“None. I usually do a podcast on Tuesdays at a studio on Ninth Avenue and Forty-Eighth, but we weren’t recording that particular day. And there’d be no reason for me to go as far south as Forty-Second. I try to avoid Times Square as much as I can.”
“Hmm.”
“Do you think if somethingdidhappen to me that day, it might have been in that area?”
“Possibly, though we don’t know how long you were there. Could you search your emails for any reference to Forty-Second Street, in case an appointment slipped your mind?”
Well, that’s one way to put it.
“Will do.”
“Now on to Wednesday, where I have an even bigger surprise. I dropped by Eastside Eats and it turns out there’s a second location—on EastSeventhStreet—and that’s where you actually bought food that day. A counter person there recalls you coming in around the lunch hour. The charge on your credit card bill would have indicated the name but not the address.”
“That one makes evenlesssense,” I exclaim. “I would have no reason whatsoever to be in the East Village.”
“You ordered a sandwich, she thinks. Maybe coffee, too. She remembers you because—and you can’t take this personally—she was worried at first that the credit card you were using might not be yours.”
“What?”
“She thought you seemed a little disheveled and you hesitated before signing your name.Plus, you didn’t have a purse. You pulled the card out of your coat pocket, which means that if you did still have your purse with you when you lost your phone on Tuesday, it was gone by this point.”
“Weird,” I say, baffled. “My purse was missing, but I still had a credit card.”
“Yeah. Doesn’t sound like you were mugged.”
For a minute I’m silent, attempting to absorb everything he’s shared so far. It’s like one of those times when a friend tells you a story about something funny or crazy you did one night years ago when the two of you were out barhopping together, but you can’t recall a single, solitary moment of the evening.
“I think I should go down to the East Village,” I announce finally.
“That’s a good idea. It might trigger a memory. Start at Eastside Eats and then walk around the area, too. I don’t have a complete picture yet, but it seems like you spent quite a bit of time there.”
“What do you mean?”
“You came to the sandwich shop from farther east and headed back in that direction when you left. And we alsofound footage of you walking near Tompkins Square Park, along the western end.”
“I don’t get it. I once took a night class at NYU and used to explore the area when I was down there, but that was years ago, right after I moved to the city after graduation.”
“We’ll figure it out. I need to jump on another call, but let’s speak later.”
After we sign off, I fling myself back against the seat. I have no reason to doubt Mulroney, but his revelations aren’t computing for me. What was I doing in that part of the city?
And more importantly, what had caused me to run from myself and everything that mattered to me?
20
Due to bad traffic, I don’t make it back to the city until close to seven. But that still means I have an hour to kill before Hugh arrives home. I peel off my dress, change into jeans and a sweater, and order dinner for the two of us from Pavone’s. That’s twice in seven days, but I lack the energy to devise a more original plan.
Next, I do as Mulroney suggested and search through my emails for any reference to Forty-Second Street. There’s nothing. But when I sit down to flesh out and update my timeline, I realize that with Mulroney’s help, I’m definitely making progress.
MONDAY
evening: dinner, TV, argument
TUESDAY
7:00: still in bed
9:00-ish: took call from Dr. Erling
