“No.”
He smiles again, though this time, she feels like it’s layered. Is there some sadness about him?
“You’re honest,” he says. “I like that. You remind me of someone.”
Taylor’s unsure how to respond.
Luckily, he continues: “So, Taylor—is that what you go by, Taylor?”
“Yes.” Not entirely true, but she dropped T.J. when she moved to Boston.
“How did you hear about us, coming all the way from North Carolina?”
“My landlord told me. My dad owns a restaurant, so I grew up around the restaurant industry. She knew I was looking for a job, so—”
“Anna Varga’s your landlord?”
“Yes.”
“How long have you been here?”
Seven months.“A couple of months.”
“Did you do anything else, or have you always worked in the restaurant industry?”
An image of Vivian flashes before her, and for a moment it’s like Taylor’s back in the ER, at her very bedside.Chestnut-brown glossy hair. Wine-colored lips. Angled cheekbones. A chipped nail. A tiny single mascara clump. Vivian seizing like a series of small earthquakes.
“Nothing really relevant,” Taylor manages to reply, after a few beats.
“Are you all right? You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine.” But she’s not. She’s sweaty, hot.
Peter nods somewhere behind him, to someone she can’t see, and then Rose promptly appears, handing Taylor a glass of ice water in a fancy gold-rimmed glass.
“Thanks,” Taylor says. Has Rose been hiding in the shadows, listening this whole time?
She gives a curt nod and leaves—or at least disappears out of Taylor’s eyesight. Who knows with this room. It’s so big it feels like it could contain different dimensions.
Peter waits for Taylor to take a couple of sips. “Better?”
“Yeah—yes. Thanks.”
“The New England weather is unpredictable this time of year. We are officially in spring, but spring here can feel more like winter or summer depending on the day. And this room, with these windows—well, the ventilation is not always ideal.” He pauses, waits for Taylor to nod before continuing: “Now, I’m going to ask you a bunch of questions. They might seem strange but just answer with the first thing that comes to mind. And give an honest answer, which I don’t think you’ll have a problem with. The Knox is a special kind of place, and we are looking for a certain type of individual. There are no wrong answers, so don’t be nervous. You ready?”
Um…okay?“Okay.”
“What’s your lucky number?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Did you see the numbers on the side of the hall you walked through?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember what any of them were?”
“Yes, 1817 or 7181.”
