Taylor wonders if she’s simply traded a subpar life in North Carolina for a subpar one in Boston.
She wonders if she’s nothing at all.
On Saturday midafternoon, like a Hail Mary, Taylor receives a surprise banking alert: Her first paycheck has been deposited, not even twenty-four hours after finishing her workweek. No typical one-week pay lag for Knox employees, apparently. She can’t believe the number: nearly three times what she was making as a nurse. Hell no, she’s not going back to nursing. She doesn’t know who left her that note, sure, but, frankly, after this paycheck, she’s having a hard time making herself care. It’s like the oldest kind of magic, the way the sparkling new balance in her checking account lifts her spirits, transforms her outlook, makes her feel like she’s on “the right path” after all.
Emboldened, she orders a sushi lunch—to be delivered, no less—not paying any mind to the hefty delivery fee, and finally texts Aunt Gigi.
Hi Aunt Gigi, sorry for the delay. Thnx for thinking of me with all these nursing positions. BUT I’m all set for now. I got another job.
Her aunt responds almost immediately.
Oh! That was quick! Where?
It’s not in nursing. But don’t worry! I’m making *really* good pay!
What kind of job??
It’s a kind of waitressing job. But I’m doing other stuff 2.
A pause.
Where?
It’s for a private restaurant.
A private society.
Taylor quickly edits the text.
A private club.
What’s the name of it?
The Knox.
Taylor sees the dots appear and then disappear. Eventually, they’re gone. Aunt Gigi has chosen not to respond. Just as well.Taylor knows it’s only a matter of time before the message now gets relayed to her father. At least, hopefully by then, he will have received the check she’s just popped in the mail.
As she bites into her salmon sashimi—another extravagance she wouldn’t normally indulge in—and sips her wine, she decides she’s glad Sam is away. She doesn’t have to field questions about the Knox she doesn’t want to answer.
Vivian
February
Rachel has uncovered something about the Knox. She asks Vivian to meet her on Saturday in person at a used bookstore called Turned Pages, near the Old State House. Rachel sends Vivian a series of text emoji teasers: a book, a tombstone, a wink.
This, Vivian thinks, has got to be interesting.
Peter also texts.Can’t wait to see you tonight for dinner, love. Meet me at 6:30 p.m.?
You won’t be too jet-lagged?Vivian snarkily types, then erases. She’ll never know what he was up to if she ignores him. And, if she’s being honest with herself, she can’t wait to be with him again.
Turned Pages is located on the garden level of a historic commercial building on Cornhill Street. She takes the long way to get there, avoiding the area where she thought she saw Peter a couple of days earlier.
In the bookstore window there’s a vintage edition of the medical textbookGray’s Anatomyand a few faded copies ofHemingway novels.There’s also aHiring!sign that hangs askew, and Vivian has to swallow the urge she feels to right it.
The door jingles as she enters. It’s one-room store, filled with rows of overstuffed bookshelves and a plain wooden cashier desk. The sweet, musty smell of old books prickles Vivian’s nose, and she feels immediately comforted.
Rachel is already there, standing alongside an elderly gentleman who looks like he comes with the building: a deeply weathered face, bifocals, a muted cardigan sweater the color of too many crayons mixed together.
