwon.Myrationalselfwouldbuttin,tellingmetherewasnopointinthinkingabouthim.Whatwasdonewasdone.Ihadreturnedtoadifferentcontinent.Ourfutureslaythousandsofmilesapart.

Andthen,occasionally,aslightlymanicselfwouldintervenewithakindofforcedoptimism—IcouldbewhoeverIwanted!Iwastiedtonobody!Icouldgoanywhereintheworldwithoutfeelingconflicted!Thesethreeselvescouldjostleforspaceinmymindoverafewminutes,andfrequentlydid.Itwasakindofschizophrenicexistenceandcompletelyexhausting.

Idrownedthem.IranwithGeorgeandAgnesatdawn,notslowingwhenmychesthurtandmyshinsfeltlikehotpokers.Iwhizzedaroundtheapartment,anticipatingAgnes’sneeds,offeringtohelpMichaelwhenhelookedparticularlyoverworked,peelingpotatoesalongsideIlariaandignoringherwhensheharrumphed.IevenofferedtohelpAshokshovelsnowoffthewalkway—anythingtostopmehavingtositandcontemplatemyownlife.Hepulledafaceandtoldmenottobeacrazyperson:didIwanttoseehimoutofajob?

Joshtextedmeonmythirddayhome,whileAgneswasholdingupindividualshoesinachildren’sshopandtalkinginPolishtohermotheronthephone,apparentlytryingtoworkoutwhichsizesheshouldbepurchasingandwhetherhersisterwouldapprove.Ifeltmyphonevibrateandlookeddown.

—Hey,LouisaClarkTheFirst.Longtimeno

hear.HopeyouhadagoodChristmas.Wantto

grabacoffeesometime?

Istared.Ihadnoreasonnotto,butsomehowitfeltwrong.Iwastooraw,mysensesstillfullofamanthreethousandmilesaway.

—HeyJosh.Bitbusyrightnow(Agnesrunsme

offmyfeet!)butmaybesometimesoon.Hope

you’rewell.Lx

Hedidn’trespondandIfeltstrangelybadaboutit.

GarryloadedAgnes’sshoppingintothecarandthenherphonebuzzed.Shepulleditfromherbagandstaredatit.Shelookedoutof

thewindowforamoment,thenatme.“IforgotIhadanartlesson.WehavetogotoEastWilliamsburg.”

Itwaspatentlyalie.IhadasuddenmemoryoftheawfulThanksgivinglunch,withallitsrevelations,andtriednottoletitshowonmyface.“I’llcancelthepianolesson,then,”Isaidevenly.

“Yes.Garry,Ihaveartlesson.Iforgot.”

Withoutaword,Garrypulledthelimoontotheroad.

—GarryandIsatinsilenceinthecarpark,theenginerunningquietlytoprotectusfromthechilloutside.IfeltquietlyfuriouswithAgnesforchoosingthisafternoonforoneofher“artlessons”asitmeantIwasleftalonewithmythoughts,abunchofunwelcomehouseguestswhorefusedtoleave.Iputmyearphonesinandplayedmyselfsomecheerfulmusic.IusedmyiPadtoorganizetherestofAgnes’sweek.IplayedthreeonlineScrabblemoveswithMum.Iansweredane-mailfromTreena,askingwhetherIthoughtsheshouldtakeEddietoaworkdinnerorifitwastoosoon.(Ithoughtsheshouldprobablyjustgetonwithit.)Igazedoutsideattheglowering,snow-ladenskyandwonderedifmorewasgoingtofall.Garrywatchedacomedyshowonhistablet,snortingalongsidethecannedlaughter,hischinrestingonhischest.

“Fancyacoffee?”Isaid,whenIhadrunoutofnailstochew.“She’sgoingtobeages,isn’tshe?”

“Nah.MydoctortellsmeIgottocutdownonthedoughnuts.Andyouknowwhathappensifwegotothegooddoughnutplace.”

Ipickedataloosethreadonmytrousers.“WanttoplayISpy?”

“Areyoukiddingme?”

Ilaybackinmyseatwithasighandlistenedtotherestofthecomedyshow,thentoGarry’slaboredbreathingasitslowedandbecameanoccasionalsnore.Theskyhadbeguntodarken,anunfriendly,irongray.Itwasgoingtotakehourstogetbackthroughthetraffic.Andthenmyphonerang.

“Louisa?AreyouwithAgnes?Herphoneseemstobeturnedoff.Canyougetherforme?”

IglancedoutofthewindowtowhereStevenLipkott’sstudiolightcastayellowrectangleoverthegrayingsnowbelow.

“Uh...she’sjust...she’sjusttryingsomethingson,Mr.Gopnik.LetmerunintothechangingroomsandI’llgethertocallyoustraightback.”

Thedownstairsdoorwasproppedopenwithtwopotsofpaint,asifinthemiddleofadelivery.IranuptheconcretestepsandalongthecorridoruntilIreachedthestudio.ThereIstoppedatthecloseddoor,breathinghard.Igazeddownatmyphone,thenuptotheheavens.Ididnotwanttowalkin.IdidnotwantirrefutableproofofwhathadbeensuggestedatThanksgiving.Ipressedmyearagainstthedoor,tryingtoworkoutifitwassafetoknock,feelingfurtive,asifitwereIwhowasatfault.ButallIcouldhearwasmusicandmuffledconversation.

WithgreaterconfidenceIknocked.Acoupleofsecondslater,Itriedandopenedthedoor.StevenLipkottandAgneswerestandingonthefarsideoftheroomwiththeirbackstome,lookingatastackofcanvasesagainstthewall.Herestedonehandonhershoulder,theotherwavingacigarettetowardoneofthesmallercanvases.Theroomsmelledofsmokeandturpentineand,faintly,ofperfume.

“Well,whydon’tyoubringmesomeotherpicturesofher?”hewassaying.“Ifyoudon’tfeelitreallyrepresentsher,thenweshould—”

“Louisa!”Agnesspunaroundandthrewupapalm,asifshewerewardingmeoff.

“I’msorry,”Isaid,holdingupmyphone.“It—it’sMr.Gopnik.He’stryingtoreachyou.”

“Youshouldn’thavecomeinhere!Whyyoudidn’tknock?”Thecolorhadleachedfromherface.

“Idid.I’msorry.Ididn’thaveanywayof...”ItwasasIwasbackingoutofthedoorthatIglimpsedthecanvas.Achild,withblondhairandwideeyes,halfturnedasifabouttoskipaway.AndwithasuddenandinevitableclarityIunderstoodeverything:thedepression,theendlessconversationswithhermother,theendlesstoyandshoepurchases...

Stevenstoopedtopickitup.“Look.Justtakethatonewithyouifyouwant.Haveathinkaboutit—”

“Shutup,Steven!”Heflinched,asifunsurewhathadpromptedherreaction.Butthatwaswhatfinallyconfirmedit.

“I’llmeetyoudownstairs,”Isaid,andclosedthedoorquietlybehindme.

—WedrovebacktotheUpperEastSideinsilence.AgnescalledMr.Gopnikandapologized,shehadn’trealizedherphonewasoff,adesignfault—thethingwasalwaysshuttingdownwithoutherdoingit—shereallyneededadifferentone.Yes,darling.We’reheadedbacknow.Yes,Iknow...

Shedidnotlookatme.Intruth,Icouldbarelylookather.Mymindwashumming,marryinguptheeventsofthelastmonthswithwhatInowunderstood.

WhenwefinallyreachedhomeIwalkedafewpacesbehindherthroughthelobby,butaswegottothelift,sheswiveled,staredatthefloor,andthenturnedbacktowardthedoor.“Okay.Comewithme.”

—Wesatinadark,gildedhotelbar,thekindwhereIimaginedrichMiddleEasternbusinessmenentertainedtheirclientsandwavedawaybarbillswithoutlooking.Itwasnearlyempty.AgnesandIsatinadimlylitcornerbooth,waitingastheserverostentatiouslyoffloadedtwovodkatonicsandapotofglossygreenolives,tryingandfailingtocatchAgnes’seye.

“She’smine,”Agnessaidastheserverwalkedaway.

Itookasipofmydrink.ItwasferociouslystrongandIwasglad.Itfeltusefultohavesomethingtofocuson.

“Mydaughter.”Hervoicewastight,oddlyfurious.“SheliveswithmysisterinPoland.Sheisfine—shewassoyoungwhenIwentthatshebarelyrememberswhenhermamalivedwithher—andmysisterishappybecauseshecannothavechildren,butmymotherisveryangryatme.”

“But—”

“Ididn’ttellhimwhenImethim,okay?Iwasso...sohappythatsomeonelikehimlikedme.Ididn’tthinkforoneminutewewouldbetogether.Itwaslikeadream,youknow?Ithought,Iwilljusthavethislittleadventure,andthenmyworkvisawillfinishandIwillgobacktoPolandandIwillrememberthisthingalways.Andtheneverythinghappenedsofastandheleaveshiswifeforme.Icouldn’tthinkhowtotellhim.EverytimeImeethimIthink,Thisisthetime,thisisthetime...andthenwhenwearetogetherhetellme—hetellsmethathedoesn’twantanymorechildren.Heisdone,hesays.Hefeelshehasmadebigmesswithhisownfamilyandhedoesnotwanttomakeitworsewithstepfamilies,halfbrothers,halfsisters,allthisbusiness.Helovesmebuttheno-childrenthingisdealbreakerforhim.SohowcanItellhimthen?”

Ileanedforwardsothatnobodyelsecouldhear.“But...butthisisbatshitcrazy,Agnes.Youalreadyhaveadaughter!”

“AndhowcanItellhimthisnowaftertwoyears?YouthinkhewillnotthinkIambadwoman?Youthinkhewillnotseethisasterrible,terribledeceit?Ihavemadehugeproblemformyself,Louisa.Iknowthis.”Shetookaswigofherdrink.

“Ithinkallthetime—allthetime—howIcanfixthis?Butthereisnothingtofix.Iliedtohim.Forhim,trustiseverything.Hewouldnotforgiveme.Soissimple.Thiswayheishappy,Iamhappy,Icanprovideforeveryone.ItrytoconvincemysistertocometoliveinNewYorkoneday.ThenIcanseeZofiaeveryday.”

“Butyoumustmissherterribly.”

Herjawtightened.“Iamprovidingforherfuture.”Shespokeasifreadingfromalong-rehearsedmentallist.“Before,ourfamilyhadnotsomuch.Mysisternowlivesinverygoodhouse—fourbedrooms,everythingnew.Verynicearea.ZofiawillgotobestschoolinPoland,playbestpiano,shewillhaveeverything.”

“Butnomother.”

Hereyessuddenlybrimmed.“No.IhavetoleaveLeonardorIhavetoleaveher.Soismy...my...oh,whatisword?...mypenancetolivewithouther.”Hervoicecrackedalittle.

Isippedmyvodka.Ididn’tknowwhatelsetodo.Webothstaredatourglasses.

“Iamnotbadperson,Louisa.IloveLeonard.Verymuch.”

“Iknow.”

“Ihadthisideathatmaybewhenwehadbeenmarried,whenwehadbeentogetherawhile,Icouldtellhim.Andhewouldbelittlebitupsetbutmaybehecouldcomeround.OrIcouldgobackwardandforwardtoPoland,youknow?Ormaybeshecouldcomestayforabit.Butthingsjustgetso—socomplicated.Hisfamilyhatemesomuch.Youknowwhatwouldhappeniftheyfoundoutabouthernow?YouknowwhatwouldhappenifTabithaknewthisthingaboutme?”

Icouldguess.

“Ilovehim.Iknowyouthinkmanythingsaboutme.ButIlovehim.Heisgoodman.SometimesIfinditveryhardbecauseheisworkingsomuchandbecausenobodycaresformeinhisworld...andIgetsolonelyandmaybe...Idonotalwaysbehaveperfectly,butwhenIthinkofbeingwithouthimIcannotbearit.Heistrulymysoulmate.Fromfirstday,Iknewthis.”

Shetracedapatternonthetablewithaslimfinger.“ButthenIthinkofmydaughtergrowingupfornextten,fifteenyearswithoutmeandI...I...”

Sheletoutashudderingsigh,loudenoughtodrawtheattentionofthebarman.Ireachedintomybag,andwhenIcouldn’tfindahandkerchiefIpassedheracocktailnapkin.Whenshelookeduptherewasasoftnesstoherface.ItwasanexpressionIhadn’tseenbefore,radiantwithloveandtenderness.

“Sheissobeautiful,Louisa.Sheisnearlyfouryearsoldnowandsoclever.Andsobright.Sheknowsdaysoftheweekandshecanpointoutcountriesontheglobeandshecansing.SheknowswhereNewYorkis.ShecandrawalineonmapbetweenKrakówandNewYorkwithoutanybodyshowingher.AndeverytimeIvisitshehangsontomeandsays,‘Whydoyouhavetogo,Mama?Idon’twantyoutogo.’Andalittlebitofmyheart,itbreaks...Oh,God,itbreaks...SometimesnowIdon’tevenwanttoseeherbecausethepainwhenIhavetoleaveis...itis...”Agneshunchedoverherdrink,herhandliftingmechanicallytowipethetearsthatfellsilentlyontotheshinytable.

Ihandedheranothercocktailnapkin.“Agnes,”Isaidsoftly,“Idon’tknowhowlongyoucankeepthisup.”

Shedabbedathereyes,herheadbowed.Whenshelookedupitwasimpossibletotellshehadbeencrying.“Wearefriends,yes?Goodfriends.”

“Ofcourse.”

Sheglancedbehindherandleanedforwardoverthetable.“YouandI.Wearebothimmigrants.Webothknowitishardtofindyourplaceinthisworld.Youwanttomakeyourlifebetter,workhardincountrythatisnotyourown—youmakenewlife,newfriends,findnewlove.Yougettobecomenewperson!Butisneverasimplething,neverwithoutcost.”

Iswallowed,andpushedawayahot,angryimageofSaminhisrailwaycarriage.

“Iknowthis—nobodygetseverything.Andweimmigrantsknowthismorethananyone.Youalwayshaveonefootintwoplaces.Youcanneverbetrulyhappybecause,fromthemomentyouleave,youaretwoselves,andwhereveryouareonehalfofyouisalwayscallingtotheother.Thisisourprice,Louisa.Thisisthecostofwhoweare.”

Shetookasipofherdrinkandthenanother.Thenshetookadeepbreathandshookherhandsoutacrossthetable,asifshewereriddingherselfofexcessemotionthroughherfingertips.Whenshespokeagainhervoicewassteely.“Youmustnottellhim.Youmustnottellhimwhatyouseetoday.”

“Agnes,Idon’tknowhowyoucanhidethisforever.It’stoobig.It—”

Shereachedoutahandandlaiditonmyarm.Herfingersclosedfirmlyaroundmywrist.“Please.Wearefriends,yes?”

Iswallowed.

—Therearenorealsecretsamongtherich,itturnsout.Justpeoplepaidtokeepthem.Iwalkedupthestairs,thisnewburdenunexpectedlyheavyonmyheart.Ithoughtofalittlegirlacrosstheworldwitheverythingbutthethingshewantedmostintheworld,andawomanwhoprobablyfeltthesame,evenifshewasonlyjustbeginningtorealizeit.Ithoughtaboutcallingmysister—theonlypersonleftwithwhomImightbeabletodiscussit—butknewwithoutspeakingtoher

whatherjudgmentwouldbe.ShewouldnomorehaveleftThominanothercountrythanshewouldhavecutoffherownarm.

IthoughtaboutSam,andthebargainswemakewithourselvestojustifyourchoices.IsatinmyroomthateveninguntilmythoughtshunglowandblackaroundmyheadandIpulledoutmyphone.

—Hey,Josh,isthatofferstillopen?Butfor,

like,adrinkdrinkinsteadofcoffee?

Withinthirtysecondstheanswerpingedback.

—Justsaywhereandwhen,Louisa.

I

21

ntheend,ImetJoshatadivebarheknewoffTimesSquare.Itwaslongandnarrow,coveredwithphotographsofboxers,andthefloor

wastackyunderfoot.Iworeblackjeansandscrapedmyhairintoaponytail.NobodylookedupasIsqueezedmywaypastthemiddle-agedmenandautographedpicturesofflyweightsandmenwhoseneckswerewiderthantheirheads.

Hewasseatedatatinytableattheendofthebarinawaxeddarkbrownjacket—thekindyoubuytolooklikeyoubelonginthecountryside.Whenhesawme,hissmilewassuddenandinfectiousandmademebrieflygladthatsomeoneuncomplicatedwaspleasedtoseemeinaworldthatfeltimpossiblymessy.

“Howyoudoing?”Hestoodandlookedlikehewantedtostepforwardandhugmebutsomething—perhapsthecircumstancesofourlastmeeting—preventedhim.Hetouchedmyarminstead.

“I’vehadabitofaday.Abitofaweek,actually.AndIreallyneedafriendlyfacetohaveadrinkortwowith.And—guesswhat—yourswasthefirstnameIpulledoutofmyNewYorkhat!”

“Whatdoyouwant?Bearinmindtheydoaboutsixdrinkshere.”

“Vodkatonic?”

“I’mprettysurethat’soneofthem.”

Hewasbackwithinminuteswithabottledbeerforhimselfandavodkatonicforme.Ihadshedmycoatandwasoddlynervoustobeoppositehim.

“So...thisweekofyours.Whathappened?”

Itookasipofmydrink.ItsattoocomfortablyontopoftheoneI’dhadthatafternoon.“I...Ifoundoutsomethingtoday.It’skindofknockedmesideways.Ican’ttellyouwhatitis,notbecauseIdon’ttrustyoubutbecauseit’ssobigthatitwouldaffectallsortsofpeople.

AndIdon’tknowwhattodoaboutit.”Ishiftedinmyseat.“IthinkIjustneedtokindofswallowitandlearnhownottoletitgivemeindigestion.Doesthatmakesense?SoIwashopingIcouldseeyouandhaveacoupleofdrinksandhearabitaboutyourlife—anicelifewithoutbigdarksecrets,assumingyoudon’thaveanybigdarksecrets—andremindmyselfthatlifecanbenormalandgood,butIreallydon’twantyoutotryandgetmetotalkaboutmine.LikeifIhappentodropmydefensesandstuff.”

Heputhishandonhisheart.“Louisa,Idonotwanttoknowaboutyourthing.I’mjusthappytoseeyou.”

“IhonestlywouldtellyouifIcould.”

“Ihavenocuriosityaboutthisgigantic,life-alteringsecretwhatsoever.You’resafewithme.”Hetookaswigofhisdrinkandsmiledhisperfectsmileatme,andforthefirsttimeintwoweeksIfeltatinybitlesslonely.

—Twohourslaterthebarwasoverheatedandthreedeepwithexhaustedtourists,marvelingatthree-dollarbeers,andregularsrammedalongitsnarrowlength,thevastmajorityfocusedonaboxingmatchontheTVinthecorner.Theycriedoutinunisonataswiftuppercut,androaredasonewhentheirman,hisfacepulpedandmisshapen,wentdownagainsttheropes.Joshwastheonlymaninthewholeplacenotwatchingit,leaningquietlyoverhisbottleofbeer,hiseyesonmine.

I,inturn,wasslumpedoverthetableandtellinghimatlengththestoryofTreenaandEdwinaonChristmasDay,oneofthefewstoriesIcouldlegitimatelyshare,alongwiththatofGranddad’sstroke,thestoryofthegrandpiano(IsaiditwasforAgnes’sniece)and—incaseIsoundedtoogloomy—mylovelyupgradefromNewYorktoLondon.Idon’tknowhowmanyvodkasI’dhadbythen—JoshtendedtomagictheminfrontofmebeforeI’drealizedIwasdonewiththelastone—butsomedistantpartofmewasawarethatmyvoicehadacquiredaweird,sing-songquality,slidingupanddownnotalwaysinaccordancewithwhatIwassaying.

“Well,that’scool,right?”hesaid,whenIreachedDad’sspeechabouthappiness.ImayhavemadeitalittlemoreLifetimemoviethan

ithadbeen.InmylatestversionDadhadbecomeAtticusFinchdeliveringhisclosingspeechtothecourtroominToKillaMockingbird.

“It’sallgood,”Joshwenton.“Hejustwantshertobehappy.WhenmycousinTimcameouttomyunclehedidn’tspeaktohimfor,like,ayear.”

“They’resohappy,”Isaid,stretchingmyarmsacrossthetablejustsoIcouldfeelthecoolbitsonmyskin,tryingtonotmindthatitwassticky.“It’sgreat.Itreallyis.”Itookanothersipofmydrink.“It’slikeyoulookatthembothtogetherandyou’resogladbecause,youknow,Treena’sbeenonherownforamillionyearsbuthonestly...itwouldbereallyniceiftheycouldjustbeateenytinybitlessglowyandradiantaroundeachother.Likenotalwaysgazingintoeachother’seyes.Ordoingthatsecretsmilewhichisallabouttheprivatesharedjokes.Ortheonethatmeanstheyjusthadreally,reallygreatsex.AndmaybeTreenacouldjuststopsendingmepicturesofthetwoofthemtogether.OrtextmessagesabouteveryamazingthingthatEddiesaysordoes.Whichapparentlyisprettymuchanythingshesaysordoes.”

“Ah,c’mon.They’renewlyinlove,right?Peopledothatstuff.”

“Ineverdid.Didyoudothatstuff?Seriously,Ihaveneversentanyonepicturesofmekissingsomeone.IfI’dsentapictureofmesnugglingwithaboyfriendtoTreenashewouldhavereactedlikeI’dsentheradickpic.Imean,thisisthewomanwhofoundalldisplaysofemotiondisgusting.”

“Thenit’sthefirsttimeshe’sbeeninlove.Andshe’llbedelightedtogetthenextpictureyousendherofyoubeingnauseatinglyhappywithyourboyfriend.”Helookedlikehewaslaughingatme.“Maybenotthedickpic.”

“YouthinkI’materribleperson.”

“Idon’tthinkyou’reaterribleperson.Justafairly...refreshedone.”

Igroaned.“Iknow.I’materribleperson.I’mnotaskingthemnottobehappy,justtobeateenybitsensitivetothoseofuswhomightnotbe...justatthis...”I’drunoutofwords.

Joshhadsettledbackinhischairandwasnowwatchingme.

“Ex-boyfriend,”Isaid,myvoiceslurringslightly.“He’snowanex-boyfriend.”

Heraisedhiseyebrows.“Woah.Quitethecoupleofweeks,then.”

“Oh,man.”Irestedmyforeheadonthetable.“Youhavenoidea.”

Iwasconsciousofasilencefallinggentlybetweenus.IwonderedbrieflyifImightjusttakealittlepowernaprightthere.Itfeltsonice.Thesoundsoftheboxingmatchbrieflyreceded.Myforeheadwasonlyalittlebitwet.AndthenIfelthishandonmine.“Okay,Louisa.Ithinkit’stimewegotyououtofhere.”

Isaidgood-byetoallthenicepeopleonmywayout,high-fivingasmanyasIcould(someseemedtomissmyhand—idiots).Forsomereason,Joshkeptapologizingoutloud.Ithinkmaybehewasbumpingintothemaswewalked.HeputmyjacketonmewhenwegottothedoorandIgotthegigglesbecausehecouldn’tgetmyarmsintomysleeves,andwhenhedid,itwasthewrongwayround,likeastraitjacket.“Igiveup,”hesaideventually.“Justwearitlikethat.”Iheardsomeoneshout,“Takealittlewaterwithit,lady.”

“Iamalady!”Iexclaimed.“AnEnglishlady!IamLouisaClarktheFirst,aren’tI,Joshua?”Iturnedtofacethemandair-punched.Iwasleaningagainstthewallofphotographsandbroughtafewclatteringdownontopofme.

“We’regoing,we’regoing,”Joshsaid,raisinghishandstowardthebarman.Someonestartedshouting.Hewasstillapologizingtoeveryone.Itoldhimitwasn’tgoodtoapologize—Willhadtaughtmethat.Youhadtoholdyourheadup.

Andsuddenlywewereoutinthebriskcoldair.Then,beforeIknewit,ItrippedonsomethingandsuddenlyIwasontheicypavement,mykneessmackingontothehardconcrete.Iswore.

“Oh,boy,”saidJosh,whohadhisarmfirmlyroundmywaistandwashaulingmeupright.“Ithinkweneedtogetyousomecoffee.”

Hesmelledsonice.HesmelledlikeWillhad—expensive,likethemen’ssectionofaposhdepartmentstore.Iputmynoseagainsthisneckandinhaledaswestaggeredalongthepavement.“Yousmelllovely.”

“Thankyouverymuch.”

“Veryexpensive.”

“Goodtoknow.”

“Imightlickyou.”

“Ifitmakesyoufeelbetter.”

Ilickedhim.Hisaftershavedidn’ttasteasniceasitsmelledbutitwaskindofnicetolicksomeone.“Itdoesmakemefeelbetter,”Isaid,withsomesurprise.“Itreallydoes!”

“Oooh-kay.Here’sthebestspottogetacab.”Hemaneuveredhimselfsothathewasfacingmeandputhishandsonmyshoulders.AroundusTimesSquarewasblindinganddizzying,aglitteringneoncircus,itsleviathanimagesloomingdownatmewithimpossiblebrightness.Iturnedslowly,gazingupatthelightsandfeelinglikeImightfallover.Iwentroundandroundwhiletheyblurred,thenstaggeredslightly.IfeltJoshcatchme.

“Icanputyouinacabhome,becauseIthinkyoumightneedtosleepthisoff.Orwecanwalktomineandgetsomecoffeedownyou.Yourchoice.”Itwasafteroneinthemorningyethehadtoshouttobeheardoverthenoiseofthepeoplearoundus.Hewassohandsomeinhisshirtandjacket.Socleancutandcrisp-looking.Ilikedhimsomuch.Iturnedinhisarmsandblinkedathim.Itwouldhavebeenhelpfulifhe’dstoppedswaying.

“That’sverykindofyou,”hesaid.

“DidIsayallthatoutloud?”

“Yup.”

“Sorry.Butyoureallyare.Terrificallyhandsome.LikeAmericanhandsome.Likeanactualmoviestar.Josh?”

“Yeah?”

“IthinkImightsitdown.Myheadhasgonekindoffuzzy.”IwashalfwaytothegroundwhenIfelthimsweepmeupagain.

“Andtherewego.”

“Ireallywanttotellyouthething.ButIcan’ttellyouthething.”

“Thendon’ttellmethething.”

“You’dunderstand.Iknowyouwould.Youknow...youlooksolikesomeoneIloved.Reallyloved.Didyouknowthat?Youlookjustsolikehim.”

“That’s...nicetoknow.”

“Itisnice.Hewasterrificallyhandsome.Justlikeyou.Movie-starhandsome...DidIsaythatalready?Hedied.DidItellyouhedied?”

“I’msorryforyourloss.ButIthinkweneedtogetyououtofhere.”Hewalkedmedowntwoblocks,hailedacab,and,withsomeeffort,helpedmein.Ifoughtmywayuprightonthebackseatandheldontohissleeve.Hewashalfin,halfoutofthetaxidoor.

“Whereto,lady?”Thedriverlookedbehindhim.

IlookedatJosh.“Canyoustaywithme?”

“Sure.Wherearewegoing?”

Isawthewaryglanceofthedriverinhisrearviewmirror.Atelevisionblaredfromthebackofhisseatandatelevisionstudioaudienceburstintoapplause.Outside,everyonestartedtohonktheirhornsatonce.Thelightsweretoobright.NewYorkwassuddenlytooloud,tooeverything.“Idon’tknow.Yourhouse,”Isaid.“Ican’tgoback.Notyet.”Ilookedathimandfeltsuddenlytearful.“DoyouknowIhavetwolegsintwoplaces?”

Hetiltedhisheadtowardme.Hisfacewaskind.“LouisaClark,thatdoesn’tsurpriseme.”

Iletmyheadrestonhisshoulderandfelthisarmslidegentlyaroundme.

—Iwoketothesoundofaphoneringing;shrillandinsistent.Theblessedreliefofitstopping,thenaman’svoicemurmuring.Thewelcomebittersmellofcoffee.Ishifted,tryingtoliftmyheadfromthepillow.TheresultingpainthroughmytempleswassointenseandunforgivingthatIletoutalittleanimalsound,likeadogwhosetailhadjustbeentrappedinadoor.Iclosedmyeyes,tookabreath,thenopenedthemagain.

Thiswasnotmybed.

ItwasstillnotmybedwhenIopenedthemathirdtime.

Thisindisputablefactwasenoughtopromptmetoattempttoliftmyheadagain,thistimeignoringthethumpingpainlongenoughtofocus.Nope,thiswasdefinitelynotmybed.Thiswasalsonotmybedroom.Infact,itwasnobedroomIhadeverseenbefore.Itookintheclothes—men’sclothes—foldedneatlyoverthebackofachair,thetelevisioninthecorner,thedeskandthewardrobe,andbecameawareofthevoicegrowingnearer.AndthenthedooropenedandJoshwalkedin,fullysuited,holdingamugwithonehand,hisphonepressedtohisearwiththeother.Hecaughtmyeye,raisedaneyebrow,andplacedthemugonthebedsidetable,stilltalking.

“Yeah,there’sbeenaproblemwiththesubway.I’mgoingtograbacabandI’llbethereintwenty...Sure.Noproblem...No,she’sonthatalready.”

Ipushedmyselfupright,discoveringasIdidsothatIwasinaman’sT-shirt.Theramificationsofthistookacoupleofminutestoseepin,andIfelttheblushstartfromsomewherearoundmychest.

“No,wealreadytalkedaboutthatyesterday.He’sgotallthepaperworkreadytogo.”

Heturnedaway,andIwriggledbackdown,sothattheduvetwasaroundmyneck.Iwaswearingknickers.Thatwassomething.

“Yeah.It’llbegreat.Yup—lunchsoundsgood.”Joshrangoffandshovedhisphoneintohispocket.“Goodmorning!IwasjustgoingtogetyouasideorderofAdvil.Wantmetofindyouacouple?I’mafraidIhavetogo.”

“Go?”Mymouthtastedrank,asdryasifithadbeenlightlypowdered.Iopenedandcloseditacoupleoftimes,notingitmadeafaintlydisgustingsmackingsound.

“Towork.It’sFriday?”

“Oh,God.Whattimeisit?”

“Aquarterofseven.Ihavetoshoot.Alreadyrunninglate.Willyoubeokaylettingyourselfout?”Herummagedinadrawerandwithdrewablisterpack,whichheplacedbesideme.“There.Thatshouldhelp.”

Ipushedmyhairbackfrommyface.Itwasslightlydampwithsweatandastonishinglymatted.“What—whathappened?”

“Wecantalkaboutitlater.Drinkyourcoffee.”

Itookasipobediently.Itwasstrongandrestorative.IsuspectedIwouldneedanothersix.“WhyamIinyourT-shirt?”

Hegrinned.“Thatwouldbethedance.”

“Thedance?”Mystomachlurched.

Hestoopedandkissedmycheek.Hesmelledofsoapandcleanlinessandcitrusandallthingswholesome.IwasawarethatIwasgivingoffhotwavesofstalesweatandalcoholandshame.“Itwasafunnight.Hey—justmakesureyougivethedoorareallygoodslamwhenyouleave,okay?Sometimesitdoesn’tcatchproperly.I’llcallyoulater.”

Hesalutedfromthedoorway,turnedandwasgone,pattinghispocketsasiftoreassurehimselfofsomethingasheleft.

“Holdon—whereamI?”Iyelledaminutelater,buthewasalreadygone.

—IwasinSoHo,itturnedout.OnegiantangrytrafficjamawayfromwhereIwasmeanttobe.IcaughtthesubwayfromSpringStreettoFifty-ninthStreet,tryingnottosweatgentlyintoyesterday’scrumpledshirtandgratefulforthesmallmercythatIwasnotinmyusualglitteryeveningclothes.Ihadneverreallyunderstoodtheterm“grubby”untilthatmorning.Icouldrememberalmostnothingfromthepreviousevening.AndwhatIdidremembercametomeinunpleasanthotflashbacks.

MesittingdowninthemiddleofTimesSquare.

MelickingJosh’sneck.Ihadactuallylickedhisneck.

Whatwasthataboutdancing?

IfIhadn’tbeenhangingontothesubwaypolefordearlife,Iwouldhaveheldmyheadinmyhands.InsteadIclosedmyeyes,lurchedmywaythroughthestations,shiftedtoavoidthebackpacksandthegrumpycommuterslockedintotheirearphones,andtriednottothrowup.

Justgetthroughtoday,Itoldmyself.Iflifehadtaughtmeonething,itwasthattheanswerswouldcomesoonenough.

—IwasjustopeningthedoortomyroomwhenMr.Gopnikappeared.Hewasstilldressedinhisworkoutgear—unusualforhimafterseven—andliftedahandwhenhesawme,asifhehadbeentryingtolocatemeforsometime.“Ah.Louisa.”

“I’msorryI—”

“I’dliketotalktoyouinmystudy.Now.”

Ofcourseyouwould,Ithought.Ofcourse.Heturnedandwalkedbackupthecorridor.Icastananguishedlookatmyroom,whichheldmycleanclothes,deodorant,andtoothpaste.Ithoughtlonginglyaboutasecondcoffee.ButMr.Gopnikwasnotthekindofmanyoukeptwaiting.

Iglanceddownatmyphone,thenjoggedafterhim.

—Iwalkedintothestudytofindhimalreadyseated.“I’mreallysorryIwastenminuteslate.I’mnotnormallylate.Ijusthadto...”

Mr.Gopnikwasbehindhisdesk,hisexpressionunreadable.Agneswasontheupholsteredchairbythecoffeetableinherworkoutgear.Neitherofthemaskedmetositdown.Somethingintheatmospheremademefeelsuddenlyhorriblysober.

“Is...iseverythingokay?”

“I’mhopingyoucantellme.Ihadacallfrommypersonalaccountmanagerthismorning.”

“Yourwhat?”

“Themanwhohandlesmybankingoperations.Iwonderedifyoucouldexplainthis.”

Hepushedapieceofpapertowardme.Itwasabankstatement,withthetotalsblackedout.Myeyesightwasalittleblurrybutjustone

thingwasvisible,atrailoffigures,fivehundreddollarsadayunder“cashwithdrawals.”

ItwasthenthatInoticedAgnes’sexpression.Shewasstaringfixedlyatherhands,hermouthcompressedintoathinline.Hergazeflickeredtowardmeandawayagain.Istood,afinetrickleofsweatrunningdownmyback.

“Hetoldmesomethingveryinteresting.Apparentlyintherun-uptoChristmasaconsiderablesumofmoneywasremovedfromourjointbankaccount.ItwasremoveddaybydayfromanearbyATMinamountsthatwere—perhaps—designednottobenoticed.Hepickeditupbecausetheyhaveanti-fraudsoftwaredesignedtoidentifystrangepatternsofuseinanyofourbankcardsandthiswasflaggedupasunusual.ObviouslythiswasalittleconcerningsoIaskedAgnesandshetoldmeitwasn’tanythingtodowithher.SoIaskedAshoktoprovidetheCCTVforthedaysconcernedandmysecuritypeoplematcheditupwiththetimesofthewithdrawalsanditturnsout,Louisa,”herehelookedatmedirectly,“theonlypersongoinginandoutofthebuildingatthosetimeswasyou.”

Myeyeswidened.

“Now,IcouldgotothebanksconcernedandaskthemtoprovidetheCCTVfromtheirATMsatthetimestheamountwastaken,butI’drathernotputthemtothattrouble.SoreallyIwantedtoknowwhetheryoucouldexplainwhatwasgoingonhere.Andwhyalmosttenthousanddollarswasremovedfromourjointaccount.”

IlookedatAgnesbutshewasstilllookingawayfromme.

Mymouthhaddriedevenmorethanithadthatmorning.

“Ihadtodosome...Christmasshopping.ForAgnes.”

“Youhaveacardtodothat.Whichclearlyshowswhichshopsyou’vebeeninandyouprovidethereceiptsforallpurchases.Which,uptonow,IgatherfromMichael,youhavedone.Butcash...cashisratherlesstransparent.Doyouhavethereceiptsforthisshopping?”

“No.”

“Andcanyoutellmewhatyoubought?”

“I...No.”

“Sowhathashappenedtothemoney,Louisa?”

Icouldn’tspeak.Iswallowed.AndthenIsaid,“Idon’tknow.”

“Youdon’tknow?”

“I—Ididn’tstealanything.”Ifeltthecolorrisingtomycheeks.

“SoAgnesislying?”

“No.”

“Louisa—AgnesknowsthatIwouldgiveheranythingshewanted.Tobefrank,shecouldspendtentimesthatinadayandIwouldn’tbataneyelid.SoshehasnoreasontosneakaroundwithdrawingcashsumsfromthenearestATM.SoI’maskingyouagain,whathappenedtothemoney?”

Ifeltflushed,panicky.AndthenAgneslookedupatme.Herfacewasasilentplea.

“Louisa?”

“PerhapsI—Imighthavetakenit.”

“Youmighthavetakenit?”

“Forshopping.Notforme.Youcancheckmyroom.Youcancheckmybankaccount.”

“Youspenttenthousanddollarson‘shopping.’Shoppingforwhat?”

“Just...bitsandpieces.”

Heloweredhisheadbriefly,asifheweretryingtocontrolhistemper.

“Bitsandpieces,”herepeatedslowly.“Louisa,yourealizeyourbeinginthishouseholdisamatteroftrust.”

“Ido,Mr.Gopnik.AndItakethatveryseriously.”

“Youhaveaccesstothemostinnerworkingsofthishousehold.Youhavekeys,creditcards,intimateknowledgeofourroutines.Youarewellrewardedforthat—becauseweunderstandthisisapositionofresponsibilityandwerelyonyoutonotbetraythatresponsibility.”

“Mr.Gopnik.Ilovethisjob.Iwouldn’t...”IcastananguishedlookatAgnes,butshewasstillstaringdown.Oneofherhands,Isaw,washoldingtheother,herfingernaildiggingdeepintothefleshoftheballofherthumb.

“Youreallycan’texplainwhathashappenedtothatmoney?”

“I—Ididn’tstealit.”

Helookedatmeintentlyforalongmoment,asifwaitingforsomething.Whenitdidn’tcomehisexpressionhardened.“Thisisdisappointing,Louisa.IknowAgnesisveryfondofyouandfeelsyouhavebeenveryhelpfultoher.ButIcannothavesomeoneinmyhouseholdwhomIdonottrust.”

“Leonard—”Agnesbegan,butheheldupahand.

“No,darling.I’vebeenthroughthisbefore.I’msorry,Louisa,butyouremploymentisterminatedwithimmediateeffect.”

“Wh-what?”

“Youwillbegivenanhourtoclearyourroom.YouwillleaveaforwardingaddresswithMichaelandhewillbeintouchregardingwhateverisowedtoyou.Iwouldtakethisopportunitytoremindyouofthenondisclosureelementofyourcontract.Thedetailsofthisconversationwillgonofurther.Ihopeyoucanseethatthisisforyourbenefitasmuchasours.”

ThecolorhaddrainedfromAgnes’sface.“No,Leonard.Youcan’tdothis.”

“Iamnotdiscussingthisfurther.Ihavetogotowork.Louisa,yourhourstartsnow.”

Hestood.Hewaswaitingformetoleavetheroom.

Iemergedfromthestudywithmyheadspinning.MichaelwaswaitingformeandittookmeacoupleofsecondstograspthathewasnottheretoseeifIwasokaybuttoescortmetomyroom.ThatfromnowonIreallywasnottrustedinthishouse.

Iwalkedsilentlydownthecorridor,vaguelyconsciousofIlaria’sstunnedfaceatthekitchendoor,thesoundofimpassionedconversationsomewhereattheotherendoftheapartment.Icouldn’tseeNathananywhere.AsMichaelstoodinthedoorwayIpulledmycasefromundermybedandbegantopack,messily,chaotically,pullingoutdrawers,haulingthingsinasquicklyasIcould,consciousthatIwasworkingagainstsomecapriciousclock.Mybrainhummed—shockandoutragetemperedbytheneednottoforgetanything:HadIleftlaundryinthelaundryroom?Whereweremytrainers?Andthen,

twentyminuteslater,Iwasdone.Allmybelongingswerepackedintoasuitcase,acarryall,andalargecheckedshoppingbag.

