“No, I don’t.” Taylor hears the words coming out of her mouth, but it’s like someone else is saying them.Peter was Vivian’s boyfriend. Of course he was. Taylor’s suddenly hit with the nauseous realization of how interconnected it all is, and, at the same time, the embarrassingly wide divide. The truth so plain to see, like a default font: Men like Peter date Vivians, not Taylors.
“Anyway, that night, at the Knox, she fell down the stairs.”
Vivian Lawrence, age forty-four, unwitnessed fall down a flight of stairs at a cocktail party.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Taylor mumbles, when she realizes Rachel is waiting for a response.
“Yes, she had this compulsive thing where she always had to straighten any wall hanging that was crooked, and apparently there was an uneven piece of artwork at the top of the stairs. And when she went to straighten it, she lost her balance, and…” Rachel spreads her hands.
But it was anunwitnessedfall, Taylor wants to correct Rachel, snapping to with this detail. At least, that’s what Taylor was told by the paramedics.
Rachel continues. “And the fall caused a traumatic brain injury. She was a patient at Mass General. But then, she disappeared.”
“What do you mean, ‘she disappeared’?”
“Someone—a ‘medical power of attorney’ ”—she uses air quotes here—“moved her to another location. And we have no idea where she is. Or who moved her.”
She was moved to an undisclosed location, Aunt Gigi’s voice rings in Taylor’s ear.
“I didn’t even know she had a medical power of attorney. And the only thing I can think is that someone from the Knox movedher. That they were threatened by her family link. Maybe they forged a medical power of attorney. They’re powerful, right?”
Taylor nods, unsure how else to answer. Theyarepowerful. And she is—she isnot.She’s as far from the Knox and their glittering world as she’s ever been.
“I went by there, to the Knox, and spoke to a beefy fellow. He looked like a bouncer at a nightclub and acted like one, too. He barely let me through the door. Just pointed to the top of the stairs and told me the story of what happened.”
Jerry. She must mean Jerry.Taylor glances in the direction of Nicholas, to see if he recognizes the description of Jerry, but he’s still in the back, fixing the tea.
“And funny enough,” Rachel continues, “that mutual friend of ours, Xavier? He’s also gone missing. He mailed me a letter, saying he was sorry—but I don’t know what he is ‘sorry’ for—and now he’s AWOL. So something is not right. And I’m worried.”
“So you don’t know where Vivian is,” Taylor says.
She becomes hyperaware of how the shop is below street level.Sheis below street level. Just as well, really. She doesn’t belong upstairs. Neither did her mom—they were both deluded from the start.
“No, I don’t. I havenoidea. Well, ‘she’ ”—Rachel uses air quotes again—“sent me an email a couple of weeks ago, but I don’t believe it’s from her. I think someone wrote it from her phone.”
“Oh?” The walls of the bookstore begin slowly pressing in.
“She said she was in Florida. She never goes to Florida; she doesn’t like the humidity and heat there. And she asked me where Xavier is…which felt like the real reason for the email. Something fishy is going on…. When I call, it goes to her voicemail. I went to the police, but they won’t help. They said, ‘It’s not a crime for a medical power of attorney to exercise health caredecisions for someone who is incapacitated.’ And then I circled back to the police, once I got her email. And the moment I mentioned the Knox, they just instantly blew me off. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Knox has the police department in their pocket,” Rachel seethes.
“Oh my God.” Taylor is trying to maintain normal appearances, but she’s finding it increasingly difficult to breathe.
“I know. It sounds crazy, right? Maybe you can help.” Rachel smiles somewhat meekly at Taylor. “You have helped, already. Thanks to you and your friend, we at least now have the book, with the proof of ancestry that Vivian was searching for.”
“ ‘The proof of ancestry’?” Taylor says, grabbing at a random phrase. She briefly closes her eyes, hoping that will help, but it only amplifies the claustrophobia.
Rachel pauses. “Yes. Although it’s…rather complicated.”
Nicholas returns with three steaming mugs of tea. He places them on a small table on the opposite side of the room. “Let’s drink these over here, away from the book,” he says.
“I…I gotta go,” Taylor says. She can’t leave this store fast enough. She shoves past Rachel, runs up the stairs, and spills through the door onto the street. She’s gasping for air.
It’s only when she’s a few blocks away, in the middle of the public garden, surrounded by weeping willow trees and large swathes of sky, that she feels like there’s finally a sufficient supply of air.
But though her breathing slows, her mind does not.
Mail Delivery Subsystem
to me:
