We’re on the sidewalk, the length of Fifth Avenue splayed out before us. Cars push one another forward, egging the others on. The city inhales and inhales and inhales.
“Where are we going?” I ask him. My bones feel tired. I lift my leg up, testing.
“It’s a surprise,” he says.
“I don’t like those.”
Aaron laughs. “You’re gonna be fine,” he says.
He grabs my hand, and we’re turning down Fifth Avenue.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“We can’t go far,” I say. I’m practically running to keep up, he’s moving so quickly.
“We’re not,” he tells me. “Just up. Here.”
We’re at the back entrance of a doorman building on One Hundred First Street. He takes an ID out of his wallet and swipes the key fob. The door opens.
“Are we breaking and entering?”
He laughs. “Just entering.”
We’re in what appears to be a basement storage unit, and I follow Aaron through rows of bikes and giant Tupperware containers with out-of-season items into an elevator in the back.
I check my phone to make sure I still have service. Four bars.
It’s a freight elevator, old and lumbering, and we shuffle our way to the rooftop. When we step off, we’re greeted by a tiny stretch of grass surrounded by a concrete terrace and beyond that, the city splayed out before us. There’s a glass dome behind us, some kind of party venue.
“I just thought you could probably use a little bit of space,” he says.
I walk tentatively toward the terrace, run my hand along the marbled concrete. “How do you have access to this place?”
“It’s a building I’m working on,” he says. He comes to stand beside me. “I like it because it’s so high. Usually buildings on the East Side are pretty squat.”
I look at the hospital, dwarfed below us, imagining Bella lying on a table, her body splayed open somewhere inside. My grip on the concrete tightens.
“I’ve screamed up here before,” Aaron tells me. “I wouldn’t judge if you wanted to.”
I hiccup. “That’s okay,” I say.
I turn to him. His eyes are focused below us. I wonder what he’s thinking, if he sees Bella the way I do.
“What do you love about her?” I ask him. “Will you tell me?”
He smiles immediately. He doesn’t lift his eyes. “Her warmth,” he says. “She’s so damn warm. Do you know what I mean?”
“I do,” I say.
“She’s beautiful, obviously.”
“Boring,” I say.
He smiles. “Stubborn, too. I think you guys have that in common.”
I laugh. “You’re probably not wrong.”
“And she’s spontaneous in the way people aren’t anymore. She lives for now.”