“Here,I’lltakethat,”saidMichael,reachingformywheeliecaseashesawmestrugglingtogetthethreebagstothebedroomdoor.Ittookmeasecondtorealizethiswaslessanactofkindnessthanefficiency.

“iPad?”hesaid.“Workphone?Creditcard.”Ihandedthemover,alongwiththedoorkeys,andheputthemintohispocket.

Iwalkedalongthehallway,stillstrugglingtobelievethiswashappening.Ilariawasstandinginthekitchendoorway,herapronon,herplumphandspressedtogether.AsIpassedher,Iglancedsideways,expectinghertocursemeinSpanish,ortogivemethekindofwitheringlookthatwomenofheragereserveforallegedthieves.Butinsteadshesteppedforwardandsilentlytouchedmyhand.Michaelturnedaway,asifhehadn’tseen.Andthenwewereatthefrontdoor.

Hepassedmethehandleofmycase.

“Good-bye,Louisa,”hesaid,hisexpressionunreadable.“Goodluck.”

Isteppedout.Andthehugemahoganydoorclosedfirmlybehindme.

—Isatinthedinerfortwohours.Iwasinshock.Icouldn’tcry.Icouldn’trage.Ijustfeltparalyzed.IthoughtatfirstthatAgneswouldsortthisout.Shewouldfindawaytoconveytoherhusbandthathewaswrong.Wewerefriends,afterall.SoIsatandwaitedforMichaeltoappear,lookingslightlyawkward,readytopullmycasesbacktotheLavery.Igazedatmycellphone,waitingforatextmessage—Louisa,therehasbeenterriblemisunderstanding.Butnonecame.

WhenIrealizeditprobablywasn’tgoingtocome,IthoughtaboutsimplyheadingbacktotheUK,buttodosowouldwreakhavoconTreena’slife—thelastthingsheandThomneededwasmeturfingthemoutoftheflat.Icouldn’treturntoMumandDad’s—itwasn’tjustthesoul-destroyingthoughtofmovingbacktoStortfoldbutIthoughtImightdieifIhadtogohomeasafailuretwice,thefirsttimebroken

afterdrunkenlyfallingfromabuilding,thesecondfiredfromthejobIhadloved.

And,ofcourse,IcouldnolongerstaywithSam.

IcradledmycoffeecupwithfingersthatstilltrembledandsawthatIhadeffectivelyboxedmyselfoutofmyownlife.IconsideredcallingJosh,butIdidn’tfeelitwasappropriatetoaskhimifIcouldmovein,givenIwasn’tsurewe’devenhadafirstdate.

AndifIdidfindaccommodation,whatwasIgoingtodo?Ihadnojob.Ididn’tknowifMr.Gopnikcouldrevokemyworkpermit.PresumablythatonlyexistedaslongasIworkedforhim.

Worstofall,Iwashauntedbythewayhehadlookedatme,hisexpressionofutterdisappointmentandfaintcontemptwhenIhadfailedtocomeupwithasatisfactoryanswer.Hisquietapprovalhadbeenoneofthemanysmallsatisfactionsofmylifethere—thatamanofsuchstaturehadthoughtIwasdoingagoodjobhadboostedmyconfidence,hadleftmefeelingcapable,professional,inawayIhadn’tsincelookingafterWill.Iwantedsobadlytoexplainmyselftohim,toregainhisgoodwill,buthowcouldI?IsawAgnes’sface,eyeswide,pleading.Shewouldcall,wouldn’tshe?Whyhadn’tshecalled?

“Youwantarefill,sweetheart?”Ilookedupatthemiddle-agedwaitresswithtangerine-coloredhairholdingthecoffeejug.Sheeyedmybelongingslikeshehadseenthisscenarioamilliontimesbefore.“Justgothere?”

“Notexactly.”Itriedtosmilebutitcameoutasakindofgrimace.

Shepouredthecoffeeandstooped,loweringhervoice.“MycousinrunsahostelinBensonhurstifyou’restuckforsomewheretostay.Therearecardsoverbythetill.Itain’tpretty,butit’scheapandit’sclean.Callsoonerratherthanlater,youknowwhatI’msaying?Placesfillup.”Sheputahandbrieflyonmyshoulderandwalkedontothenextcustomer.

Thatsmallactofkindnessalmostdiditformycomposure.ForthefirsttimeIfeltoverwhelmed,crushedbytheknowledgethatIwasaloneinacitythatnolongerwelcomedme.Ididn’tknowwhatIwassupposedtodonowthatmybridgeswereapparentlypushingoutthickblacksmokeontwocontinents.Itriedtopicturemyselfexplainingtomyparentswhathadhappened,butfoundmyselfonceagainbuttingupagainstthevastwallofAgnes’ssecret.Couldyoutellevenone

personwithoutthetruthslowlycreepingout?MyparentswouldbesooutragedonmybehalfthatIcouldn’tputitpastDadnottoringMr.Gopnikjusttosethimstraightabouthisdeceitfulwife.AndwhatifAgnesdeniedeverything?IthoughtaboutNathan’swords—ultimatelywewerestaff,notfriends.WhatifsheliedandsaidIhadstolenthemoney?Wouldn’tthatmakethingsworse?

ForperhapsthefirsttimesinceIhadarrivedinNewYorkIwishedIhadn’tcome.Iwasstillinlastnight’sclothes,staleandcrumpled,whichmademefeelevenworse.Isniffedquietlyandwipedmynosewithapapernapkinwhilestaringatthemuginfrontofme.Outside,lifeinManhattancontinued,oblivious,fast-moving,ignoringthedetritusthatpiledupinthegutter.WhatdoIdonow,Will?Ithought,ahugelumprisinginmythroat.

Asifoncue,myphonepinged.

Whatthebloodyhellisgoingon?wroteNathan.Callme,Clark.

And,despitemyself,Ismiled.

—NathansaidtherewasnobloodywayIwasgoingtostayinabloodyhostelinbloodyGodknewwhere,withtherapistsandthedrug-dealersandGodknewwhat.IwastowaituntilseventhirtywhenthebloodyGopnikshadleftforbloodydinnerandIwastomeethimattheserviceentranceandwewouldworkoutwhatthehelltodonext.Therewasquitealotofswearingforthreetextmessages.

WhenIarrivedhisangerwasuncharacteristicallyundimmed.

“Idon’tgetit.It’sliketheyjustghostedyou.LikearuddyMafiosicodeofsilence.Michaelwouldn’ttellmeanythingotherthanitwasa‘matterofdishonesty.’ItoldhimI’dnevermetamorehonestpersoninmybloodylifeandtheyallneededtheirheadslookingat.Whatthehellhappened?”

Hehadshepherdedmeintohisroomofftheservicecorridorandclosedthedoorbehindus.ItwassucharelieftoseehimitwasallIcoulddonottohughim.Ididn’t,though.IthoughtI’dprobablyclutchedenoughmeninthelasttwenty-fourhours.

“ForChrissakes.People.Youwantabeer?”

“Sure.”

Hecrackedopentwocansandhandedonetome,sittingdownonhiseasychair.Iperchedonthebedandtookasip.

“So...well?”

Ipulledaface.“Ican’ttellyou,Nathan.”

Hiseyebrowsshotsomewheretowardtheceiling.“Youtoo?Oh,mate.Don’ttellmeyou—”

“Ofcoursenot.Iwouldn’tstealateabagfromtheGopniks.ButifItoldyouwhatreallyhappeneditwould...itwouldbedisastrous.Forotherpeopleinthehouse...It’scomplicated.”

Hefrowned.“What?Areyousayingyoutooktheblameforsomethingyoudidn’tdo?”

“Sortof.”

Nathanrestedhiselbowsonhisknees,shakinghishead.“Thisisn’tright.”

“Iknow.”

“Someone’sgottosaysomething.Youknowhewasthinkingaboutcallingthecops?”

Myjawmighthavedropped.

“Yeah.Shepersuadedhimnotto,butMichaelsaidhewasmadenoughtodoit.SomethingaboutanATM?”

“Ididn’tdoit,Nathan.”

“Iknowthat,Clark.You’dmakeacrapcriminal.WorstpokerfaceIeversaw.”Hetookaswigofhisbeer.“Dammit.Youknow,Ilovemyjob.Ilikeworkingforthesefamilies.IlikeOldManGopnik.Buteverynowandthenit’sliketheyremindyou,youknow?You’rebasicallyjustexpendable.Doesn’tmatterhowmuchtheysayyou’retheirmateandhowgreatyouare,howmuchtheydependonyou,yada-yada-yada,themomenttheydon’tneedyouanymoreoryou’vedonesomethingtheydon’tlike,bang.You’reoutthedoor.Fairnessdoesn’tevencomeintoit.”

ItwasthelongestthingI’dheardNathansaysinceIgottoNewYork.

“Ihatethis,Lou.Evenknowingsolittleit’scleartomeyou’rebeingshafted.Anditstinks.”

“It’scomplicated.”

“Complicated?”Hegazedatmesteadily,shookhisheadagain,andtookalongswigofhisbeer.“Mate,you’reabetterpersonthanIam.”

—Weweregoingtoordertakeout,butjustasNathanwasclimbingintohisjackettoheadofftotheChineserestauranttherewasaknockatthedoor.Welookedateachotherinhorrorandhemotionedmeintothebathroom.Iskiddedinandclosedthedoorsilentlybehindme.ButasIstoodwedgedupagainsthistowelrackIheardafamiliarvoice.

“Clark,it’sokay.It’sIlaria,”saidNathan,amomentlater.

Shewasinherapron,holdingapotwithalidonit.“Foryou.Ihearyoutalking.”Sheheldthepottowardme.“Imadeitforyou.Youneedtoeat.It’sthechickenyoulike,withthepeppersauce.”

“Aw,mate.”NathanclappedIlariaontheback.Shestumbledforward,recovered,andplacedthepotcarefullyonNathan’sdesk.

“Youmadethisforme?”

IlariawasproddingNathaninthechest.“Iknowshedoesnotdothisthingtheysay.Iknowplenty.Plentythatgoesonthisapartment.”Shetappedhernose.“Oh,yes.”

Ibrieflyliftedthelid—delicioussmellsseepedout.IsuddenlyrememberedIhadbarelyeatenallday.“Thanks,Ilaria.Idon’tknowwhattosay.”

“Whereyougonow?”

“Ihaven’tgotaclue.”

“Well.You’renotstayinginahostelinbloodyBensonhurst,”Nathansaid.“Youcanstayhereforanightortwotosortyourselfout.I’lllockmydoor.Youwon’tsayanything,willyou,Ilaria?”

Shepulledanincredulousface,likeitwasstupidofhimeventoask.

“She’sbeencursingyourwomanoutallafternoonlikeyouwouldn’tbelieve.Saysshesoldyoudowntheriver.Shemadethemafishthingfordinnerthatsheknowstheybothhate.Itellyou,mate,I’velearnedawholenewbunchofswearwordstoday.”

Ilariamutteredsomethingunderherbreath.Icouldonlymakeoutthewordputa.

—TheeasychairwastoosmallforNathantosleepinandhewastooold-fashionedtocountenancemesleepinginitsoweagreedtosharehisdoublebedwithanarrangementofcushionsdownthemiddletoprotectusfromaccidentallytouchingeachotherinthenight.I’mnotsurewhowasmoreillatease.Nathanmadeagreatshowofshepherdingmeintothebathroomfirst,makingsureI’dlockedthedoor,andwaitingformetogetintobedbeforeheemergedfromhisablutions.HewasinaT-shirtandstripedcottonpajamabottoms,andeventhenIdidn’tknowwheretolook.

“Bitweird,eh?”hesaid,climbingin.

“Um,yes.”Idon’tknowifitwasshockorexhaustionorjustthesurrealturnofeventsbutIstartedtogiggle.Andthenthegiggleturnedintotears.AndbeforeIknewitIwassobbing,hunchedoverinastrangebed,myheadinmyhands.

“Aw,mate.”Nathanplainlyfeltawkwardhuggingmewhilewewereactuallyinbedtogether.Hekeptpattingmyshoulderandleaningintowardme.“It’llbeallright.”

“Howcanitbe?I’velostmyjobandmyplacetoliveandthemanIloved.I’llhavenoreferences,becauseMr.GopnikthinksI’mathief,andIdon’tevenknowwhichcountryIbelongin.”Iwipedmynoseonmysleeve.“I’vemessedupeverythingagainandIdon’tknowwhyIevenbothertryingtobesomethingmorethanIwasbecauseeverytimeIdoitendsindisaster.”

“You’rejusttired.It’llbeallright.Itwill.”

“LikeitwaswithWill?”

“Aw...thatwascompletelydifferent.Comeon...”Nathanhuggedmethen,pullingmeintohisshoulder,hisbigarmaroundme.Icried

untilIcouldn’tcryanymoreandthen,justashesaid,exhaustedbytheday’s—andnight’s—events,Imusthavefallenasleep.

—IwokeeighthourslatertofindmyselfaloneinNathan’sroom.IttookmeacoupleofminutestoworkoutwhereIwasandthenthepreviousday’seventshitme.Ilayundertheduvetforawhile,curledupinafetalball,wonderingidlyifIcouldjuststaythereforayearortwountilmylifehadsomehowsorteditselfout.

—Icheckedmyphone:twomissedcallsandaseriesofmessagesfromJoshthatseemedtohavecomethroughinaclumplatethepreviousevening.

—Hey,Louisa—hopeyou’refeelingokay.Kept

thinkingaboutyourdanceandburstingout

laughingatwork!Whatanight!Jx

—Youokay?Justcheckingyoudidmakeithome

anddidn’ttakeanothernapinTimesSquare;-)

Jx

—Okay.Soit’snowgonetenthirty.I’mgoing

toguessyouheadedtobedtosleepitoff.

HopeIdidn’toffendyou.Iwasjustkidding

around.Givemeacallx

Thatnight,withitsboxingmatchandtheglitteringlightsofTimesSquare,alreadyseemedalifetimeago.Iclimbedoutofbed,showeredanddressed,settingmybelongingsinthecornerofthebathroom.ItlimitedthespacesomewhatbutIthoughtitwassafer,justincaseastrayGopnikhappenedtopokeaheadaroundNathan’sdoor.

ItextedhimtoaskwhenitwouldbesafeformetogooutandhesentbackNOW.Bothinstudy.Islippedoutoftheapartmentanddowntheserviceentrance,walkingswiftlypastAshokwithmyheadlow.HewastalkingtoadeliverymanbutIsawhisheadspinandheardhis“Hey!Louisa!”butIhadalreadygone.

Manhattanwasfrozenandgray,oneofthosebleakdayswheniceparticlesseemtohangintheair,thechillpiercesyourbones,andonlyeyes,occasionallynoses,arevisible.Iwalkedwithmyheaddownandmyhatrammedlowovermyhead,notsurewhereIwasgoing.Iendedupbackatthediner,reasoningthateverythinglookedbetterafterbreakfast.Isatinaboothbymyselfandlookedoutatthecommuterswithsomewheretogoandforceddownamuffin,becauseitwasthecheapest,mostfillingthingonthemenu,tryingtoignorethefactthatitwasclaggyandtastelessinmymouth.

Atninefortyatextarrived.Michael.Myheartleaped.

Hi,Louisa.Mr.Gopnikwillpayyoutotheend

ofthemonthinlieuofnotice.Allyour

healthcarebenefitsceaseatthatpoint.Your

greencardisunaffected.I’msureyou

understandthisisobviouslybeyondwhathewas

requiredtodo,giventheviolationofyour

contract,butAgnesintervenedonyourbehalf.

Best,Michael

“Niceofher,”Imuttered.Thankyouforlettingmeknow,Ityped.Hedidn’trespondfurther.

Andthenmyphonepingedagain.

—Okay,Louisa.NowI’mworriedIdiddo

somethingtoupsetyou.Ormaybeyougotlost

headedbacktoCentralPark?Pleasegivemea

call.JX

—ImetJoshnearhisoffice,oneofthosebuildingsinMidtownthataresotallthatifyoustandonthesidewalkandlookupalittlepartofyourbrainsuggestsyoushouldprobablytoppleover.Hecamestridingtowardme,asoftgrayscarfwrappedaroundhisneck.AsIclimbedoffthesmallwallIhadbeensittingonhewalkedstraightupandgavemeahug.

“Ican’tbelievethis.C’mon.Ah,boy,you’refreezing.Let’sgograbsomethingwarmforyoutoeat.”

Wesatinasteamy,cacophonoustacobartwoblocksawaywhileaconstantstreamofofficeworkersfiledthroughandserversbarkedorders.Itoldhim,asIhadNathan,thebarebonesofthestory.“Ican’treallysayanymore,justthatIdidn’tstealanything.Iwouldn’t.I’veneverstolenanything.Well,apartfromoncewhenIwaseight.Mumstillbringsitupoccasionally,ifsheneedsanexampleofhowInearlyendeduponapathtoalifeofcrime.”Itriedtosmile.

Hefrowned.“Sodoesthismeanyou’regoingtohavetoleaveNewYork?”

“Idon’treallyknowwhatI’mgoingtodo.ButIcan’timaginetheGopniksaregoingtogivemeareference,andIdon’tknowhowIcansupportmyselfhere.Imean,Idon’thaveajobandManhattanhotelsarealittleoutofmypricerange...”Ihadlookedonlineinthedineratlocalrentalsandnearlyspatoutmycoffee.ThetinyroomIhadfeltsoambivalentaboutwhenIhadfirstarrivedwiththeGopniksturnedouttobeaffordableonlywithanexecutivesalary.Nowonderthatcockroachhadn’twantedtomove.

“Wouldithelpyoutostayatmine?”

Ilookedupfrommytaco.

“Justtemporarily.Itdoesn’thavetomeanawholeboyfriend-girlfriendthing.Ihaveasofabedinthefrontroom.Youprobablydon’tremember.”Hegavemeasmallsmile.IhadforgottenhowAmericansactuallygenuinelyinvitedpeopleintotheirhomes.UnlikeEnglishpeople,whowouldissueaninvitationbutemigrateatshortnoticeifyousaidyouweregoingtotakethemuponit.

“That’sreallykind.But,Josh,itwouldcomplicatethings.IthinkImighthavetogohome,fornowatleast.Justtillanotherpositioncomesup.”

Joshstaredathisplate.“Timingsucks,huh?”

“Yup.”

“Iwaslookingforwardtomoreofthosedances.”

Ipulledaface.“Oh,God.Thedancething.I...DoI...wanttoaskyouwhathappenedtheothernight?”

“Youreallydon’tremember?”

“OnlytheTimesSquarebits.Maybegettingintoataxi.”

Heraisedhiseyebrows.“Oho!Oh,LouisaClark.It’sprettytemptingtostartteasingyouhere,butnothinghappened.Likethat,anyway.Unlesslickingmyneckisreallyyourthing.”

“ButIwasn’twearingmyclotheswhenIwokeup.”

“That’sbecauseyouinsistedonremovingthemduringyourdance.Youannounced,oncewegottomybuilding,thatyouwouldliketoexpressyourlastfewdaysthroughthemediumoffreeformdance,andwhileIfollowedonbehind,yousheditemsofclothingfromthelobbytothelivingroom.”

“Itookmyownclothesoff?”

“Andverycharminglytoo.Therewere...flourishes.”

Ihadasuddenimageofmyselftwirling,acoylegthrustoutfrombehindacurtain,thefeelofcoolwindowglassonmybackside.Ididn’tknowwhethertolaughorcry.Mycheeksafuriousred,Icoveredmyfacewithmyhands.

“Ihavetosay,asadrunkyoumakeahighlyentertainingone.”

“And...whenwegotintoyourbedroom?”

“Oh,bythatstageyouweredowntoyourunderwear.Andthenyousangacrazysong—somethingaboutamonkey,oramolahonkeyorsomething?Thenyoufellasleepveryabruptlyinalittleheaponthefloor.SoIputaT-shirtonyouandputyouinmybed.AndIsleptonthesofabed.”

“I’msosorry.Andthankyou.”

“Mypleasure.”Hesmiled,andhiseyestwinkled.“Mostofmydatesarenothalfthatentertaining.”

Idippedmyheadovermymug.“Youknow,theselastfewdaysI’vefeltlikeI’mpermanentlyabouttwodegreesfromeitherlaughingorcryingandrightnowIslightlywanttodoboth.”

“AreyoustayingatNathan’stonight?”

“Ithinkso.”

“Okay.Well,don’tdoanythinghasty.Letmeputafewcallsinbeforeyoubookthatticket.Seeifthereareanyopeningsanywhere.”

“Youreallythinktheremightbe?”Hewasalwayssoconfident.ItwasoneofthethingsthatmostremindedmeofWill.

“There’salwayssomething.I’llcallyoulater.”

Andthenhekissedme.HediditsocasuallythatIalmostdidn’tregisterwhathewasdoing.Heleanedforwardandkissedmeonthelips,likeitwassomethinghe’ddoneamilliontimesbefore,likeitwasthenaturalendtoallourlunchdates.Andthen,beforeIhadtimetobestartled,heletgoofmyfingersandwoundhisscarfaroundhisneck.“Okay.Igottago.Coupleofbigmeetingsthisafternoon.Keepyourchinup.”Hesmiled,hishigh-wattageperfectsmile,andheadedbacktohisoffice,leavingmeonmyhighplasticstool,mymouthhangingopen.

—Ididn’ttellNathanwhathadhappened.Icheckedinwithhimbytextthatitwasokaytocomehome,andhetoldmetheGopnikswereheadedoutagainatsevensoIshouldprobablyleaveittillaquarterpast.IwalkedinthecoldandsatinthedinerandfinallyreturnedhometofindIlariahadleftmesomesoupinaThermosandtwoofthesoftsconestheycalledbiscuits.NathanwasoutonadatethateveningandgoneinthemorningwhenIwoke.HeleftmeanotetosayhehopedIwasokayandreassuredmethatitwasfineformetostay.Ionlysnoredalittlebit,apparently.

IhadspentmonthswishingIhadmorefreetime.NowthatIhadit,Ifoundthecitywasnotafriendlyplacewithoutmoneytoburn.Ileftthebuildingwhenitwassafetodosoandwalkedthestreetsuntilmytoesgrewtoocold,thenhadacupofteainaStarbucks,stretchingthatoutforacoupleofhoursandusingthefreeWiFitosearchforjobs.Therewasn’tmuchforsomeonewithnoreferences,unlessIwasexperiencedinthefoodindustry.

Ibegantolayerup,nowthatmylifedidnotinvolvemereminutesspentintheopenairbetweenheatedlobbiesandwarmlimousines.Iworeabluefisherman’sjumper,myworkman’sdungarees,heavyboots,andapairoftightsandsocksunderneath.Notelegant,butthatwasnolongermypriority.

AtlunchtimeIheadedforafast-foodjointwheretheburgerswerecheapandnobodynoticedasolitarydinerekingoutabunforanotherhourortwo.Departmentstoreswereadepressingno-no,asInolongerfeltabletospendmoney,althoughthereweregoodLadiesand

WiFi.TwiceIheadeddowntotheVintageClothesEmporium,wherethegirlscommiseratedwithmebutexchangedtheslightlytenselooksofthosewhosuspecttheyaregoingtobeaskedafavor.“Ifyouhearofanyjobsgoing—especiallylikeyours—canyouletmeknow?”Isaid,whenIcouldnolongerbrowsetherails.

“Sweetheart,webarelymakerentorwe’dhaveyouherelikeashot.”Lydiablewasympatheticsmokeringattheceilingandlookedtohersister,whobatteditaway.

“You’llmaketheclothesstink.Look,we’llaskaround,”Angelicasaid.ShesaiditinawaythatmademethinkIwasnotthefirstpersonwhohadasked.

Itrudgedoutoftheshopfeelingdespondent.Ididn’tknowwhattodowithmyself.TherewasnowherequietwhereIcouldjustsitforawhile,nowherethatofferedspacewhereIcouldworkoutwhattodonext.Ifyoudidn’thavemoneyinNewYork,youwerearefugee,unwelcomeanywherefortoolong.Perhaps,Imused,itwastimetoadmitdefeatandbuythatplaneticket.

Andthenithitme.

ItookthesubwayuptoWashingtonHeightsandgotoffashortwalkfromthelibrary.Itfelt,forthefirsttimeindays,likeIwassomewherefamiliar,somewherethatwelcomedme.Thiswouldbemyrefuge,myspringboardtoanewfuture.Iheadedupthestonesteps.OnthefirstfloorIfoundanunoccupiedcomputerterminal.Isatdownheavily,tookabreath,and,forthefirsttimesincetheGopnikdebacle,Iclosedmyeyesandjustletmythoughtssettle.

Ifeltsomelong-heldtensioneaseawayfrommyshouldersandletmyselffloatonthelowmurmurofpeoplearoundme,aworldawayfromthechaosandbustleofoutside.Idon’tknowifitwasjustthejoyofbeingsurroundedbybooks,andquiet,butIfeltlikeanequalhere,inconspicuous,abrain,akeyboard,justanotherpersonsearchingforinformation.

Andthere,forthefirsttime,Ifoundmyselfaskingwhatthehellhadjusthappenedanyway.Agneshadbetrayedme.MymonthswiththeGopnikssuddenlyfeltlikeafeverdream,timeoutoftime,astrange,compactedbluroflimousinesandgildedinteriors,aworldontowhichacurtainhadbeenbrieflydrawnback,thenabruptlyclosedagain.

This,incontrast,wasreal.This,Itoldmyself,waswhereIcouldcomeeachdayuntilIhadworkedoutmystrategy.HereIwouldfindthestepstoforgeanewrouteupward.

Knowledgeispower,Clark.

“Ma’am.”

Iopenedmyeyestofindasecurityguardinfrontofme.Hestoopedsothathewaslookingdirectlyintomyface.“Youcan’tsleepinhere.”

“What?”

“Youcan’tsleepinhere.”

“Iwasn’tsleeping,”Isaidindignantly.“Iwasthinking.”

“Maybethinkwithyoureyesopenthen,huh?Oryougottoleave.”Heturnedaway,murmuringsomethingintoawalkie-talkie.Ittookmeamomenttoregisterwhathehadreallybeensayingtome.Twopeopleatanearbytablelookedupatmeandthenaway.Myfaceflushed.Isawtheawkwardglancesofotherlibraryusersaroundme.Ilookeddownatmyclothes,atmydenimdungareeswiththefleece-linedworkman’sbootsandmywoolenhat.NotquiteBergdorfGoodmanbuthardlyVagrantCity.

“Hey!I’mnothomeless!”Icalledoutathisdepartingback.“Ihaveprotestedonbehalfofthisplace!Mister!IAMNOTHOMELESS!”Twowomenlookedupfromtheirquietconversation,oneraisinganeyebrow.

Andthenitoccurredtome:Iwas.

22

DearMa,

Sorryit’sbeenawhilesinceI’vebeenincontact.We’reworkingroundtheclockonthisChinesedealhere,andI’moftenupallnightcopingwithdifferenttimezones.IfIsoundabitjaded,it’sbecauseIfeelit.Igotthebonus,whichwasnice(amsendingGeorginaachunksoshecanbuythatcarshewants),butoverthelastfewweeksI’verealizedultimatelyI’mnotreallyfeelingithereanymore.

It’snotthatIdon’tlikethelifestyle—andyouknowI’veneverbeenafraidofhardwork.IjustmisssomanythingsaboutEngland.Imissthehumor.ImissSundaylunch.ImisshearingEnglishaccents,atleastthenon-phoneykind(youwouldnotbelievehowmanypeopleendupplummierthanHerMaj).IlikebeingabletopopacrossforweekendsinParisorBarcelonaorRome.Andtheexpatthingisprettytedious.Inthegoldfishbowloffinancehereyoujustenduprunningintothesamefaceswhetheryou’reinNantucketorManhattan.IknowyouthinkIhaveatype,buthereit’salmostcomical:blondhair,sizezero,identikitwardrobes,offtothesamePilatesclasses...

Sohere’sthething:doyourememberRupe?MyoldfriendfromChurchill’s?Hesaysthere’sanopeningathisfirm.Hisbossisflyingoutinacoupleofweeksandwantstomeetme.IfallgoeswellImightbebackinEnglandsoonerthanyouthink.

I’velovedNewYork.Buteverythinghasitstime,andIthinkI’vehadmine.

Love,Willx

OverthenextfewdaysIrangupaboutnumerousjobsonCraigslist,but

thenice-soundingwomanwiththenannyjobputthephonedownonmewhensheheardIhadnoreferences,andthefood-server

jobswerealreadygonebythetimeIcalled.Theshoe-shopassistantpositionwasstillavailablebutthemanIspoketotoldmethewagewouldbetwodollarsanhourlowerthanadvertisedbecauseofmylackofrelevantretailexperience,andIcalculatedthatwouldbarelyleavemeenoughfortravel.Ispentmymorningsinthediner,myafternoonsinthelibraryatWashingtonHeights,whichwasquietandwarmand,apartfromthatonesecurityguard,nobodyeyedmeliketheywerewaitingformetostartsingingdrunkenlyorpeeinacorner.

IwouldmeetJoshforlunchinthenoodlebarbyhisofficeeverycoupleofdays,updatehimonmyjob-huntingactivitiesandtrytoignorethat,nexttohisimmaculatelydressed,go-gettingpresence,Ifeltincreasinglylikeagrubby,sofa-hoppingloser.“You’regoingtobefine,Louisa.Justhanginthere,”hewouldsay,andkissmeasheleft,likesomehowwehadalreadyagreedtobeboyfriendandgirlfriend.Icouldn’tthinkaboutthesignificanceofthisalongwitheverythingelseIhadtothinkaboutsoIjustfiguredthatitwasnotactuallyabadthing,likesomuchinmylifewas,andcouldthereforebeparkedfornow.Besides,healwaystastedpleasinglyminty.

Icouldn’tstayinNathan’sroommuchlonger.ThepreviousmorningIhadwokenwithhisbigarmslungovermeandsomethinghardpressingintothesmallofmyback.Thecushionwallhadapparentlygoneawry,migratingtoachaoticheapatourfeet.Ifroze,attemptedtowrigglediscreetlyoutofhissleepinggraspandhehadopenedhiseyes,lookedatme,thenleapedoutofbedasifhehadbeenstung,apillowclutchedinfrontofhisgroin.“Mate.Ididn’tmean—Iwasn’ttryingto—”

“Noideawhatyou’retalkingabout!”Iinsisted,pullingasweatshirtovermyhead.Icouldn’tlookathimincaseit—

Hehoppedfromfoottofoot.“Iwasjust—Ididn’trealizeI...Ah,mate.Ah,Jeez.”

“It’sfine!Ineededtogetupanyway!”Iboltedandhidinthetinybathroomfortenminutes,mycheeksburning,whileIlistenedtohimcrashingaroundandgettingdressed.HewasgonebeforeIcameout.

Whatwasthepointintryingtostayafterall?IcouldsleepinNathan’sroomforonlyanightortwomoreatmost.ItlookedlikethebestIcouldexpectelsewhere,evenifIwasluckyenoughtofindalternativeemployment,wasaminimum-wagejobandacockroach-andbedbug-infestedflatshare.AtleastifIwenthomeIcouldsleeponmyownsofa.PerhapsTreenandEddiewerebesottedenoughwitheachotherthattheywouldmoveintogetherandthenIcouldhavemyflatback.Itriednottothinkabouthowthatwouldfeel—theemptyroomsandthereturntowhereIhadbeensixmonthsearlier,nottomentiontheproximitytoSam’sworkplace.EverysirenIheardpassingwouldbeabitterreminderofwhatIhadlost.

Ithadstartedtorain,butIslowedasIapproachedthebuildingandglancedupattheGopniks’windowsfromundermywoolenhat,registeringthatthelightswerestillon,eventhoughNathanhadtoldmetheywereoutatsomegalaevent.LifehadmovedonforthemassmoothlyasifIhadneverexisted.PerhapsIlariawasuptherenow,vacuuming,ortuttingatAgnes’smagazinesscatteredoverthesofacushions.TheGopniks—andthiscity—hadsuckedmeinandspatmerightout.Despiteallherfondwords,Agneshaddiscardedmeascomprehensivelyandcompletelyasalizardshedsitsskin—andnotcastabackwardlook.

IfIhadnevercome,Ithoughtangrily,Imightstillhaveahome.Andajob.

IfIhadnevercome,IwouldstillhaveSam.

ThethoughtcausedmymoodtodarkenfurtherandIhunchedmyshouldersandthrustmyfreezinghandsintomypockets,preparedtoheadbacktomytemporaryaccommodation,aroomIhadtosneakinto,andabedIhadtosharewithsomeonewhowasterrifiedoftouchingme.Mylifehadbecomeridiculous,aloopingbadjoke.Irubbedmyeyes,feelingthecoldrainonmyskin.IwouldbookmytickettonightandIwouldgohomeonthenextavailableflight.Iwouldsuckitupandstartagain.Ididn’treallyhaveachoice.

Everythinghasitstime.

ItwasthenthatIspottedDeanMartin.Hewasstandingonthecoveredcarpetthatleduptotheapartmentbuilding,shiveringwithouthiscoatonandglancingaroundasifdecidingwheretogonext.Itookastepcloser,peeringintothelobby,butthenightmanwasbusy

sortingthroughsomepackagesandhadn’tseenhim.Icouldn’tseeMrs.DeWittanywhere.Imovedswiftly,leaneddown,andscoopedhimupbeforehehadtimetograspwhatIwasdoing.Holdinghiswrigglingbodyatarms’length,Iraninandswiftlyupthebackstairstotakehimbacktoher,noddingatthenightmanasIwent.

Itwasavalidreasonforbeingthere,butIemergedfromthestairsontotheGopniks’corridorwithtrepidation:iftheyreturnedunexpectedlyandsawme,wouldMr.GopnikconcludeIwasuptonogood?Wouldheaccusemeoftrespass?DiditcountifIwasontheircorridor?ThesequestionsbuzzedaroundmyheadasDeanMartinwrithedfuriouslyandsnappedatmyarms.

“Mrs.DeWitt?”Icalledsoftly,peeringbehindme.HerfrontdoorwasajaragainandIsteppedinside,liftingmyvoice.“Mrs.DeWitt?Yourdoggotoutagain.”Icouldhearthetelevisionblaringdownthecorridorandtookafewstepsfurtherinside.

“Mrs.DeWitt?”

Whennoanswercame,IclosedthedoorgentlybehindmeandputDeanMartinonthefloor,keennottoholdhimforanylongerthanIhadto.Heimmediatelytrottedofftowardthelivingroom.

“Mrs.DeWitt?”

Isawherlegfirst,stickingoutonthefloorbesidetheuprightchair.IttookmeasecondtoregisterwhatIwasseeing.ThenIranroundtothefrontofthechairandthrewmyselftothefloor,myeartohermouth.“Mrs.DeWitt?”Isaid.“Canyouhearme?”

Shewasbreathing.Butherfacewastheblue-whiteofmarble.Iwonderedbrieflyhowlongshehadbeenthere.

“Mrs.DeWitt?Wakeup!Oh,God...wakeup!”

Iranaroundtheapartment,lookingforthephone.Itwasinthehallway,situatedonatablethatalsohousedseveralphonebooks.Irang911andexplainedwhatIhadfound.

“There’sateamonitsway,ma’am,”camethevoice.“Canyoustaywiththepatientandletthemin?”

“Yes,yes,yes.Butshe’sreallyoldandfrailandshelookslikeshe’soutcold.Pleasecomequickly.”Iranandfetchedaquiltfromherbedroomandplaceditoverher,tryingtorememberwhatSamhadtold

meabouttreatingtheelderlywhohadtakenafall.Oneofthebiggestriskswastheirgrowingchilledfromlyingundiscoveredforhours.Andshefeltsocold,evenwiththefullblastofthebuilding’scentralheating.Isatonthefloorbesideherandtookhericyhandinmine,strokinghergently,tryingtoletherknowsomebodywasthere.Asuddenthoughtcrossedmymind:ifshedied,wouldtheyblameme?Mr.GopnikwouldtestifythatIwasacriminal,afterall.Iwonderedbrieflyaboutwhethertorun,butIcouldn’tleaveher.

Itwasduringthistorturedtrainofthoughtthatsheopenedaneye.

“Mrs.DeWitt?”

Sheblinkedatme,asiftryingtoworkoutwhathadhappened.

“It’sLouisa.Fromacrossthecorridor.Areyouinpain?”

“Idon’tknow...My...mywrist...,”shesaidweakly.

“Theambulanceiscoming.You’regoingtobeokay.It’sallgoingtobeokay.”

Shelookedblanklyatme,asiftryingtopiecetogetherwhoIwas,whetherwhatIwassayingmadeanysense.Andthenherbrowfurrowed.“Whereishe?DeanMartin?Where’smydog?”

Iscannedtheroom.Overinthecornerthelittledogwasparkedonhisbackside,noisilyinvestigatinghisgenitals.Helookedupwhenheheardhisnameandadjustedhimselfbackintoastandingposition.“He’srighthere.He’sokay.”

Sheclosedhereyesagain,relieved.“Willyoulookafterhim?IfIhavetogotothehospital?Iamgoingtothehospital,aren’tI?”

“Yes.Andofcourse.”

“There’safolderinmybedroomthatyouneedtogivethem.Onmybedsidetable.”

“Noproblem.We’lldothat.”

Iclosedmyhandsaroundhers,andwhileDeanMartineyedmewarilyfromthedoorway—well,meandthefireplace—wewaitedinsilencefortheparamedicstocome.

—

ItraveledtothehospitalwithMrs.DeWitt,leavingDeanMartinintheapartment,ashewasn’tallowedintheambulance.Onceherpaperworkwasdoneandshewassettled,IheadedfortheLaveryafterreassuringherthatIwouldlookafterthedog.Iwouldbebackinthemorningtoletherknowhowhewasdoing.Hertinyblueeyeshadfilledwithtearsassheissuedcroakinginstructionsabouthisfood,hiswalks,hisvariouslikesanddislikes,untiltheparamedicshushedher,insistingthatsheneededtorest.

IcaughtthesubwaybacktoFifthAvenue,simultaneouslybone-wearyandbuzzingwithadrenaline.Iletmyselfin,usingthekeyMrs.DeWitthadgivenme.DeanMartinwaswaitinginthehallway,standingfoursquareinthemiddleofthefloor,hiscompactbodyradiatingsuspicion.

“Goodevening,youngman!Wouldyoulikesomesupper?”Isaid,asifIwerehisoldfriendandnotsomeonevaguelyexpectingtoloseachunkoutofoneofmylowerlegs.Iwalkedpasthimwithsimulatedconfidencetothekitchen,whereItriedtodeciphertheinstructionsastothecorrectamountofcookedchickenandkibblethatIhadscribbledonthebackofmyhand.

Iplacedthefoodinhisdishandpushedittowardhimwithmyfoot.

“Thereyougo!Enjoy!”

Hestaredatme,hisbulbouseyessullenandmutinous,foreheadripplingwithwrinklesofconcern.

“Food!Yum!”

Stillhestared.

“Nothungryyet,huh?”Isaid.Iedgedmywayoutofthekitchen.IneededtoworkoutwhereIwasgoingtosleep.

Mrs.DeWitt’sapartmentwasapproximatelyhalfthesquarefootageoftheGopniks’,butthatwasn’ttosayitwassmall.Itcomprisedavastlivingroomwithfloor-to-ceilingwindowsoverlookingCentralPark,itsinteriordecoratedinbronzeandsmokedglass,asifithadlastbeendonesometimearoundthedaysofStudio54.Therewasamoretraditionaldiningroom,packedwithantiquessportingalayerofdust,whichsuggestedithadn’tbeenusedingenerations,amelamineandFormicakitchen,autilityroom,andfourbedrooms,includingthemainbedroom,whichhadabathroomandasizabledressingroom

leadingoffit.ThebathroomswereevenolderthantheGopniks’andletlooseunpredictabletorrentsofsplutteringwater.Iwalkedroundtheapartmentwiththepeculiarsilentreverencethatcomeswithbeingintheuninhabitedhouseofapersonyoudon’tknowverywell.

WhenIreachedthemainbedroom,Idrewabreath.Itwasfilled,threeandahalfwallsofit,withclothesneatlystackedonracks,hanginginplasticfromcushionedhangers.Thedressingroomwasariotofcolorandfabric,punctuatedaboveandbelowbyshelveswithpilesofhandbags,boxedhats,andmatchingshoes.Iwalkedslowlyaroundtheperimeter,runningmyfingertipsalongthematerials,pausingoccasionallytotuggentlyatasleeveorpushbackahangertoseeeachoutfitbetter.

