I nod dully. I take a deep breath to calm myself, which, for a second at least, seems to work. And then I find myself staring off in the middle distance, thinking. An answer slides into my brain, like a note on a slip of paper.
“Ally?”
“Sorry—I...”
“What is it?”
“Mulroney, the private detective who was murdered? His partner, Jay, went through the file on me and found notations Mulroney had made about the Tuesday I disappeared. There was a set of initials—G.C. Do you think it could mean Grand Central?”
“Hmmm.”
“Jay assumed it was a person’s initials, but maybe... maybe Mulroney thought I went to Grand Central that day. I could have gone by cab—or taken the number 1 train to Forty-Second Street and then the shuttle over.”
“Does that make any sense to you?”
“Uh, not really. I don’t often have reason to be in that area. And the only time I’ve been to Grand Central lately is to take the train here for the appointment I had with you. Unless...”
“Unless what?”
“Unless I was... confused.” I touch my fingers to my temple. In my mind’s eye I see myself walking up the sidepath to the conservatory in my trench coat, my heart thrumming in my ears.
“How do you mean?”
“Maybe... You said you wanted me to do my session here that week. Could I have misunderstood and come here on Tuesday instead? Or convinced myself it was Wednesday? Is that why I called Sasha—to try to figure out what I did wrong?”
“Is that what you think, Ally?”
“I—I don’t know.” I drop my hand and run my gaze around the room, hoping it will offer an answer. My eyes settle on the dark wood coffee table. There’s a slim pewter tray with a glass and a pitcher of water, and next to the tray, a box of tissues.
As I stare at the tissues, my whole body begins to vibrate, as if someone is shaking me lightly from behind. An image begins to form in my mind—vague, blurred around the edges.
“I see myself,” I blurt out. “I’m standing here. Here in this room. I... grabbed some of the tissues because... there was blood. And...”
I scrunch my face, trying to keep the memory from escaping.
“And what, Ally?”
“Iwashere. It was the wrong day. I—” A small wave of panic crests in my core and begins to ripple through my arms and legs. I struggle for air.
“Breathe, Ally,” Erling says, but there’s a weird edge to her voice. “Breathe.”
The image in my mind expands, amoeba-like. Now I see a woman lying faceup on the rug, eyes opened and glazed, blood pooled around her head. I’m dabbing at the wound with the tissues.
“There was a body on the floor!” I exclaim.
“That’s right,” Erling says, her voice eerily calm. “The body of a woman. I’d murdered her that day.”
32
My heart slams again my chest, and I feel my mouth slacken in astonishment.
“I didn’t plan to tell you, actually,” Erling says, not letting go of my eyes. “Oh, I was going to have to deal with this awkward situation you and I have found ourselves in, but there was no reason for you to know the gory details. But now you’ve gone and remembered.”
I stare, frozen in place.
“Whowasshe?”
“If you must know—and I suppose there’s no harm in telling you at this point—she was a woman I knew years ago. Someone I’d... I’d had a fling with. Someone I was actually besotted with to be perfectly honest. Stupidly so.”
