16
Iswivel slowly, trying to make the movement appear casual. A woman is attempting to convince a sweet-looking girl of five or six to zip her coat. Behind them everyone seems to be going about their business—glued to their phones or walking their dogs or trudging home with plastic shopping bags. No one appears remotely interested in me.
Isthisa warning sign? I wonder. A vague, irrational suspicion that’s actually a prelude to my mind going haywire again? No, it must be nerves, I reassure myself. Nerves about the idea of seeing Damien, and about keeping it from Hugh. The only observer right now is my conscience.
Just to be on the safe side, I fumble in my purse for the tin of cinnamon Altoids, slip one in my mouth, and force myself to concentrate on the flavor.
The light changes, the Walk sign on the far side of Broadway flashes, and I hurry across. By the time I arrive at the café, my pulse is racing.Don’t turn this meeting into more than it is, I tell myself. Yes, I’m curious about Damien, and I probably always will be, but my only real goal today is to glean any clue about why I showed up at Greenbacks.
It turns out I’ve beaten him there. I settle at a table in the back and slip out of my coat. The place is only half full, and the setting—brick walls, buffed wood floors, soft lighting—calms me a little. But I’ve barely had a chance to take in my surroundings when Damien enters the café. He spots me immediately and raises his chin in greeting. Though I saw him only recently, he’s in sharper focus now, and it’s a shock to my system.
“Thanks for coming,” he says as he reaches the table.
“No problem,” I say. “I appreciated the call.”
After lowering himself into the chair opposite me, he peels off his overcoat. Underneath he’s wearing a black-and-white plaid shirt and gray wool tie. He crosses his arms on the table and leans forward a little, leveling his gaze at me.
Couldhehave been watching me on the street? I wonder. Had he spotted me on Broadway and followed behind at a distance to guarantee I was the first to arrive? That’s not his MO, though. At work he was always strategic—clever, a chess player at heart. But not in his private life.
“I was really worried about you, Ally.”
His comment—and the softness in his voice—throw me. I figured that last Thursday must have been unsettling for him, but what could I mean to Damien Howe at this point in life? Maybe all I’m seeing is simply concern for a former colleague.
I smile wanly. “It was a pretty scary experience.”
“You look a lot better now.”
“Do I? That’s good to know, though I bet most anything would be an improvement.”
The waitress sidles up at this moment, and after I askfor a macchiato, Damien turns to her and tells her to please make it two.
“You bet,” she responds, taking him in appreciatively—his deep blue eyes, the hawkish nose, and that hair. He’s almost forty now, and though his hair isn’t as long as it once was, it’s still that crazy honey-gold color.
“I tried the hospital that morning,” he says, after the waitress moves off. “But they wouldn’t even admit you were there. At least I knew you were getting medical helpsomewhere.... Are you feeling as well as you seem?”
“Still a little wobbly, but much better overall. I’m sure I created quite a stir that day. Were people buzzing about it?”
“Don’t worry about that. As far as anyone knows, you and I had a meeting in my office, and you fainted. Did the doctors figure out what the matter was?”
“It’s something called... dissociating. I lost my bearings and didn’t remember certain things. I was actually missing in action for two whole days, apparently roaming the city on my own.”
“That’s awful. Your husband must have been going nuts.”
Husband.He knows, of course. But so weird to hear him utter that word.
“He thought I was out of town giving a speech,” I lie. I’m certainly not going to reveal anything to Damien about my marital issues. “He didn’t know until the hospital called that there was something wrong.”
“Fortunately, Caryn’s still the office manager and she’d heard through former staffers what your husband’s name was and what he did. My assistant found the number for his office online.”
“That ended up being a lifesaver. I appreciate all the effort.”
I need to arrive at the business at hand, but I don’t want to rush him. I watch as he takes a sip of his macchiato, his fingers encircling the cup rather than holding it by the handle.
“So had something happened to you, Ally?” he asks after a moment. “To cause this thing?”
“Probably. An incident—or some combination of factors—must have stressed me out pretty badly, and it seems that part of my mind shut down as a way to cope.”
“But you’re not sure what it was?”