Anditwasn’tjustthesetworooms.Asthelittlepugtrottedsuspiciouslyafterme,Iwalkedthroughtwooftheotherbedroomsandfoundmore—rowuponrowofdresses,trousersuits,coats,andboas,inlong,air-conditionedcupboards.TherewerelabelsfromGivenchy,Biba,Harrods,andMacy’s,shoesfromSaksFifthAvenueandChanel.TherewerelabelsIhadneverheard—French,Italian,evenRussian—clothesfrommultipleeras:neatlittleKennedy-esqueboxysuits,flowingkaftans,sharp-shoulderedjackets.Ipeeredintoboxesandfoundpillboxhatsandturbans,hugejade-framedsunglassesanddelicatestringsofpearls.TheywerenotarrangedinanyparticularordersoIsimplydivedin,pullingthingsoutatrandom,unfoldingtissuepaper,feelingthecloth,theweight,themustyscentofoldperfume,liftingthemouttoadmirecutandpattern.

OnwhatwallspacewasstillvisibleabovetheshelvesIcouldjustmakeoutframedclothesdesigns,magazinecoversfromthefiftiesandsixtieswithbeaming,angularmodelsinpsychedelicshiftdresses,orimpossiblytrimshirtwaisters.ImusthavebeenthereanhourbeforeIrealizedIhadn’tlocatedanotherbed.Butinthefourthbedroomthereitwas,coveredwithdiscardeditemsofclothing—anarrowsingle,possiblydatingbacktothefifties,withanornatewalnutheadboard,amatchingwardrobe,andachestofdrawers.Andtherewerefourmoreracks,ofthemorebasickindyouwouldfindinachangingroom,andalongsidethem,boxesandboxesofaccessories—costumejewelry,belts,andscarves.Imovedsomecarefullyfromthebedandlaydown,feelingthemattressgiveimmediatelyasexhaustedmattressesdo,butIdidn’tcare.Iwouldbasicallybesleepinginawardrobe.ForthefirsttimeindaysIforgottobedepressed.

Foronenightatleast,IwasinWonderland.

—ThefollowingmorningIfedandwalkedDeanMartin,tryingnottobeoffendedbythewayhetraveledthewholewaydownFifthAvenueatanangle,oneeyepermanentlytrainedonmeasifwaitingforsometransgression,andthenIleftforthehospital,keentoreassureMrs.DeWittthatherbabywasfine,ifpermanentlybracedforsavagery.IdecidedIprobablywouldn’ttellherthattheonlywayI’dbeenabletopersuadehimtoeatwastograteParmigiano-Reggianoontohisbreakfast.

WhenIarrivedatthehospitalIwasrelievedtofindheramorehumanpink,althoughoddlyunformedwithoutherfamiliarmakeupandsethair.Shehadindeedfracturedherwristandwasscheduledforsurgery,afterwhichshewouldbeinthehospitalforanotherweek,duetowhattheycalled“complicatingfactors.”WhenIrevealedthatIwasn’tamemberofherfamilytheydeclinedtosaymore.

“CanyoulookafterDeanMartin?”shesaid,herfacecreasedwithanxiety.HehadplainlybeenhermainconcerninthehoursIhadbeengone.“Perhapstheycouldletyoupopinandouttoseehimintheday?DoyouthinkAshokcouldtakehimforwalks?He’llbeterriblylonely.He’snotusedtobeingwithoutme.”

Ihadwonderedwhetheritwaswisetotellherthetruth.ButtruthhadbeeninshortsupplyinourbuildinglatelyandIwantedeverythingoutintheopen.

“Mrs.DeWitt,”Ibegan,“Ihavetotellyousomething.I—Idon’tworkfortheGopniksanymore.Theyfiredme.”

Herheadmovedbackagainstherpillowalittle.Shemouthedthewordasifitwereunfamiliar.“Fired?”

Iswallowed.“TheythoughtIhadstolenmoneyfromthem.AllIcantellyouisthatIdidn’t.ButIfeelit’sonlyrighttotellyoubecauseyoumaydecidethatyoudon’twantmyhelp.”

“Well,”shesaidweakly.Andagain.“Well.”

Wesatthereinsilenceforawhile.

Thenshenarrowedhereyes.“Butyoudidn’tdoit.”

“No,ma’am.”

“Doyouhaveanotherjob?”

“No,ma’am.I’mtryingtofindone.”

Sheshookherhead.“Gopnikisafool.Whereareyouliving?”

Ilookedsideways.“Uh...I’m...well,I’mactuallystayinginNathan’sroomfornow.Butit’snotideal.We’renot—youknow—romanticallyinvolved.AndobviouslytheGopniksdon’texactlyknow...”

“Well,itsoundslikeanarrangementthatmightsuitusbothratherwell.Wouldyoulookaftermydog?Andperhapsconductyourjob-huntingfrommysideofthecorridor?JusttillIcomehome?”

“Mrs.DeWitt,I’dbedelighted.”Icouldn’thidemysmile.

“You’llhavetolookafterhimbetterthanyoudidbefore,ofcourse.I’mgoingtogiveyounotes.I’msurehe’sterriblyunsettled.”

“I’lldowhateveryousay.”

“AndI’llneedyoutocomeheredailytoletmeknowhowheis.That’sveryimportant.”

“Ofcourse.”

Withthatdecided,sheseemedtosubsidealittlewithrelief.Sheclosedhereyes.“Nofoollikeanoldfool,”shemurmured.Iwasn’tsureifshewastalkingaboutMr.Gopnik,herself,orsomeoneelseentirely,soIwaiteduntilshehadfallenasleep,thenheadedbacktoherapartment.

—AllthatweekIdevotedmyselftothecareofaboggle-eyed,suspicious,cranky,six-year-oldpug.Wewalkedfourtimesaday,IgratedParmesanontohisbreakfast,andseveraldaysin,heceasedhishabitofstandinginanyroomIwasinandstaringatmewithhisbrowfurrowed,asifwaitingformetodosomethingunmentionable,andsimplylaydownafewfeetaway,pantinggently.IwasstillalittlewaryofhimbutIfeltsorryforhimtoo—theonlypersonhelovedhadvanishedabruptlyandtherewasnothingIcoulddotoreassurehimthatshewouldbecominghomeagain.

And,besides,itwaskindofnicetobeinthebuildingwithoutfeelinglikeacriminal.Ashok,whohadbeenawayforafewdays,listenedtomydescriptionofthisturnofeventswithshock,outrage,thendelight.“Man,it’sluckyyoufoundhim!Hecouldhavejustwanderedoffandthennobodywouldhaveknownshewasevenonthefloor!”Heshudderedtheatrically.“Whenshe’sbackI’mgonnastartcheckinginonhereveryday,makingsureshe’sokay.”

Welookedateachother.

“Nothingwouldmakehermorefurious,”Isaid.

“Yup,she’dhateit,”hesaid,andwentbacktowork.

Nathanpretendedtobesadthathehadhisroombacktohimself,andbroughtmystuffoverwithalmostunseemlyhasteto“savemeajourney”ofapproximatelysixyards.IthinkhejustwantedtobesureIwasreallygoing.Hedroppedmybagsandpeeredaroundtheapartment,gazinginamazementatthewallsofclothes.“Whataloadofjunk!”heexclaimed.“It’sliketheworld’sbiggestOxfamshop.Boy,I’dhatetobethehouse-clearancecompanyhavingtogothroughthislotwhentheoldladypopsherclogs.”Ikeptmysmilefixedandlevel.

HetoldIlaria,whoknockedonmydoorthenextdayfornewsofMrs.DeWitt,thenaskedmetotakehersomemuffinsshehadbaked.“Thefoodinthesehospitalswouldmakeyousick,”shesaid,pattedmyarm,andleftatabrisktrotbeforeDeanMartincouldbiteher.

IheardAgnesplayingthepianofromacrossthehall,onceabeautifulpiecethatsoundedrelaxedandmelancholy,oncesomethingimpassionedandanguished.IthoughtofthemanytimesMrs.DeWitthadhobbledacrossandfuriouslydemandedanendtothenoise.Thistimethemusicendedabruptlywithoutherintervention,Agnesseeminglyslammingherhandsdownonthekeys.OccasionallyIwouldhearraisedvoices,andittookmeafewdaystoconvincemybodythatmyownadrenalinedidn’tneedtorisewiththem,thattheynolongerhadanythingtodowithme.

IpassedMr.Gopnikjustonce,inthemainlobby.Hedidn’tseeme,thenperformedadoubletake,apparentlyprimedtoobjecttomypresencethere.IliftedmychinandhelduptheendofDeanMartin’slead.“I’mhelpingMrs.DeWittwithherdog,”Isaid,withasmuchdignityasIcouldmanage.HeglanceddownatDeanMartin,sethis

jaw,thenturnedawayasifhehadn’theardme.Michael,athisside,glancedatme,thenturnedbacktohiscellphone.

—JoshcameonFridaynightafterwork,bringingtakeoutandabottleofwine.Hewasstillinhissuit—workinglateallweek,hesaid.Heandacolleaguewerecompetingforapromotionsohewasthereforfourteenhoursaday,andplannedtogoinonSaturdaytoo.Hepeeredaroundtheapartment,raisinghiseyebrowsatthedécor.“Well,dog-sittingwasonejobopeningIcertainlyhadn’tconsidered,”heobserved,asDeanMartintrailedsuspiciouslyathisheels.Hewalkedaroundthelivingroomslowly,pickinguptheonyxashtrayandthesinuousAfrican-womansculpture,puttingthemdown,peeringintentlyatthegildedartworkonthewalls.

“Itwasn’ttopofmylisteither.”Ilaidatrailofdoggytreatstothemainbedroomandshutthelittledoginuntilhe’dcalmeddown.“ButI’mreallyokaywithit.”

“Sohowyoudoing?”

“Better!”Isaid,headingtothekitchen.IhadwantedtoshowJoshIwasmorethanthescruffy,intermittentlydrunkjobseekerhehadbeenmeetingthepastweek,soIhaddressedupinmyblackChanel-styledresswiththewhitecollarandcuffsandmyemeraldfakecrocodileMaryJanes,myhairsleekandblow-driedintoaneatbob.

“Well,youlookcute,”hesaid,followingme.Heputhisbottleandbagonthesideinthekitchen,thenwalkedovertome,standingjustacoupleofinchesaway,sothathisfacefilledmyvision.“And,youknow,nothomeless.Whichisalwaysagoodlook.”

“Temporarily,anyway.”

“Sodoesthismeanyou’llbestickingaroundalittlelonger?”

“Whoknows?”

Hewasmereinchesfromme.Ihadasuddensensorymemoryofburyingmyfaceinhisneckaweekpreviously.

“You’regoingpink,LouisaClark.”

“That’sbecauseyou’reextremelyclosetome.”

“Idothattoyou?”Hisvoicedropped,hiseyebrowlifted.Hetookastepcloser,thenputhishandsontheworktop,ateithersideofmyhips.

“Apparently,”Isaid,butitcameoutasalmostacough.Andthenhedroppedhislipstomineandkissedme.HekissedmeandIleanedbackagainstthekitchenunitsandclosedmyeyes,absorbingtheminttasteofhismouth,theslightlystrangefeelofhisbodyagainstmine,theunfamiliarhandsclosingovermyown.IwonderedifthiswaswhatitwouldhavebeenliketokissWillbeforehisaccident.AndthenIthoughtthatIwouldneverkissSamagain.AndthenIthoughtthatitwasprobablyquitebadformtothinkaboutkissingothermenwhenyouhadaperfectlyniceonekissingyouatthatverymoment.AndIpulledmyheadbackalittle,andhestoppedandlookedintomyeyes,tryingtogaugewhatitmeant.

“I’msorry,”Isaid.“It’s—it’sjustallkindofsoon.Ireallylikeyoubut—”

“Butyouonlyjustbrokeupwiththeotherguy.”

“Sam.”

“Whoisclearlyanidiot.Andnotgoodenoughforyou.”

“Josh...”

Helethisforeheadtipforwardsothatitrestedagainstmine.Ididn’tletgoofhishand.

“Itjustallfeelsabitcomplicatedstill.I’msorry.”

Heclosedhiseyesforamoment,thenopenedthemagain.“WouldyoutellmeifIwaswastingmytime?”hesaid.

“You’renotwastingyourtime.It’sjust...itwasbarelytwoweeksago.”

“There’salotthat’shappenedinthattwoweeks.”

“Well,then,whoknowswherewe’llbeinanothertwoweeks?”

“Yousaid‘we.’”

“IsupposeIdid.”

Henodded,asifthiswereasatisfactoryanswer.“Youknow,”hesaid,almosttohimself,“Ihaveafeelingaboutus,LouisaClark.AndI’mneverwrongaboutthesethings.”

Andthen,beforeIcouldrespond,heletgoofmyhandandwalkedovertothecupboards,openingandclosingtheminsearchofplates.Whenheturnedround,hissmilewasbrilliant.“Shallweeat?”

—IlearnedalotaboutJoshthatevening.IlearnedabouthisBostonupbringing,thebaseballcareerhishalf-Irishbusinessmanfatherhadmadehimgiveupbecausehefeltthatsportwouldnotsecurealong-lastingincome.Hismother,unusuallyamongherpeers,wasanattorneywhohadheldontoherjobthroughouthischildhoodand,intheirretirementyears,bothhisparentswereadjustingtobeinginthehousetogether.Itwas,apparently,drivingthemcompletelynuts.“We’reafamilyofdoers,youknow?SoDadhasalreadytakenonsomeexecutiveroleatthegolfclubandMomismentoringkidsatthelocalhighschool.Anythingsotheydon’thavetosittherelookingateachother.”Hehadtwobrothers,botholder,onewhoranaMercedesdealershipjustoutsideWeymouth,Massachusetts,andanotherwhowasanaccountant,likemysister.Theywereaclosefamily,andcompetitive,andhehadhatedhisbrotherswiththeimpotentfuryofatorturedyoungestsiblinguntiltheylefthome,afterwhichhefoundhemissedthemwithagnawingandunexpectedpain.“MomsaysitwasbecauseIlostmyyardstick,thethingIjudgedeverythingby.”

Bothbrotherswerenowmarriedandsettledwithtwokidsapiece.ThefamilyconvergedforholidaysandeverysummerrentedthesamehouseinNantucket.Inhisteenshehadresentedit,butnowitwasaweekhelookedforwardtomoreeachyear.

“It’sgreat.Thekidsandthehangingoutandtheboat...Youshouldcome,”hesaid,casuallyhelpinghimselftomorecharsiubao.Hetalkedwithoutself-consciousness,amanusedtothingsworkingoutthewayhewantedthemto.

“Toafamilything?IthoughtmeninNewYorkwereallaboutcasualdating.”

“Yeah,well,I’vedoneallthat.And,besides,I’mnotfromNewYork.”

Hewasamanwhoseeminglythrewhimselfateverything.Heworkedamillionhoursaweek,washungryforpromotion,andwentto

thegymbeforesixa.m.Heplayedbaseballwiththeofficeteam,andwasthinkingaboutvolunteeringtomentoratalocalhighschool,likehismotherdid,butwasworriedthathisworkschedulemeanthecouldn’tcommittoaregulartime.HewasshotthroughwiththeAmericandream—youworkedhard,yousucceeded,andthenyougaveback.ItriednottokeepdrawingcomparisonswithWill.Ilistenedtohimandfelthalfadmiring,halfexhausted.

Hedrewapictureofhisfutureintheairbetweenus—anapartmentintheVillage,maybeaweekendplaceintheHamptonsifhecouldgethisbonusestotherightlevel.Hewantedaboat.Hewantedkids.Hewantedtoretireearly.Hewantedtomakeamilliondollarsbeforehewasthirty.Hepunctuatedmuchofthistalkwiththewavingofchopsticksandthephrase“Youshouldcome!”or“You’dloveit!”andIwaspartlyflattered,butmostlygratefulthatthisimpliedhewasn’toffendedbymyearlierreticence.

Heleftattenthirty,sinceheplannedtogetupatfive,andwestoodinthehallwaybythefrontdoor,withDeanMartinonguardafewfeetaway.

“So,arewegoingtobeabletosqueezeinlunch?Whatwiththewholedog-and-hospitalthing?”

“Wecouldperhapsseeeachotheroneevening?”

“‘Wecouldperhapsseeeachotheroneevening,’”hemimickedsoftly.“IloveyourEnglishaccent.”

“Ihaven’tgotanaccent,”Isaid.“Youhave.”

“Andyoumakemelaugh.Notmanygirlsmakemelaugh.”

“Ah.Thenyou’vejustnotmettherightgirls.”

“Oh,IthinkIhave.”Hestoppedtalkingthen,andlookedupattheheavens,asifheweretryingtopreventhimselfdoingsomething.Andthenhesmiled,asifacknowledgingtheslightridiculousnessoftwoadultsnearingtheirthirtiestryingnottokissinadoorway.Anditwasthesmilethatdiditforme.

Ireachedupandtouchedthebackofhisneck,verylightly.AndthenIwentupontiptoeandkissedhim.Itoldmyselftherewasnopointindwellingonsomethingthatwasgone.Itoldmyselftwoweekswascertainlylongenoughtomakeadecision,especiallywhenyouhad

barelyseenthatotherpersonformonthsbeforehandandhadprettymuchbeensingleanyway.ItoldmyselfIhadtomoveon.

Joshdidn’thesitate.Hekissedmeback,hishandsslidingslowlyupmyspine,maneuveringmeagainstthewall,sothatIwaspinned,pleasurably,againsthim.HekissedmeandImademyselfstopthinkingandjustgiveintosensation,hisunfamiliarbody,narrowerandslightlyharderthantheoneIhadknown,theintensityofhismouthonmine.ThishandsomeAmerican.Wewerebothalittledazedwhenwecameupforair.

“IfIdon’tgonow...”hesaid,steppingback,andblinkedhard,raisinghishandtothebackofhisneck.

Igrinned.Isuspectedmylipstickwashalfwayacrossmyface.“Youhaveanearlystart.I’llspeaktoyoutomorrow.”Iopenedthedoorand,withalastkissonmycheek,hesteppedoutintothemaincorridor.

WhenIclosedit,DeanMartinwasstillstaringatme.“What?”Isaid.“What?I’msingle.”

Heloweredhisheadindisgust,turned,andpotteredtowardthekitchen.

M

23

From:BusyBee@gmail.comTo:MrandMrsBernardClark@yahoo.com

HiMum,LovelytohearthatyouandMariahadsuchaniceteaatFortnum&Masonon

Maria’sbirthday.Although,yes,Iagree,thatisaLOTforapacketofbiscuitsandI’msurebothyouandMariacoulddobettersconesathome.Yoursareverylight.And,no,thetoiletthinginthetheaterwasnotgood.I’msureasanattendantherselfshehasaverykeeneyeforthingslikethat.I’mgladsomeoneislookingoutforallyour...hygieneneeds.

Allfinehere.NewYorkisprettychillyrightnow,butyouknowme,clothingforeveryoccasion!Thereareafewthingsupintheairatworkbuthopefullyallwillbesortedbythetimewespeak.And,yes,I’mtotallyfineaboutSam.Justoneofthosethings,indeed.

SorrytohearaboutGranddad.Ihopewhenhe’sfeelingbetteryoucanstartyournightclassesagain.

Imissyouall.Alot.Lotsoflove,

LouxxPSProbablybestifyoue-mailorwritetomeviaNathanjustnowaswe’rehavingsomeissueswiththepost.

rs.DeWittcameoutofhospitaltendayslater,herrightarminaplastercastthatseemedtooheavyforherthinframe,hereyes

squintingintheunfamiliardaylight.Ibroughtherhomeinataxi.Ashokmetheratthecurbandhelpedherslowlyupthesteps.Foronceshedidn’tcrabathimorbathimaway,butwalkedgingerly,asifbalancewerenolongeragiven.Ihadbroughttheoutfitshe’ddemanded—a1970spaleblueCélinetrousersuit,adaffodilyellowblouse,andapalepinkwoolberet—withsomeofthecosmeticsthatwereonherdresserandsatonthesideofherhospitalbedtohelpherapplythem.Shesaidherownattemptswithherlefthandmadeherlooklikeshehaddrunkthreesidecarsforbreakfast.

DeanMartin,delighted,joggedandsnuffledatherheels,lookingupather,thenbackatmepointedly,asiftotellmeIcouldleavenow.Wehadreachedsomethingofatruce,thedogandI.Heatehismealsandcurleduponmylapeveryevening,andIthinkhehadevenstartedtoenjoytheslightlyfasterpaceandlongerreachofourwalksbecausehislittletailwaggedwildlywheneverhesawmepickupthelead.

Mrs.DeWittwasoverjoyedtoseehim,ifjoyousnesscouldbeconveyedbyaseriesofcomplaintsaboutmyobviousmismanagementofhiscare,bythefactthatwithinaspaceoftwelvehoursshehaddeemedhimbothover-andunderweight,andbyanongoing,crooningapologytohimforleavinghiminmyinadequatehands.“Mypoorbaby.DidIleaveyouwithastranger?Idid?Andshedidn’tcareforyouproperly?It’sokay.Momma’shomenow.It’sallokay.”

Shewasplainlydelightedtobehome,butIcan’tpretendIwasn’tanxious.Sheseemedtorequireaprodigiousnumberofpills—evenbyAmericanstandards—andIwonderedifshehadsomekindofbrittle-bonesyndrome:itseemedanawfullotjustforabrokenwrist.ItoldTreena,whosaidinEnglandyouwouldhavebeenprescribedacoupleofpainkillersandtoldnottoliftanythingheavy,andlaughedheartily.

ButMrs.DeWitt,Ifelt,hadbeenleftevenfrailerbyhertimeinhospital.Shewaspaleandcoughedrepeatedly,andhertailoredclothesgapedinoddplacesaroundherbody.WhenIcookedhermacaroniandcheese,sheatefourorfiveneatmouthfulsandpronounceditdeliciousbutdeclinedtoeatanymore.“Ithinkmystomachshrankinthatawfulplace.Probablytryingtoshutitselfofffromtheirabysmalfood.”

Shetookhalfadaytoreacquaintherselffullywithherapartment,totteringslowlyfromroomtoroom,remindingandreassuringherselfthateverythingwasasitshouldbe—ItriednottoviewthisashercheckingthatIhadn’tstolenanything.Finallyshesatdownonhertall,upholsteredchairandletoutalittlesigh.“Ican’ttellyouhowgooditistobehome.”Shesaiditasifshehadhalfexpectednottomakeitback.Andthenshenoddedoff.IthoughtforthehundredthtimeaboutGranddadandhowluckyhewastohaveMumcaringforhim.

—

Mrs.DeWittwasplainlytoofrailtobeleftalone,andapparentlyinnohurrytoseemego.So,withnoactualdiscussionbetweenus,Isimplystayedon.Ihelpedherwashanddressandcookedhermealsand,forthefirstweekatleast,walkedDeanMartinseveraltimesaday.Towardtheendofthatweek,Ifoundshehadclearedmealittlespaceinthefourthbedroom,movingbooksanditemsofclothingoneatatimetorevealabedsidetablethatwasusableorashelfonwhichIcouldputmythings.Icommandeeredherguestbathroomformyself,scrubbingitthoroughlyandrunningthetapsuntilthewaterwasclear.Then,discreetly,Isetaboutcleaningallthoseareasofherownbathroomandkitchenthatherfailingeyesighthadbeguntomiss.

Itookhertothehospitalforherfollow-upappointments,andsatoutsidewithDeanMartinuntilIwasaskedtoreturnforher.Ibookedheranappointmentatherhairdresserandwaitedwhileherthin,silveryhairwasreturnedtoitsformerneatwaves,asmallactthatseemedtobemorerestorativethananyofthemedicalattentionshehadreceived.Ihelpedherwithhermakeup,andlocatedhervariouspairsofglasses.Shewouldthankmequietlyandemphaticallyformyhelpinthewayyoumightafavoredguest.

Consciousthat,asshe’dlivedaloneforyears,shemightneedherspace,Iwouldoftengooutforafewhoursintheday,sitinthelibraryandlookforjobsbutwithouttheurgencyIhadfeltpreviously,and,intruth,therewasnothingIwantedtodo.ShewouldusuallybeeithersleepingorproppedinfrontofhertelevisionwhenIreturned.“Now,Louisa,”shewouldsay,pushingherselfupright,asifwehadbeenmid-conversation,“I’dbeenwonderingwhereyouwere.WouldyoubekindenoughtotakeDeanMartinforalittlestroll?He’sbeenlookingratherconcerned...”

OnSaturdaysIwentwithMeenatothelibraryprotests.Thecrowdshadgrownthinnernow,thelibrary’sfuturedependentnotjustonpublicsupportbutacrowd-fundedlegalchallenge.Nobodyseemedtoholdoutmuchhopeforit.Westood,lesschilledaseachweekpassed,wavingourbatteredplacardsandacceptingwiththanksthehotdrinksandsnacksthatstillarrivedfromneighborsandlocalshopkeepers.I’dlearnedtolookoutforfamiliarfaces—thegrandmotherI’dmetonmyfirstvisit,whosenamewasMartineandnowgreetedmewithahugandabroadsmile.Ahandfulofotherswavedorsaidhi,thesecurityguard,thewomanwhobroughtpakoras,thelibrarianwiththe

beautifulhair.Ineversawtheoldwomanwiththerippedepauletsagain.

IhadbeenlivinginMrs.DeWitt’sapartmentforthirteendayswhenIbumpedintoAgnes.Givenourproximitytoeachother,Isupposeitwassurprisingthatithadn’thappenedearlier.ItwasrainingheavilyandIwaswearingoneofMrs.DeWitt’soldraincoats—ayellowandorange1970splasticonewithbrightcircularflowersalloverit—andshehadputalittlemackintoshwithanelevatedhoodonDeanMartin,whichmademesnortwithlaughtereverytimeIlookedatit.Weranalongthecorridor,megigglingatthesightofhisbulbouslittlefaceundertheplastichood,andIstoppedsuddenlyastheliftdoorsopenedandAgnessteppedout,tailedbyayoungwomanwithaniPad,herhairscrapedbackintoatightponytail.Shestoppedandstaredatme.Somethingnotquitereadablepassedacrossherface—somethingthatmighthavebeenawkwardness,amuteapology,orevensuppressedfuryatmybeingthere,itwashardtotell.Hereyesmetmine,sheopenedhermouthasiftospeak,thenpressedherlipstogetherandwalkedpastmeasifshehadn’tseenme,herglossyblondhairswingingandthegirlclosebehind.

Istoodwatchingasthefrontdoorclosedemphaticallyafterthem,mycheeksburninglikeaspurnedlover’s.

Ihadavaguememoryofuslaughinginanoodlebar.

Wearefriends,yes?

AndthenItookadeepbreath,calledthelittledogtometofastenhislead,andheadedoutintotherain.

—Intheend,itwasthegirlsattheVintageClothesEmporiumwhoofferedmepaidemployment.AcontainerofstuffwasarrivingfromFlorida—severalwardrobes’worth—andtheyneededanextrapairofhandstogoovereachitembeforeithittheshelves,sewonmissingbuttons,andmakesureeverythingthatwentoutontherailswassteam-pressedandcleanintimeforavintageclothesfairattheendofApril.(Articlesthatdidn’tsmellfreshwerethemostcommonlyreturned.)Thepaywasminimumwagebutthecompanywasgood,thecoffeefree,andtheywouldgivemea20percentdiscountonanything

Iwantedtobuy.Myappetiteforpurchasingnewclotheshaddiminishedalongwithmylackofaccommodation,butIsaidyesgladlyand,onceIwassureMrs.DeWittwasstableenoughtowalkDeanMartinatleasttotheendoftheblockandbackbyherself,IwouldheadtothestoreeveryTuesdayattena.m.andspendthedayintheirbackroom,cleaning,sewing,andchattingtothegirlsduringtheircigarettebreaks,whichseemedtohappeneveryfifteenminutesorso.

Margot—IwasforbiddentocallherMrs.DeWittanymore:“You’relivinginmyhome,forgoodness’sake”—listenedcarefullywhenItoldherofmynewrole,thenaskedwhatIwasusingtorepairtheclothes.IdescribedthehugeplasticboxofoldbuttonsandzippersbutaddedthatthewholethingwassuchachaoticmessthatIoftencouldn’tfindamatch,andrarelymorethanthreeofthesametypeofbutton.Sheroseheavilyfromherchairandmotionedtometofollow.Iwalkedveryclosetoher,thesedays—shedidn’tseemcompletelysteadyonherfeet,andfrequentlylistedtooneside,likeabadlyloadedshipinhighseas.Butshemadeit,herhandtrailingthewallforextrastability.

“Underthatbed,dear.No,there.Therearetwochests.That’sit.”Ikneltandwrenchedouttwoheavywoodenboxeswithlids.Openingthem,Ifoundthemfilledtothebrimwithrowsofbuttons,zippers,tapes,andfringes.Therewerehooksandeyes,fasteningsofeverytype,allneatlyseparatedandlabeled,brassnavalbuttonsandtinyChineseones,coveredwithbrightsilk,bone,andshell,sewnneatlyontolittlestripsofcard.Inthecushionedlidsatspraysofpins,rowsofdifferent-sizedneedles,andanassortmentofsilkthreadsontinypegs.Iranmyfingersacrossthemreverently.

“Iwasgiventhoseformyfourteenthbirthday.MygrandfatherhadthemshippedfromHongKong.Ifyougetstuckyoucancheckinthere.IusedtotakethebuttonsandzippersfromeverythingIdidn’twearanymore,youknow.Thatwayifyouloseabuttononsomethingnice,andcan’treplaceit,youalwayshaveafullsetthatyoucansewoninstead.”

“Butwon’tyouneedthem?”

Shewavedhergoodhand.“Oh,myfingersarefartooclumsyforsewingnow.HalfthetimeIcan’tevenworkthebuttonholes.Andsofewpeoplebotherwithfixingbuttonsandzippersthesedays—theyjustthrowtheirclothesinthetrashandbuysomethingawfulfromoneof

thosediscountstores.Youtakethem,dear.Itwouldbenicetofeeltheywereuseful.”

—So,byluckandperhapsalittlebydesign,InowhadtwojobsthatIloved.AndwiththemIfoundakindofcontentment.EveryTuesdayeveningIwouldbringhomeafewitemsofclothinginacheckeredlaundrybagofplasticwebbing,andwhileMargotnapped,orwatchedtelevision,Iwouldcarefullyremovealltheremainingbuttonsoneachitemandsewonanewset,holdingthemupafterwardforherapproval.

“Yousewquitenicely,”sheremarked,peeringatmystitchesthroughherspectacles,aswesatinfrontofWheelofFortune.“Ithoughtyou’dbeasdreadfulatitasyouareateverythingelse.”

“AtschoolneedleworkwasprettymuchtheonlythingIwasanygoodat.”Ismoothedoutthecreasesonmylapandpreparedtorefoldajacket.

“Iwasjustthesame,”shesaid.“Bythirteen,Iwasmakingallmyownclothes.Mymothershowedmehowtocutapatternandthatwasit.Iwasaway.Ibecameobsessedwithfashion.”

“Whatwasityoudid,Margot?”Iputdownmystitching.

“IwasfashioneditoroftheLadies’Look.Itdoesn’texistnow—nevermadeitintothenineties.Butwewerearoundforthirtyyearsormore,andIwasfashioneditorformostofthat.”

“Isthatthemagazineintheframes?Theonesonthewall?”

“Yes,thoseweremyfavoritecovers.Iwasrathersentimentalandkeptafew.”Herfacesoftenedbrieflyandshetiltedherhead,castingmeaconfidinglook.“Itwasquitethejobbackthen,youknow.Themagazinecompanywasn’tterriblykeenonhavingwomeninseniorrolesbuttherewasthemostdreadfulmaninchargeofthefashionpagesandmyeditor—awonderfulman,Mr.Aldridge—arguedthathavinganoldfuddy-duddy,whostillworesuspenderstoholduphissocks,dictatingwhatfashionmeantsimplywouldn’tworkwiththeyoungergirls.HethoughtIhadaneyeforit,promotedme,andthatwasthat.”

“Sothat’swhyyouhavesomanybeautifulclothes.”

“Well,Icertainlydidn’tmarryrich.”

“Didyoumarryatall?”

Shelookeddownandpickedatsomethingonherknee.“Goodness,youdoaskalotofquestions.Yes,Idid.Alovelyman.Terrence.Heworkedinpublishing.Buthediedin1962,threeyearsafterwemarried,andthatwasitforme.”

“Youneverwantedchildren?”

“Ihadason,dear,butnotwithmyhusband.Isthatwhatyouwantedtoknow?”

Iflushed.“No.Imean,notlikethat.I—gosh—havingchildrenis—ImeanIwouldn’tpresumeto—”

“Stopflapping,Louisa.IfellinlovewithsomeoneunsuitablewhenIwasgrievingmyhusbandandIbecamepregnant.Ihadthebabybutitcausedabitofastir,andintheenditwasconsideredbetterforeveryoneifmyparentsbroughthimupinWestchester.”

“Whereishenow?”

“StillinWestchester.AsfarasIknow.”

Iblinked.“Youdon’tseehim?”

“Oh,Idid.Isawhimeveryweekendandvacationforthewholeofhischildhood.ButoncehereachedadolescencehegrewratherangrywithmefornotbeingthekindofmotherhethoughtIshouldbe.Ihadtomakeachoice,yousee.Inthosedaysitwasn’tcommontoworkifyoumarriedorhadchildren.AndIchosework.IhonestlyfeltIwoulddiewithoutit.AndFrank—myboss—supportedme.”Shesighed.“Unfortunately,mysonhasneverreallyforgivenme.”

Therewasalongsilence.

“I’msosorry.”

“Yes.SoamI.Butwhat’sdoneisdoneandthere’snopointdwelling.”ShebegantocoughsoIpouredheraglassofwaterandhandedittoher.ShemotionedtowardabottleofpillsthatshekeptonthesideboardandIwaitedwhilesheswallowedone.Shesettledherselfagain,likeahenthathadruffledherfeathers.

“Whatwashisname?”Iasked,whenshehadrecovered.

“Morequestions...FrankJunior.”

“Sohisfatherwas—”

“Myeditoratthemagazine,yes.FrankAldridge.HewassignificantlyolderthanIwasandmarried,andI’mafraidthatwasmyson’sothergreatresentment.Itwasratherhardforhimatschool.Peopleweredifferentaboutthesethings,then.”

“Whendidyoulastseehim?Yourson,Imean.”

“Thatwouldbe...1987.Theyearhemarried.IfoundoutaboutitaftertheeventandwrotehimalettertellinghimhowhurtIwasthathehadn’tincludedme,andhetoldmeinnouncertaintermsthatIhadlongsincerelinquishedanyrighttobeincludedinanythingtodowithhislife.”

Wesatinsilenceforamoment.Herfacewasperfectlystillanditwasimpossibletotellwhatshewasthinking,orevenifshewasnowsimplyfocusedonthetelevision.Ididn’tknowwhattosaytoher.Icouldn’tfindanywordsthatwereuptoahurtthatgreat.Butthensheturnedtome.

“Andthatwasit.Mymotherdiedacoupleofyearslaterandshewasmylastpointofcontactwithhim.Idosometimeswonderhowheis—ifhe’sevenalive,whetherhehadchildren.Iwrotetohimforawhile.ButovertheyearsIsupposeI’vebecomeratherphilosophicalaboutthewholething.Hewasquiteright,ofcourse.Ihadnorighttohim,really,toanythingtodowithhislife.”

“Buthewasyourson,”Iwhispered.

“Hewas,butIhadn’treallybehavedlikeamother,hadI?”Shetookashakybreath.“I’vehadaverygoodlife,Louisa.IlovedmyjobandIworkedwithsomewonderfulpeople.ItraveledtoParis,Milan,Berlin,London,farmorethanmostwomenmyage...Ihadmybeautifulapartmentandsomeexcellentfriends.Youmustn’tworryaboutme.Allthisnonsenseaboutwomenhavingitall.Wenevercouldandwenevershall.Womenalwayshavetomakethedifficultchoices.Butthereisagreatconsolationinsimplydoingsomethingyoulove.”

Wesatinsilence,digestingthis.Thensheplacedherhandssquarelyonherknees.“Actually,deargirl,wouldyouhelpmetomybathroom?I’mfeelingquitetiredandIthinkImighttakemyselftobed.”

—ThatnightIlayawake,thinkingaboutwhatshehadtoldme.IthoughtaboutAgnesandthefactthatthesetwowomen,livingyardsawayfromeachother,bothcloakedinaveryspecificsadness,might,inanotherworld,havebeenacomforttoeachother.Ithoughtaboutthefactthatthereseemedtobesuchahighcosttoanythingawomanchosetodowithherlife,unlessshesimplyaimedlow.ButIknewthatalready,didn’tI?Ihadcomehereandithadcostmedear.

OfteninthesmallhoursIconjuredWill’svoicetellingmenottoberidiculousandmelancholybuttothinkinsteadofallthethingsI’dachieved.Ilayinthedarkandtickedoffmyachievementsonmyfingers.Ihadahome—forthetimebeingatleast.Ihadpaidemployment.IwasstillinNewYork,andIwasamongfriends.Ihadanewrelationship,evenifsometimesIwonderedhowIhadendedupinit.CouldIreallysaythatIwouldhavedonethingsanydifferently?

ButitwastheoldwomaninthenextroomIwasthinkingofwhenIfinallyslept.

—TherewerefourteensportingtrophiesonJosh’sshelf,fourofthemthesizeofmyhead,forAmericanfootball,baseball,somethingcalledtrackandfield,andajuniortrophyforaspellingbee.Ihadbeentherebeforebutitwasonlynow,soberandunhurried,thatIwasabletotakeinmysurroundingsandthescaleofhisachievements.Therewerepicturesofhiminsportinggarb,preservedatthemomentofhistriumphs,hisarmsclaspedaroundhisteammates,thoseperfectteethinaperfectsmile.IthoughtofPatrickandthemultitudeofcertificatesonthewallofhisapartment,andwonderedatthemaleneedtodisplayachievements,likeapeacockpermanentlyshimmeringhistail.

WhenJoshputdownthephone,Ijumped.“It’sonlytakeout.I’mafraidwitheverythingatworkIdon’thavetimeforanythingelserightnow.ButthisisthebestKoreanfoodsouthofKoreatown.”

“Idon’tmind,”Isaid.IhadnootherKoreanfoodexperiencestojudgeitby.Iwasjustenjoyingtheprospectofcomingtoseehim.Walkingtocatchthesubwaysouth,Ihadrelishedthenoveltyof

headingdowntownwithoutbattlingeitherSiberianwinds,deepsnow,ortorrential,icyrain.

AndJosh’sapartmentwasnotquitetherabbithutchhe’ddescribed,unlessyourrabbithaddecidedtomoveintoarenovatedloftinanareathathadapparentlyoncehousedartists’studiosbutnowformedabaseforfourdifferentversionsofMarcJacobs,punctuatedbyartisanjewelers,specialistcoffeeshops,andboutiquesthatemployedmenwithearpiecesonthedoorstep.Itwasallwhitewashedwallsandoakfloors,withamodernisticmarbletableandadistressedleathersofa.Thesmatteringofafewcarefullychosenornamentsandpiecesoffurnituresuggestedeverythinghadbeencarefullyconsidered,sourced,andearned,perhapsthroughtheservicesofaninteriordesigner.

Hehadbroughtmeflowers,adeliciousmixofhyacinthsandfreesias.“Whatarethesefor?”Isaid.

Heshruggedasheshepherdedmein.“Ijustsawthemonthewayhomefromworkandthoughtyoumightlikethem.”

“Wow.Thankyou.”Iinhaleddeeply.“Thisisthenicestthingthat’shappenedtomeinages.”

“Theflowers?Orme?”Heraisedaneyebrow.

“Well,Isupposeyouarequitenice.”

Hisfacefell.

“You’reamazing.AndIlovethem.”

Hesmiledbroadlythenandkissedme.“Well,you’rethenicestthingthat’shappenedtomeinages,”hesaidsoftlywhenhepulledback.“FeelslikeIwaitedalongtimeforyou,Louisa.”

“WeonlymetinOctober.”

“Ah.Butweliveinanageofinstantgratification.Andwe’reinthecitywhereanythingyouwantyougetyesterday.”

