Think again.
“So tell me more about your film editing company,” I say as the waiter strolls off.
It’s as if he doesn’t even hear me.
“You know what the worst part is? I believed her,” he says. “She kept telling me how she was going to leave her husband. I really should’ve known better. They never leave.”
I immediately reach for my glass of water. My mouth is dry. Like I’ve been eating Saltines on the Sahara.
“Hey, are you okay?” he asks. “You look uncomfortable.”
“I’m fine.”
He sighs. “Jeez, listen to me going on and on about my ex. I apologize.”
“It’s okay. I understand.”
“Do you?”
“Sure,” I say. “It’s not easy letting go.” I did it once, big-time. With Matthew of Boston.
“You’re right. But there’s something else and it’s been killing me.”
“What’s that?”
“The guilt. It never occurred to me until the relationship ended,” he says. “I mean, where did I get off trying to break up a marriage?”
I hear him say the words and I have to remind myself that he’s not talking about me. This is abouthim. But weirdly, I can’t help feeling defensive. The parallel to Michael and me is unmistakable, and more than a little unnerving.
“Clearly this woman you were seeing doesn’t have a good marriage,” I point out.
“Yes, but good or bad it’s still a marriage – I shouldn’t have been trying to ruin it. They’ve got kids, for Christ’s sake.”
“But she doesn’t really love them!” I blurt out.
He looks at me sideways. “Excuse me?”
Uh-oh. Say something, Kristin. Anything! At least get your size eight out of your mouth.
I clear my throat, trying to reel myself in. Then I put my hand on top of his. “I just think you’re being too hard on yourself, Stephen. Remember, it takes two to tango.”
“Yeah,” he says, leaning in closer. “Except you’re forgetting one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“No one’s ever forced to dance, are they?”
8
Chapter 50
I NEED SOME AIR!
That’s all I’m thinking as I say good-bye to Stephen. Our evening ends on the sidewalk outside Elio’s with an exchange of awkward smiles, a peck on my cheek, and the unspoken understanding that this is our first and last date.
“Can I hail you a cab?” he asks.
“That’s okay. I think I’m going to walk for a bit.”
It doesn’t matter where, and for the next hour or so, I pay no attention to the street signs. I wander aimlessly. It’s only when I get a strange feeling in my stomach that I look up for the first time and see where I am.
Sixty-eighth and Madison, right smack in front of the Fálcon Hotel.
Coincidence?
I wish.
I’m starting to believe that everything is happening for a reason. If only I could figure out what it is. Something has to tie all this together, make sense of it.
Maybe the strangest thing of alclass="underline" the Fálcon and I have a history. Something I never talk about, not even to Michael. It happened my first week in New York, actually, just before I left Matthew of Boston. Since then, I try not to think about it. But here I am!
Standing in front of the hotel, watching as a few well-heeled guests exit and enter under the same red awning where the four gurneys came rolling out, I can’t help dwelling on one of the other strange “coincidences.”
My pictures.
Specifically, the transparent effect that happened with the body bags. And then with Penley.
There has to be some logical connection here… But what is it? And does everything in life have to be logical? Since when?
It would be so easy to say that the dream I keep having is a premonition. I never used to believe in that psychic stuff, but now I’m willing to change my mind. Except the dream already came true. I saw it with my own eyes. Standing in this exact spot, no less.
The people in those body bags are stone cold dead. Penley – as if I need to be reminded – is very much alive.
Don’t go there.
I can’t help it, though. The thought creeps into my head, as it’s done a few times before. I know it’s wrong. I know it’s horrible even to think it.
And still, I do.
It’s Penley who stands in the way of everything. Were it not for her, I’d have Michael. I’d have Dakota and Sean. I’d have everything I ever wanted.
If only Penley weren’t in the picture.
Chapter 51
SERIOUSLY.
Don’t. Go. There.
With every step, I try talking myself out of it, but there’s another voice, a louder voice – one I barely even recognize as my own – propelling me.
My strides get longer and faster; I’m moving on adrenaline from head to toe. The night air is crisp, a lot cooler than usual for May, and I feel a slight sting on my cheeks.
I look up.Yes. Of course there’s a full moon!
What should be a ten-minute walk takes only five, and before I know it I’m standing right across the street from Michael’s building.
I check my watch. It’s a few minutes past midnight.
And you thought you got Michael angry in Connecticut? That was nothing compared to this.
Through the large glass panels flanking the entrance, I can see the night doorman killing time at his desk. I try to remember his name and I’m almost positive it’s Adam. I’ve only met him once or twice before, when he was filling in on the day shift.
It doesn’t matter.
I dial the building’s number on my cell phone and watch as he picks up. They always answer the same way, announcing the address in lieu of “Hello.”
“Is this Adam?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Hi, it’s Kristin, the nanny for the Turnbulls. Listen, I was wondering if you could do me a favor? Louis let me use the staff bathroom off the lobby this morning, and I think I might have left my purse in there. Could you check for me? Sorry.”
“Sure, hold on a second.”
He puts down the phone and disappears behind the door near his desk. A starter’s pistol fires in my head.
Go!
I dart across Fifth Avenue and burst through the front entrance. Racing through the empty lobby, I make it safely to the stairwell before Adam returns.
I’m in.
I hang up my cell and tiptoe up five flights so I’m well out of earshot. Then I call Adam back.
“Sorry to hang up on you; I had another call coming in,” I say. “Any luck?”
“No, I’m afraid I didn’t see your purse. It’s not at the front desk either.”
“Darn, I thought that’s where I left it. Thanks for looking, though.”
“No problem,” he says.
That’s for sure.
You learn a lot about a building after working in it for a couple of years. In the case of the Turnbulls’, it so happens there are no security cameras on the stairs. Goody for me.
Now comes the hard part.
It’s called breaking and entering.
Chapter 52
I HIKE THE REMAINING thirteen flights, struggling to catch my breath as I reach the penthouse. I check my watch again, which is just a nervous tic, I know.
Lights out at the Turnbulls’ is usually no later than ten. Michael rises with the sun, and Penley sees the benefit of a good night’s sleep strictly from a cosmetic point of view. God forbid she ever has bags under her eyes.
Still, I cool my heels for another fifteen minutes. One last chance, perhaps, to come to my senses.
The chance passes.
Thumbing through my keys, I find the one Penley gave me when I first began working for her. I distinctly recall her saying something snotty and condescending about it being a symbol of trust. What, like I’m going to use it to break in one night?
The key clutched tightly in my hand, I gingerly approach the door and its solid brass lock. Turning my wrist ever so slowly, I try to dull the inevitable snap of the dead bolt. It’s so quiet around me in the hallway. Too quiet. I’m afraid even the slightest noise will wake everyone.