“FromPhoenix? No way. Let’s just say we’ll stay in close touch by phone. Maybe I can come out there for a few days after the funeral.”
“I’d love that, and I’m sure the change of location will be good for you. I’ll check in later today.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“And, Kiki, you have to promise me. You can’t let yourself feel any guilt about this.”
Here we go again. Someone else telling me that I’m not responsible. But if that’s one of the first things that leaps out of people’s mouths, it means that the possibility has crossed their minds. Does my mother just love me too much to betray what she’s really thinking?
After we sign off, I take a few long, deep breaths and make myself an omelet along with a fresh cup of coffee. I manage to get down a little of each, then force myself to my workspace off the living room.
Following my breakup with Jamie, I’d been in a mad scramble to find an affordable apartment of my own, and thanks to a real estate agent friend, I managed to nab a decent one-bedroom in Manhattan’s East Seventies. Though the building is on a blah-looking block, the apartment itself has a few nice features, including south-facing windows and a small anteroom outside the bedroom that I’ve been able to set up with a desk and a slim stand-alone bookcase on the other wall, giving the impression on Zoom calls that there’s an actual office for Katherine Reed Coaching.
I open my laptop, spend a few minutes scanning the notes on each client I’ll be speaking to tomorrow, but soon lose any interest. Almost without thinking, I find myself moving the cursor to the browser and typing in “recent homicides Litchfield County.” Vic had mentioned that robberies and murders are rare in that area, but I want to see for myself.
After scrolling through a couple of online stories, it becomes clear that Vic was right. Though the county might not be Utopia, the crime rate seems low. And from what I can tell, there have been only two homicides in the past four years that weren’t related to a domestic dispute.
Almost three years ago, a thirtysomething man was shot to death in a parking lot by a distinguished lawyer following some kind of disagreement, never fully explained. Obviously hoping to spare himself a long sentence, the lawyer took a plea and is currently incarcerated.
The other case is far more gruesome. Four years ago this month, a twenty-three-year-old woman named Jess Nolan was found in a wooded area near the grounds of a county fair with her head bashed in. Though she hadn’t been raped, it appeared an attempt had been made to sexually assault her. One of the stories about this case features her photo, and I see that she was extremely pretty and sweet looking, with long light brown hair fanning out around her shoulders.
It’s not surprising that I haven’t heard of either case until now. Both of them occurred before I’d even met Jamie.
I also do a search for burglaries and robberies in the area, and though they turn out to be more common, I don’t find any involvingextreme violence. If Jamiewaskilled in an armed robbery, it would be an anomaly.
I spend the next hour or so tackling chores around the apartment—unpacking my roller bag, tidying my bedroom, Swiffering the floors—in the hope of distracting myself, but these mindless tasks end up giving my brain the freedom to kick-start a whole series of “What if...?” questions. What if I’d never broken up with Jamie? What if I’d suggested therapy for both of us, to help us with any fallout from the split? What if I’d touched base with him a few times to see how he was doing? What if I’d never gone to the party? What if I hadn’t stepped into the solarium just as Jamie was leaving? The answer to any of these questions could be that Jamie would still be alive.
I think back to what Megan said about depression. Could Jamie have been suffering during our time together without my even knowing it? Did he have demons I wasn’t aware of? I didn’t say this to Megan, but despite how easygoing Jamie appeared, there were occasional moments when I would catch him looking into the middle distance, his expression dark, troubled almost.
Everything okay?I had asked the first time I noticed it.
Yeah, yeah. Just trying to figure out how to handle a tricky client.
From time to time, I stop my busywork and sink onto the bed or the couch to weep. It would probably be good to finally let some of my other friends know what’s happened, but I keep resisting the idea. They’re not going to think I’m a monster, the way some of Jamie’s own friends will, but I feel too much shame to talk to them just yet.
As the day draws to a close, I receive texts from Megan, my mom, and Ava, all checking on me. I write back, telling them I’m holding upokay. As much as I appreciate their support, it’s draining to keep trying to sound less morose than I am.
Around ten, I wash my tearstained face and crawl between the sheets on my bed. As I’m shifting my body for the zillionth time, in search of a position that might summon sleep, my phone rings from the bedside table.
I fumble to reach it and the moment I see the screen, my heart freezes. It’s Sam, Jamie’s best friend. I have no doubt he’s calling to dress me down for showing up at the party and wreaking havoc with Jamie’s emotions. As tough as it’s going to be to talk to him, I answer the phone anyway. Maybe what I really need today is the opinion of someone who isn’t worried about my feelings and dares to speak the truth.
“Hello, Sam,” I say. “I—I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Are you still in Connecticut?” he asks bluntly.
“No, I came back to the city. Of course, I’ll drive back up for the service.”
“I need to talk to you.”
Here it comes. Will it be as short and blunt as a hammerhead? Or a long, red-hot tirade?
“All right.”
“Are you going to be at your apartment tomorrow morning? I’m still in Connecticut but I plan to leave for the city at around six a.m.”
God, he wants to do his takedown face-to-face. I don’t think I can handle that. “Why don’t you let me have it right now and get things over with?” I say.
I can almost see him flinch. “I don’t have any intention of letting you have it, Kiki. But there’s something you need to be aware of—concerning Jamie’s death—and I want to tell you in person. Besides, I’ve been with his uncle all afternoon and I’m all talked out now.”