TherewasastrangepotencytobeingwantedasmuchasJoshseemedtowantme.Iwasn’tquitesurewhatI’ddonetodeserveit.IwantedtoaskhimwhathesawinmebutIsuspecteditwouldsoundoddlyneedytosayitaloudsoItriedtoworkitoutinotherways.

“Tellmeabouttheotherwomenyou’vedated,”Isaidfromthesofa,ashemovedaroundthelittlekitchenette,pullingoutplatesandcutleryandglasses.“Whatweretheylike?”

“AsidefromTinderhookups?Smart,pretty,usuallysuccessful...”Hestoopedtopullabottleoffishsaucefromthebackofacupboard.“Buthonestly?Likeself-obsessed,”hesaid.“Liketheycouldn’tbeseenwithoutperfectmakeup,ortheywouldhaveatotalmeltdowniftheirhairwasn’tright,andeverythinghadtobeInstagrammedorphotographedorreportedonsocialmediaandpresentedinthebestlight.Includingdateswithme.Liketheycouldneverdroptheirguard.”

Hestraightenedup,holdingbottles.“Youwantchilisauce?Orsoy?IdatedonegirlwhousedtocheckwhattimeIwasgettingupeachdayandsetheralarmforhalfanhourbeforejustsoshecouldfixherhairandmakeup.JustsoIwouldneverseehernotlookingperfect.Evenifitmeantgettingupat,like,fourthirty.”

“Okay.I’mgoingtowarnyounow,I’mnotthatgirl.”

“Iknowthat,Louisa.I’veputyoutobed.”

Ikickedoffmyshoesandfoldedmylegsunderme.“Isupposeit’skindofimpressivethattheyputinsomucheffort.”

“Yeah.Butitcanbealittleexhausting.Andyouneverfeelquitelike...likeyouknowwhat’sreallyunderneath.Withyou,Ihavetosay,it’sallprettymuchoutthere.Youarewhoyouare.”

“ShouldItakethatasacompliment?”

“Sure.You’relikethegirlsIgrewupwith.You’rehonest.”

“TheGopniksdon’tthinkso.”

“Fuckthem.”Hisvoicewasuncharacteristicallyharsh.“Youknow,I’vebeenthinkingaboutit.Youcanproveyoudidn’tdowhattheysaidyoudid—right?Soyoushouldsuethemforunfairdismissalandlossofreputationandhurtfeelingsand—”

Ishookmyhead.

“Seriously.Gopniktradesonthisreputationofbeingadecent,old-fashioned,goodguyinbusinessandhe’salwaysdoingstuffforcharity,buthefiredyoufornothing,Louisa.Youlostyourjobandyourhomewithnowarningandnocompensation.”

“HethoughtIwasstealing.”

“Yeah,buthemustknowtherewassomethingnotquiterightaboutwhathewasdoingorhewouldhavecalledthecops.Givenwhoheis,

I’dbetthere’ssomelawyerwhowouldtakethisonano-win-no-feebasis.”

“Really.I’mfine.Lawsuitsaren’tmystyle.”

“Yeah,well.You’retoonice.You’rebeingEnglishaboutit.”

Thedoorbellrang.Joshheldupafinger,asiftosaywewouldcontinuethisconversation.HedisappearedintothenarrowhallwayandIheardhimpayingthedeliveryboywhileIfinishedlayingthelittletable.

“Andyouknowwhat?”hesaid,bringingthebagintothekitchen.“Evenifyoudidn’thaveevidenceI’dbetGopnikwouldpayalumpsumjusttostopthewholethinggettingintothepapers.Thinkwhatthatcoulddoforyou.Imean,acoupleofweeksagoyouweresleepingonsomeone’sfloor.”(Ihadn’ttoldhimaboutsharingNathan’sbed.)

“Thiscouldgetyouadecentdepositonarental.Hell,yougetagoodenoughlawyer,thiscouldbuyyouanapartment.YouknowhowmuchmoneyGopnikhas?Like,heisfamouslyrich.Inacityofseriouslyrichpeople.”

“Josh,IknowyoumeanwellbutIjustwanttoforgetit.”

“Louisa,you—”

“No.”Iputmyhandsdownonthetable.“I’mnotsuinganybody.”

Hewaitedforaminute,perhapsfrustratedbyhisinabilitytopushmefurther,andthenheshruggedandsmiled.“Okay—well,dinnertime!Youdon’thaveanyallergies,right?Havesomechicken.Here—youlikeeggplant?Theydothiseggplantchilidishthat’sjustthegreatest.”

—IsleptwithJoshthatnight.Iwasn’tdrunkandIwasn’tvulnerableandIwasn’tbreathlesswithneedforhim.IthinkIjustwantedmylifetofeelnormalagain,andwehadeatenanddrunkandtalkedandlaugheduntillateintothenight,andhehadpulledthedrapesandturneddownthelightsanditseemedlikeanaturalprogression,oratleastIcouldthinkofnoreasonnotto.Hewassobeautiful.Hehadskinwithoutablemishandcheekbonesyoucouldactuallysee,andhishairwassoftandchestnutcoloredandtingedwithtinyflecksofgold,evenafterthe

longwinter.Wekissedonhissofa,firstsweetlyandthenwithincreasingfervor,andhelosthisshirtandthenIlostmineandImademyselffocusonthisgorgeous,attentiveman,thisprinceofNewYork,andnotonalltheramblingthingsmyimaginationtendedtofocuson,andIfeltneedgrowinme,likeadistant,reassuringfriend,untilIwasabletoblockouteverythingbutthesensationsofhimagainstme,andthen,sometimelater,insideme.

AfterwardhekissedmetenderlyandaskedmeifIwashappy,thenmurmuredthathehadtogetsomesleepandIlaythereandtriedtoignorethetearsthatinexplicablytrickledfromthecornersofmyeyesintomyears.

WhatwasitWillhadtoldme?Youhadtoseizetheday.Youhadtoembraceopportunitiesastheycame.Youhadtobethekindofpersonwhosaidyes.IfIhadturnedJoshaway,wouldn’tIhaveregretteditforever?

Iturnedsilentlyintheunfamiliarbedandstudiedhisprofileasheslept,theperfectstraightnoseandthemouththatlookedlikeWill’s.IthoughtofallthewaysWillwouldhaveapprovedofhim.Icouldevenpicturethemtogether,jokingwitheachother,acompetitiveedgetotheirjokes.Theymighthavebeenfriends.Orenemies.Theywerealmosttoosimilar.

PerhapsIwasmeanttobewiththisman,Ithought,albeitviaastrange,unsettlingroute.PerhapsthiswasWill,comebacktome.AndwiththisthoughtIwipedmyeyesandfellintoabrief,disjointedsleep.

W

24

From:BusyBee@gmail.comTo:KatClark!@yahoo.com

DearTreen,Iknowyouthinkit’stoosoon.ButwhatdidWillteachme?Youonlygetone

life,right?Andyou’rehappywithEddie?Sowhycan’tIbehappy?You’llgetitwhenyoumeethim,Ipromise.

SothisisthekindofmanJoshis:yesterdayhetookmetothebestbookshopinBrooklynandboughtmeabunchofpaperbackshethoughtImightlike,thenatlunchtimehetookmetoaposhMexicanrestaurantonEast46thandmademetryfishtacos—don’tpullaface,theywereabsolutelydelicious.Thenhetoldmehewantedtoshowmesomething(no,notthat).WewalkedtotheGrandCentralTerminalanditwaspacked,asusual,andIwasthinking,Okay,bitweird—arewegoingonatrip?,thenhetoldmetostandwithmyheadinthecornerofthisarchway,justbytheOysterBar.Ilaughedathim.Ithoughthewasjoking.Butheinsisted,toldmetotrusthim.

SothereIam,standingwithmyheadinthecornerofthishugemasonryarchway,withallthecommuterscomingandgoingaroundme,tryingnottofeellikeacompleteeejit,andwhenIlookroundhe’swalkingawayfromme.Butthenhestopsdiagonallyacrossfromme,maybefiftyfeetaway,andheputshisownfaceinthecornerandsuddenly,aboveallthenoiseandchaosandrumblingtrains,Ihear—murmuredintomyear,likehewasrightbesideme—“LouisaClark,youarethecutestgirlinthewholeofNewYorkCity.”

Treen,itwaslikewitchcraft.Ilookedupandheturnedaroundandsmiled,andIhavenoideahowitworked,buthewalkedacrossandjusttookmeinhisarmsandkissedmeinfrontofeveryoneandsomeonewhistledatusanditwashonestlythemostromanticthingthathaseverhappenedtome.

So,yes,I’mmovingon.AndJoshisamazing.Itwouldbeniceifyoucouldbepleasedforme.

GiveThomabigkiss.Lx

eekspassedandNewYork,asitdidwithmostthings,careeredintospringatamillionmilesanhour,withlittlesubtletyanda

lotofnoise.Thetrafficgrewheavier,thestreetswerethickerwithpeople,andeachdaythegridaroundourblockbecameacacophonyofnoiseandactivitythatbarelydimmeduntilthesmallhours.Istoppedwearingahatandglovestothelibraryprotests.DeanMartin’spadded

coatwaslaunderedandwentintothecupboard.Theparkgrewgreen.NobodysuggestedImoveout.

Margot,inlieuofanykindofhelper’swage,pressedsomanyitemsofclothingonmethatIhadtostopadmiringthingsinfrontofherbecauseIbecameafraidshewouldfeelobligedtogivememore.Overtheweeks,IobservedthatshemightshareanaddresswiththeGopniksbutthatwaswherethesimilaritybetweenthemended.Shesurvived,asmymotherwouldhavesaid,onshirtbuttons.

“Betweenthehealth-carebillsandthemaintenancefeesIdon’tknowwheretheythinkI’mmeanttofindthemoneytofeedmyself,”sheremarked,asIhandedheranotherletterhand-deliveredbythemanagementcompany.Theenvelopesaid“OPEN—LEGALACTIONPENDING.”Shewrinkledhernoseandputitneatlyinapileonthesideboard,whereitwouldstayforthenextcoupleofweeksunlessIopenedit.

Shegrumbledoftenaboutthemaintenancefees,whichtotaledthousandsofdollarsamonth,andseemedtohavereachedapointatwhichshehaddecidedtoignorethembecausetherewasnothingelseshecoulddo.

Shetoldmeshehadinheritedtheapartmentfromhergrandfather,anadventuroussort,theonlypersoninherfamilywhodidn’tbelievethatawomanshouldrestricthersightstohusbandandchildren.“Myfatherwasfuriousthathehadbeenbypassed.Hedidn’ttalktomeforyears.Mymothertriedtobrokeranagreementbutbythentherewerethe...otherissues.”Shesighed.

Sheboughthergroceriesfromalocalconveniencestore,atinysupermarketthatoperatedontouristprices,becauseitwasoneofthefewplacesshecouldwalkto.IputastoptothatandtwiceaweekheadedovertoaFairwayonEastEighty-sixthStreet,whereIloadeduponbasicstothetuneofaboutathirdofwhatshehadbeenspending.

IfIdidn’tcook,sheatealmostnothingsensibleherself,butboughtgoodcutsofmeatforDeanMartinorpoachedhimwhitefishinmilk“becauseit’sgoodforhisdigestion.”

Ithinkshehadbecomeaccustomedtomycompany.PlusshewassowobblythatIthinkwebothknewshecouldn’tmanagealoneanymore.Iwonderedhowlongittooksomeoneofheragetogetovertheshock

ofsurgery.IalsowonderedwhatshewouldhavedoneifIhadn’tbeenthere.

“Whatwillyoudo?”Isaid,motioningtowardthepileofbills.

“Oh,I’llignorethose.”Shewavedahand.“I’mleavingthisapartmentinabox.Ihavenowheretogoandnoonetoleaveitto,andthatcrookOvitzknowsit.Ithinkhe’sjustsittingtightuntilIdieandthenhe’llclaimtheapartmentunderthenonpaymentofmaintenancefeesclauseandmakeafortunesellingittosomedotcompersonorawfulCEO,likethatfoolacrossthecorridor.”

“MaybeIcouldhelp?IhavesomesavingsfrommytimewiththeGopniks.Imean,justtogetyouthroughacoupleofmonths.You’vebeensokindtome.”

Shehooted.“Deargirl.Youcouldn’tmeetthemaintenancefeesonmyguestbathroom.”

Forsomereasonthismadeherlaughsoheartilythatshecougheduntilshehadtositdown.ButIsneakedalookattheletteraftershewenttobed.Its“latepaymentcharges,”its“directcontraventionofthetermsofyourlease,”and“threatofcompulsoryeviction”mademethinkthatMr.Ovitzmightnotbeasbeneficent—orpatient—assheseemedtothink.

—IwasstillwalkingDeanMartinfourtimesaday,andduringthosetripstotheparkItriedtothinkwhatcouldbedoneforMargot.Thethoughtofherbeingevictedwasappalling.Surelythemanagingagentwouldn’tdothattoaconvalescentelderlywoman.Surelytheotherresidentswouldobject.ThenIrememberedhowswiftlyMr.Gopnikhadevictedme,andhowinsulatedtheinhabitantsofeachapartmentwerefromeachother’slives.Iwasn’tentirelysurethey’devennotice.

IwasstandingonSixthAvenuepeeringatawholesaleunderwearstorewhenithitme.ThegirlsattheEmporiummightnotsellChanelandYvesSt.Laurentbuttheywouldiftheycouldgetit—orwouldknowsomedressagencythatcould.Margothadinnumerabledesignerlabelsinhercollection,thingsIwassurethatcollectorswouldpayseriousmoneyfor.Therewerehandbagsalonethatmustbeworththousandsofdollars.

ItookMargottomeetthemundertheguiseofanouting.Itoldheritwasabeautifuldayandthatweshouldgofartherthanusualandbuildupherstrengthwithfreshair.ShetoldmenottobesoridiculousandnobodyhadbreathedfreshairinManhattansince1937,butsheclimbedintothetaxiwithouttoomuchcomplaintand,DeanMartinonherlap,wemadeourwaytotheEastVillage,whereshefrownedupattheconcretestorefrontasifsomebodyhadaskedhertoenteraslaughterhouseforfun.

“Whathaveyoudonetoyourarms?”MargotpausedatthecheckoutandgazedatLydia’sskin.Lydiawaswearinganemeraldgreenpuffed-sleeveshirt,andherarmsdisplayedthreeneatlytracedJapanesekoicarpinorange,jade,andblue.

“Oh,mytatts.Youlike’em?”Lydiaputhercigaretteinherotherhandandraisedherarmtowardthelight.

“IfIwantedtolooklikeanavvy.”

IbegantoshepherdMargottoadifferentpartoftheshop.“Here,Margot.See,theyhavealltheirvintageclothesindifferentareas—ifyouhaveclothesfromthe1960stheygohere,andovertherethe1950s.It’salittlelikeyourapartment.”

“It’snothinglikemyapartment.”

“Ijustmeantheytradeinoutfitslikeyours.It’squiteasuccessfullineofbusinessthesedays.”

Margotpulledatthesleeveofanylonblouse,thenpeeredatthelabeloverthetopofherspectacles.“AmyArmisteadisanawfulline.Nevercouldstandthewoman.OrLesGrandesFolies.Theirbuttonsalwaysfelloff.Cheaponthread.”

“Therearesomereallyspecialdressesbackhere,underplastic.”Iwalkedovertothecocktail-gownsection,wherethebestofthewomen’spiecesweredisplayed.IpulledoutaSaksFifthAvenuedressinturquoise,trimmedwithsequinsandbeadsatthehemandcuffs,andhelditupagainstmyself,smiling.

Margotpeeredatit,thenturnedthepricetaginherhand.Shepulledafaceatthefigure.“Whoonearthwouldpaythis?”

“Peoplewholovegoodclothes,”saidLydia,whohadappearedbehindus.ShewaschewingnoisilyonapieceofgumandIcouldseeMargot’seyesflickerslightlyeverytimeherjawsmet.

“There’sanactualmarketforthem?”

“Agoodmarket,”Isaid.“Especiallyforthingsinimmaculatecondition,likeyours.AllMargot’soutfitshavebeenkeptinplasticandairconditioning.Shehasthingsthatdatebacktothe1940s.”

“Thosearen’tmine.Thosearemymother’s,”shesaidstiffly.

“Seriously?Whaddayagot?”saidLydia,givingMargot’scoatavisibleupanddown.MargotwasinaJaegerthree-quarter-lengthwoolcoatandablackfurhattheshapeofalargeVictoriasponge.Eventhoughtheweatherwasalmostbalmy,shestillappearedtofeelthecold.

“WhatdoIhave?NothingIwanttosendhere,thankyou.”

“But,Margot,youhavesomereallyfinesuits—theChanelsandtheGivenchysthatnolongerfityou.Andyouhavescarves,bags—youcouldsellthosetospecialistdealers.Auctionhouses,even.”

“Chanelmakesseriousmoney,”saidLydiasagely.“Especiallypurses.Ifit’snottooshabby,adecentChaneldoubleflapincaviarleatherwillmaketwoandahalftofourthousand.Anewone’snotgoingtocostyoumuchmore,youknowwhatI’msaying?Python,woah,thesky’sthelimit.”

“YouhavemorethanoneChanelhandbag,Margot,”Ipointedout.

MargottuckedherHermèsalligatorbagmoretightlyunderherarm.

“Yougotmorelikethat?Wecansell’emforyou,Mrs.DeWitt.Wegotawaitinglistforthegoodstuff.IgotaladyinAsburyParkwillpayuptofivethousandforadecentHermès.”LydiareachedouttorunafingerdownthesideofitandMargotpulledawayasifshe’dassaultedher.

“It’snotstuff,”shesaid.“Idon’town‘stuff.’”

“Ijustthinkitmightbeworthconsidering.Thereseemstobequiteabityoudon’tuseanylonger.Youcouldsellit,paythemaintenancefees,andthenyoucould,youknow,relax.”

“Iamrelaxed,”shesnapped.“AndI’llthankyounottodiscussmyfinancialaffairsinpublic,asifI’mnotevenhere.Oh,Idon’tlikethisplace.Itsmellsofoldpeople.Comeon,DeanMartin.Ineedsomefreshair.”

Ifollowedherout,mouthinganapologyatLydia,whoshrugged,unconcerned.IsuspectedthateventhefaintpossibilityofMargot’swardrobecomingherwayhadsoftenedanynaturaltendencytowardcombativeness.

Wecaughtataxibackinsilence.IwasannoyedwithmyselfformylackofdiplomacyandsimultaneouslyirritatedwithMargotforherout-and-outrejectionofwhatIhadthoughtwasquiteasensibleplan.Sherefusedtolookatmeduringthewholejourney.Isatbesideher,DeanMartinpantingbetweenus,andrehearsedargumentsinmyheaduntilhersilencebecameunnerving.Iglancedsidewaysandsawanoldwoman,whohadjustcomeoutofhospital.Ihadnorighttopressureherintoanything.

“Ididn’tmeantoupsetyou,Margot,”Isaid,asIhelpedheroutinfrontofherbuilding.“Ijustthoughtitmightbeawayforward.Youknow,withthedebtsandeverything.Ijustdon’twantyoutoloseyourhome.”

Margotstraightenedupandadjustedherfurhatwithabrittlehand.Hervoicewasquerulous,almosttearful,andIrealizedshehadalsobeenrehearsinganargumentinherheadfortheentirefiftyorsoblocks.“Youdon’tunderstand,Louisa.Thesearemythings,mybabies.Theymaybeoldclothes,potentialfinancialassets,toyou,buttheyareprecioustome.Theyaremyhistory,beautiful,prizedremnantsofmylife.”

“I’msorry.”

“Iwouldn’tsendthemtothatgrubbysecondhandshopifIwereonmyknees.AndthethoughtofseeingaperfectstrangerwalkingtowardmeonthestreetinanoutfitI’dloved!Iwouldfeelutterlywretched.No.Iknowyouweretryingtohelp,butno.”

Sheturnedandwavedoffmyoutstretchedhand,waitinginsteadforAshoktohelphertothelift.

—Despiteouroccasionalmisfires,MargotandIwerequitecontentthatspring.

InApril,aspromised,LilycametoNewYork,accompaniedbyMrs.Traynor.TheystayedattheRitzCarlton,afewblocksaway,andinvitedMargotandmeforlunch.Havingthemtheretogethermademefeelasifathreadeddarningneedlewasquietlydrawingthedifferentpartsofmylifetogether.

Mrs.Traynor,withherdiplomat’sgoodmanners,wasdelightfultoMargot,andtheyfoundcommongroundoverthehistoryofthebuildingandofNewYorkingeneral.Atlunch,IsawanotherMargot:quick-witted,knowledgeable,enlivenedbynewcompany.Mrs.Traynor,itemerged,hadcomehereforherhoneymoonin1978andtheydiscussedrestaurants,galleries,andexhibitionsofthetime.Mrs.Traynortalkedofhertimeasamagistrate,andMargotdiscussedtheofficepoliticsofthe1970s,andtheylaughedheartilyinawaythatsuggestedweyoungerpeoplecouldn’tpossiblyunderstand.Weatesaladandasmallportionoffishwrappedinprosciutto.InoticedthatMargothadatinyforkfulofeverything,slidingtheresttooneside,anddespairedquietlyofevergettinghertofillanyofherclothesagain.

Lily,meanwhile,leanedintomeandquizzedmeaboutwhereshecouldgothatdidn’tinvolveeitheroldpeopleoranykindofculturalimprovement.

“Grannyhaspackedthesefourdaysabsolutelyfullofeducationalcrap.I’vegottogototheMuseumofModernArtandsomebotanicalgardensandallsorts,whichisfine,blah-blah,ifyoulikeallthat,butIreallywanttogoclubbingandgetwreckedandgoshopping.Imean,thisisNewYork!”

“I’vealreadyspokenwithMrs.Traynor.AndI’mtakingyououttomorrowwhileshecatchesupwithacousinofhers.”

“Seriously?ThankGod.I’mgoingbackpackinginVietnaminthelongvac.DidItellyou?Iwanttogetsomedecentcutoffshorts.SomethingIcanwearforweeksanditwon’tmatteriftheydon’tgetwashed.Andmaybeanoldbikerjacket.Somethinggoodandbattered.”

“Whoareyougoingwith?Afriend?”Iraisedaneyebrow.

“YousoundlikeGranny.”

“Well?”

“Aboyfriend.”Andthen,asIopenedmymouth:“ButIdon’twanttosayanythingabouthim.”

“Why?I’mdelightedyouhaveaboyfriend.It’slovelynews.”Iloweredmyvoice.“Youknowthelastpersonwhogotcageylikethatwasmysister.Andshewasbasicallyhidingthefactthatshewasabouttocomeout.”

“Iamnotcomingout.Idonotwanttogorootingaboutinsomeone’sladygarden.Bleurgh.”

Itriednottolaugh.“Lily,youdon’thavetokeepeverythingclosetoyourchest.Wealljustwantyoutobehappy.It’sokayifpeopleknowyourbusiness.”

“Grannydoesknowmybusiness,asyousoquaintlycallit.”

“Thenwhycan’tyoutellme?IthoughtyouandIcouldtelleachotheranything!”

Lilyboretheresignedexpressionofsomeonecornered.Shesighedtheatricallyandputdownherknifeandfork.Shelookedatmeasifbracedforafight.“Becauseit’sJake.”

“Jake?”

“Sam’sJake.”

Therestaurantgroundtoagentlehaltaroundme.Iforcedmyfaceintoasmile.“Okay!...Wow!”

Shescowled.“Iknewyou’dreactlikethat.Look,itjusthappened.Andit’snotlikewetalkaboutyouallthetimeoranything.Ijustranintohimacoupleoftimes—youknowwemetatthatLettingGothingforthatcringygriefcounselinggroupyouusedtogotoandwegotonokayandwelikedeachother?Well,wesortofgeteachother’ssituationssowe’regoingbackpackingtogetherinthesummer.Nobiggie.”

Mybrainwasspinning.“HasMrs.Traynormethim?”

“Yes.HecomestooursandIgotohis.”Shelookedalmostdefensive.

“Soyouseealotof—”

“Hisdad.ImeanIdoseeAmbulanceSambutImostlyseeJake’sdad.Whoisokay,butstillquitedepressedandeatsaboutatonofcake

aweek,whichisstressingJakeoutalot.That’spartlywhywewanttogetawayfromeverything.Justforsixweeksorso.”

ShekepttalkingbutalowhumhadstartedsomewhereinthebackofmyheadandIcouldn’tquiteregisterwhatshewassaying.Ididn’twanttohearaboutSam,evenvicariously.Ididn’twanttohearaboutpeopleIlovedplayingHappyFamilieswithoutmewhileIwasthousandsofmilesaway.Ididn’twanttoknowaboutSam’shappinessorKatiewithhersexymouthorhowtheywerenodoubtlivinginhishousetogetherinanewlybuiltdenofpassionandtangledmatchinguniforms.

“Sohow’syournewboyfriend?”shesaid.

“Josh?Josh!He’sgreat.Totallygreat.”Iputmyknifeandforkneatlytothesideofmyplate.“Just...dreamy.”

“Sowhat’sgoingon?Ineedtoseepicturesofyouwithhim.You’remassivelyannoyingthatyouneverputanyupdatesonFacebook.Don’tyouhaveanypicturesofhimonyourphone?”

“Nope,”Isaid,andshewrinkledhernoseasifthatwereacompletelyinadequateresponse.

Iwasn’ttellingthetruth.Ihadoneofthetwoofusatapop-uprooftoprestaurant,takenaweekearlier.ButIdidn’twanthertoknowthatJoshwasthespittingimageofherfather.Eitheritwouldunbalanceheror,worse,havingheracknowledgeitoutloudwouldunbalanceme.

“Sowhenareweheadingoutofthisfuneralparlor?Wecanleavetheoldsheretofinishtheirlunch,surely.”Lilynudgedme.Thetwowomenwerestillchatting.“DidItellyouI’vebeenwindingGrandpaupmassivelyaboutGranny’simaginaryheartthrobboyfriend?ItoldhimtheyweregoingonholidaytotheMaldivesandthatGrannyhadbeentoRigbyandPellertostockuponnewunderwear.Iswearhe’sabouttobreakdownanddeclarehestilllovesher.It’smakingmedielaughing.”

—MuchasIlovedLily,IwasgratefulthatMrs.Traynor’spackedscheduleofculturalimprovementsoverthenextfewdaysmeantthat,

asidefromourshoppingtrip,wehadlimitedtimetogether.Herpresenceinthecity—withherintimateknowledgeofSam’slife—hadcreatedavibrationintheairthatIdidn’tknowhowtodispel.IwasgratefulthatJoshwasflatoutwithworkanddidn’tnoticeifIwasdownordistracted.ButMargotnoticedandonenight,whenherbelovedWheelofFortunehadfinishedandIrosetotakeDeanMartinforhislastwalkofthenight,sheaskedmestraightoutwhatthematterwas.

Itoldher.Icouldn’tthinkofareasonnotto.

“Youstilllovetheotherone,”shesaid.

“Yousoundlikemysister,”Isaid.“Idon’t.Ijust—IjustlovedhimsomuchwhenIdid.AndtheendofitwassoawfulandIthoughtthatbeingoverhereandlivingadifferentlifewouldinsulatemefromit.Idon’tdosocialmediaanymore.Idon’twanttokeeptabsonanyone.Andyetsomehowinformationaboutyourexwillalwaysendupfindingitswaytoyou.Andit’slikeIcan’tconcentratewhileLily’sherebecauseshe’snowpartofhislife.”

“Perhapsyoushouldjustgetintouchwithhim,dear.Itsoundsasifyoustillhavethingstosay.”

“Ihavenothingtosaytohim,”Isaid.Myvoicegrewimpassioned.“Itriedsohard,Margot.Iwrotetohimandsenthime-mailsandcalled.Doyouknowhedidn’twritemeoneletter?Inthreemonths?IaskedifhewouldwritebecauseIthoughtitwouldbeareallylovelywayforustostayconnectedandwecouldlearnthingsabouteachotherandlookforwardtospeakingandhavesomethingtoremindusofourtimeapartandhejust...hejustwouldn’t.”

Shesatandwatchedme,herhandsfoldedacrosstheremotecontrol.

Istraightenedmyshoulders.“Butit’sfine.BecauseI’vemovedon.AndJoshisjustterrific.Imean,he’shandsome,andhe’skind,andhehasthisgreatjob,andhe’sambitious—oh,heissoambitious.He’sreallygoingplaces,youknow.Hehasthingshewants—housesandcareerandgivingthingsback.Hewantstogiveback!Andhehasn’tevenreallygotanythingtogivebackyet!”

Isatdown.DeanMartinstoodinfrontofme,confused.“Andhe’stotallyclearthathewantstobewithme.Noifsandnobuts.Heliterallycalledmehisgirlfriendfromourfirstdate.AndI’veheardall

abouttheserialdatersinthistown.Doyouknowhowluckythatmakesmefeel?”

Shegaveasmallnod.

Istoodagain.“SoIdon’treallygiveamonkey’saboutSam.Imean,wehardlyevenkneweachotherwhenIcameoverhere.Isuspectifithadn’tbeenforeachofusrequiringemergencymedicalhelpwemightnothavebeentogetheratall.Infact,I’msureofit.AndIplainlywasn’trightforhimorhewouldhavewaited,right?Becausethat’swhatpeopledo.Soallinall,it’sgreat.AndI’mactuallyreallyhappywithhoweverythinghasturnedout.It’sallgood.Allgood.”

Therewasashortsilence.

“SoIsee,”saidMargot,quietly.

“I’mreallyhappy.”

“Icanseethat,dear.”Shewatchedmeforamoment,thenplacedherhandsonthearmsofherchair.“Now.Perhapsyoucouldtakethatpoordogout.Hiseyeshavestartedtobulge.”

I

25

ttookmetwoeveningstolocateMargot’sgrandson.JoshwasbusywithworkandMargotwenttobedmostnightsbyninesoone

eveningIsatonthefloorbythefrontdoor—theoneplacewhereIcouldpickuptheGopniks’WiFi—andIstartedgooglingherson,testingthenameFrankDeWitt,andwhennothingofthatnamecameup,FrankAldridgeJunior.Therewasnobodywhocouldhavebeenhim,unlesshe’dmovedtoadifferentpartofthecountry,buteventhenthedatesandnationalitiesofallthemenwhocameupunderthatnamewerewrong.

Onthesecondnight,onawhim,IlookedupMargot’smarriednameinsomeoldpapersthatwereinthechestofdrawersinmyroom.IfoundacardforafuneralserviceforTerrenceWeber,soItriedFrankWeberanddiscovered,withsomewistfulness,thatshehadnamedhersonafterherbelovedhusband,whohaddiedyearsbeforehewasevenborn.Andthatsometimefurtherdownthelineshehadchangedhernamebacktohermaidenname—DeWitt—andreinventedherselfcompletely.

FrankWeberJuniorwasadentistwholivedsomewherecalledTuckahoeinWestchesterCounty.IfoundacoupleofreferencestohimonLinkedInandonFacebookthroughhiswife,Laynie.Thebignewswasthattheyhadason,Vincent,whowasalittleyoungerthanme.VincentworkedinYonkerswithanot-for-profiteducationalcenterforunderprivilegedchildrenanditwashewhodecideditforme.FrankWeberJuniormightbetooangrywithhismothertorebuildarelationship,butwhatharmwouldtherebeintryingVincent?Ifoundhisprofile,tookabreath,senthimamessage,andwaited.

—

Joshtookabreakfromhisnever-endingroundofcorporatejockeyingandhadlunchwithmeatthenoodlebar,announcingtherewasacompany“familyday”thefollowingSaturdayattheLoebBoathouseandthathe’dlikemetocomeashisplus-one.

“Iwasplanningongoingtothelibraryprotest.”

“Youdon’twanttokeepdoingthat,Louisa.You’renotgoingtochangeanythingstandingaroundwithabunchofpeopleshoutingatpassingcars.”

“AndI’mnotreallyfamily,”Isaid,bristlingslightly.

“Closeenough.C’mon!It’llbeagreatday.Haveyoueverbeentotheboathouse?It’sgorgeous.Myfirmreallyknowshowtolayonaparty.You’restilldoingyour‘sayyes’thing,right?Soyouhavetosayyes.”Hedidpuppyeyesatme.“Sayyes,Louisa,please.Goon.”

Hehadmeandheknewit.Ismiledresignedly.“Okay.Yes.”

“Great!Lastyearapparentlytheyhadalltheseinflatablesumosuitsandpeoplewrestledonthegrassandtherewerefamilyracesandorganizedgames.You’regoingtoloveit.”

“Soundsamazing,”Isaid.Thewords“organizedgames”heldthesameappealtomeasthewords“compulsorysmeartest.”ButitwasJoshandhelookedsopleasedatthethoughtofmyaccompanyinghimthatIdidn’thavethehearttosayno.

“Ipromiseyouwon’thavetowrestlemycoworkers.Youmighthavetowrestlemeafterward,though,”hesaid,thenkissedme,andleft.

—Icheckedmyinboxallweek,buttherewasnothing,otherthanane-mailfromLilyaskingifIknewthebestplacetogetanunderagetattoo,afriendlyhellofromsomeonewhowasapparentlyatschoolwithmebutwhomIdidn’trememberatall,andonefrommymothersendingmeaGIFofanoverweightcatapparentlytalkingtoatwo-year-oldandalinktoagamecalledFarmFunFandango.

“Areyousureyou’llbeokaybyyourself,Margot?”Isaid,asIgatheredmykeysandpurseintomyhandbag.Iwaswearingawhitejumpsuitwithgoldlaméepauletsandtrimthatshe’dgivenmefromherearlyeightiesperiodandsheclaspedherhandstogether.“Oh,that

looksmagnificentonyou.YoumusthavealmostexactlythemeasurementsthatIhadatthesameage.Iusedtohaveabust,youknow!Terriblyunfashionableinthesixtiesandseventiesbutthereyougo.”

Ididn’tliketotellherthatitwastakingeverythingIhadnottoburstherseamsbutshewasright—IhadlostafewpoundssinceI’dmovedinwithher,mostlybecauseofmyeffortstocookherthingsthatwerenutritionallyuseful.Ifeltlovelyinthejumpsuitandgaveheratwirl.“Haveyoutakenyourpills?”

“OfcourseIhave.Don’tfuss,dear.Doesthatmeanyouwon’tbebacklater?”

“I’mnotsure.I’lltakeDeanMartinforaquickwalkbeforeIgo,though.Justincase.”Ipaused,asIreachedforthedog’slead.“Margot?WhydidyoucallhimDeanMartin?Ineverasked.”

Thetoneofherresponsetoldmeitwasanidioticquestion.“BecauseDeanMartinwasthemostterrificallyhandsomeman,andhe’sthemostterrificallyhandsomedog,ofcourse.”

Thelittledogsatobediently,hisbulging,mismatchedeyesrollingabovehisflappingtongue.

“Sillyofmetoask,”Isaid,andletmyselfoutofthefrontdoor.

“Well,lookatyou!”AshokwhistledasDeanMartinandIrandownthelastflightofstairstothegroundfloor.“Discodiva!”

“Youlikeit?”Isaid,throwingashapeinfrontofhim.“ItwasMargot’s.”

“Seriously?Thatwomanisfullofsurprises.”

“Watchoutforher,willyou?She’sprettywobblytoday.”

“KeptbackapieceofmailjustsoIhaveanexcusetoknockonherdooratsixo’clock.”

“You’reastar.”

WejoggedoutsidetotheparkandDeanMartindidwhatdogsdoandIdidwhatyoudowithalittlebagandacertainamountofshudderingandvariouspassersbystaredinthewayyoudoifyouseeagirlinalamé-trimmedjumpsuitrunningaroundwithanexcitabledogandasmallbagofpoo.Itwasaswesprintedbackin,DeanMartinyappingdelightedlyatmyheels,thatwebumpedintoJoshinthe

lobby.“Oh,hey!”Isaid,kissinghim.“I’llbetwominutes,okay?Justhavetowashmyhandsandgrabmyhandbag.”

“Grabyourhandbag?”

“Yes!”Igazedathim.“Oh.Purse.Youcallitapurse?”

“Ijustmeant—you’renotgettingchanged?”

Ilookeddownatmyjumpsuit.“Iamchanged.”

“Sweetheart,ifyouwearthattoourofficedayoutthey’regoingtowonderifyou’retheentertainment.”

Ittookmeamomenttorealizehewasn’tjoking.“Youdon’tlikeit?”

“Oh.No.Youlookgreat.It’sjustit’skindofabit—dragqueeny?We’reanofficefullofsuits.Like,theotherwivesandgirlfriendswillbeinshiftdressesorwhitepants.It’sjust...smartcasual?”

“Oh.”Itriednottofeeldisappointed.“Sorry.Idon’treallygetUSdresscodes.Okay.Okay.Waitthere.I’llberightback.”

ItookthestairstwoatatimeandburstintoMargot’sapartment,throwingDeanMartin’sleadtowardMargot,whohadgottenupoutofherchairforsomethingandnowfollowedmedownthehallway,onethinarmbracedagainstthewall.

“Whyareyouinsuchatearinghurry?Yousoundlikeaherdofelephantschargingaroundtheapartment.”

“Ihavetochange.”

“Change?Why?”

“I’mnotsuitable,apparently.”Irattledmywaythroughmywardrobe.Shiftdresses?TheonlycleanshiftdressIhadwasthepsychedeliconeSamhadgivenmeanditfeltsomehowdisloyaltowearthat.

“Ithoughtyoulookedverynice,”saidMargotpointedly.

Joshappearedattheopenfrontdoor,havingmadehiswayupbehindme.“Oh,shedoes.Shelooksgreat.Ijust—Ijustwanthertobetalkedaboutfortherightreasons.”Helaughed.Margotdidn’tlaughback.

Irifledthroughmywardrobe,throwingthingsontomybed,untilIfoundmynavyGucci-styleblazerandastripedsilkshirtdress.Ithrew

thatovermyheadandslidmyfeetintomygreenMaryJanes.

“How’sthat?”Isaid,asIranintothehallway,tryingtostraightenmyhair.

“Great!”hesaid,unabletohidehisrelief.“Okay.Let’sgo.”

“I’llleavethedoorunlocked,dear,”IheardMargotmutterasIranafterJosh,whowasheadedout.“Justincaseyouwanttocomeback.”

—TheLoebBoathousewasabeautifulvenue,shelteredbyitspositionfromthenoiseandchaosoutsideCentralPark,itsvastwindowsofferingapanoramicviewofthelakeglintingintheafternoonsun.Itwaspackedwithsmartlydressedmeninidentikitchinos,womenwithprofessionallyblow-driedhair,andwas,asJoshhadpredicted,aseaofpastelsandwhitetrousers.

ItookaglassofchampagnefromatraybeingprofferedbyawaiterandwatchedquietlywhileJoshworkedtheroom,glad-handingvariousmen,whoallseemedtolookthesame,withtheirshort,neathaircuts,squarejaws,andevenwhiteteeth.IhadabriefmemoryofeventsIhadbeentowithAgnes:IhadfallenintomyotherNewYorkworldagain,aworldawayfromthevintageclothesstoresandmothballedjumpersandcheapcoffeeIhadbeenimmersedinmorerecently.Itookalongsipofmychampagne,decidingtoembraceit.

Joshappearedbesideme.“Quitesomething,isn’tit?”

“It’sverybeautiful.”

“Betterthansittinginsomeoldwoman’sapartmentallafternoon,huh?”

“Well,Idon’tthinkI—”

“Mybossiscoming.Okay.I’mgoingtointroduceyou.Staywithme.Mitchell!”

Joshliftedanarmandtheoldermanwalkedoverslowly,astatuesquebrunettewomanathisside,hersmileoddlyblank.Perhapsifyouhadtobenicetoeveryoneallthetimethatwaswhateventuallyhappenedtoyourface.

“Areyouenjoyingtheafternoon?”

“Verymuchso,sir,”Joshsaid.“Whatatrulybeautifulsetting.MayIintroducemygirlfriend?ThisisLouisaClark,fromEngland.Louisa,thisisMitchellDumont.He’sheadofMergersandAcquisitions.”

“English,eh?”Ifelttheman’shugehandcloseovermineandshakeitemphatically.

“Yes.I—”

“Good.Good.”HeturnedbacktoJosh.“So,youngman,Ihearyou’remakingquiteasplashinyourdepartment.”

