Nelle feels a twist of pain, registers where it pulses in the back of her stomach, and rationalizes it.He’s one of the few people to know I even exist.
And she knows why he did it, knows the shattered path she herself has walked since leaving James at the cottage. The flood, the man on the sidewalk—what else did she cause without realizing? What aboutthe men she left in the gray hours of dawn? She never followed up to check on any of them.
I’ve been playing with life like it’s not real.
Suddenly, Nelle feels a hot queasiness. She falls to her knees in the damp grass.
Penelope floats in like a radiant angel, the sun rising behind her.
Nelle stands but immediately crumbles into her great-grandmother’s embrace. She tucks her head under Penelope’s chin and, blasted by wind on the hillside, tries to fight her trembling tears.
“I miss James,” she says. “I really miss him.”
“Do you need to do what Quill did?”
“No.” Nelle can hear Penelope’s heartbeat through her sweater. “Not yet.”
Nelle pants and shoots awake, flipping back sheets and a comforter and a quilt. She needs her legs out, needs them, yes—she flings her limbs free and jumps off the mattress, onto the floor of the small bedroom.
A small voice calls through the wall. “You awake, dear?”
“Yes!” Nelle yells, but her voice is too raspy to carry, more of a quiet croak. She follows the smell of potatoes frying to a kitchenette attached to a small den. There is a love seat and a TV, one chair and a tasseled table lamp. A painting hangs on the wall, a stale portrait of fruit.
“Does anyone live here?” Nelle asks.
Penelope is at the stove. “Yes. Well, no. I bought it years ago as an investment when I had a bit of money. Now it’s my secret hideaway. Quaint, but I love it.”
Nelle stands in front of the living-room window, overlooking a street two stories below. Cobblestone puddles reflect dark, twisted clouds. People bundled in coats scurry past, carrying umbrellas.
“I love it, too,” she says, admiring the bookshelves. One title stands out, the first mystery she read in New York, when she fell in love withthe genre. Old feelings rush to fill her. James on the beach in France, James typing at his desk, James’s tongue between her legs ...
A familiar need for him crushes her. She wants to get on a plane as soon as possible. Back on the path she already chose. She examines her outfit. White sweater. Charcoal pants. Camel coat. Simple, sleek, casual. Good enough for a reunion.
Penelope puts two plates of potatoes, eggs, and peas on the table and sits.
Nelle joins her. “I’m going to ask you for a favor. And I know you’re going to lecture me about being a danger to society, and I promise I’ll take what you say into consideration, but while you’re lecturing, could you drive me to the airport?”
Chapter 30
“There’s something I have to do, and I just really need someone I know, even though we don’t know each other that well, but someone I can call a friend, to be there with me.”
James sits up in bed, phone to his ear. He normally declines calls from any number he doesn’t recognize, but it was a New York area code, and his gut told him to answer. Now he tries to connect the voice to a face and comes up blank.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “Who is this?”
“It’s Lucy.” She sounds frantic.
He sinks back against the pillows. “Oh, Lucy! Sorry, I didn’t have your number saved.”
She laughs, but he can tell it’s forced.
“Anyway,” he continues. “What were you saying?”
“I didn’t know who to call, but I need help quitting my job.”
“Oh.” He sits up. “I don’t really understand. Do you need me to meet you somewhere?”
“No—yes. Sorry. This is ridiculous, I’m a grown woman, I should be able to quit my own job without moral support.”