Joshcouldn’thidehisdelight.Hissmilespreadacrosshisface.Hiseyesflickeredtomeandthentothewomanbesideme,andIrealizedhewasexpectingmetomakeconversationwithher.Nobodyhadbotheredtointroduceus.MitchellDumontputapaternalarmaroundJosh’sshouldersandwalkedhimafewfeetaway.

“So...”Isaid.Iraisedmyeyebrowsandloweredthemagain.

Shesmiledblanklyatme.

“Iloveyourdress,”Isaid,theuniversalsmootherfortwowomenwhohaveabsolutelynothingtosaytoeachother.

“Thankyou.Cuteshoes,”shesaid.Butshesaiditinthewaythatmeanttheyweren’tcuteatall.Sheglancedover,plainlywonderingifshecouldfindsomeoneelsetotalkto.Shehadtakenonelookatmyoutfitanddeemedherselfwaybeyondmypaygrade.

Therewasnobodyelsenearby,soItriedagain.“Sodoyoucomeherealot?TotheLoebBoathouse,Imean?”

“It’sLobe,”shesaid.

“Lobe?”

“YoupronounceditLerb.It’sLoeb.”

Lookingatherperfectlymadeup,suspiciouslyplumplipsrepeatedlysayingthewordmademewanttogiggle.Itookaswigofmychampagnetodisguiseit.“SodoyoucermtotheLerbBerthouseoften?”Isaid,unabletohelpmyself.

“No,”shesaid.“Althoughoneofmyfriendsgotmarriedherelastyear.Thatwassuchabeautifulwedding.”

“I’llbet.Andwhatdoyoudo?”

“I’mahomemaker.”

“Aherm-maker!Mymertherisalsoaherm-maker.”Itookanotherlongsipofmydrink.“Herm-makingisperfectlylervely.”IsawJosh,hisfacefocusedintentlyonhisboss’s,remindingmebrieflyofThom’swhenhewaspleadingwithDadtogivehimsomeofhiscrisps.

Thewoman’sexpressionhadbecomefaintlyconcerned—orasfarasawomanwhocouldn’tmoveherbrowcouldexpressconcern.AbubbleofgiggleshadstartedtobuildinmychestandIpleadedwithsomeunseendeitytokeepthemundercontrol.

“Maya!”Hervoicetingedwithrelief,Mrs.Dumont(atleast,IassumedthatwaswhomI’dbeentalkingto)wavedatawomanapproachingus,herperfectfigureneatlypinnedintoamint-coloredshiftdress.Iwaitedwhiletheyair-kissed.

“Youlooksimplygorgeous.”

“Asdoyou.Ilovethatdress.”

“Oh,it’ssoold.Andyou’resosweet.How’sthatdarlinghusbandofyours?Alwaystalkingbusiness.”

“Oh,youknowMitchell.”Mrs.Dumontplainlycouldn’tignoremypresenceanylonger.“ThisisJoshuaRyan’sgirlfriend.I’msosorry,Imissedyourname.Terriblynoisyinhere.”

“Louisa,”Isaid.

“Howlovely.I’mChrissy.I’mJeffrey’sotherhalf.YouknowJeffreyinSalesandMarketing?”

“Oh,everyoneknowsJeffrey,”saidMrs.Dumont.

“Oh,Jeffrey...,”Isaid,shakingmyhead.Thennodding.Thenshakingmyheadagain.

“Andwhatdoyoudo?”

“WhatdoIdo?”

“Louisa’sinfashion.”Joshappearedatmyside.

“Youcertainlydohaveanindividuallook.IlovetheBritish,don’tyou,Mallory?Theyaresointerestingintheirchoices.”

Therewasabriefsilence,whileeveryonedigestedmychoices.

“Louisa’sabouttostartworkatWomen’sWearDaily.”

“Youare?”saidMalloryDumont.

“Iam?”Isaid.“Yes.Iam.”

“Well,thatmustbejustthrilling.Whatawonderfulmagazine.Imustfindmyhusband.Doexcuseme.”Withanotherblandsmileshewalkedoffonhervertiginousheels,Mayabesideher.

“Whydidyousaythat?”Isaid,reachingforanotherglassofchampagne.“ItsoundsbetterthanIhouse-sitanoldlady?”

“No.You—youjustlooklikeyoumightworkinfashion.”

“You’restilluncomfortablewithwhatI’mwearing?”Ilookedoveratthetwowomen,intheircomplementarydresses.IhadasuddenmemoryofhowAgnesmusthavefeltatsuchgatherings,themyriadsubtlewayswomencanfindtoletotherwomenknowtheydonotfitin.

“Youlookgreat.It’sjustitmakesiteasiertoexplainyour—yourparticular...uniquesensibilityiftheythinkyou’reinfashion.Whichyoukindofare.”

“I’mperfectlyhappywithwhatIdo,Josh.”

“Butyouwanttoworkinfashion,don’tyou?Youcan’tlookafteranoldwomanforever.Look,Iwasgoingtotellyouafter—mysister-in-law,Debbie,sheknowsawomaninthemarketingdepartmentatWomen’sWearDaily.Shesaidshe’sgoingtoaskthemtofindoutiftheyhaveanyentry-levelvacancies.Sheseemsprettyconfidentshecandosomethingforyou.Whatdoyousay?”Hewasbeaming,likehe’dpresentedmewiththeHolyGrail.

Itookaswigofmydrink.“Sure.”

“Thereyougo.Exciting!”Hekeptlookingatme,eyebrowsraised.

“Yay!”Isaidfinally.

Hesqueezedmyshoulder.“Iknewyou’dbehappy.Right.Let’sgetbackoutthere.It’sthefamilyracesnext.Wantalimeandsoda?Idon’tthinkwecanreallybeseentobedrinkingmorethanoneglassofthechampagne.Here,letmetakethatforyou.”Heputmyglassonthetrayofapassingwaiterandweheadedoutintothesunshine.

—

Giventheeleganceoftheoccasionandthespectacularnatureofthesetting,Ishouldreallyhaveenjoyedthenextcoupleofhours.Ihadsaidyestoanewexperience,afterall.ButintruthIfeltincreasinglyoutofplaceamongthecorporatecouples.TheconversationalrhythmseludedmesothatwhenIwaspulledintoacasualgroupIendedupseemingeithermuteorstupid.Joshmovedfrompersontoperson,likeaguidedmanagerialmissile,ateverystophisfaceeagerandengaged,hismannerpolishedandassertive.Ifoundmyselfwatchinghimandwonderingagainwhatonearthhesawinme.Iwasnothinglikethesewomen,withtheirglowingpeach-coloredlimbsandtheiruncreasabledresses,theirtalesofimpossiblenanniesandholidaysintheBahamas.Ifollowedinhiswake,repeatinghislieaboutmynascentfashioncareerandsmilingmutelyandagreeingthatyes,yesitisverybeautifulandthankyou,ooh,yes,I’dloveanotherglassofchampagneandtryingnottonoticeJosh’sbobbingeyebrow.

“Howareyouenjoyingtheday?”

Awomanwithared-hairedbobsoshinyitwasalmostmirroredstoodbesidemeasJoshlaugheduproariouslyatthejokeofsomeoldermaninapaleblueshirtandchinos.

“Oh.It’sgreat.Thankyou.”

Ihadbecomeverygoodbythenatsmilingandsayingnothingatall.

“FelicityLieberman.IworktwodesksawayfromJosh.He’sdoingreallywell.”

Ishookherhand.“LouisaClark.Hecertainlyis.”Isteppedbackandtookanothersipofmydrink.

“He’llmakepartnerwithintwoyears.I’mcertainofit.Youtwobeendatinglong?”

“Uh,notthatlong.Butwe’veknowneachotheralotlonger.”

Sheseemedtobewaitingformetosaymore.

“Well,weweresortoffriendsbefore.”IhaddrunktoomuchandfoundmyselftalkingmorethanIhadintended.“Iwasactuallywithsomeoneelse,butJoshandI,wekeptbumpingintoeachother.Well,hesayshewaswaitingforme.Orwaitinguntilmeandmyexsplitup.Itwasactuallykindofromantic.Andabunchofstuffhappenedthen—bang!Suddenlywewereinarelationship.Youknowhowthesethingsgo.”

“Oh,Ido.He’sverypersuasive,isourJosh.”

Therewassomethinginherlaughthatunsettledme.“‘Persuasive’?”Isaid,afteramoment.

“Sodidhedothewhisperinggalleryonyou?”

“Didhewhat?”

Shemusthavecaughtmylookofshock.Sheleanedtowardme.“FelicityLieberman,youarethecutestgirlinNewYork.”SheglancedatJosh,thenbacktracked.“Oh,don’tlooklikethat.Weweren’tserious.AndJoshreallydoeslikeyou.Hetalksaboutyoualotatwork.He’sdefinitelyserious.But,Jeez,thesemenandtheirmoves,right?”

Itriedtolaugh.“Right.”

BythetimeMr.Dumonthadmadeaself-congratulatoryspeechandcoupleshadbeguntofloatofftotheirhomes,Iwassinkingunderanearlyhangover.JoshheldopenthedoorofawaitingtaxibutIsaidI’dwalk.

“Youdon’twanttocomebacktomyplace?Wecouldgrababitetoeat.”

“I’mtired.AndMargothasanappointmentinthemorning,”Isaid.Mycheekswereachingfromallthefakesmiling.

Hiseyessearchedmyface.“You’remadatme.”

“I’mnotmadatyou.”

“You’remadatmebecauseofwhatIsaidaboutyourjob.”Hetookmyhand.“Louisa,Ididn’tmeantoupsetyou,sweetheart.”

“Butyouwantedmetobesomeoneelse.YouthoughtIwasbeneaththem.”

“No.Ithinkyou’regreat.It’sjustyoucoulddobetter,becauseyouhavesomuchpotentialandI—”

“Don’tsaythat,okay?Thepotentialthing.It’spatronizingandit’sinsultingand...Well,Idon’twantyoutosayittome.Ever.Okay?”

“Woah.”Joshglancedbehindhim,perhapscheckingtoseeifanyworkcolleagueswerewatching.Hetookmyelbow.“Okay,sowhatisreallygoingonhere?”

Istaredatmyfeet.Ididn’twanttosayanything,butIcouldn’tstopmyself.“Howmany?”

“Howmanywhat?”

“Howmanywomenhaveyoudonethatthingto?Thewhisperinggallery?”

Itthrewhim.Herolledhiseyesandbrieflyturnedaway.“Felicity.”

“Yeah.Felicity.”

“Soyou’renotthefirst.Butit’sanicething,right?Ithoughtyou’denjoyit.Look,Ijustwantedtomakeyousmile.”

Westoodoneachsideofthedoorasthetaximeterticked,andthedriverraisedhiseyestotherearviewmirror,waiting.

“Anditdidmakeyousmile,right?Wehadamoment.Didn’twehaveamoment?”

“Butyou’dalreadyhadthatmoment.Withsomeoneelse.”

“C’mon,Louisa.AmItheonlymanyou’veeversaidnicethingsto?Dressedupfor?Madeloveto?We’renotteenagers.We’vegothistory.”

“Andtriedandtestedmoves.”

“That’snotfair.”

Itookabreath.“I’msorry.It’snotjustthewhispering-gallerything.Ifindtheseeventsalittletricky.I’mnotusedtohavingtopretendtobesomeoneI’mnot.”

Hissmilereturned,hisfacesoftening.“Hey.You’llgetthere.They’renicepeopleonceyouknowthem.EventheonesI’vedated.”Hetriedtosmile.

“Ifyousayso.”

“We’llgoononeofthesoftballdays.That’sabitlowerkey.You’llloveit.”

Iraisedasmile.

Heleanedforwardandkissedme.“Weokay?”hesaid.

“We’reokay.”

“Yousureyoudon’twanttocomebackwithme?”

“IneedtocheckonMargot.PlusIhaveaheadache.”

“That’swhatyougetforknockingitback!Drinklotsofwater.It’sprobablydehydration.I’llspeaktoyoutomorrow.”Hekissedme,climbedintothetaxi,andclosedthedoor.AsIstoodtherewatching,hewaved,thentappedtwiceonthescreentosendthetaxiforward.

—IcheckedtheclockinthelobbywhenIarrivedbackandwassurprisedtofinditwasonlysixthirty.Theafternoonseemedtohavelastedseveraldecades.Iremovedmyshoes,feelingtheutterreliefthatonlyawomanknowswhenpinchedtoesarefinallyallowedtosinkintodeeppilecarpet,andwalkeduptoMargot’sapartmentbarefootwiththemdanglingfrommyhand.IfeltwearyandcrossinawayIcouldn’tquitearticulate,likeI’dbeenaskedtoplayagamewhoserulesIdidn’tunderstand.I’dactuallyfeltasifI’dratherbeanywhereelsethanwhereIwas.AndIkeptthinkingaboutFelicityLieberman’sDidhedothewhisperinggalleryonyou?

AsIwalkedthroughthedoorIstoopedtogreetDeanMartin,whobouncedhiswayupthehalltome.Hissquishedlittlefacewassodelightedatmyreturnthatitwashardtostaygrumpy.Isatdownonthehallfloorandlethimjumparoundme,snufflingtoreachmyfacewithhispinktongueuntilIwassmilingagain.

“It’sjustme,Margot,”Icalled.

“Well,IhardlythoughtitwasGeorgeClooney,”cametheresponse.“More’sthepityforme.HowweretheStepfordWives?Hasheconvertedyouyet?”

“Itwasalovelyafternoon,Margot,”Ilied.“Everyonewasverynice.”

“Thatbad,huh?Wouldyoumindfetchingmeanicelittlevermouthifyouhappentobepassingthekitchen,dear?”

“Whatthehellisvermouth?”Imurmuredtothedog,buthesatdowntoscratchoneofhisearswithhishindleg.

“Haveoneyourself,ifyoulike,”sheadded.“Isuspectyou’llbeinneedofit.”

Iwasjustclimbingtomyfeetwhenmyphonerang.Ifeltamomentarydismay—itwouldprobablybeJoshandIwasn’tquite

readytotalktohim,butwhenIcheckedthescreenitwasmyhomenumber.Ipressedthephonetomyear.

“Dad?”

“Louisa?Oh,thankgoodness.”

Icheckedmywatch.“Iseverythingokay?Itmustbethemiddleofthenightthere.”

“Sweetheart,I’vegotbadnews.It’syourgranddad.”

26

InMemoryofAlbertJohnCompton,“Granddad”

Funeralservice:

St.MaryandAllSaintsParishChurch,StortfoldGreen

23April12.30p.m.

AllwelcomeforrefreshmentsafterwardattheLaughingDogpublichouseonPinemouthStreet

Noflowers,butanydonationswelcometotheInjuredJockeysFund.

“Ourheartsareempty,butweareblessedtohavelovedyou.”

ThreedayslaterIflewhomeintimeforthefuneral.IcookedMargottendays’worthofmeals,frozethem,andleftinstructionswithAshokthathewastosneakuptoherapartmentatleastonceadayonapretextandmakesurethatshewasokay,orthatifshewasn’t,Iwouldn’twalkinaweeklatertoahealthhazard.Ipostponedoneofherhospitalappointments,madesureshehadcleansheets,thatDeanMartinhadenoughfood,andpaidMagda,aprofessionaldog-walker,tocometwiceaday.ItoldMargotfirmlythatshewasnottosackherondayone.ItoldthegirlsattheVintageClothesEmporiumthatIwouldbeaway.IsawJoshtwice.Ilethimstrokemyhairandtellmehewassorryandthatherememberedhowitfelttolosehisowngrandfather.ItwasonlywhenIwasfinallyontheplanethatIrealizedthemyriadwaysIhadmademyselfbusyhadbeenawaynottoacknowledgethetruthofwhathadjusthappened.

Granddadwasgone.

Anotherstroke,Dadsaid.HeandMumhadbeensittinginthekitchenchattingwhileGranddadwatchedtheracingandshehadcomeintoaskifhewantedatop-upofteaandhehadslippedaway,soquietlyandpeacefullythatfifteenminuteshadpassedbeforeithaddawnedonthemthathewasn’tjustasleep.

“Helookedsorelaxed,Lou,”hesaidaswetraveledbackfromtheairportinhisvan.“Hisheadwasjustononesideandhiseyeswereclosed,likehewastakinganap.Imean,Godlovehim,wenoneofuswantedtolosehim,butthatwouldbethewaytogo,wouldn’tit?Inyourfavoritechairinyourownhousewiththeoldtellyon.Hedidn’tevenhaveabetonthatracesoit’snotlikehe’dbeheadeduptothehereafterfeelingguttedthathemissedoutonhiswinnings.”Hetriedtosmile.

Ifeltnumb.ItwasonlywhenIfollowedDadintoourhouseandsawtheemptychairthatIwasabletoconvincemyselfitwastrue.Iwouldneverseehimagain,neverfeelthatcurvedoldbackundermyfingertipsasIhuggedhim,neveragainmakehimacupofteaorinterprethissilentwordsorjokewithhimaboutcheatingatSudoku.

“Oh,Lou.”Mumcamedownthecorridorandpulledmetoher.

Ihuggedher,feelinghertearsseepintomyshoulderwhileDadstoodbehindherpattingherbackandmuttering,“There,there,love.You’reallright.You’reallright,”asifsayingitenoughtimeswouldmakeitso.

—MuchasIlovedGranddadIhadsometimeswonderedabstractlyifwhenhefinallywentMumwouldfeelinsomewayfreedfromtheresponsibilityofcaringforhim.Herlifehadbeensofirmlytiedtohisforsolongthatshehadonlyeverbeenabletocarveoutlittlebitsoftimeforherself;hislastmonthsofpoorhealthhadmeantshecouldnolongerevengotoherbelovednightclasses.

ButIwaswrong.Shewasbereft,permanentlyontheedgeoftears.Sheberatedherselffornothavingbeenintheroomwhenhehadgone,welledupatthesightofhisbelongings,andfrettedconstantlyoverwhethershecouldhavedonemore.Shewasrestless,lostwithoutsomeonetocarefor.Shegotupandshesatdown,plumpingcushions,

checkingaclockforsomeinvisibleappointment.Whenshewasreallyunhappyshecleanedmanically,wipingnonexistentdustfromskirtingandscrubbingfloorsuntilherknuckleswereredandraw.IntheeveningswesataroundthekitchentablewhileDadwenttothepub—supposedlytosortthelastofthearrangementsforthefuneraltea—andshetippedawaythefourthcupshehadmadebyaccidentforamanwhowasnolongerthere,thenblurtedoutthequestionsthathadhauntedhersincehehaddied.

“WhatifIcouldhavedonesomething?Whatifwehadtakenhimtothehospitalformoretests?Theymighthavebeenabletopickupontheriskofmorestrokes.”Herhandstwistedtogetheroverherhandkerchief.

“Butyoudidallthosethings.Youtookhimtomillionsofappointments.”

“DoyourememberthattimeheatetwopacketsofchocolateDigestives?Thatmighthavebeenthethingthatdidit.Sugar’sthedevil’sworknow,byallaccounts.Ishouldhaveputthemonahighershelf.Ishouldn’thavelethimeatthosewretchedcakes...”

“Hewasn’tachild,Mum.”

“Ishouldhavemadehimeathisgreens.Butitwashard,youknow?Youcan’tspoon-feedanadult.Oh,Lord,nooffense.ImeanwithWill,obviously,itwasdifferent...”

Iputmyhandoverhersandwatchedherfacecrumple.“Nobodycouldhavelovedhimmore,Mum.NobodycouldhavecaredforGranddadbetterthanyoudid.”

Intruth,hergriefmademeuncomfortable.ItwastooclosetoaplaceIhadbeen,andnotthatlongago.Iwaswaryofhersadness,asifitwerecontagious,andfoundmyselflookingforexcusestostayawayfromher,tryingtokeepmyselfbusysothatIdidn’thavetoabsorbittoo.

—Thatnight,whenMumandDadsatgoingoversomepaperworkfromthesolicitor,IwenttoGranddad’sroom.Itwasstilljustashe’dleftit,

thebedmade,thecopyoftheRacingPostonthechair,tworacesforthefollowingafternooncircledwithbluepen.

Isatonthesideofthebed,tracingthepatternonthecandlewickcounterpanewithmyindexfinger.Onthebedsidetablestoodapictureofmygrandmotherinthe1950s,herhairsetinrolledwaves,hersmileopenandtrusting.Ihadonlyfleetingmemoriesofher.Butmygrandfatherhadbeenaconstantfixtureinmychildhood,firstinthelittlehousealongthestreet(TreenaandIwouldrundownthereforsweetsonSaturdayafternoonasmymotherstoodatthegate),andthen,forthelastfifteenyears,inaroomatourhouse,hissweet,waveringsmilethepunctuationtomyday,apermanentpresenceinthelivingroomwithhisnewspaperandamugoftea.

Ithoughtaboutthestorieshewouldtelluswhenweweresmallofhistimeinthenavy(theonesaboutdesertislandsandmonkeysandcoconuttreesmightnothavebeenentirelytrue),abouttheeggybreadhewouldfryintheblackenedpan—theonlythinghecouldcook—andhow,whenIwasreallysmall,hewouldtellmygrandmotherjokesthatmadeherweepwithlaughter.AndthenIthoughtabouthislateryearswhenI’dtreatedhimalmostasapartofthefurniture.Ihadn’twrittentohim.Ihadn’tcalledhim.IhadjustassumedhewouldbethereforaslongasIwantedhimtobe.Hadheminded?Hadhewantedtospeaktome?

Ihadn’tevensaidgood-bye.

IrememberedAgnes’swords:thatwewhotraveledfarfromhomewouldalwayshaveourheartsintwoplaces.Iplacedmyhandonthecandlewickbedspread.And,finally,Iwept.

—OnthedayofthefuneralIcamedownstairstofindMumcleaningfuriouslyinpreparationforthefuneralguests,eventhoughtomyknowledgenobodywascomingbacktothehouse.Dadsatatthetablelookingfaintlyoutofhisdepth—notanunusualexpressionwhenhewastalkingtomymotherthesedays.

“Youdon’tneedtogetajob,Josie.Youdon’tneedtodoanything.”

“Well,Ineedsomethingtodowithmytime.”Mumtookoffherjacketandfoldeditcarefullyoverthebackofachairbeforegoingdown

onherkneestogetatsomeinvisiblespeckofdirtbehindacupboard.Dadwordlesslypushedaplateandknifetowardme.

“Iwasjustsaying,Lou,love,yourmotherdoesn’tneedtojumpintoanything.She’ssayingshe’sheadedtotheJobCenteraftertheservice.”

“YoulookedafterGranddadforyears,Mum.Youshouldjustenjoyhavingsometimetoyourself.”

“No.I’mbetterifI’mdoingsomething.”

“We’llhavenocupboardsleftifshekeepsscrubbingthematthisrate,”Dadmuttered.

“Sitdown.Please.Youneedtoeatsomething.”

“I’mnothungry.”

“ForGod’ssake,woman.You’llgivemeastrokeifyoucarryonlikethis.”Hewincedassoonashe’dsaidit.“I’msorry.I’msorry.Ididn’tmean...”

“Mum.”Iwalkedovertoherwhenshedidn’tappeartohearme.Iputmyhandonhershoulderandshebrieflystilled.“Mum.”

Shepushedherwayupontoherfeet.Shewipedherfacewithherpalmandlookedoutofthewindow.“WhatuseamInow?”shesaid.

“Whatdoyoumean?”

Sheadjustedthestarchedwhitenetcurtain.“Nobodyneedsmeanymore.”

“Oh,Mum,Ineedyou.Weallneedyou.”

“Butyou’renothere,areyou?Noneofyouis.NotevenThom.You’reallmilesaway.”

DadandIexchangedalook.

“Doesn’tmeanwedon’tneedyou.”

“Granddadwastheonlyonewhoreliedonme.Evenyou,Bernard,you’dbefinewithapieandapintuptheroadeveryevening.WhatamIsupposedtodonow?I’mfifty-eightyearsoldandI’mgoodfornothing.I’vespentmywholelifelookingaftersomeoneelseandnowthere’snobodyleftwhoevenneedsme.”

Hereyesbrimmedwithtears.Ithought,foroneterrifyingminute,thatshewasabouttohowl.

“We’llalwaysneedyou,Mum.Idon’tknowwhatI’ddoifyouweren’there.It’slikeyou’relikethefoundationsofabuilding.Imightnotseeyouallthetime,butIknowyou’rethere.Supportingme.Allofus.IbetyouTreenawouldsaythesame.”

Shelookedatme,hereyestroubled,asifsheweren’tsurewhattobelieve.

“Youare.Andthis—thisisaweirdtime.It’sgoingtotakeawhiletoadjust.Butrememberwhathappenedwhenyoustartedyournightclasses?Howexcitedyoufelt?Likeyouwerediscoveringbitsofyourself?Well,that’sgoingtohappenagain.It’snotaboutwhoneedsyou—it’saboutfinallydevotingsometimetoyourself.”

“Josie,”saidDadsoftly,“we’lltravel.Doallthosethingswethoughtwecouldn’tdobecauseitwouldhavemeantleavinghim.Maybewe’llcomeandseeyou,Lou.AtriptoNewYork!See,love,it’snotthatyourlifeisover,justthatit’sgoingtobeadifferentsortoflife.”

“NewYork?”saidMum.

“Oh,myGod,I’dlovethat,”Isaid,pullingapieceoftoastfromtherack.“Icouldfindyouanicehotelandwecoulddoallthesights.”

“Youwould?”

“Perhapswecanmeetthatmillionairefellayouworkfor,”saidDad.“Hecangiveusafewtips,right?”

I’dneveractuallytoldthemaboutmychangeincircumstances.Ikepteatingmytoast,myfaceblank.

“Us?GotoNewYork?”saidMum.

Dadreachedforaboxoftissuesandhandedthemtoher.“Well,whynot?Wehavesavings.Youcan’ttakeitwithyou.Theoldmanknewthat,atleast.Don’tbeexpectinganyexpensivebequests,eh,Louisa?I’mfrightenedtopassthebookieincasehejumpsoutandsaysGranddadoweshimafiver.”

Mumstraightenedup,herclothinherhand.Shelookedtooneside.

“YouandmeandDadinNewYorkCity.Well,wouldn’tthatbeathing?”

“Wecanlookupflightsthisevening,ifyoulike.”IwonderedbrieflyifIcouldpersuadeMargottosayhersurnamewasGopnik.

Mumputahandtohercheek.“Oh,gracious,listentomemakingplansandGranddadnotcoldinhisgraveyet.Whatwouldhethink?”

“He’dthinkitwaswonderful.GranddadwouldlovethethoughtofyouandDadcomingtoAmerica.”

“Youreallythinkso?”

“Iknowso.”Ireachedacrossandhuggedher.“Hetraveledtheworldinthenavy,didn’the?AndIalsoknowhe’dliketothinkofyoustartingbackattheadulteducationcenter.Nopointwastingallthatknowledgeyou’vegainedoverthepastyear.”

“ThoughI’malsoprettysurehe’dliketothinkyouwerestillleavingmesomedinnerintheovenbeforeyouwent,”saidDad.

“C’mon,Mum.Justgetthroughtodayandthenwecanstartplanning.Youdideverythingyoucouldforhim,andIknowGranddadwouldfeelyoudeservedthenextstageofyourlifetobeanadventure.”

“Anadventure,”Mummused.ShetookatissuefromDadanddabbedatthecornerofhereye.“HowdidIraisedaughterswithsomuchwisdom,eh?”

Dadraisedhiseyebrowsand,withadeftmove,slidthetoastoffmyplate.

“Ah.Well,thatwouldbethefatherlyinfluence,yousee.”HeyelpedasMumflickedherteatowelatthebackofhisheadandthen,assheturned,hesmiledatmewithalookofutterrelief.

—Thefuneralpassed,asfuneralsdo,withvaryingdegreesofsadness,sometears,andasizablepercentageofthecongregationwishingtheyknewthetunestothehymns.Itwasnotanexcessivegathering,asthepriestputitpolitely.Granddadhadventuredoutsorarelybytheendthatfewofhisfriendsevenseemedtoknowthathe’dpassed,eventhoughMumhadputanoticeintheStortfoldObserver.Eitherthatormostofthemweredeadtoo(withacoupleofthemournersitwasquitehardtotellthedifference).

AtthegravesideIstoodbesideTreena,myjawtense,andfeltaveryparticularkindofsiblinggratitudewhenherhandcreptintomineandsqueezedit.IlookedbehindmetowhereEddiewasholdingThom’s

hand,andhewaskickingquietlyatadaisyinthegrass,perhapstryingnottocry,orperhapsthinkingaboutTransformersorthehalf-eatenbiscuithehadwedgedintotheupholsteryofthefuneralcar.

Iheardthepriestmurmurthefamiliarrecitationaboutdustandashesandmyeyesfilledwithtears.Iwipedthemawaywithahandkerchief.AndthenIlookedup,andacrossthegraveatthebackofthesmallthrongofmournersstoodSam.Myheartlurched.Ifeltahotflush,somewherebetweenfearandnausea.Icaughthiseyebrieflythroughthecrowd,blinkedhard,andlookedaway.WhenIlookedback,hehadgone.

—IwasatthebuffetatthepubwhenIturnedtofindhimbesideme.Ihadneverseenhiminasuitandthesightofhimlookingbothsohandsomeandsounfamiliarbrieflyknockedmybreathfrommychest.Idecidedtohandlethesituationinasmatureawayaspossibleandsimplyrefusetoacknowledgehispresence,peeringintentlyinsteadattheplatesofsandwiches,inthemannerofsomeonewhohadonlyrecentlybeenintroducedtotheconceptoffood.

Hestoodthere,perhapswaitingformetolookup,andthensaidsoftly,“I’msorryaboutyourgranddad.Iknowwhataclosefamilyyouare.”

“Notthatclose,clearly,orIwouldhavebeenhere.”Ibusiedmyselfarrangingthenapkinsonthetable,eventhoughMumhadpaidforwaitingstaff.

“Yes,well,lifedoesn’talwaysworklikethat.”

“SoI’vegathered.”Iclosedmyeyesbriefly,tryingtoremovethespikefrommyvoice.Itookabreath,thenfinallylookedupathim,myfacearrangedcarefullyintosomethingneutral.“Sohowareyou?”

“Notbad,thanks.You?”

“Oh.Fine.”

Westoodforamoment.

“How’syourhouse?”

“Comingon.Movinginnextmonth.”

“Wow.”Iwasbrieflystartledfrommydiscomfort.ItseemedimprobabletomethatsomeoneIknewcouldbuildahousefromnothing.Ihadseenitwhenitwasjustapatchofconcreteontheground.Andyethehaddoneit.“That’s—that’samazing.”

“Iknow.I’llmisstheoldrailwaycarriage,though.Iquitelikedbeinginthere.Lifewas...simple.”

Welookedateachother,thenaway.

“How’sKatie?”

Thefaintestofpauses.“She’sfine.”

Mymotherappearedatmyshoulderwithatrayofsausagerolls.“Lou,sweetheart,wouldyouseewhereTreenis?Shewasgoingtohandtheseroundforme—oh,no.Theresheis.Perhapsyoucouldtakethemtoher.There’speopleovertherehaven’thadanythingtoeatye—”ShesuddenlygraspedwhoIwastalkingto.Shesnatchedthetrayawayfromme.“Sorry.I’msorry.Didn’tmeantointerrupt.”

“Youweren’t,”Isaid,slightlymoreemphaticallythanI’dintended.Itookholdofthetray’sedge.

“I’lldoit,love,”shesaid,pullingthetraytowardherwaist.

“Icandoit.”Iheldtight,myknucklesglowingwhite.

“Lou.Let.Go,”shesaidfirmly.Hereyesburnedintomine.Ifinallyrelinquishedmygripandshehurriedaway.

SamandIstoodbythetable.Wesmiledawkwardlyateachotherbutthesmilesfellawaytooquickly.Ipickedupaplateandputacarrotstickonit.Iwasn’tsureIcouldeatanythingbutitseemedoddtostandtherewithanemptyplate.

“So.Areyoubackforlong?”

“Justaweek.”

“How’slifetreatingyouoverthere?”

“It’sbeeninteresting.Igotthesack.”

“Lilytoldme.IseeafairbitofhernowwiththewholeJakething.”

“Yeah,thatwas...surprising.”IwonderedbrieflywhatLilyhadtoldhimabouthervisit.

“Nottome.Icouldseeitfromthefirsttimetheymet.Youknow,she’sgreat.They’rehappy.”

Inodded,asifinagreement.

“Shetalksalot.AboutyouramazingboyfriendandhowyoupickedyourselfupafterthefiringthingandfoundanotherplacetoliveandyourjobatthatVintageClothesEmporium.”HewasapparentlyasfascinatedasIwasbythecheesestraws.“Yougotitallsorted,then.She’sinaweofyou.”

“Idoubtthat.”

“ShesaidNewYorksuitsyou.”Heshrugged.“ButIguesswebothknewthat.”

Isnuckalookathimwhilehisgazewaselsewhere,marvelingwiththesmallpartofmethatwasn’tactuallydyingthattwopeoplewhowereoncesocomfortablewitheachothercouldnowbarelyworkouthowtostringasentencetogetherinconversation.

“Ihavesomethingforyou.Inmyroomathome,”Isaidabruptly.Iwasn’tentirelysurewhereitcamefrom.“Ibroughtitbacklasttimebut...youknow.”

“Somethingforme?”

“Notyouexactly.It’s,well,it’saKnicksbaseballcap.Iboughtit...awhileback.Thatthingyoutoldmeaboutyoursister.Shenevermadeitto30RockbutIthought,well,maybeJakemightlikeit.”

Hestaredatme.

Itwasmyturntolookdownatmyfeet.“It’sprobablyastupididea,though,”Isaid.“Icangiveittosomeoneelse.It’snotlikeIcan’tfindahomeforaKnickscapinNewYork.Anditmightbeabitweird,megivingyoustuff.”

“No.No.He’dloveit.That’sverykindofyou.”SomeonebeepedahornoutsideandSamglancedtowardthewindow.IwonderedidlyifKatiewaswaitinginthecarforhim.

Ididn’tknowwhattosay.Theredidn’tseemtobearightanswertoanyofit.Itriedtofightthelumpthathadrisentomythroat.IthoughtbacktotheStragerball—I’dassumedthatSamwouldhateit,thathewouldn’thaveasuit.WhydidIthinkthat?Theonehewaswearingtodaylookedlikeithadbeenmadeforhim.

“I’ll—I’llsendit.Doyouknowwhat?”Isaid,whenIcouldn’tbearitanylonger.“IthinkI’dbetterhelpMumwiththose—withthe—Therearesausagesthat...”

Samtookastepbackward.“Sure.Ijustwantedtopaymyrespects.I’llleaveyoutoit.”

Heturnedawayandmyfacecrumpled.IwasgladIwasatawakewherenobodywouldthinkthisparticularexpressionworthyofattention.Andthen,beforeIcouldstraightenmyface,heturnedbacktome.

“Lou,”hesaidquietly.

Icouldn’tspeak.Ijustshookmyhead.AndthenIwatchedhimashemadehiswaythroughthemournersandoutthroughthepubdoor.

—ThateveningMumhandedmeasmallparcel.

“IsthisfromGranddad?”Isaid.

“Don’tbedaft,”shesaid.“Granddadnevergaveanyoneapresentforthelasttenyearsofhislife.Thisisfromyourman,Sam.Seeinghimtodayremindedme.Youleftitherethelasttimeyoucame.Iwasn’tsurewhatyouwantedmetodowithit.”

Iheldthelittleboxandhadasuddenmemoryofourargumentatthekitchentable.HappyChristmas,he’dsaid,anddroppeditthereasheleft.

Mumturnedawayandbeganwashingup.Iopeneditcarefully,peelingoffthelayersofwrappingpaperwithexaggeratedcare,likesomeoneopeninganartifactfromapreviousage.

Insidethelittleboxlayanenamelpinintheshapeofanambulance,perhapsfromthe1950s.Itsredcrosswasmadeoftinyjewelsthatmighthavebeenrubies,ormighthavebeenpaste.Eitherway,itglitteredinmyhand.Atinynotewasfoldedintheroofofthebox.

Toremindyouofmewhilewe’reapart.Allmylove,YourAmbulanceSam.xxx

IhelditinthepalmofmyhandandMumcametolookovermyshoulder.It’srarethatmymotherchoosesnottospeak.Butthistime

shesqueezedmyshoulder,droppedakissonthetopofmyhead,andwentbacktothewashingup.

H

27

DearLouisaClark,MynameisVincentWeber—grandsonofMargotWeber,asIknowher.But

youseemtoknowherbyhermaidennameofDeWitt.

Yourmessagecameasasurprisebecausemydaddoesn’treallytalkabouthismom—tobehonest,foryearsIwasledtobelievethatshewasn’tevenalive,althoughIrealizenowthatnobodyeverputitinthoseexactterms.

AfterIgotyourmessageIaskedmymomandshesaidtherehadbeensomebigfalling-outwaybeforeIwasborn,butI’vebeenthinkingandhavedecidedthat’sreallynothingtodowithme,andIwouldlovetoknowsomemoreabouther(youseemedtohintthatshe’dbeenunwell?).Can’tbelieveIhaveanothergrandma!

Pleasee-mailback.Andthankyouforyourefforts.VincentWeber(Vinny)

ecameattheagreedtimeonaWednesdayafternoon,thefirstreallywarmdayofMaywhenthestreetswerefullofabruptly

exposedfleshandnewlypurchasedsunglasses.Ididn’ttellMargotbecause(a)Iknewshe’dbefuriousand(b)Ihadastrongfeelingshewouldsimplygooutforawalkuntilhehadleft.Iopenedthefrontdoorandtherehestood—atallblondmanwithhisearpiercedinsevenplaces,wearingapairof1940s-stylebaggytrouserswithabrightscarletshirt,highlypolishedbrownbrogues,andaFairIslesweaterdrapedaroundhisshoulders.

“AreyouLouisa?”hesaid,asIstoopedtopickuptheflailingdog.

“Oh,my,”Isaid,lookinghimslowlyupanddown.“Youtwoaregoingtogetonlikeahouseonfire.”

Iwalkedhimdownthecorridorandwewhisperedaconversation.IttookafulltwominutesofDeanMartinbarkingandsnarlingbeforeshecalled,“Whowasatthedoor,dear?Ifit’sthatawfulGopnikwomanyoucantellherherpianoplayingisshowy,sentimentaltripe.Andthat’sfromsomeonewhooncesawLiberace.”Shestartedtocough.

Walkingbackward,Ibeckonedhimtowardthelivingroom.Ipushedopenthedoor.“Margot,youhaveavisitor.”

Sheturned,frowningslightly,herhandsrestingonthearmofherchair,andsurveyedhimforafulltenseconds.“Idon’tknowyou,”shesaiddecisively.

“ThisisVincent,Margot.”Itookabreath.“Yourgrandson.”

Shestaredathim.

“Hey,Mrs.DeWitt...Grandma.”Hewalkedforwardandsmiled,thenstoopedandcrouchedinfrontofher,andshestudiedhisface.

HerexpressionwassofiercethatIthoughtshewasgoingtoshoutathim,butthenshegavewhatsoundedlikealittlehiccup.Hermouthdroppedopenahalfinchandherbonyoldhandsclosedonhissleeves.“Youcame,”shesaid,hervoicealowcroon,crackingasitemergedfromsomewheredeepinherchest.“Youcame.”Shestaredathim,hereyesflickeringoverhisfeaturesasifshewerealreadyseeingsimilarities,histories,promptingmemorieslongforgotten.“Oh,butyou’reso,solikeyourfather.”Shereachedoutahandandtouchedthesideofhisface.

“IliketothinkIhaveslightlybettertaste,”Vincentsaid,smiling,andMargotgaveayelpoflaughter.

“Letmelookatyou.Oh,mygoodness.Oh,you’resohandsome.Buthowdidyoufindme?Doesyourfatherknowabout...?”Sheshookherhead,asifitwereajumbleofquestions,andherknuckleswerewhiteonhissleeves.Thensheturnedtome,asifshehadforgottenIwaseventhere.“Well,Idon’tknowwhatyou’restaringat,Louisa.Anormalpersonwouldhaveofferedthispoormanadrinkbynow.Goodness.SomedaysIhavenoideawhatonearthyou’redoinghere.”

Vincentlookedstartled,butasIturnedandwalkedtothekitchenIwasbeaming.

T

28

hiswasit,Joshsaid,clappinghishandstogether.Hewassurehewasgoingtogetthepromotion.ConnorAileshadn’tbeeninvited

toadinner.CharmaineTrent,whohadrecentlybeenbroughtacrossfromLegal,hadn’tbeeninvitedtoadinner.ScottMackey,theaccountsmanager,hadbeeninvitedtoadinnerbeforehebecameaccountsmanager,andhe’dsaidhewasprettysureJoshwasashoo-in.

“ImeanIdon’twanttogettooconfident,butit’sallaboutthesocialthing,Louisa,”hesaid,examininghisreflection.“Theyonlyeverpromotepeopleiftheythinktheycanmixwiththemsocially.It’snotwhatyouknow,right?IwaswonderingifIshouldtakeupgolf.Theyallplaygolf.ButIhaven’tplayedsinceIwas,like,thirteen.Whatdoyouthinkofthistie?”

“Great.”Itwasatie.Ididn’treallyknowwhattosay.Theyallseemedtobeblueanyway.Heknotteditwithswift,surestrokes.

“IcalledDadyesterdayandhesaidthekeythingwastolooklikeyou’renotdependentonit,right?Like—likeI’mambitiousandI’mtotallyacompanyman,butequallyIcouldmovetoanotherfirmatanytimebecauseI’dbesomuchindemand.Theyhavetofeelasenseofthreatthatyoumightgosomewhereelseiftheydon’tgiveyouyourdue,youknowwhatI’msaying?”

“Oh,yes.”

Itwasthesameconversationwehadhadfourteentimesoverthepastweek.Iwasn’tsureitevenrequiredanswersonmyside.Hecheckedhisreflectionagain,andthen,apparentlysatisfied,walkedovertothebedandleanedacrosstorunahanddownthebackofmyhair.“I’llpickyouupjustbeforeseven,okay?Makesureyou’vewalkedthatdogsowedon’tgetheldup.Idon’twanttobelate.”

“I’llbeready.”

“Haveaniceday.Hey,itwasgreatwhatyoudidwiththeoldlady’sfamily,youknow?Reallygreat.Youdidagoodthing.”

Hekissedmeemphatically,alreadysmilingatthethoughtofthedayahead,andthenhewasgone.

Istayedinhisbedintheexactpositionhehadleftme,dressedinoneofhisT-shirtsandhuggingmyknees.ThenIgotup,dressed,andletmyselfoutofhisapartment.

—IwasstilldistractedwhenItookMargottohermorninghospitalappointment,leaningmyforeheadagainstthetaxiwindowandtryingtosoundlikeIunderstoodwhatshewastalkingabout.

“Justdropmehere,dear,”saidMargotasIhelpedherout.Iletgoofherarmasshereachedthedoubledoorsandtheyslidopenasiftoswallowher.

Thiswasourpatternforeveryappointment.IwouldstayoutsidewithDeanMartin,shewouldmakeherwayinslowlyandIwouldcomebackinanhour,orwhenevershechosetocallme.

“Idon’tknowwhat’sgotintoyouthismorning.You’reallovertheplace.Useless.”Shestoodintheentranceandhandedmethelead.

“Thanks,Margot.”

“Well,it’sliketravelingwithahalfwit.Yourbrainisclearlysomewhereelseandyou’renocompanyatall.I’vehadtospeaktoyouthreetimesjusttogetyoutodoathingforme.”

“Sorry.”

“Well,makesureyoudevoteyourfullattentiontoDeanMartinwhileI’minside.Hegetsverydistressedwhenheknowshe’sbeingignored.”Sheliftedafinger.“Imeanit,younglady.I’llknow.”

IwashalfwaytothecoffeeshopwiththeoutsidetablesandthefriendlywaiterwhenIfoundIwasstillholdingherhandbag.Icursedandranbackupthestreet.

IracedintoReception,ignoringthepointedstaresofthewaitingpatients,whoglaredatthedog,asifIhadbroughtinalivehand

grenade.“Hi!Ineedtogiveabag—apurse—toMrs.MargotDeWitt.CanyoutellmewhereImightfindher?Please.I’mhercarer.”

Thewomandidn’tlookupfromherscreen.“Youcan’tcallher?”

“She’sinhereighties.Shedoesn’tdocellphones.Andifshediditwouldbeinherpurse.Please.Shewillneedthis.It’sgotherpillsandhernotesandstuff.”

“Shehasanappointmenttoday?”

“Elevenfifteen.MargotDeWitt.”Ispelleditout,justincase.

Shewentthroughthelist,oneextravagantlymanicuredfingertracingthescreen.“Okay.Yeah,Igother.Oncologyisdownthere,throughthedoubledoorsontheleft.”

“I’msorry,what?”

“Oncology.Downthismaincorridor,throughthedoubledoorsontheleft.Ifshe’sinwiththedoctoryoucanleaveherpursewithoneofthenursesthere.Orjustleaveamessagewiththemtotellherwhereyou’llbewaiting.”

Istaredather,waitingforhertotellmeshe’dmadeamistake.Finallyshelookedupatme,herfaceaquestion,asifwaitingtohearwhyIwasstillstanding,stupefied,infrontofher.Igatheredtheappointmentcardoffthedeskandturnedaway.“Thankyou,”Isaidweakly,andwalkedDeanMartinoutintothesunshine.

—“Whydidn’tyoutellme?”

Margotsatinthetaxi,turnedmulishlyawayfromme,DeanMartinpantingonherlap.“Becauseit’snoneofyourbusiness.YouwouldhavetoldVincent.AndIdidn’twanthimtofeelhehastocomeandseemejustbecauseofsomestupidcancer.”

“What’syourprognosis?”

“Noneofyourbusiness.”

“How...howdoyoufeel?”

“ExactlyhowIfeltbeforeyoustartedaskingallthesequestions.”

Itallmadesensenow.Thepills,thefrequenthospitalvisits,thediminishedappetite.ThethingsIhadthoughtweresimplyevidenceofoldage,ofoverattentiveprivateUSmedicalcare,hadallbeendisguisingthemuchdeeperfaultline.Ifeltsick.“Idon’tknowwhattosay,Margot.Ifeellike—”

“I’mnotinterestedinyourfeelings.”

“But—”

“Don’tyoudaregetallgoopyonmenow,”shesnapped.“WhathappenedtothatEnglishstiffupperlip?Yoursmadeofmarshmallow?”

“Margot—”

“I’mnotdiscussingit.Thereisnothingtodiscuss.Ifyou’regoingtoinsistongettingallwishy-washywithmeyoucangostayinsomeoneelse’sapartment.”

WhenwearrivedattheLavery,shewasoutofthetaxiwithunusualvigor.BythetimeIhadfinishedpayingthedriver,shewasalreadyinsidethelobbywithoutme.

—IwantedtotalktoJoshaboutwhathadhappenedbutwhenItextedhimhesaidhewasflatoutandIcouldfillhiminthatevening.NathanwasbusywithMr.Gopnik.Ilariamightfreakoutor,worse,wouldinsistonstoppingbyallthetimeandsmotheringMargotwithherownbrandofbrusquecareandreheatedporkcasseroles.TherewasreallynobodyelseIcouldtalkto.

WhileMargothadherafternoonnapImovedquietlyintothebathroomand,underpretextofcleaning,Iopenedthecabinetandlookedattheshelfofdrugs,notingdownthenames,untilIfoundtheconfirmation:morphine.IlookeduptheotherdrugsinthecabinetandsearchedthemonlineuntilIgotmyanswers.

Ifeltshakentothecore.Iwonderedhowitmustfeeltobelookingdeathsosquarelyintheface.Iwonderedhowlongshehadleft.IrealizedthatIlovedtheoldwoman,withhersharptongueandhersharpermind,likeIlovedmyfamily.Andsometinypartofme,selfishly,wonderedwhatitmeantforme:Ihadbeenhappyin

Margot’sapartment.Itmightnothavefeltpermanent,butI’dthoughtImighthaveayearormorethereatleast.NowIhadtofacethefactthatIwasonshiftingsandsagain.

—Ihadpulledmyselftogetheralittlebythetimethedoorbellrang,promptlyatseven.Ianswered,andtherewasJosh,immaculate.Notevenahintoffiveo’clockshadow.

“How?”Isaid.“Howdoyoulooklikethatafterawholedayatwork?”

Heleanedforwardandkissedmycheek.“Electricrazor.AndIleftanothersuitatthedrycleaner’sandchangedatwork.Didn’twanttoturnupcrumpled.”

“Butsurelyyourbosswillbeinthesamesuithe’sbeeninallday.”

“Maybe.Buthe’snottheoneanglingforapromotion.YouthinkIlookokay?”

“Hello,Joshdear.”Margotwalkedpastonherwaytothekitchen.

“Goodevening,Mrs.DeWitt.Howareyoudoingtoday?”

“I’mstillhere,dear.That’saboutasmuchasyouneedtoknow.”

“Well,youlookwonderful.”

“Andyoutalkalotofoldbobbins.”

Hegrinnedandturnedbacktome.“Sowhatareyouwearing,shortcake?”

Ilookeddown.“Uh,this?”

Ashortsilence.

“Those...pantyhose?”

Iglancedatmylegs.“Oh,those.I’vehadabitofaday.They’remyfeel-bettertights,myequivalentofafreshsuitfromthedrycleaner’s.”Ismiledruefully.“Ifithelps,Ionlywearthemonthemostspecialoccasions.”

Hestaredatmylegsamomentlonger,thendraggedahandslowlyoverhismouth.“Sorry,Louisa,butthey’renotreallyappropriatefor

thisevening.Mybossandhiswifeareprettyconservative.Andit’sareallyupscalerestaurant.Like,Michelin-starred.”

“ThisdressisChanel.Mrs.DeWittlentittome.”

“Sure,butthewholeeffectisjustalittlebit”—hepulledaface—“crazytown?”

WhenIdidn’tmovehereachedouthishandsandtookholdofmyupperarms.“Sweetheart,Iknowyoulovedressingup,butcouldwekeepitalittlestraighterjustformyboss?Thiseveningisreallyimportantforme.”

Ilookeddownathishandsandflushed.Ifeltsuddenlyridiculous.OfcoursemybumblebeetightswerewrongfordinnerwithafinancialCEO.WhathadIbeenthinking?“Sure,”Isaid.“I’llgoandchange.”

“Youdon’tmind?”

“Ofcoursenot.”

Healmostdeflatedwithrelief.“Great.Canyoumakeitsuperquick?Ireallydon’twanttobelateandthetrafficisbackedupallthewaydownSeventh.Margot,woulditbeallrightifIusedyourbathroom?”

Shenoddedwordlessly.Iranintomybedroomandstartedhaulingmywaythroughmybelongings.Whatdidoneweartoaposhdinnerwithfinancepeople?

“Helpme,Margot,”Isaid,hearingherbehindme.“DoIjustchangethetights?WhatshouldIwear?”

“Exactlywhatyouhaveon,”shesaid.

Iturnedtoher.“Buthesaidit’snotsuitable.”

“Forwho?Isthereauniform?Whyaren’tyouallowedtobeyourself?”

“I—”

“Arethesepeoplesuchfoolsthattheycan’tcopewithsomeonewhodoesn’tdressexactlylikethem?Whydoyouhavetopretendtobesomeoneyou’resoclearlynot?Doyouwanttobeoneof‘those’women?”

IdroppedthehangerIwasholding.“I—Idon’tknow.”

Margotliftedahandtohernewlysethair.Shegavemewhatmymotherwouldhavecalledanold-fashionedlook.“Anymanluckyenoughtobeyourdateshouldn’tgiveafigifyoucomeoutinatrashbagandgaloshes.”

“Buthe—”

Margotsighed,andpressedherfingerstohermouth,likepeopledowhentheyhavealotmorethey’dliketosaybutwon’t.Amomentpassedbeforeshespokeagain.“Ithinkatsomepoint,dear,you’regoingtohavetoworkoutwhoLouisaClarkreallyis.”Shepattedmyarm.Andwiththatshewalkedoutofthebedroom.

Istood,staringatthespacewhereshehadbeen.Ilookeddownatmystripylegsandbackupattheclothesonmyrail.IthoughtofWill,andthedayhehadgiventhetightstome.

AmomentlaterJoshappearedinthedoorway,straighteninghistie.You’renothim,Ithoughtsuddenly.Infactyou’rereallynothinglikehimatall.

“So?”hesaid,smiling.Thenhisfacefell.“Uh,Ithoughtyouweregoingtobeready?”

Istaredatmyfeet.“Actually...”Isaid.

M

29

argottoldmeIshouldgoawayforafewdaystoclearmyhead.WhenIsaidIwouldn’t,sheaskedmewhyevernotandadded

thatIplainlyhadn’tbeenthinkingstraightforawhile:Ineededtosortmyselfout.WhenIadmittedthatIdidn’twanttoleaveherbyherself,shetoldmeIwasaridiculousgirlandthatIdidn’tknowwhatwasgoodforme.Shewatchedmefromthecornerofhereyeforawhile,herbonyoldhandtappingirritablyonthearmofherchair,thenraisedherselfheavilyanddisappeared,returningminuteslaterwithasidecarsostrongthatthefirstsipmademyeyesburn.Thenshetoldmetositmybacksidedown,thatmysnifflingwasgettingirritatingandIshouldwatchWheelofFortunewithher.IdidasIwastoldandtriednottohearJosh’svoice,outragedanduncomprehending,echoinginmyhead.

You’redumpingmeoverapairofpantyhose?

Whentheprogramhadfinished,shelookedatme,tuttedloudly,toldmethisreallywouldn’tdo,andthatwewouldgoawaytogetherinstead.

“Butyouhaven’tgotanymoney.”

“Goodness,Louisa.It’simmenselyvulgartodiscussfinancialmatters,”shescolded.“I’mshockedbythewayyouyoungwomenarebroughtuptotalkaboutthesethings.”ShetoldmethenameofthehotelonLongIslandthatshewantedmetocall,instructedmetotellthemspecificallythatIwascallingonbehalfofMargotDeWittinordertogetthepreferential“family”rate.Sheaddedthatshehadbeenthinkingaboutit,andifitreallyupsetmesomuch,Icouldpayforbothofus.Andthere,didn’tIfeelbetternow?

WhichwashowIendeduppayingforme,Margot,andDeanMartintogoonatriptoMontauk.

—WecaughtatrainoutofNewYorktoasmallshingle-cladhotelontheshorethatMargothadtraveledtoeverysummerfordecadesuntilfrailty—orfinance—hadstoppedher.AsIstood,theywelcomedheronthedoorstepasifshewere,indeed,long-lostfamily.WepickedatalunchofgriddledprawnsandsaladandIlefthertalkingtothecouplewhorantheplacewhileIwalkeddownthepathtothewide,windsweptbeach,breathedtheozone-infusedair,andwatchedDeanMartinskitteringhappilyaroundinthesanddunes.There,Istartedtofeel,underthegiantsky,forthefirsttimeinmonths,asifmythoughtswerenotinfinitelyclutteredbyeveryoneelse’sneedsandexpectations.

Margot,exhaustedbythetrainjourney,spentmuchoftherestofthenexttwodaysinthelittledrawingroom,watchingtheseaorchattingwiththeelderlypatriarchofthehotel,aweather-beatenEasterIslandstatueofamancalledCharlie,whonoddedalongtoheruninterruptedflowofconversation,andshookhisheadandsaidthat,no,thingsweren’twhattheywereor,yes,thingssurewerechangingfastaroundthere,andthetwoofthemwouldexhaustthistopicoversmallcupsofcoffee,thensit,satisfiedbyhowawfuleverythinghadbecomeandtohavethisviewconfirmedbyeachother.Irealizedveryquicklythatmyrolehadsimplybeentogetherhere.Shebarelyseemedtoneedmeatall,excepttohelpwithfiddlyitemsofclothingandtowalkthedog.ShesmiledmorethanIhadseenhersmilefortheentiretimeI’dknownher,whichwasausefuldistractioninitself.

So,forthenextfourdaysIhadbreakfastinmyroom,readthebooksinthelittlehotelbookshelf,gaveintotheslowerrhythmsofLongIslandlife,anddidasinstructed.IwalkedandwalkeduntilIhadanappetiteagainandcouldquellthethoughtsinmyheadwiththeroarofthewavesandthesoundofthegullsintheendlessleadenskyandtheyappingofasmall,overexciteddogwhocouldn’tquitebelievehisluck.

OnthethirdafternoonIsatonmyhotelbed,calledmymother,andtoldherthetruthaboutmylastfewweeks.Foronceshedidn’ttalkbutlistened,andattheendofit,shesaidshethoughtIhadbeenverywiseandverybrave,andthosetwoaffirmationsmademecryalittle.SheputDadonandhetoldmehe’dliketokickthearsesofthoseruddyGopniks,Iwasn’ttotalktostrangers,andtoletthemknowassoonas

MargotandIwerebackinManhattan.Headdedthathewasproudofme.“Yourlife—it’sneverquiet,isit,love?”hesaid.AndIagreedthat,no,itwasnot,andIthoughtbacktwoyearstomylifebeforeWill,whenthemostexcitingthingthathappenedtomewassomeonedemandingarefundattheButteredBun,andrealizedIquitelikeditthisway,despiteeverything.

OnthelastnightMargotandIhadsupperinthehotel’sdiningroom,atherbehest.Idressedupinmydarkpinkvelvettopandmythree-quarter-lengthsilkculottesandsheworeafrilledgreenfloralshirtandmatchingslacks(Ihadsewnanextrabuttoninthewaistlinesothattheydidn’tslipdownoverherhips)andwequietlyenjoyedthewideningeyesoftheotherguestsaswewereshowntoourseatsatthebesttablebythebigwindow.

“Now,dear.It’sourlastnight,soIthinkweshouldpushtheboatout,don’tyou?”shesaid,liftingaregalhandtowaveattheguestswhowerestillstaring.Iwasjustwonderingwhoseparticularboatwasbeingpushedwhensheadded,“IthinkI’llhavethelobster.Andperhapssomechampagne.IsuspectthisisthelasttimeIshallcomehere,afterall.”

Istartedtoprotest,butshecutmeoff:“Oh,forgoodness’sake.It’safact,Louisa.Abaldfact.IthoughtyouBritishgirlsweremadeofsternerstuff.”

Soweorderedabottleofchampagneandtwolobsters,andasthesunsetwepickedatthedelicious,garlickyfleshandIcrackedopentheclawsthatMargotwastoofrailtomanageandhandedthembacktoher;shesuckedatthemwithlittledelightednoisesandpassedtinybitsoffleshdowntowhereDeanMartinwasbeingdiplomaticallyignoredbyeveryoneelse.WesharedahugebowlofFrenchfries(Iatemostofthemandshescatteredafewonherplateandsaidtheywerereallyquitegood).

Wesatincompanionable,overstuffedsilenceastherestaurantslowlyemptied,andshepaidwithaseldom-usedcreditcard(“I’llbedeadbeforetheycomelookingforpayment,hah!”).ThenCharliewalkedoverstifflyandputagianthandonhertinyshoulder.Hesaidhewouldbegettingofftobedbuthehopedhewouldseeherinthemorningbeforesheleftandthatithadbeenatruepleasuretoseeheragainafteralltheseyears.

“Thepleasurewasallmine,Charlie.Thankyouforthemostwonderfulstay.”Hereyeswrinkledwithaffection,andtheyclutchedeachother’shandsuntilhereleasedhersreluctantlyandturnedaway.

“Iwenttobedwithhimonce,”shesaid,ashewalkedoff.“Lovelyman.Nogoodforme,ofcourse.”

AsIcoughedoutmylastFrenchfry,shegavemeawearylook.“Itwastheseventies,Louisa.I’dbeenaloneforalongtime.It’sbeenratherniceseeinghimagain.Widowednow,ofcourse.”Shesighed.“Atmyageeverybodyis.”

Wesatinsilenceforawhile,gazingoutattheendless,inkyblackocean.Alongwayoffyoucouldjustmakeoutthetinywinkinglightsofthefishingvessels.Iwonderedhowitwouldfeeltobeoutthere,onyourown,inthemiddleofnowhere.

AndthenMargotspoke.“Ididn’texpecttocomebackhere,”shesaidquietly.“SoIshouldthankyou.It’sbeen...it’sbeensomethingofatonic.”

“Formetoo,Margot.Ifeel...unscrambled.”

ShesmiledatmebeforereachingdowntopatDeanMartin.Hewasstretchedoutunderherchair,snoringquietly.“Youdidtherightthing,youknow,withJosh.Hewasn’tforyou.”

Ididn’trespond.Therewasnothingtosay.IhadspentthreedaysthinkingofthepersonImighthavebecomeifIhadstayedwithJosh—affluent,semi-American,mostlyhappyeven,andhaddiscoveredthat,afterafewshortweeks,MargotunderstoodmebetterthanIunderstoodmyself.Iwouldhavemoldedmyselftofithim.IwouldhaveshedtheclothesIloved,thethingsIcaredmostabout.Iwouldhavetransformedmybehavior,myhabits,lostinhischarismaticslipstream.Iwouldhavebecomeacorporatewife,blamingmyselfforthebitsofmethatwouldn’tfit,never-endinglygratefulforthisWillinAmericanform.

Ididn’tthinkaboutSam.I’dbecomeverygoodatthat.

“Youknow,”shesaid,“whenyougettomyage,thepileofregretsbecomessohugeitcanobscuretheviewterribly.”

ShekepthereyesfixedonthehorizonandIwaited,wonderingwhoshewasaddressing.

—ThreeweekspasseduneventfullyafterwereturnedfromMontauk.Mylifenolongerfeltasifitheldanyrealcertaintiesatall,soIhaddecidedtoliveasWillhadtoldme,simplyexistingineachmoment,untilmyhandwasforcedagain.Atsomepoint,Isupposed,MargotwouldbeeitherunwellenoughorindebtenoughthatourcontentedlittlebubblewouldpopandIwouldhavetobookmyflighthome.

Untilthen,itwasnotanunpleasantwaytolive.Theroutinesthatpunctuatedmydaygavemepleasure—myrunsaroundCentralPark,mystrollswithDeanMartin,preparingtheeveningmealforMargot,evenifshedidn’teatmuch,andournowjointnightlyviewingofWheelofFortune,shoutinglettersattheMysteryWedges.Iuppedmywardrobegame,embracingmyNewYorkselfwithaseriesoflooksthatleftLydiaandhersisterslack-jawedinadmiration.SometimesIworethingsthatMargotlentme,andsometimesIworethingsIhadboughtfromtheEmporium.EverydayIstoodinfrontofthemirrorinMargot’sspareroomandsurveyedtheracksIwasallowedtopickfrom,andapartofmesparkedwithjoy.

Ihadwork,ofsorts,doingshiftsforthegirlsattheVintageClothesEmporiumwhileAngelicawasawaydoingasweepofawomen’sgarmentfactoryinPalmSpringsthathadapparentlykeptsamplesofeveryitemithadmadesince1952.ImannedthetillalongsideLydia,helpingpale-skinnedyounggirlsintovintagepromdressesandprayingthezipperswouldhold,whileshereorganizedthelayoutoftheracksandfrettednoisilyabouttheamountofwastedspaceintheiroutlet.“Youknowwhatsquarefootagecostsnow,aroundhere?”shesaid,shakingherheadatourlonerotatingrailinthefarcorner.“Seriously.Iwouldberentingoutthatcornerasvaletparkingifwecouldworkouthowtogetthecarsin.”

Ithankedacustomerwhohadjustboughtasequinedtulleboleroandslammedthetilldrawershut.“Sowhydon’tyouletit?Toashoporsomething?Itwouldgiveyoumoreincome.”

“Yeah,we’vetalkedaboutit.It’scomplicated.Assoonasyou’vegototherretailersinvolvedyouneedtobuildapartitionandseparateaccessandgetinsurance,andthenyoudon’tknowwhoyougotcominginatallhours...Strangersinourstuff.It’stoorisky.”Shechewedher

gumandblewabubble,poppingitabsentlywithapurple-nailedfinger.“Plus,youknow,wedon’tlikeanybody.”

—“Louisa!”AshokwasstandingonthecarpetandclappedhisglovedhandstogetherasIarrivedhome.“YoucomingtoourplacenextSaturday?Meenawantstoknow.”

“Istheproteststillon?”

ThetwopreviousSaturdaysIcouldn’thelpbutnoticetherehadbeenadistinctdwindlingofthenumbers.Thehopesoflocalresidentswerealmostnonexistentnow.Thechantinghadbecomehalf-heartedasthecity’sbudgetstightened,theseasonedprotestersslowlydriftingaway.Monthsaftertheactionhadstarted,justourlittlecoreremained,Meenarallyingeveryonewithbottlesofwaterandinsistingitwasn’tovertillitwasover.

“It’sstillhappening.Youknowmywife.”

“ThenI’dloveto.Thankyou.TellherI’llbringdessert.”

“Yougotit.”Hemadeahappymm-mmsoundtohimselfattheprospectofgoodfood,andcalledasIreachedtheelevator,“Hey!”

“What?”

“Nicethreads,lady.”

ThatdayIwasdressedinhomagetoDesperatelySeekingSusan.Iworeapurplesilkbomberjacketwitharainbowembroideredontheback,leggings,layeredvests,andanarmfulofbangles,whichhadmadeapleasingjangleeachtimeI’dwhackedthetilldrawershut(itwouldn’tcloseproperlyunlessyoudid).

“Youknow,”hesaid,shakinghishead,“Ican’tbelieveyouusedtowearthatgolfshirtcombowhenyouwereworkingfortheGopniks.Thatwassonotyou.”

Ihesitatedastheliftdooropened.Irefusedtousetheserviceliftthesedays.“Youknowwhat,Ashok?You’resoright.”

—

Outofdeferencetoherstatusashomeowner,IalwaysknockedbeforeIletmyselfintoMargot’sapartment,eventhoughIhadhadakeyformonths.TherewasnoresponsethefirsttimeandIhadtocheckmyreflexivepanic,tellingmyselfthatsheoftenhadtheradioonloud,thatAshokwouldhaveletmeknowifanythingwaswrong.FinallyIletmyselfin.DeanMartincameskitteringupthehallwaytogreetme,hiseyesaskewwithjoyatmyarrival.Ipickedhimup,andlethiswrinklednosesnuffleallovermyface.

“Yes,hello,you.Hello,you.Where’syourmum,then?”Iputhimdownandheyappedandraninexcitedcircles.“Margot?Margot,whereareyou?”

ShecameoutofthelivingroominherChinesesilkdressinggown.

“Margot!Areyounotwell?”Idroppedmybagandrantoher,butsheheldupapalm.

“Louisa,somethingmiraculoushashappened.”

MyresponsepoppedoutofmymouthbeforeIhadachancetostopit.“You’regettingbetter?”

“No,no,no.Comein.Comein!Comeandmeetmyson.”SheturnedbeforeIcouldspeakanddisappearedbackintothelivingroom.Iwalkedinbehindherandatallmaninapastelsweater,thebeginningsofabellystrainingoverhisbeltbuckle,rosefromachairandreachedacrosstoshakemyhand.

“ThisisFrankJunior,myson.Frank,thisismydearfriendLouisaClark,withoutwhomIcouldnothavemadeitthroughthepastfewmonths.”

Itriedtocovermyfeelingofwrong-footedness.“Oh.Uh.It—itwasmutual.”Ileanedovertoshakethehandofthewomanbesidehim,whoworeawhiteturtlenecksweaterandhadthekindofpalecandyflosshairthatshemighthavespentalifetimetryingtocontrol.

“I’mLaynie,”shesaid,andhervoicewashigh,likeoneofthosewomenwhohadneverbeenabletoletgoofgirlishness.“Frank’swife.Ibelievewehaveyoutothankforourlittlefamilyreunion.”Shedabbedathereyeswithanembroideredhandkerchief.Hernosewastingedpink,likeshehadrecentlybeencrying.

Margotreachedoutahandtome.“SoitturnsoutVincent,thedeceitfullittlewretch,toldhisfatheraboutourmeetingsandmy—my

situation.”

“Yes,thedeceitfullittlewretchwouldindeedbeme,”saidVincent,appearingatthedoorwithatray.Helookedrelaxedandhappy.“Nicetoseeyouagain,Louisa.”Inodded,ahalfsmilenowfixedonmyface.

Itwassooddseeingpeopleintheapartment.Iwasusedtothequiet,toitbeingjustme,Margot,andDeanMartin,notVincentinhischeckedshirtandPaulSmithtiecomingthroughbearingourdinnertray,andthetallmanwithhislegsconcertinaedagainstthecoffeetableandthewomanwhokeptgazingaroundthelivingroomwithslightlystartledeyes,asifshehadneverbeenanywherelikethisbefore.

“Theysurprisedme,youknow,”Margottoldme,hervoicecroakingalittle,likesomeonewhohadalreadytalkedtoomuch.“HecalleduptosayhewaspassingthroughandIthoughtitwasjustVincentandthenthedooropenedalittlewiderand,well,Ican’t...Youmustallthinkmesoshocking.Ihadn’tevengotaroundtogettingdressed,hadI?I’dquiteforgottenuntiljustnow.Butwehavehadtheloveliestafternoon.Ican’tbegintotellyou.”Margotreachedoutherotherhandandhersontookit,andsqueezedit.Hischinquiveredalittlewithsuppressedemotion.

“Oh,itreallyhasbeenmagical,”saidLaynie.“Wehavesomuchtocatchupon.IhonestlythinkthiswastheLord’sworkbringingusalltogether.”

“Well,HimandFacebook,”saidVincent.“Wouldyoulikesomecoffee,Louisa?There’ssomeleftinthepot.IjustbroughtsomecookiesoutincaseMargotwantedtoeatsomething.”

“Shewon’teatthose,”Isaid,beforeIcouldstopmyself.

“Oh,she’squiteright.Idon’teatcookies,Vincentdear.ThosearereallyforDeanMartin.Thechocolatedropsaren’tactualchocolate,see?”

Margotbarelydrewbreath.Sheseemedcompletelytransformed.Itwasasifshe’dlostadecadeovernight.Thebrittlelightbehindhereyeshadgone,replacedbysomethingsoft,andshecouldn’tstoptalking,hertonebabblingandmerry.

Ibackedtowardthedoor.“Well,I...don’twanttogetintheway.I’msureyouallhavealottodiscuss.Margot,givemeashoutwhen

youneedme.”Istood,wavingmyhandsuselessly.“It’slovelytomeetyouall.I’msopleasedforyou.”

“WethinkitwouldbetherightthingifMomcamebackwithus,”saidFrankJunior.

Therewasabriefsilence.

“Camebackwhere?”Isaid.

“ToTuckahoe,”saidLaynie.“Toourhome.”

“Forhowlong?”Isaid.

Theylookedateachother.

“Imeanhowlongwillshebestaying?JustsoIcanpackforher.”

FrankJuniorwasstillholdinghismother’shand.“MissClark,we’velostalotoftime,MomandI.Andweboththinkitwouldbeafinethingifwecouldmakethemostofwhatwehave.Soweneedtomake...arrangements.”Thewordsheldahintofpossession,asifhewerealreadytellingmeofhisgreaterclaimoverher.

IlookedatMargot,wholookedbackatme,clear-eyedandserene.“That’sright,”shesaid.

“Holdon.Youwanttoleave...,”Isaid,and,whennobodyspoke,“...here?Theapartment?”

Vincent’sexpressionwassympathetic.Heturnedtohisfather.“Whydon’tweheadoutfornow,Dad?”hesaid.“Everyonehasalottoprocess.Wecertainlyhavealottoworkout.AndIthinkLouisaandGrandmaneedtohaveatalktoo.”

Hetouchedmyshoulderlightlyasheleft.Itfeltlikeanapology.

—“Youknow,IthoughtFrank’swifewasactuallyquitepleasant,thoughnotacluehowtodress,poorthing.Hehadsuchawfulgirlfriendswhenhewasyounger,accordingtomymother.Shewrotemelettersforawhiledescribingthem.Butawhitecottonturtleneck.Canyouimaginethehorror?Awhiteturtleneck.”

Thememoryofthistravesty—orperhapsthespeedatwhichMargotwastalking—broughtonaboutofcoughing.Ifetchedaglassofwater

andwaiteduntilsherecovered.TheyhadleftwithinminutesafterVincenthadspokenup.Igotthefeelingitwasdoneathisurging,andthatneitherofhisparentsreallywantedtoleaveMargot.

Isatdownonthechair.“Idon’tunderstand.”

“Thismustallseemverysuddentoyou.Itwasjustthemostextraordinarything,Louisadear.Wetalkedandtalked,andwemayevenhaveshedatearortwo.He’sjustthesame!Itwaslikewe’dneverbeenapart.He’sthesame—soseriousandquietbutactuallyquitegentle,justashewasasaboy.Andthatwifeofhisisjustthesame—butthen,outoftheblue,theyaskedmetocomeandstaywiththem.Igotthedistinctfeelingtheyhadalldiscusseditbeforetheycame.AndIsaidIwould.”Shelookedupatme.“Oh,comeon,youandIknowitwon’tbeforever.ThereisaveryniceplacetwomilesfromtheirhomethatIcanmovetowhenitallbecomestoodifficult.”

“Difficult?”Iwhispered.

“Louisa,don’tgetallsappyonmeagain,forheaven’ssake.WhenIcan’tdothingsformyself.WhenI’mproperlyunwell.Honestly,Idon’timagineI’llbewithmysonformorethanafewmonths.Isuspectthat’swhytheyfeltsocomfortableaskingme.”Sheletoutadrychuckle.

“But—butIdon’tunderstand.Yousaidyou’dneverleavethisplace.Imean,whataboutallyourthings?Youcan’tjustgo.”

Shegavemealook.“That’sexactlywhatIcando.”Shetookabreath,herbonyoldchestliftingpainfullyunderneaththesoftfabric.“I’mdying,Louisa.I’manoldwomanandI’mnotgoingtogetanawfullotolder,andmyson,whoIthoughtwaslosttome,hasbeengraciousenoughtoswallowhispainandhisprideandreachout.Canyouimagine?Canyouimaginewhatitistohavesomeonedothatforyou?”

IthoughtofFrankJunior,hiseyesonhismother,theirchairspressedtogether,hishandholdingherstightly.

“WhyonearthwouldIchoosetostayinthisplaceamomentlongerifIhaveachancetospendtimewithhim?TowakeupandseehimoverbreakfastandchataboutallthethingsI’vemissedandseehischildren...andVincent...dearVincent.Doyouknowhehasabrother?Ihavetwograndchildren.Two!Anyway.Igottosaysorrytomyson.Doyouknowhowimportantthatwas?Igottosaysorry.Oh,Louisa,youcanhangontoyourhurtoutofsomemisplacedsenseof

pride,oryoucanjustletgoandrelishwhateverprecioustimeyouhave.”

Sheplacedherhandsfirmlyonherknees.“Sothat’swhatIplantodo.”

“Butyoucan’t.Youcan’tjustgo.”Ihadstartedtocry.I’mnotsurewhereitcamefrom.

“Oh,darlinggirl,Ihopeyou’renotgoingtofussaboutit.Now,now.Notears,please.Ihaveafavortoask.”

Iwipedmynose.

“Thisisthedifficultbit.”Sheswallowed,withsomeeffort.“Theywon’ttakeDeanMartin.They’reveryapologeticbutthereareallergiesorsomesuch.AndIwasgoingtotellthemnottoberidiculousandthathehadtocomewithmebut,tobehonest,I’vebeenratheranxiousaboutwhatwillhappentohim,youknow,afterI’vegone.He’sgotyearsleft,afterall.CertainlyalotlongerthanIhave.

“So...Iwonderedwhetheryouwouldtakehimforme.Heseemstolikeyou.Goodnessknowswhyafterhowdreadfullyyouusedtocartthepoorcreaturearound.Theanimalmustbetheverysoulofforgiveness.”

Istaredatherthroughmytears.“YouwantmetotakeDeanMartin?”

“Ido.”

Ilookeddownatthelittledog,whowaitedexpectantlyatherfeet.

“I’maskingyou,asmyfriend,if...ifyouwouldconsiderit.Forme.”

Shewaspeeringatmeintently,herpaleeyesscanningmine,herlipspursed.Myfacecrumpled.Iwasgladforher,butIfeltheartbrokenatthethoughtoflosingher.Ididn’twanttobeonmyownagain.

“Yes.”

“Youwill?”

“Ofcourse.”AndthenIstartedtocryagain.

Margotsaggedwithrelief.“Oh,Iknewyouwould.Iknewit.AndIknowyou’lltakecareofhim.”Shesmiled,foroncenotscoldingmefor

mytears,andleanedforward,herfingersclosingovermyhand.“You’rethatkindofperson.”

—Theycametwoweekslatertotakeheraway.Ihadthoughtitfaintlyindecenthaste,butIsupposedthatnoneofuswassurequitehowmuchtimeshehadleft.

FrankJuniorhadpaidoffthemountainofmanagementcharges—asituationthatcouldbeseenasonlyslightlylessaltruisticwhenyourealizedthatthismeanthecouldinherittheapartmentratherthanitbeingclaimedbyMr.Ovitz—butMargotchosetoseeitasanactofloveandIhadnoreasonnottodothesame.Hecertainlyseemedhappytohaveherwithhimagain.Thecouplefussedoverher,checkingthatshewasokay,thatshehadallhermedication,thatshewasn’ttootiredordizzyorfeelingunwellorinneedofwater,untilsheflappedherhandsandrolledhereyesinmockirritation.Butshewasgoingthroughthemotions.Shehadbarelystoppedtalkingabouthimsinceshehadtoldme.

Iwastostayandlookaftertheplace“fortheforeseeable,”accordingtoFrankJunior.IthinkthatmeantuntilMargotdied,althoughnobodysaiditoutloud.ApparentlytheRealtorhadsaidthatnobodywouldwanttorentitasitstood,anditwasalittleunseemlytogutitbeforethe“foreseeable”soIhadbeenawardedtheroleoftemporarycaretaker.MargotalsomadethepointseveraltimesthatitwouldhelpDeanMartintohavesomestabilitywhileheadjustedtohisnewsituation.I’mnotsureFrankJuniorfeltthatthedog’smentalwell-beingwasquiteashighonhisownlistofconcerns.

Shetookonlytwosuitcasesandworeoneofherfavoritesuitstotravel,thejadeboucléjacketandskirtwiththematchingpillboxhat.IdresseditwithamidnightblueSaint-Laurentscarfknottedaroundhernarrowneck,todisguisethewayitnowemerged,painfullybony,fromhercollar,anddugouttheturquoisecabochonearringsasafinaltouch.Iworriedthatshemightbetoohotbutsheseemedtohavegrownevertinierandfrailerandcomplainedofcoldevenonthewarmestofdays.Istoodonthesidewalkoutside,DeanMartininmyarms,watchingashersonandVincentoversawthepackingupofhercases.Shecheckedthattheyhadherjewelryboxes—sheplannedto

givesomeofthemorevaluableitemstoFrankJunior’swife,andsometoVincent“forwhenhegetsmarried”andthen,apparentlysatisfiedthattheyweresafelystowed,shewalkedovertomeslowly,leaningheavilyonherstick.“Now.Dear.I’veleftyoualetterwithallmyinstructions.Ihaven’ttoldAshokI’mgoing—Idon’twantanyfuss.ButIhaveleftalittlesomethingforhiminthekitchen.I’dbegratefulifyoucouldpassitononcewe’regone.”

Inodded.

“I’vewritteneverythingyouneedforDeanMartininaseparateletter.It’sveryimportantthatyousticktohisroutine.It’showhelikesthings.”

“Youmustn’tworry.I’llmakesurehe’shappy.”

“Andnoneofthoselivertreats.Hebegsforthembuttheydomakehimsick.”

“Nolivertreats.”

Margotcoughed,perhapswiththeeffortoftalking,andwaitedforamomentuntilshecouldbesureofherbreath.Shesteadiedherselfonhercaneandlookedupatthebuildingthathadhousedherformorethanhalfacentury,holdingupafrailhandtoshieldhereyesfromthesun.ThensheturnedstifflyandsurveyedCentralPark,theviewthathadbeenhersforsolong.

FrankJuniorwascallingfromthecar,stoopingsothathecouldseeusmoreclearly.Hiswifestoodbesidethepassengerdoorinherpalebluewindbreaker,herhandspressedtogetherwithanxiety.Shewasapparentlynotawomanwholikedthebigcity.

“Mom?”

“Onemoment,thankyou,dear.”

Margotmovedsothatshestooddirectlyinfrontofme.Shereachedoutahand,andasIheldthedog,shestrokedhisheadthree,fourtimeswithherthin,marbledfingers.“You’reagoodfellow,aren’tyou,DeanMartin?”shesaidsoftly.“Averygoodfellow.”

Thedoggazedbackather,rapt.

“Youreallyarethemosthandsomeboy.”Hervoicecrackedonthelastword.

Thedoglickedherpalmandshesteppedforwardandkissedhiswrinkledforehead,hereyesclosingandherlipspressedtohimjustamomenttoolongsothathiswonkyeyesbulgedandhispawspaddledagainsther.Herfacesaggedmomentarily.

“I—Icouldbringhimtoseeyou.”

Shekeptherfacetohis,hereyesshut,oblivioustothenoiseandthetrafficandthepeoplearoundher.

“DidyouhearwhatIsaid,Margot?Imeanonceyou’resettledwecouldgetthetrainoutand—”

Shestraightenedupandopenedhereyes,glancingdownforamoment.

“No.Thankyou.”

BeforeIcouldsayanythingelse,sheturnedaway.“Now,takehimforawalk,please,dear.Idon’twanthimtoseemego.”

Hersonhadclimbedoutofthecarandstoodonthesidewalk,waiting.Heofferedherahandbutshewavedhimaway.IthoughtIsawherblinkbacktears,butitwashardtotellasmyowneyesseemedtobestreaming.

“Thankyou,Margot,”Icalled.“Foreverything.”

Sheshookherhead,herlipsset.“Nowgo.Please,dear.”Sheturnedtowardthecarjustashersonapproached,hishandoutstretchedtowardher,andIdon’tknowwhatshedidnextbecauseIputDeanMartinonthesidewalkasshehadtoldmeandwalkedbrisklytowardCentralPark,myheaddown,ignoringthestaresofthecuriouspeoplewonderingwhyagirlinglitteryhotpantsandapurplesilkbomberjacketwascryingopenlyateleveno’clockinthemorning.

—IwalkedforaslongasDeanMartin’slittlelegscouldstand.Andthenwhenhestopped,mutinously,neartheAzaleaPond,histinypinktonguehangingoutandoneeyedroopingslightly,Ipickedhimupandcarriedhim,myeyesswollenwithtears,mychestonebreathawayfromanotherrackingsob.

Ihaveneverreallybeenananimalperson.ButIsuddenlyunderstoodwhatcomfortcouldbegainedfromburyingyourfaceinthesoftpeltofanothercreature,theconsolationofthemanysmalltasksthatyou’reobligedtoperformforitswelfare.

“Mrs.DeWittoffonvacation?”AshokwasbehindhisdeskasIentered,myheaddownandmyblueplasticsunglasseson.

Ididn’thavetheenergytotellhimjustyet.“Yup.”

“Shenevertoldmetocancelherpapers.I’dbettergetontoit.”Heshookhishead,reachingforaledger.“Knowwhenshe’scominghome?”

“Letmegetbacktoyou.”

Iwalkedupstairsslowly,thelittledognotmovinginmyarms,asifhewereafraidthatifhedidhemightbeaskedtousehislegsagain.AndthenIletmyselfintotheapartment.

Itwasdeadsilent,alreadyshotthroughwithherabsenceinawayithadneverbeenwhenshewasinthehospital,dustmotessettlinginthestill,warmair.Inamatterofmonths,Ithought,somebodyelsewouldlivehere,tearingoffthe1960swallpaper,scrappingthesmoked-glassfurniture.Itwouldbetransformed,redesigned,aboltholeforbusyexecutivesoraterrifyinglywealthyfamilywithsmallchildren.Thethoughtofitmademefeelhollowinside.

IgaveDeanMartinsomewaterandahandfulofkibbleasatreat,thenmademywayslowlythroughtheapartment,withitsclothesanditshatsanditswallsofmemories,andtoldmyselfnottothinkaboutthesadthingsbutaboutthedelightontheoldwoman’sfaceattheprospectoflivingoutherdayswithheronlychild.Itwasajoythathadbeentransformative,liftinghertiredfeaturesandmakinghereyesshine.Itmademewonderhowmuchallthisstuff,allthismemorabilia,hadbeenherwayofinsulatingherselffromthelengthypainofhisabsence.

MargotDeWitt,stylequeen,fashioneditorextraordinaire,womanaheadofhertime,hadbuiltawall,alovely,gaudy,multicoloredwall,totellherselfithadallbeenforsomething.Andthemomenthehadreturnedtohershehaddemolisheditwithoutabackwardglance.

—

Sometimelater,whenmytearshadslowedtointermittenthiccups,Ipickedthefirstenvelopeoffthetableandopenedit.ItwaswritteninMargot’sbeautiful,loopingscript,aremnantofanagewhenchildrenwerejudgedbytheirpenmanship.Aspromised,itcontaineddetailsofthelittledog’spreferreddiet,timesofeating,veterinaryneeds,vaccinations,flea-preventionandwormingschedules.Ittoldmewheretofindhisvariouswintercoats—thereweredifferentonesforrain,wind,andsnow—andhisfavoritebrandofshampoo.Hewouldalsorequirehisteethdescaling,hisearscleaning,and—Iwinced—hisanalglandsemptying.

“Shedidn’ttellmethatwhensheaskedmetotakeyouon,”Isaidtohim,andheliftedhishead,groaned,andlowereditagain.

Furtheron,shegavedetailsofwhereanypostshouldbeforwarded,thecontactdetailsforthepackingcompany—theitemstheywerenottotakeweretoremaininherbedroomandIshouldwriteanoteandpinittothedoortotellthemnottoenter.Allthefurniture,thelamps,thecurtainscouldgo.Herson’sanddaughter-in-law’scardswereintheenvelope,shouldIwishtoreachthemforfurtherclarification.

Andnowtotheimportantthings.Louisa,Ididn’tthankyouinpersonforfindingVincent—theactofcivildisobediencethathasbroughtmesomuchunexpectedhappiness—butI’dliketothankyounow.AndforlookingafterDeanMartin.TherearefewpeopleIwouldtrusttodoasIask,andlovehimasIdo,butyouareoneofthem.

Louisa,youareatreasure.Youwerealwaystoodiscreettotellmethedetailsbutdonotletwhateverhappenedwiththatfoolishfamilynextdoordimyourlight.Youareacourageous,gorgeous,tremendouslykindlittlecreatureandIshallbeforevergratefulthattheirlosshasbeenmygain.Thankyou.

ItisinthespiritofthanksthatI’dliketoofferyoumywardrobe.Toanyoneelse—exceptperhapsyourrathermercenaryfriendsatthatdisgustingclothesstore—thiswouldbejunk.Iamwellawareofthat.Butyouseemyclothesforwhattheyare.Dowiththemwhatyouwant—keepsome,sellsome,whatever.ButIknowyouwilltakepleasureinthem.

Herearemythoughts—thoughI’mwellawarenobodyreallywantsthethoughtsofanoldwoman.Setupyourownagency.Hirethemout,orsellthem.Thosegirlsseemedtothinktherewasmoneyinit—well,itstrikesmethatthiswouldbetheperfectcareerforyou.Thereshouldbeenoughthereforyoutostartsomesortofenterprise.Though,ofcourse,youmayhaveotherideasforyourfuture,farbetterones.Willyouletmeknowwhatyoudecide?

Anyway,dearroommate,Iwilllookforwardtoreceivingnews.Pleasekissthatlittledogforme.Imisshimsoterriblyalready.

Withfondestregards,

Margot

Iputdowntheletterandsatmotionlessinthekitchenforawhile,thenwalkedthroughtoMargot’sbedroomandthedressingroombeyondit,surveyingthebulgingracks,outfitafteroutfit.

Aclothesagency?Iknewnothingaboutbusiness,nothingaboutpremisesoraccountsordealingwiththepublic.IwaslivinginacitywhoserulesIdidn’tentirelyunderstand,withnopermanentaddress,andIhadfailedinprettymucheveryjobIhadeverheld.WhyonearthwouldMargotbelievethatIcouldsetupawholenewenterprise?

Iranmyfingersdownamidnightbluevelvetsleeve,thenpulledoutthegarment:Halston,ajumpsuit,slashedalmosttothewaist,withameshinsert.Iputitbackcarefullyandtookoutadress—whitebroderieanglaise,itsskirtsamassofruffles.Iwalkedalongthatfirstrail,stunned,daunted.Ihadonlyjustbeguntoabsorbtheresponsibilityofowningadog.WhatwasIsupposedtodowiththreeroomsfullofclothes?

ThatnightIsatinMargot’sapartmentandturnedonWheelofFortune.IatetheremainsofachickenIhadroastedforherlastdinner(Isuspectshehadsneakedmostofhersunderthetabletothedog).Ididn’thearwhatVannaWhitesaid,orshoutoutlettersattheMysteryWedges.IsatandIthoughtaboutwhatMargothadsaidtomeandwonderedaboutthepersonshehadseen.

WhowasLouisaClark,anyway?

Iwasadaughter,asister,akindofsurrogatemotherforatime.Iwasawomanwhocaredforothersbutwhoseemedtohavelittleidea,evennow,howtocareforherself.Astheglitteringwheelspuninfrontofme,ItriedtothinkaboutwhatIreallywanted,ratherthanwhateveryoneelseseemedtowantforme.IthoughtaboutwhatWillhadreallybeentellingme—nottolivesomevicariousideaofafulllifebuttolivemyowndream.Theproblemwas,Idon’tthinkI’deverreallyworkedoutwhatthatdreamwas.

IthoughtofAgnesacrossthecorridor,awomantryingtoconvinceeveryonethatshecouldshoehornherselfintoanewlifewhilesomefundamentalpartofherrefusedtostopmourningtheroleshehadleftbehind.Ithoughtofmysister,hernewfoundcontentmentonceshehadtakenthestepofunderstandingwhoshereallywas.Thewayshehadsteppedsoeasilyintoloveoncesheallowedherselftodoso.Ithoughtofmymother,awomansomoldedbylookingafterotherpeoplethatshenolongerknewwhattodowhenshewasfreed.

IthoughtofthethreemenIhadloved,andhoweachofthemhadchangedme,ortriedto.Willhadlefthimselfindubitablyimprintedonme.Ihadseeneverythingthroughtheprismofwhathehadwantedforme.Iwouldhavechangedforyoutoo,Will.AndnowIunderstand—youprobablyknewthatallalong.

Liveboldly,Clark.

“Goodluck!”shoutedtheWheelofFortunehost,andspunagain.

AndIrealizedwhatIreallywantedtodo.

—IspentthenextthreedayscollatingMargot’swardrobe,sortingtheclothingintodifferentsections:sixdifferentdecades,andwithinthose,daywear,eveningwear,specialoccasion.Itookouteverythingthatneededrepairinginanysmallway—buttonsmissing,gapsinlace,tinyholes—marvelingathowshehadmanagedtoavoidmoths,andhowmanyseamswerenotstretched,stillperfectlyaligned.Iheldpiecesupagainstmyself,triedthingson,liftingoffplasticcovers,andlettingoutlittlenoisesofdelightandawethatmadeDeanMartinprickuphisears,thenwalkawayindisgust.Iwenttothepubliclibraryandspenthalfadaylookingupeverythingtodowithstartingasmallbusiness,

taxrequirements,grants,paperwork,andprintedoutafilethatgrewdaybyday.ThenItookatriptotheVintageClothesEmporiumwithDeanMartinandsatdownwiththegirlstoaskthebestplacestogetdelicateitemsdry-cleaned,andthenamesofthebesthaberdasherstofindsilkliningfabricforrepair.

TheywereagogatthenewsofMargot’sgift.“Wecouldtakethewholelotoffyou,”saidLydia,blowingasmokeringupward.“Imean,forsomethinglikethatwecouldgetabankloan.Right?We’dgiveyouagoodprice.Enoughforadepositonareallynicerental!We’vehadalotofinterestfromthistelevisioncompanyinGermany.They’vegotatwenty-four-episodemultigenerationalseriesthattheywantto—”

“Thanks,butIhaven’tdecidedwhatIwanttodowithitallyet,”Isaid,tryingnottonoticetheirfacesfall.Ialreadyfeltalittleprotectiveaboutthoseclothes.Ileanedforwardoverthecounter.“ButIhavehadanotheridea...”

—ThefollowingmorningIwastryingona1970green“Judy”OssieClarktrousersuit,checkingforrottingseamsortinyholes,whenthedoorbellrang.“Holdon,Ashok.Holdon!Letmejustgrabthedog,”Icalled,scoopinghimupashebarkedfuriouslyatthedoor.

Michaelstoodinfrontofme.

“Hello,”Isaid,coldly,whenIhadrecoveredfromtheshock.“Isthereaproblem?”

Hestrugglednottoraiseaneyebrowatmyoutfit.“Mr.Gopnikwouldliketoseeyou.”

“I’mherelegitimately.Mrs.DeWittinvitedmetostayon.”

“It’snotaboutthat.Idon’tknowwhatitis,totellyouthetruth.Buthewantstotalktoyouaboutsomething.”

“Idon’treallywanttotalktohim,Michael.Butthanksanyway.”Imadetoclosethedoorbutheputhisfootinit,stoppingme.Ilookeddownatit.DeanMartinletoutalowgrowl.

“Louisa.Youknowwhathe’slike.HesaidIwasn’ttoleaveuntilyouagreed.”

“Tellhimtowalkdownthecorridorhimselfthen.It’shardlyfar.”

Heloweredhisvoice.“Hedoesn’twanttoseeyouhere.Hewantstoseeyouinhisoffice.Inprivate.”Helookeduncharacteristicallyuncomfortable,assomeonemight,whohadprofessedtheywereyourbestfriend,thendroppedyoulikeahotstone.

“TellhimImightcomebylaterthismorningthen.WhenDeanMartinandIhavehadourwalk.”

Stillhedidn’tmove.

“What?”

Helookedalmostpleading.“Thecariswaitingoutside.”

—IbroughtDeanMartin.Hewasausefuldistractionfrommyvaguesenseofanxiety.MichaelsatbesidemeinthelimousineandDeanMartinglaredathimandatthebackofthedriver’sseatsimultaneously.Isatinsilence,wonderingwhatonearthMr.Gopnikwasgoingtodonow.Ifhehaddecidedtopresschargessurelyhewouldhavesentthepolice,ratherthanhiscar.HadhewaiteddeliberatelyuntilMargothadgone?HadheuncoveredotherthingsIwasabouttobeblamedfor?IthoughtofStevenLipkottandthepregnancytestandwonderedwhatmyresponsewouldbeifheaskedpointblankwhatIknew.WillhadalwayssaidIhadtheworstpokerface.Ipracticedinmyhead,Iknownothing,untilMichaelshotmeasharplookandIrealizedI’dstartedsayingitoutloud.

Weweredischargedinfrontofahugeglassbuilding.Michaelwalkedbrisklythroughthecavernous,marble-cladlobby,butIrefusedtohurryandinsteadletDeanMartinamblealongathisownpaceeventhoughIcouldtellitinfuriatedMichael.Hecollectedapassfromsecurity,handedittome,thendirectedmetowardaseparateliftnearthebackofthelobby—Mr.Gopnikwasplainlytooimportanttotravelupanddownwiththerestofhisstaff.

Wewentuptotheforty-sixthfloor,travelingataspeedthatmademyeyesbulgealmostasmuchasDeanMartin’s,andItriedtohidetheslightwobbleinmylegsasIsteppedoutintothehushedsilenceoftheoffices.Asecretary,immaculatelydressedinatailoredsuitandspike

heels,didadoubletakeatme—Iguessedtheydidn’tgettoomanypeopledressedin1970semeraldOssieClarktrousersuitswithredsatintrim,clutchingfurioussmalldogs.IfollowedMichaelalongacorridortoanotheroffice,inwhichsatanotherwoman,alsoimmaculatelydressedinherofficeuniform.

“IhaveMissClarktoseeMr.Gopnik,Diane,”hesaid.

Shenodded,andliftedaphone,murmuringsomethingintoit.“He’llseeyounow,”shesaidwithasmallsmile.

Michaelpointedmetowardthedoor.“Doyouwantmetotakethedog?”hesaid.Hewasplainlydesperateformenottotakethedog.

“No.Thankyou,”Isaid,holdingDeanMartinalittletightertome.

ThedooropenedandtherestoodLeonardGopnikinhisshirtsleeves.

—“Thankyouforagreeingtoseeme,”hesaid,closingthedoorbehindhim.Hegesturedtowardaseatontheothersideofthedeskandwalkedslowlyaroundit.InoticedhislimpwaspronouncedandwonderedwhatNathanwasdoingwithhim.Healwayswastoodiscreettodiscussit.

Isaidnothing.

Hesatdownheavilyinhischair.Helookedtired,Inoticed,theexpensivetanunabletohidetheshadowsunderhiseyes,thestrainlinesattheiredges.

“You’retakingyourdutiesveryseriously,”hesaid,gesturingatthedog.

“Ialwaysdo,”Isaid,andhenodded,asifthatwereafaircomeback.

Thenheleanedforwardoverthedeskandsteepledhisfingers.“I’mnotsomeone,Louisa,usedtofindingmyselflostforwords,but...IconfessIamrightnow.Idiscoveredsomethingtwodaysago.Somethingwhichhasleftmerathershaken.”

Helookedupatme.Ilookedsteadilybackathim,myexpressionastudyinneutrality.

“MydaughterTabithahadbecome...suspiciousaboutsomethingsshe’dheardandputaprivateinvestigatoronthecase.ThisisnotsomethingI’mparticularlyhappyabout—wearenot,asafamily,pronetoinvestigatingeachother.Butwhenshetoldmewhatthegentlemanhadfound,itwasnotsomethingIcouldignore.ItalkedtoAgnesaboutitandshehastoldmeeverything.”

Iwaited.

“Thechild.”

“Oh,”Isaid.

Hesighed.“Duringtheserather...extensivediscussions,shealsoexplainedaboutthepiano,themoneyforwhich,Iunderstand,youwereunderinstructiontoremoveinincrements,daybyday,fromanearbyATM.”

“Yes,Mr.Gopnik,”Isaid.

HeloweredhisheadasifhehadhopedagainsthopethatImightdisputethefacts,tellhimitwasallnonsense,thattheprivateinvestigatorwastalkingrubbish.

Finallyhesatbackheavilyinhischair.“Weappeartohavedoneyouagreatwrong,Louisa.”

“I’mnotathief,Mr.Gopnik.”

“Obviously.Andyet,outofloyaltytomywife,youwerepreparedtoletmebelieveyouwere.”

Iwasn’tsureifitwasacriticism.“Ididn’tfeellikeIhadachoice.”

“Oh,youdid.Youabsolutelydid.”

Wesatinthecoolofficeinsilenceforafewmoments.Hetappedonhisdeskwithhisfingers.

“Louisa,IhavespentmuchofthenighttryingtofigureouthowIcanputthissituationright.AndI’dliketomakeyouanoffer.”

Iwaited.

“I’dliketogiveyouyourjobback.Youwill,ofcourse,receivebetterterms—longerholidays,apayraise,significantlyimprovedbenefits.Ifyouwouldrathernotliveonsite,wecanarrangeaccommodationnearby.”

“Ajob?”

“Agneshasn’tfoundanyoneshelikeshalfasmuchasshelikedyou.Youhavemorethanprovenyourself,andI’mimmenselygratefulforyour...loyaltyandyourcontinueddiscretion.Thegirlwetookonafteryouhasbeen...well,she’snotuptoit.Agnesdoesn’tlikeher.Sheconsideredyoumoreof...ofafriend.”

Ilookeddownatthedog.Helookedupatme.Heseemeddistinctlyunimpressed.“Mr.Gopnik,that’sveryflatteringbutIdon’tthinkIwouldfeelcomfortableworkingasAgnes’sassistantnow.”

“Thereareotherpositions,positionswithinmyorganization.Iunderstandthatyoudonothaveanotherjobyet.”

“Whotoldyouthat?”

“There’snotalotgoesoninmybuildingthatIdon’tknowabout,Louisa.Usually,atleast.”Heallowedhimselfawrysmile.“Look,wehaveopeningsinourmarketingandadministrativedepartments.IcouldaskHumanResourcestobypasscertainentryrequirementsandwecouldofferyoutraining.OrIwouldbepreparedtocreateapositioninmyphilanthropicarmifyoufeltthatwassomethingyouwereinterestedin.Whatdoyousay?”Hesatback,onearmonhisdesk,hisebonizedpenlooseinhishand.

Animageofthisalternativelifeswambeforemyeyes—me,dressedinasuit,headedtoworkeachdayinthesevastglassoffices.LouisaClark,earningabigsalary,livingsomewhereIcouldafford.ANewYorker.Notlookingafteranyone,foronce,justpushingupward,theskylimitlessaboveme.Itwouldbeawholenewlife,arealshotattheAmericanDream.

Ithoughtofmyfamily’sprideifIsaidyes.

Ithoughtofascruffywarehousedowntown,filledtothebrimwithotherpeople’soldclothes.“Mr.Gopnik,again,I’mveryflattered.ButIdon’tthinkso.”

Hisexpressionhardened.“Soyoudowantmoney.”

Iblinked.

“Weliveinalitigioussociety,Louisa.Iamconsciousthatyouholdhighlysensitiveinformationaboutmyfamily.Ifit’salumpsumyou’re

after,we’lltalkaboutit.Icanbringmylawyerintothediscussion.”Heleanedoverandputhisfingerontheintercom.“Diane,canyou—”

ItwasatthispointthatIstood.IloweredDeanMartingentlytothefloor.“Mr.Gopnik,Idon’twantyourmoney.IfI’dwantedtosueyouor—ormakemoneyfromyoursecrets—Iwouldhavedoneitweeksago,whenIwasleftwithoutajoboranywheretolive.You’vemisjudgedmenowasyoumisjudgedmebackthen.AndI’dliketoleavenow.”

Hetookhisfingeroffthephone.“Please...sit.Ididn’tmeantooffendyou.”Hemotionedtothechair.“Please,Louisa.Ineedtogetthismattersortedout.”

Hedidn’ttrustme.IsawnowthatMr.Gopniklivedinaworldwheremoneyandstatuswereprizedsofaraboveeverythingelsethatitwasinconceivabletohimthatsomebodywouldn’ttrytoextractsome,giventheopportunity.

“Youwantmetosignsomething,”Isaidcoolly.

“Iwanttoknowyourprice.”

Andthenitoccurredtome.PerhapsIdidhaveone,afterall.

Isatdownagain,andafteramomentItoldhim,andforthefirsttimeintheninemonthsthatwe’dmet,helookedproperlysurprised.“That’swhatyouwant?”

“That’swhatIwant.Idon’tcarehowyoudoit.”

Heleanedbackinhischair,andplacedhishandsbehindhishead.Helookedofftotheside,thinkingforamoment,thenturnedbacktome.“Iratherwishyouwouldcomebackandworkforme,LouisaClark,”hesaid.Andthenhesmiled,forthefirsttime,andreachedacrossthedesktoshakemyhand.

—“Letterforyou,”saidAshokasIwalkedin.Mr.GopnikhadinstructedthatthecarshouldbringmehomeandIhadaskedthedrivertodropmetwoblocksawaysothatDeanMartincouldstretchhislegs.Iwasstillshakingfromtheencounter.Ifeltlightheaded,elated,asifIwerecapableofanything.AshokhadtocalltwicebeforeIregisteredwhathe’dsaid.

“Forme?”Istareddownattheaddress—Icouldn’tthinkwhoknewIwaslivingatMrs.DeWitt’sasidefrommyparents,andmymotheralwayslikedtoe-mailmetotellmethatshe’dwrittenmealetterjustsoIcouldkeepalookout.

Iranupstairs,gaveDeanMartinadrink,thensatdowntoopenit.ThehandwritingwasunfamiliarsoIflickedtheletterover.Itwaswrittenoncheapcopierpaper,inblackink,andtherewereacoupleofcrossings-out,asifthewriterhadstruggledwithwhathewantedtosay.

Sam.

I

30

DearLou,

Iwasn’tentirelytruthfulwhenwelastmet.SoI’mwritingtoyounow,notbecauseIthinkitwillchangeanythingbutbecauseIdeceivedyouonceandit’simportanttomethatyouneverfeelIdidthatagain.

I’mnotwithKatie.Iwasn’twhenIlastsawyou.Idon’twanttosaytoomuchbutitbecameclearprettyquicklythatweareverydifferentpeople,andthatIhadmadeahugemistake.IfI’mhonest,IthinkIknewitfromthestart.Shehasputinforatransferandalthoughtheydon’tlikeitmuchatheadofficeitlookslikethey’llgoaheadwithit.

I’mleftfeelinglikeafool,andrightlyso.NotadaygoesbywhenIdon’twishI’djustwrittenyouafewlineseveryday,likeyouasked,orsenttheoddpostcard.Ishouldhavehungontighter.IshouldhavetoldyouwhatIfeltwhenIfeltit.Ishouldhavejusttriedabitharderinsteadofthrowingmyselfapitypartyatthethoughtofallthepeoplewhohadleftmebehind.

LikeIsaid,I’mnotwritingtochangeyourmind.Iknowyou’vemovedon.IjustwantedtotellyouI’msorry,andthatI’llalwaysregretwhathappened,andthatIreallyhopeyou’rehappy(it’skindofhardtotellatafuneral).

Takecareofyourself,Louisa.

Lovealways,

Sam

feltgiddy.ThenIfeltabitsick.AndthenIgulped,swallowingahugesobofanemotionIcouldn’tquiteidentify.AndthenIscrewed

theletterupinaballand,witharoar,hurleditwithforceintothebin.

IsentMargotapictureofDeanMartinandwroteherashortletterupdatingheronhiswell-being,justtocalmmynerves.Iwalkedupanddowntheemptyapartmentandsworeabit.IpouredmyselfasherryfromMargot’sdustydrinkscabinetanddrankitinthreegulps,althoughitwasn’tevenlunchtime.AndthenIpulledtheletteroutofthebin,openedmylaptop,satonthehallfloorwithmybacktoMargot’sfrontdoorsothatIcouldusetheGopniks’WiFi,ande-mailedSam.

—Whatkindofbullshitletteristhat?Whywouldyousendmethatnow?Afterallthistime?

Theanswercamebackwithinminutes,asifhehadbeensittingwaitingathiscomputer.

—Igetyouranger.I’dprobablybeangrytoo.ButLilysaidyouwerethinkingofgettingmarriedandthewholelookingatapartmentsinLittleItalythingjustmademethinkifIdidn’ttellyounowitwasgoingtobetoolate.

Istaredatmyscreen,frowning.Irereadwhathe’dwritten,twice.ThenItyped:

—Lilytoldyouthat?

—Yes.Andthethingaboutyouthinkingitwasabitsoonandnotwantinghimtothinkyouweredoingitfortheresidency.Buthowhisproposalmadeitimpossibleforyoutosayno.

Iwaitedafewminutes,thenItyped,carefully:

—Sam,whatdidshetellyouabouttheproposal?—ThatJoshhadgonedownononekneeatthetopoftheEmpireStateBuilding?Andabouttheoperasingerhehired?

Lou,don’tbeangrywithher.IknowIshouldn’thavemadehertellme.Iknowit’snoneofmybusiness.ButIjustaskedherhowyouweretheotherday.Iwantedtoknowwhatwasgoingoninyourlife.Andthenshekindofknockedmesidewayswithallthisstuff.Itoldmyselftojustbegladyouwerehappy.ButIkeptthinking:WhatifIhadbeenthatguy?WhatifIhad—Idon’tknow—seizedthemoment?

Iclosedmyeyes.

—SoyouwrotetomebecauseLilytoldyouIwasabouttogetmarried?—No.Iwantedtowritetoyouanyway.HavedonesinceIsawyouinStortfold.Ijustdidn’tknowwhattosay.

ButthenIfiguredonceyouweremarried—especiallyifyouweregettingmarriedsoquickly—itwasgoingtobeimpossibleformetosayanythingafterward.Maybethat’sold-fashionedofme.

Look,IbasicallyjustwantedyoutoknowIwassorry,Lou.That’sit.I’msorryifthisisinappropriate.

IttookawhilebeforeIwroteagain.

—Okay.Well,thanksforlettingmeknow.

Ishutthelidandleanedbackagainstthefrontdoorandclosedmyeyesforalongtime.

—Idecidednottothinkaboutit.Iwasquitegoodatnotthinkingaboutthings.Ididmyhouseholderrands,andItookDeanMartinonhiswalksandItraveledtotheEastVillageonthesubwayinthestiflingheatanddiscussedsquarefootageandpartitionsandleasesandinsuranceswiththegirls.IdidnotthinkaboutSam.

IdidnotthinkabouthimwhenIwalkedthedogpastthevomitousever-presentgarbagetrucks,ordodgedthehonkingUPSvans,ortwistedmyanklesonthecobblesofSoHo,orluggedsuitcasesofclothingthroughtheturnstilesofthesubway.IrecitedMargot’swordsandIdidthethingIloved,whichhadnowgrownfromatinygermofanideaintoahugeoxygenatedbubble,whichinflatedfromtheinsideofme,steadilypushingouteverythingelse.

IdidnotthinkaboutSam.

—Hisnextletterarrivedthreedayslater.Irecognizedthehandwritingthistime,scrawledacrossanenvelopethatAshokhadpushedundermydoor.

SoIthoughtaboutoure-mailexchangeandIjustwantedtotalktoyouaboutacouplemorethings.(Youdidn’tsayIcouldn’tsoIhopeyou’renotgoingtoripthisup.)

Lou,Ineverknewyouevenwantedtogetmarried.Ifeelstupidfornotaskingyouaboutthatnow.AndIdidn’trealizeyouwerethekindofgirlwhosecretlywantedbigromanticgestures.ButLilyhastoldmesomuchaboutwhat

Joshdoesforyou—theweeklyroses,thefancydinnersandstuff—andI’msittingherethinking...WasIreallysostatic?HowdidIjustsitthereandexpectthateverythingwasgoingtobeokayifIdidn’teventry?

Lou,didIgetthissowrong?Ijustneedtoknowifthewholetimeweweretogetheryouwerewaitingformetomakesomegrandgesture,ifImisreadyou.IfIdid,I’msorry,again.

It’skindofoddtohavetothinkaboutyourselfsomuch,especiallyifyou’reablokenotmassivelypronetointrospection.Ilikedoingstuff,notthinkingaboutit.ButIguessIneedtolearnalessonhereandI’maskingyouifyou’dbekindenoughtotellme.

ItookoneofMargot’sfadednoteletswiththeaddressatthetop.Icrossedouthername.AndIwrote:

Sam,Ineverwantedanythinggrandfromyou.Nothing.

Louisa

Irandownthestairs,handedittoAshokforpostingandranawayagainjustasquickly,pretendingIcouldn’thearhimaskingifeverythingwasokay.

—Thenextletterarrivedwithindays.EachwasExpressDelivery.Ithadtobecostinghimanabsolutefortune.

Youdid,though.Youwantedmetowrite.AndIdidn’tdoit.Iwasalwaystootiredor,I’mbeinghonest,Ifeltself-conscious.Itdidn’tfeellikeIwastalkingtoyou,justchunteringawayonpaper.Itfeltfake.

AndthenthemoreIdidn’tdoit,andthemoreyoustartedadaptingtoyourlifethereandchanging,Ifeltlike—well,whatthehelldoIhavetotellheranyway?She’sgoingtothesefancyballsandcountryclubsandridingaroundinlimousinesandhavingthetimeofherlife,andI’mridingaroundinanambulanceineastLondon,pickingupdrunksandlonelypensionerswhohavefallenoutofbed.

Okay,I’mgoingtotellyousomethingelsenow,Lou.AndifyouneverwanttohearfrommeagainIwillunderstandbutnowwe’retalkingagainIhavetosayit:I’mnotgladforyou.Idon’tthinkyoushouldmarryhim.Iknowhe’ssmartandhandsomeandrichandhiresstringquartetsforwhenyou’reeatingdinneronhisroofterraceandstuff,butthere’ssomethingthereIdon’ttrust.Idon’tthinkhe’srightforyou.

Ah,crap.It’snotevenjustaboutyou.It’sdrivingmenuts.Ihatethinkingofyouwithhim.Eventhethoughtofhimwithhisarmaroundyoumakesmewanttopunchthings.Idon’tsleepproperlyanymorebecauseI’veturnedintothisstupidjealousguywhohastotrainhismindtothinkaboutotherstuff.Andyouknowme—Isleepanywhere.

Youareprobablyreadingthisnowandthinking,Good,youdickhead,servesyouright.Andyou’dbeentitled.

Justdon’trushintoanything,okay?Makesurehereallyisallthethingsyoudeserve.Or,youknow,don’tmarryhimatall.

Sam

x

Ididn’trespondforafewdaysthattime.IcarriedtheletteraroundwithmeandIlookedatitinthequietmomentsattheVintageClothesEmporiumandwhenIstoppedforcoffeeinthedog-friendlydinernearColumbusCircle.IrereaditwhenIwasgettingintomysaggingbedatnightandthoughtaboutitwhenIwassoakinginMargot’slittlesalmon-coloredbathtub.

Andthen,finally,Iwroteback:

DearSam,

I’mnotwithJoshanymore.Touseyourphrase,weturnedouttobeverydifferentpeople.

Lou

PSForwhatit’sworth,thethoughtofaviolinisthoveringovermewhileI’mtryingtoeatmakesmytoescurl.

T

31

DearLouisa,

SoIhadmyfirstdecentnight’ssleepinweeks.IfoundyourletterwhenIgotbackfromanightshiftatsixa.m.andIhavetotellyouitmademesobloodygladthatIwantedtoshoutlikeacrazypersonanddoadance,butI’mcrapatdancingandIhadnobodytotalktosoIwentandletthehensoutandsatonthestepandtoldtheminstead(theywerenotmassivelyimpressed.Butwhatdotheyknow?).

SocanIwrite?

Ihavestufftosaynow.Ialsohaveareallystupidgrinonmyfaceforabouteightypercentofmyworkingday.Mynewpartner(Dave,forty-five,definitelynotabouttobringmeFrenchnovels)saysI’mscaringthepatients.

Tellmewhat’sgoingonwithyou.Areyouokay?Areyousad?Youdidn’tsoundsad.MaybeIjustwantyounottobesad.

Talktome.

Love,

Samx

helettersarrivedmostdays.Somewerelongandrambling,somejustacoupleoflines,afewscribbles,oraphotoofhimshowing

differentpartsofhisnow-completedhouse.Orhens.Sometimestheletterswerelong,exploratory,fervent.

Wewenttoofast,LouisaClark.Perhapsmyinjuryaccelerateditall.Youcan’tplayhardtogetwithsomeoneafterthey’veliterallyheldyourinsideswiththeirbare

hands,afterall.Somaybethisisgood.Maybenowwegettoreallytalktoeachother.

IwasamessafterChristmas.Icantellyouthatnow.IliketofeelI’vedonetherightthing.ButIdidn’tdotherightthing.Ihurtyouandithauntedme.ThereweresomanynightswhenIjustgaveuponsleepandwenttoworkonthehouseinstead.I’dfullyrecommendbehavinglikeanarseifyouwanttogetabuildingprojectcompleted.

Ithinkaboutmysisteralot.Mostlywhatshe’dsaytome.Youdon’thavetohaveknownhertoimaginewhatshe’dbecallingmerightnow.

Dayafterdaytheycame,sometimestwointwenty-fourhours,sometimessupplementedbye-mailbutmostoftenjustlong,handwrittenessays,windowsintotheinsideofSam’sheadandheart.SomedaysIalmostdidn’twanttoreadthem—afraidtorenewanintimacywiththemanwhohadsocomprehensivelybrokenmyheart.OnothersIfoundmyselfrunningdownstairsbarefootinthemornings,DeanMartinatmyheels,standinginfrontofAshokandbouncingonmytoesasheflickedthroughthewedgeofpostonhisdesk.Hewouldpretendtherewasnothing,thenpullonefromhisjacketandhanditoverwithasmileasIboltedbackupstairstoenjoyitinprivate.

Ireadthemoverandover,discoveringwitheachonehowlittlewehadreallyknowneachotherbeforeIleft,buildinganewpictureofthisquiet,complicatedman.Sometimeshislettersmademesad:

Reallysorry.Notimetoday.Losttwokidsinatrafficaccident.Justneedtogotobed.

X

PSIhopeyourdaywasfullofgoodthings.

Butmostlytheydidnot.HetalkedofJakeandhowJakehadtoldhimthatLilywastheonlypersonwhoreallyunderstoodhowhefelt,andhoweachweekSamwouldtakeJake’sdadonawalkalongthecanalpathormakehimhelppaintthewallsofthenewhousejusttotrytogethimtoopenupabit(andtostopeatingcake).Hetalkedofthetwohenshehadlosttoafox,thecarrotsandbeetrootthatweregrowinginhisvegetablepatch.HetoldmehowhehadkickedhisbikeexhaustindesperationandfuryonChristmasDayafterhehadleftmeatmyparents’andhadn’thadthedentrepairedbecauseitwasauseful

reminderofhowmiserablehehadfeltwhenweweren’ttalking.Everydayheopenedupalittlemore,andeverydayIfeltIunderstoodhimalittlebetter.

DidItellyouLilystoppedbytoday?IfinallytoldherthatyouandIhadbeenintouchandshewentbrightpinkandcoughedoutapieceofgum.Seriously.IthoughtIwasgoingtohavetodotheHeimlichonher.

IwrotebackinthehourswhenIwasneitherworkingnorwalkingDeanMartin.Idrewhimlittlevignettesofmylife,mycarefulcatalogingandrepairingofMargot’swardrobe,sendingphotographsofitemsthatfittedmeasiftheyhadbeenmadeforme(hetoldmehepinnedtheseupinhiskitchen).ItoldhimofhowMargot’sideaofthedressagencyhadtakenrootinmyimaginationandhowIcouldn’tletitgo.Itoldhimofmyothercorrespondence—spiderylittlecardsfromMargot,stillradiantwithjoyatherson’sforgiveness,andfromherdaughter-in-law,Laynie,whosentmesweetfloweredcardsupdatingmeonMargot’sdeterioratingconditionandthankingmeforbringingherhusbandsomeclosure,expressinghersadnessthatithadtakensolongforittohappen.

ItoldSamhowIhadbeguntolookforapartments,howIhadheaded,withDeanMartin,intounfamiliarnewneighborhoods—JacksonHeights,Queens;ParkSlope,Brooklyn—oneeyetryingtoassesstheriskofbeingmurderedinmybed,theothertryingnottobalkattheterrifyingdifferentialbetweensquarefootageandcost.

ItoldhimofmynowweeklydinnerswithAshok’sfamily,howtheircasualinsultsandevidentloveforeachothermadememissmyown.ItoldhimhowmythoughtsreturnedagainandagaintoGranddad,farmoresothanwhenhewasalive,andhowMum,freedfromallresponsibility,wasstillfindingitimpossibletostopgrievinghim.Itoldhimhow,despitespendingmoretimebymyselfthanIhadinyears,despitelivinginthevast,emptyapartment,Ifelt,curiously,notlonelyatall.

And,gradually,Ilethimknowwhatitmeanttometohavehiminmylifeagain,hisvoiceinmyearinthesmallhours,theknowledgethatImeantsomethingtohim.Thesenseofhimasaphysicalpresence,despitethemilesthatseparatedus.

FinallyItoldhimImissedhim.AndrealizedalmostasIpressedsendthatthatreallydidn’tsolveanythingatall.

—NathanandIlariacamefordinner,NathanbringingaclutchofbeersandIlariaaspicypork-and-beancasserolethatnobodyhadwanted.IhadthoughtabouthowoftenIlariaseemedtocookdishesthatnobodywanted.Thepreviousweekshehadbroughtoveraprawncurry,whichIdistinctlyrememberedAgnestellinghernevertoserveagain.

Wesatwithourbowlsonourlaps,sidebysideonMargot’ssofa,moppinguptherichtomatosaucewithchunksofcornbreadandtryingnottobelchateachotheraswetalkedoverthetelevision.IlariaaskedafterMargot,crossingherselfandshakingherheadsadlywhenItoldherofLaynie’supdates.InturnshetoldmeAgneshadbannedTabithafromtheapartment,acauseofsomestressforMr.Gopnik,whohadchosentodealwiththisparticularfamilyfracturebyspendingevenmoretimeatwork.

“Tobefair,there’salotgoingonattheoffice,”saidNathan.

“There’salotgoingonacrossthecorridor.”Ilariaraisedaneyebrowatme.

“Theputahasadaughter,”shesaidquietly,whenNathangotuptovisitthebathroom,wipingherhandsonanapkin.

“Iknow,”Isaid.

“Sheiscomingtovisit,withtheputa’ssister.”Shesniffed,pickedataloosethreadonhertrousers.“Poorchild.Itisnotherfaultsheiscomingtovisitwithafamilyofcrazies.”

“You’lllookoutforher,”Isaid.“You’regoodatthat.”

“Colorofthatbathroom!”saidNathan,arrivingbackintheroom.“Ididn’tthinkanyonedidcloakroomsuitesinmintgreen.Youknowthere’sabottleofbodylotionintheredated1974?”

Ilariaraisedhereyebrowsandcompressedherlips.

Nathanleftataquarterpastnine,andasthedoorclosedbehindhimIlarialoweredhervoice,asifhecouldstillhear,andtoldmehewasdatingapersonaltrainerfromBushwickwhowantedhimtovisit

atallhoursofthedayandnight.BetweenthegirlandMr.Gopnikhebarelyhadtimetotalktoanybodythesedays.Whatcouldyoudo?

Nothing,Isaid.Peopleweregoingtodowhattheyweregoingtodo.

Shenodded,asifIhadimpartedsomegreatwisdom,andpaddedbackdownthecorridor.

—“CanIaskyousomething?”

“Sure!Nadia,baby,takethatthroughtoGrandma,willyou?”Meenastoopedtogivethechildasmallplasticcupoficewater.ItwasaswelteringeveningandeverywindowinAshokandMeena’sapartmentwasopen.Despitethetwofansthatwhirredlazily,theairwasstillstubbornlyresistanttomovement.Wewerepreparingsupperinthetinykitchenandeverymotionseemedtomakeabitofmesticktosomething.

“HasAshokeverhurtyou?”

Meenaturnedswiftlyfromthestovetofaceme.

“Notphysically,Imean.Just...”

“Myfeelings?Asinmessingmearound?Nottoomuch,tobehonest.He’snotreallybuiltthatway.HedidoncejokethatIlookedlikeawhalewhenIwasforty-twoweekspregnantwithRachana,butafterIgotpastthehormonesandstuffIkindofhadtoagreewithhim.And,boy,didhepayforthatone!”Sheletoutahonkinglaughatthememory,thenreachedintoacupboardforsomerice.“IsthisyourguyinLondonagain?”

“Hewritestome.Everyday.ButI...”

“Youwhat?”

Ishrugged.“I’mafraid.Ilovedhimsomuch.Anditwassoawfulwhenwesplitup.IguessI’mjustafraidthatifIletmyselffallagainI’llbesettingmyselfupformorehurt.It’scomplicated.”

“It’salwayscomplicated.”Shewipedherhandsonherapron.“That’slife,Louisa.Soshowme.”

“What?”

“Theletters.Comeon.Don’tpretendyoudon’tcarrythemaroundallday.Ashoksaysyourwholefacegoeskindamushywhenhehandsoneover.”

“Ithoughtdoormenweremeanttobediscreet!”

“Thatmanhasnosecretsfromme.Youknowthat.Wearehighlyinvestedinthetwistsandturnsofyourlifedownthere.”Shelaughedandheldoutherhand,wagglingherfingersimpatiently.Ihesitatedjustamoment,thenpulledtheletterscarefullyfrommyhandbag.And,oblivioustothecomingsandgoingsofhersmallchildren,tothemuffledlaughterofhermotheratthetelevisioncomedynextdoor,tothenoiseandthesweatandtherhythmicclick-click-clickoftheoverheadfan,Meenabentherheadovermylettersandreadthem.

Thestrangestthing,Lou.SoI’vespentthreeyearsbuildingthisdamnhouse.Obsessingovertherightwindowframesandwhichkindofshowercubicleandwhethertogowiththewhiteplasticpowersocketsorthepolishednickel.Andnowit’sdone,orasdoneasitwilleverbe.AndIsitherealoneinmyimmaculatefrontroomwiththeperfectshadeofpalegraypaintandthereconditionedwood-burnerandthetriple-pleatinterlinedcurtainsthatmymumhelpedmechoose,andIwonder,well,whatwasthebloodypoint?WhatdidIbuilditfor?

IthinkIneededadistractionfromthelossofmysister.IbuiltahousesoIdidn’thavetothink.IbuiltahousebecauseIneededtobelieveinthefuture.Butnowit’sdoneandIlookaroundtheseemptyrooms,Ifeelnothing.MaybesomepridethatIactuallyfinishedthejobbutapartfromthat?Nothingatall.

Meenastaredatthelastfewlinesforalongmoment.Thenshefoldedtheletter,placeditcarefullyinthepile,andhandedthembacktome.“Oh,Louisa,”shesaid,herheadcockedtooneside.“Comeon,girl.”

1442LanternDrive

Tuckahoe,NY10707

DearLouisa,

Ihopeyouarewellandthattheapartmentisnotprovingtootroublesome.Franksaysthecontractorsarecomingtolookaroundintwoweeks—couldyoubetheretoletthemin?We’llgiveyouthefirmdetailsnearerthetime.

Margotisn’tuptowritingtoomuchthesedays—shefindsalotofthingstiringandthosedrugsdomakeheralittlewoozy—butIthoughtyou’dliketoknowthatsheisbeingwellcaredfor.Wehavedecided,despiteeverything,wecannotbeartomoveherintothehomesoshewillstaywithus,withsomehelpfromtheverykindmedicalstaff.ShestillhasplentytosaytoFrankandme,oh,yes!Shehasusrunningaroundlikeheadlesschickensmostdays!Idon’tmind.Iquitelikehavingsomeonetolookafter,andonhergooddaysit’slovelyhearingallthestoriesofwhenFrankwasaboy.Ithinkhelikeshearingthemtoo,eventhoughhewon’tadmitasmuch.Twopeasinapod,thosetwo!

Margotaskedmetoaskyouwouldyoumindsendinganotherpictureofthedog?Shedidsoliketheotheroneyousent.FrankhasputitinalovelysilverframebesideherbedandIknowitisagreatcomforttoherasshespendssomuchtimerestingnow.Ican’tsayIfindthelittlefellowquiteaspleasingtolookatassheplainlydoes,buteachtoherown.

Shesendsyouherloveandsaysshehopesyou’restillwearingthosegorgeousstripypantyhose.I’mnotsureifthat’sthepharmaceuticalstalking,butIknowshemeanswell!

Withwarmestwishes,

LaynieG.Weber

—“Didyouhear?”

IwasheadedoutwithDeanMartintowork.Summerhadbeguntoassertitspresenceforcefully,everydaywarmerandmorehumid,sothattheshortwalktothesubwayleftmyshirtstucktomylowerback,anddeliveryboysexposedpale,sunburntfleshontheirbikesand

sworeatjaywalkingtourists.ButIwaswearingmy1960spsychedelicdressthatSamhadboughtmeandapairofcorkwedgeshoeswithpinkflowersoverthestrap,andafterthewinterI’dhad,thesunonmyarmswaslikeabalm.

“DidIhearwhat?”

“Thelibrary!It’sbeensaved!Itsfuturehasbeensecuredforthenexttenyears!”Ashokthrusthisphoneatme.IstoppedonthecarpetandliftedmysunglassestoreadthetextmessagefromMeena.“Ican’tbelieveit.Ananonymousdonationinhonorofsomedeadguy.The—hangon,Igotithere.”Hescannedthemessagewithafinger.“TheWilliamTraynorMemorialLibrary.Butwhocareswhoitis!Fundingfortenyears,Louisa!Andthecitycouncilhasagreed!Tenyears!Oh,man.Meenaisoverthemoon.Shewassosurewe’dlostit.”

Ipeeredatthephone,thenhandeditbacktohim.“It’sanicething,right?”

“It’samazing!Whoknew,Louisa?Huh?Whoknew?Oneforthelittlepeople.Ohhh,yes!”Ashok’ssmilewasenormous.

Ifeltsomethingriseinsidemethen,afeelingofjoyandanticipationsogreatthatitseemedasiftheworldhadbrieflystoppedturning,liketherewasjustmeandtheuniverseandamilliongoodthingsthatcouldhappenifyouonlyhungoninthere.

IlookeddownatDeanMartin,thenbackatthelobby.IwavedtoAshok,adjustedmysunglassesandsetoffdownFifthAvenue,myownsmilegrowingwiderwitheverystep.

—Ihadonlyaskedforfive.

32

So,Iguessatsomepointwehavetotalkaboutthefactthatyouryearisnearlyup.Doyouhaveadateinmindtocomehome?I’mguessingyoucan’tstayintheoldwoman’splaceforever.

I’vebeenthinkingaboutyourdressagency—Lou,youcouldusemyhouseasabaseifyouwanted,gotalotofspareroomhere,completelyfree.Ifyoufanciedit,youcouldstaytoo.

Ifyouthinkit’stoosoonforthatbutyoudon’twanttodisruptyoursister’slifebymovingbacktotheflat,youcouldhavetherailwaycarriage?Thisisnotmypreferredoption,bytheway,butyoualwaysloveditandthereissomethingquiteappealinginthethoughtofhavingyoujustacrossthegarden...

Thereis,ofcourse,anotheroption,whichisthatthisisalltoomuchandyoudon’twantanythingtodowithme,butIdon’tmuchlikethatone.It’sacrappyoption.Ihopeyouthinksotoo.

Thoughts?

Samx

PSPickedupacouplewhohadbeenmarriedfifty-sixyearstonight.Hehadbreathingdifficulties—nothingtooserious—andshewouldn’tletgoofhishand.Fussedoverhimuntiltheygottohospital.Idon’tusuallynoticethesethingsbuttonight?Idon’tknow.

Imissyou,LouisaClark.

IwalkedthelengthofFifthAvenue,withitscloggedarteryoftrafficanditsbrightlycoloredtouristsblockingthesidewalks,andI

thoughthowluckyyoumightbetofindnotonebuttwoextraordinarymentolove—andwhataflukeitwasiftheyhappenedtoloveyouback.Ithoughtabouthowyou’reshapedsomuchbythepeoplewhosurroundyou,andhowcarefulyouhavetobeinchoosingthemforthisexactreason,andthenIthought,despiteallthat,intheendmaybeyouhavetolosethemallinordertotrulyfindyourself.

IthoughtaboutSamandacouplewhohadbeenmarriedforfifty-sixyears,whomIwouldnevermeet,andhisnameinmyheadbecamethedrumbeatofmyfootfallasIwalkedpasttheRockefellerPlaza,pastthegaudyglitzofTrumpTower,pastSt.Patrick’s,pastthehugeglowingUniqlo,withitsdazzlingpixelatedscreens,pastBryantPark,thevastandornateNewYorkPublicLibrarywithitsvigilantmasonrylions,theshopsthehoardingsthetouriststhestreetvendorsandroughsleepers—allthedailyfeaturesofalifeIlovedinacitythathedidn’tinhabit,andyet,abovethenoiseandthesirensandtheblareofthehorns,Irealizedhewasthereateverystep.

Sam.

Sam.

Sam.

AndthenIthoughtabouthowitwouldfeeltogohome.

28October2006

Mum,

Inhaste,butI’mcomingbacktoEngland!IgotthejobwithRupe’sfirm,soI’llbehandinginmynoticetomorrowandnodoubtheadedoutoftheofficewithmybelongingsinaboxminuteslater—theseWallStreetfirmsdon’tliketohangontopeopleouthereiftheythinkyoumightplundertheclientlists.

So,cometheNewYear,I’llbeexecutivedirectorinMergersandAcquisitionsbackinLondon.Reallylookingforwardtoanewchallenge.ThoughtI’dtakealittlebreakfirst—mightdothatmonth-longPatagoniantrekI’vebeengoingonabout—andthenI’llhavetofindsomewheretolive.Ifyougetthechance,couldyousignmeupwithsome

estateagents?Usualpostcodes,verycentral,two/threebeds.Undergroundparkingforthebikeifpossible(yes,Iknowyouhatemeusingit).

Oh,andyou’lllikethis.Imetsomeone.AliciaDeware.She’sactuallyEnglishbutshewasoutherevisitingfriendsandImetheratabloodyawfuldinnerandwewentoutafewtimesbeforeshehadtoheadbacktoNottingHill.Properdating,nottheNewYorkkind.Earlydaysbutshe’sgoodfun.I’llbeseeingabitofherwhenIcomeback.Don’tgolookingatweddinghatsjustyet,though.Youknowme.

Sothat’sit!GivemylovetoDad—tellhimI’llbebuyinghimapintortwoattheRoyalOakverysoon.

Tonewbeginnings,eh?

Withlove,yourson

Willx

—IreadandrereadWill’sletter,withitshintsofaparalleluniverse,andwhat-might-have-beenlandedgentlyaroundmelikefallingsnow.IreadbetweenthelinesatthefuturethatcouldhavebeenhisandAlicia’s—orevenhisandmine.MorethanonceWilliamJohnTraynorhadpushedthecourseofmylifeoffitspredeterminedrails—notwithanudgebutwithanemphaticshove.Bysendingmehiscorrespondence,CamillaTraynorhadinadvertentlyensuredhediditagain.

Tonewbeginnings,eh?

Ireadhiswordsoncemore,thenfoldedthelettercarefullybackwiththeothersandsat,thinking.ThenIpouredmyselfthelastofMargot’svermouth,staredintospaceforabit,sighed,walkedtothefrontdoorwithmylaptop,satonthefloorandwrote:

DearSam,

I’mnotready.Iknowit’sbeenalmostayearandIoriginallysaidthatwasit—buthere’sthe

thing:I’mnotreadytocomehome.

AllmylifeI’veendeduplookingafterotherpeople,fittingmyselfaroundwhattheyneed,whattheywanted.I’mgoodatit.IdoitbeforeIevenrealizewhatI’m

doing.I’dprobablydoittoyoutoo.YouhavenoideahowmuchrightnowIwanttobookaflightandjustbewithyou.

Buttheselastcoupleofmonthssomethinghashappenedtome—somethingthatstopsmedoingjustthat.

I’mopeningmydressagencyhere.It’sgoingtobecalledtheBee’sKneesandit’sgoingtobebasedatthecorneroftheVintageClothesEmporiumandclientscanbuyfromthegirlsorrentfromme.We’repoolingcontacts,stumpingupforsomeadvertising,andIhopewe’llhelpeachothergetbusiness.IopenmydoorsonFridayandI’vebeenwritingtoeveryoneIcanthinkof.Alreadywe’vehadawholelotofinterestfromfilm-productionpeopleandfashionmagazinesandevenwomenwhojustwanttohiresomethingforfancydress.(YouwouldnotbelievethenumberofMadMenthemedpartiesinManhattan.)

It’sgoingtobehardandI’mgoingtobebroke,andwhenI’mhomeeachnightIprettymuchfallasleeponmyfeet,butforthefirsttimeinmylife,Sam,Iwakeupexcited.Ilovemeetingthecustomersandworkingoutwhatisgoingtolookgoodonthem.Ilovestitchingthesebeautifuloldclothestomakethemasgoodasnew.IlovethefactthateverydayIgettoreimaginewhoIwanttobe.

Youoncetoldmeyou’dwantedtobeaparamedicfromwhenyouwereaboy.Well,I’vewaitednearlythirtyyearstoworkoutwhoI’mmeanttobe.Thisdreamofminemightlastaweekoritmightlastayear,buteverydayIheaddowntotheEastVillagewithmyholdallsfullofclothesandmyarmsacheandIfeellikeI’llneverbereadyand,well,Ijustfeellikesinging.

Ithinkaboutyoursisteralot.IthinkaboutWilltoo.Whenpeoplewelovedieyoungit’sanudge,remindingusthatweshouldn’ttakeanyofitforgranted,thatwehaveadutytomakethemostofwhatwehave.IfeellikeIfinallygetthat.

Sohereitis:I’veneverreallyaskedanyoneforanything.Butifyouloveme,Sam,Iwantyoutojoinme—atleastwhileIseeifIcanmakethisthinghappen.I’vedonesomeresearchandthere’sanexamyou’dneedtopassandapparentlyhiringinNewYorkStateisseasonalbuttheydoneedparamedics.

Youcouldrentoutyourhouseforanincome,andwecouldgetalittleapartmentinQueens,ormaybethecheaperreachesofBrooklyn,andeverydaywewouldwakeuptogetherand,well,nothingwouldmakemehappier.AndIwoulddoeverythingIcould—inthehoursthatI’mnotcoveredwithdustandmothsandstraysequins—tomakeyougladyouwereherewithme.

IguessIwantitall.

Youonlygetonelife,right?YouonceaskedmeifIwantedagrandgesture.Well,hereitis:I’llbewhere

yoursisteralwayswantedtobe,theeveningof25Julyatsevenp.m.Youknowwheretofindmeiftheanswer’syes.Ifnot,I’llstandthereforawhile,takealongview,andjustbegladthat,evenifitwasonlyinthisway,wefoundeachotheragain.

Allmylovealways,Louisaxxx

I

33

sawAgnesoncemorebeforeIfinallylefttheLavery.IhadstaggeredinwithtwoarmfulsofclothingthatIwasbringinghomeforrepair,

theplasticcoversstickinguncomfortablytomyskinintheheat.AsIwalkedpastthefrontdesk,twodressesslidtothefloor.AshokleapedforwardtopickthemupformeandIstruggledtokeepholdoftherest.

“Yougotyourworkcutoutthisevening,”hesaid.

“Icertainlyhave.Gettingthislotbackonthesubwaywasanabsolutenightmare.”

“Icanbelieveit.Oh,excuseme,Mrs.Gopnik.I’lljustgetthoseoutofyourway.”

IlookedupasAshoksweptmydressesfromthecarpetwithafluidmovementandtookastepbacktoallowAgnesthroughunimpeded.

Istraightenedasshepassed,asfarasIcouldwithmyarmfulofclothes.Shewaswearingasimpleshiftdresswithawidescoopneck,andflatpumps,andlooked,asshealwaysdid,asifsomehowtheprevailingweatherconditions—whetherextremeheatorcold—simplydidn’tapplytoher.Shewasholdingthehandofasmallgirl,aroundfourorfiveyearsold,inapinaforedress,whoslowedtopeerupatthebrightlycoloredgarmentsIwasholdinginfrontofme.Shehadhoney-blondhair,whichtaperedtofinecurls,combedbackneatlyintotwovelvetbows,andhermother’sslantingeyes,andasshelookedatmesheallowedherselfasmall,mischievoussmileatmypredicament.

Icouldn’thelpbutgrinback,andasIdid,Agnesturnedtoseewhatthechildwaslookingatandoureyeslocked.Ifrozebriefly,madetostraightenmyface,butbeforeIcould,thecornersofhermouthtwitched,likeherdaughter’s,almostasifshecouldn’thelpherself.Shenoddedatme,agesturesosmallthatit’spossibleonlyIcouldhaveseenit.AndthenshesteppedthroughthedoorthatAshokwasholdingback,thechildalreadybreakingintoaskip,andtheyweregone,

swallowedbythesunlightandtheever-movinghumantrafficofFifthAvenue.

I

34

From:MrandMrsBernardClark@yahoo.comTo:BusyBee@gmail.com

DearLou,Well,IhadtoreadthattwicejusttocheckI’dgotitright.Ilookedatthegirlin

thosenewspaperpicturesandIthoughtcanthispossiblybemylittlegirlinanactualNewYorknewspaper?

Thosearewonderfulpicturesofyouwithallyourdresses,andyoulooksogorgeousdressedupwithyourfriends.DidItellyouhowproudDaddyandIare?We’vecutouttheonesfromthefree-sheetandDaddyhasscreen-shottedalltheoneswecouldfindontheinternet(didItellyouhe’sstartedacomputercourseattheadulteducationcenter?He’llbeStortfold’sBillGatesnext).We’resendingyouallourloveandIknowyou’llmakeasuccessofit,Lou.Yousoundedsoupbeatandboldonthetelephone—whenyourangoffIsattherestaringatthephoneandIcouldn’tbelievethiswasmylittlegirl,fullofplans,callingfromherownbusinessacrosstheAtlantic.(ItistheAtlantic,isn’tit?IalwaysgetitmixedupwiththePacific.)

Sohere’sOURbignews.We’regoingtocomeandseeyoulaterinthesummer!We’llcomewhenitcoolsdownabit—didn’tmuchlikethesoundofthatheat-waveofyours:youknowyourdaddychafesinunfortunateplaces.Deirdrefromthetravelagentsislettingususeherstaffdiscountandwe’rebookingtheflightsattheendofthisweek.Couldwestaywithyouintheoldlady’sflat?Ifnot,couldyoutelluswheretogo?NOWHEREWITHBEDBUGS.

Letmeknowwhatdatessuityou.I’msoexcited!!Eversomuchlove,

MumxxxPSDidItellyouTreenagotapromotion?Shealwayswassuchasmartgirl.Youknow,IcanseewhyEddieissokeenonher.

25July

“WISDOMANDKNOWLEDGESHALLBETHESTABILITYOFTHYTIMES.”

stoodintheepicenterofManhattaninfrontofthetoweringbuilding,lettingmybreathingslow,andstaredatthegildedsign

abovethevastentranceto30RockefellerPlaza.AroundmeNewYorkteemedintheeveningheat,thesidewalkssolidwithmeandering

tourists,theairthickwithblaringhornsandtheever-presentscentofexhaustandoverheatedrubber.Behindmeawomanwitha30Rockgolfshirt,hervoicestrugglingtobeheardovertheracket,wasgivingawell-rehearsedtourspeechtoagroupofJapanesesightseers.Thebuildingprojectwascompletedin1933bynotedarchitectRaymondHoodintheartdecostyle—Sir,pleasestaytogether,sir.Ma’am?Ma’am?—andwasoriginallynamedtheRCAbuildingbeforebecomingtheGEbuildingin—Ma’am?Overhereplease...Igazedupatitssixty-sevenfloorsandtookadeepbreath.

Itwasaquartertoseven.

Ihadwantedtolookperfectforthismoment,hadplannedtoheadbacktotheLaveryatfivetogivemyselftimetoshowerandpickanappropriateoutfit(IwasthinkingDeborahKerrinAnAffairtoRemember).ButFatehadintervenedintheformofastylistfromanItalianfashionmagazine,whohadarrivedattheVintageClothingEmporiumatfourthirtyandwantedtolookatallthetwo-piecesuitsforafeatureshewasplanning,thenneededhercolleaguetotrysomeonsoshecouldtakepicturesandcomebacktome.BeforeIknewwhatwashappeningitwastwentytosixandIbarelyhadtimetorunDeanMartinhomeandfeedhimbeforeheadingdownhere.SohereIwas,sweatyandalittlefrazzled,stillinmyworkclothes,abouttofindoutwhichwaymylifewasabouttogonext.

Okay,ladiesandgentlemen,thiswaytotheobservationdeck,please.

Ihadstoppedrunningseveralminutespreviously,butstillfeltbreathlessasImademywayacrosstheplaza.Ipushedatthesmoked-glassdoorandnotedwithreliefthatthequeueforticketswasshort.IhadcheckedonTripAdvisorthenightbeforeandbeenwarnedthatqueuescouldbelengthybutfeltsomehowtoosuperstitioustobuyoneinadvance.SoIwaitedmyturn,checkingmyreflectioninmycompact,glancingaroundmesurreptitiouslyontheoff-chancehehadturnedupearly,thenboughtaticketthatgavemeaccessbetweenthehoursofsixfiftyandseventen,followedthevelvetropeandwaitedwhileIwasshepherdedwithagroupoftouristsintoalift.

Sixty-sevenfloors,theysaid.Sohighthattherideupwasmeanttomakeyourearspop.

Hewouldcome.Ofcoursehewouldcome.

Whatifhedidn’t?

Thiswasthethoughtthathadcrossedmymindeversincehisone-lineresponsetomye-mail.“Okay.Ihearyou.”Whichreallycouldhavemeantanything.Iwaitedtoseeifhewantedtoaskquestionsaboutmyplan,orsayanythingelsethathintedathisdecision.Irereadmyowne-mail,wonderingifperhapsIhadsoundedoff-putting,toobold,tooassertive,whetherIhadconveyedmyownstrengthoffeeling.IlovedSam.Iwantedhimwithme.Didheunderstandhowmuch?Buthavingissuedthemostenormousofultimataitseemedweirdtostartdouble-checkingthatithadbeenunderstoodproperly,soIsimplywaited.

Sixfifty-fivep.m.Theliftdoorsopened.Iheldoutmyticketandsteppedin.Sixty-sevenfloors.Mystomachtightened.

TheliftbegantomoveupwardslowlyandIfeltasuddenpanic.Whatifhedidn’tcome?Whatifhe’dgotit,butchangedhismind?WhatwouldIdo?Surelyhewouldn’tdothattome,notafterallthis.Ifoundmyselftakinganaudiblegulpofair,andpressedmyhandtomychest,tryingtosteadymynerves.

“It’stheheight,isn’tit?”Akindlywomannexttomereachedoutandtouchedmyarm.“Seventyfloorsupisquiteadistance.”

Itriedtosmile.“Somethinglikethat.”

Ifyoucan’tleaveyourworkandyourhouseandallthethingsthatmakeyouhappyIwillunderstand.I’llbesad,butI’llgetit.

You’llalwaysbewithmeonewayortheother.

Ilied.OfcourseIlied.Oh,Sam,pleasesayyes.Pleasebewaitingwhenthedoorsopenagain.Andthentheliftstopped.

“Well,thatwasn’tseventyfloors,”someonesaid,andacoupleofpeoplelaughedawkwardly.Ababyinapramgazedatmewithwidebrowneyes.Weallstoodforamoment,thensomeonesteppedout.

“Oh.Thatwasn’tthemainelevator,”saidthewomanbesideme,pointing.“That’sthemainelevator.”

Andthereitwas.Atthefarendofanendlesssnakinghorseshoeofpeople.

Istaredatitinhorror.Theremusthavebeenahundredvisitors,twohundredeven,millingquietly,staringupatthemuseumexhibits,thelaminatedhistoriesonthewall.Ilookedatmywatch.Itwas

alreadyoneminutetoseven.ItextedSam,watchinginhorrorasthemessagerefusedtosend.Istartedtopushmywaythroughthecrowd,muttering,“I’msorry.I’msorry,”aspeopletuttedloudlyandyelled,“Heylady,we’reallwaitinghere.”Headdown,ImademywaypastthewallboardsthattoldthestoryoftheRockefellerbuilding,ofitsChristmastrees,thevideoexhibitofNBC,bobbingandweaving,mutteringmyapologies.Therearefewgrumpierpeoplethanoverheatedtouristswhohavefoundthemselveswaitinginanunexpectedqueue.Onegrabbedatmysleeve.“Hey!You!We’reallwaiting!”

“I’mmeetingsomeone,”Isaid.“I’msosorry.I’mEnglish.We’renormallyverygoodatqueuing.ButifI’manylaterI’mgoingtomisshim.”

“Youcanwaitliketherestofus!”

“Lethergo,baby,”saidthewomanbesidehim,andImouthedmythanks,pushingonthroughthemorassofsunburntshoulders,ofshiftingbodiesandquerulouschildrenand“I♥NY”T-shirts,theliftdoorscomingslowlycloser.Butlessthantwentyfeetawaythequeuecametoasolidstop.Ihopped,tryingtoseeoverthetopofpeople’sheads,andcamefacetofacewithafakeirongirder.ItrestedagainstahugeblackandwhitephotographicbackdropoftheNewYorkskyline.Visitorswereseatingthemselvesingroupsonthestructure,mimickingtheiconicphotographofworkmeneatingtheirlunchduringthetower’sconstruction,whileayoungwomanbehindacamerayelledatthem:“Putyourhandsintheair,that’sit,nowthumbsupforNewYork,that’sit,nowpretendtopusheachotheroff,nowkiss.Okay.Picturesavailablewhenyouleave.Next!”Timeaftertimesherepeatedherfourphrasesasweshiftedgraduallycloser.Theonlywaytogetpastwouldmeanruiningsomeone’spossiblyonce-in-a-lifetime30Rocknoveltyphotograph.Itwasfourminutespastseven.Imadetopushthrough,toseeifIcouldedgebehindher,butfoundmyselfblockedbyagroupofteenagerswithrucksacks.Someoneshovedmybackandweweremoving.

“Onthegirder,please.Ma’am?”Thewaythroughwasblockedbyanimmovablewallofpeople.Thephotographerbeckoned.Iwasgoingtodowhateverwouldmakethismovefastest.ObedientlyIhoistedmyselfupontothegirder,mutteringundermybreath,“Comeon,comeon,Ineedtomove.”

“Putyourhandsintheair,that’sit,nowthumbsupforNewYork!”Iputmyhandsintheair,forcedmythumbsup.“Nowpretendtopusheachotheroff,that’sit...Nowkiss.”Ateenageboywithglassesturnedtome,surprised,andthendelighted.

Ishookmyhead.“Notthisone,bud.Sorry.”Ileapedoffthegirder,pushedpasthim,andrantothefinalqueuewaitinginfrontofthelift.

Itwasnineminutespastseven.

ItwasatthispointthatIwantedtocry.Istood,squashedinthehot,grumblingqueue,shiftingfromfoottofootandwatchingastheotherliftdisgorgedpeople,cursingmyselffornotdoingmyresearch.Thiswastheproblemwithgrandgestures,Irealized.Theytendedtobackfireinspectacularfashion.Theguardsobservedmyagitationwiththeindifferenceofserviceworkerswhohaveseeneverykindofhumanbehavior.Andthen,finally,attwelveminutespast,theelevatordooropenedandaguardshepherdedpeopletowardit,countingourheads.Whenhegottome,hepulledtheropeacross.“Nextelevator.”

“Oh,comeon.”

“It’stherules,lady.”

“Please.Ihavetomeetsomeone.I’mso,solate.Justletmesqueezein?Please.I’mbeggingyou.”

“Can’t.Strictonnumbers.”

ButasIletoutasmallmoanofanguish,awomanafewyardsawaybeckonedtome.“Here,”shesaid,steppingoutofthelift.“Takemyplace.I’llgetthenextone.”

“Seriously?”

“Gottalovearomanticmeeting.”

“Oh,thankyou,thankyou!”Isaid,asIslidpast.Ididn’tliketotellherthatthechanceofitbeingromantic,orevenameeting,wasgrowingslimmerbythesecond.Iwedgedmyselfintothelift,consciousofthecuriousglancesoftheotherpassengers,andclenchedmyfistsastheliftstartedtomove.

Thistimetheliftflewupwardatwarpspeed,causingchildrentogiggleandpointastheglassceilingbetrayedhowfastweweregoing.Lightsflashedoverhead.Mystomachturnedsomersaults.Anelderly

womanbesidemeinafloralhatnudgedme.“Wantabreathmint?”shesaid,andwinked.“Forwhenyoufinallyseehim?”

Itookoneandsmilednervously.

“Iwannaknowhowthisgoes,”shesaid,andtuckedthepacketbackintoherbag.“Youcomefindme.”Andthen,asmyearspopped,theliftbegantoslowandwewerestopping.

—Onceuponatimetherewasasmall-towngirlwholivedinasmallworld.Shewasperfectlyhappy,oratleastshetoldherselfshewas.Likemanygirls,shelovedtotrydifferentlooks,tobesomeoneshewasn’t.But,liketoomanygirls,lifehadchippedawayatheruntil,insteadoffindingwhattrulysuitedher,shecamouflagedherself,hidthebitsthatmadeherdifferent.Forawhileshelettheworldbruiseheruntilshedecideditwassafernottobeherselfatall.

Therearesomanyversionsofourselveswecanchoosetobe.Once,mylifewasdestinedtobemeasuredoutinthemostordinaryofsteps.Ilearneddifferentlyfromamanwhorefusedtoaccepttheversionofhimselfhe’dbeenleftwith,andanoldladywhosaw,conversely,thatshecouldtransformherself,rightuptoapointwhenmanypeoplewouldhavesaidtherewasnothinglefttobedone.

Ihadachoice.IwasLouisaClarkfromNewYorkorLouisaClarkfromStortfold.OrtheremightbeawholeotherLouisaIhadn’tyetmet.Thekeywasmakingsurethatanyoneyouallowedtowalkbesideyoudidn’tgettodecidewhichyouwere,andpinyoudownlikeabutterflyinacase.Thekeywastoknowthatyoucouldalwayssomehowfindawaytoreinventyourselfagain.

Iwouldsurviveifhewasn’tthere,Ireassuredmyself.Afterall,Ihadsurvivedworse.Itwouldjustbeanotherreinvention.ItoldmyselfthisseveraltimesasIwaitedfortheliftdoorstoopen.Itwasseventeenminutespastseven.

Iwalkedswiftlytotheglassdoors,tellingmyselfthatsurelyifhe’dcomethisfarhewouldwaittwentyminutes.ThenIranacrossthedeck,spinningandweavingmywaythroughthesightseers,thechattingtouristsandselfie-takerstoseeifhewasthere.IranbackthroughtheglassdoorandacrossthevastinternallobbyuntilIcame

toaseconddeck.Hemustbeonthisside.Imovedswiftly,inandout,turningtopeerintothefacesofstrangers,eyestrainedforoneman,slightlytallerthaneveryonearoundhim,hishairdark,hisshoulderssquare.Icriss-crossedthetiledfloor,theeveningsunbeatingdownonmyhead,sweatstartingtobloomacrossmybackasIlooked,andlooked,andobserved,withasickfeeling,thathewasn’tthere.

“Didyoufindhim?”saidtheelderlywoman,grabbingmyarm.

Ishookmyhead.

“Goupstairs,honey.”Shepointedtowardthesideofthebuilding.

“Upstairs?There’sanupstairs?”

Iran,tryingnottolookdown,untilIcametoasmallescalator.Thisledtoyetanotherobservationdeck,thisoneevenmorepackedwithvisitors.Ifeltdespairing,hadasuddenvisionofhimmovingdownstairsontheoppositeside,evenaswespoke.AndIwouldhavenowayofknowing.

“Sam!”Iyelled,myheartthumping.“Sam!”

Afewpeopleglancedatmebutmostcontinuedlookingoutward,takingselfiesorposingagainsttheglassscreen.

Istoodinthemiddleofthedeckandshouted,myvoicehoarse,“Sam?”

Ijabbedatmyphone,tryingtosendthemessageagainandagain.

“Yeah,cell-phonecoverageispatchyuphere.Youlostsomeone?”saidauniformedguard,appearingbesideme.“Youlostakid?”

“No.Aman.Iwasmeanttomeethimhere.Ididn’tknowthereweretwolevels.Orsomanydecks.Oh,God.Oh,God.Idon’tthinkhe’soneitherofthem.”

“I’llradioovertomycolleague,seeifhecangivehimashout.”Heliftedhiswalkie-talkietohisear.“Butyoudoknowthere’sactuallythreelevels,lady?”Hepointedupward.AtthispointIletoutamuffledsob.Itwastwenty-threeminutespastseven.Iwouldneverfindhim.Hewouldhaveleftbynow.Ifhewaseverevenhereinthefirstplace.

“Tryupthere.”Theguardtookmyelbowandpointedtothenextsetofsteps.Andturnedawaytospeakintohisradio.

“That’sit,right?”Isaid.“Nomoredecks.”

Hegrinned.“Nomoredecks.”

—Therearesixty-sevenstepsbetweenthedoorstotheseconddeckof30RockefellerPlazaandthefinal,uppermost,viewingdeck,moreifyouarewearingvintagesatindancingheelsinfuchsiapinkwiththeelasticstrapscutoffthatreallyweren’tmadeforrunningin,especiallyinaheatwave.Iwalkedslowlythistime.Imountedthenarrowflightofstepsand,halfwayup,whenIfeltsomethinginmemightactuallyburstwithanxiety,Iturnedandlookedbehindmeattheview.AcrossManhattanthesunglowedorange,theendlessseaofglitteringskyscrapersreflectingbackapeachlight,thecenteroftheworld,goingaboutitsbusiness.Amillionlivesbelowme,amillionheartbreaksbigandsmall,talesofjoyandlossandsurvival,amillionlittlevictorieseveryday.

Thereisagreatconsolationinsimplydoingsomethingyoulove.

InthoselastfewstepsIconsideredallthewaysinwhichmylifewasstillgoingtobewonderful.Isteadiedmybreathandthoughtofmynewagency,myfriends,myunexpectedlittledogwithhiswonky,joyfulface.IthoughtofhowinlessthantwelvemonthsIhadsurvivedhomelessnessandjoblessnessinoneofthetoughestcitiesonearth.IthoughtoftheWilliamTraynorMemorialLibrary.

AndwhenIturnedandlookedupagain,therehewas,leaningontheledgeandlookingoutacrossthecity,hisbacktome,hairrufflingslightlyinthebreeze.Istoodforamomentasthelastofthetouristspushedpastme,andItookinhisbroadshoulders,thewayhisheadtippedforward,thesoftdarkhairathiscollar,andsomethingalteredinme—arecalibratingofsomethingdeepwithinsothatIwascalm,justatthesightofhim.

IstoodandIstaredandagreatsighescapedme.

And,perhapsconsciousofmygaze,atthatmomentheturnedslowlyandstraightened,andthesmilethatspreadslowlyacrosshisfacematchedmyown.

“Hello,LouisaClark,”hesaid.

H

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ugethankstoNicoleBakerCooperandNoelBerkfortheirgenerosityandwisdominrelatingCentralParkandtheUpper

EastSide,andforgivingmesuchaclearwindowintotheseveryspecificworlds.Anydeviationfromthefactsareentirelymyresponsibilityandtheretoservethepurposesoftheplot.

HugegratitudealsotoVianelaRivasoftheNewYorkPublicLibraryservicefortakingthetimetoshowmearoundWashingtonHeightsLibrary.Myfictionallibraryisnotanexactreplica,butitscreationhascertainlybeeninformedbytheinvaluablepublicservicetherealversionanditsstaffprovide.Longmayitcontinue.

Thankyou,asever,tomyagent,SheilaCrowley,andmyeditorintheUnitedStates,PamelaDorman.ThankyoutoallthemanytalentedpeopleatPamelaDormanBooksandthePenguinPublishingGroup,particularlyJeramieOrton,LouiseBraverman,BrianTart,KateStark,LindsayPrevette,LydiaHirt,KathrynCourt,KateGriggs,BriannaLinden,andbeyondthat,alltheunsungheroesinbookshopsandthemediaescortswhohelpgetusauthorsoutthere(sometimesliterally!).

MassivegratitudetoeveryonewhoworksalongsideSheilaatCurtisBrownforyourcontinuedsupport,especiallyClaireNozieres,KatieMcGowan,EnrichettaFrezzato,MairiFriesen-Escandell,AbbieGreaves,FelicityBlunt,MarthaCooke,NickMarston,RaneetAhuja,AliceLutyens,andofcourseJonnyGeller.IntheUS,thankyouyetagaintoBobBookman.

Thankyouforenduringfriendship,professionaladvice,lunch,tea,andinappropriatebeveragestoCathyRunciman,MonicaLewinsky,MaddyWickham,SarahMillican,OlParker,PollySamson,DavidGilmour,DamianBarr,AlexHeminsley,WendyByrne,SueMaddix,TheaSharrock,JessRuston,LisaJewell,JennyColgan,andallatWritersblock.

Closertohome,thankyoutoJackieTearne,ClaireRoweth,ChrisLuckley,DrewHazell,thestaffatBicycletta,andeveryonewhohelpsmedowhatIdo.

Loveandthankstomyparents—JimMoyesandLizzieSanders—Guy,Bea,andClemmie,andmostofalltoCharles,Saskia,Harry,andLockie,andBigDog(whoseinclusionin“family”willsurprisenobodywhoknowsher).

FinalthankstoJillMansellandherdaughterLydia,whosegenerousdonationtotheAuthorsforGrenfellappealmeanthatLydiaisnowimmortalizedasagum-chewing,cigarette-smokingvintageclothesstoreowner.

ABOUTTHEAUTHOR

JojoMoyesisthenumberoneNewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorofMeBeforeYou,AfterYou,TheHorseDancer,ParisforOneandOtherStories,OnePlusOne,TheGirlYouLeftBehind,TheLastLetterfromYourLover,SilverBay,andTheShipofBrides.SheliveswithherhusbandandthreechildreninEssex,England.

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