“Selma, please,” I said. “We’ll figure something else out. This isn’t something Katie is comfortable with. We need to write together, we—”
“Tyler,” she said. “How many times do I have to explain this to you? What Meredith wants, Meredith gets. She thinks this will improve the manuscript, and nobody here can argue that she isn’t correct. End of discussion.”
And with that, Selma hung up the phone, leaving me with nothing to do but help Katie dump the last of her very skimpy bathing suit collection into an Amazon box and then watch from the sidewalk with my mouth half-open as Maurice whisked her away. The high-noon sun burning so bright, I couldn’t say for sure whether I’d seen the brake lights of his car disappear into the city at all.
21
Katie
By the time Meredith Bradford opened the front door to her zillion-dollar home around three that afternoon, I had forgotten pretty much every reason I’d wanted to stay in Manhattan and, instead, replaced all my thoughts with one long and audible gasp.
“Come on in,” she said, waving me through the foyer and into a sweeping and sun-swirled great room. Pinot, as usual, was in her arms. “Maurice will handle your bags. I’ve just put out tea.”
I nodded, taking a few more steps inside. My mouth, agape. French doors and colonial-style windows were flung open everywhere, and a warm sea breeze flooded the space, blowing past crisp linen sofas, thick oak coffee tables, and bright white walls adorned with the kind of art that belonged in museums. A set of stairs—deep-stained hardwood with matching handrails—disappeared into two separate wings. Orbs of glass and oil-rubbed bronze gave hints of soft yellow light and hung from impossibly high ceilings, whose beams had been left perfectly exposed.
“Was the drive not too bad?” Meredith asked as she led me into the kitchen, all stainless steel, marble, and cream. Hand-painted plates posed on floating shelves, and on the island’s gleaming countertops, a three-tiered tray teemed with miniature sandwiches, cookies, and cakes. Iced tea steeped. The dishwasher hummed. “Do you like dill? We’ve had so much in the garden lately.”
“Oh, it—The drive was great. Dill is great.”
Meredith chuckled, shifting the tea tower a fraction of an inch. Beyond the breakfast nook, through a glossy white arch, was a sliver of a dining room: glistening mahogany, black spindle chairs, and soft blue hydrangeas spilling out of a simple, centered vase. The arches, I realized, were everywhere. A dozen cutouts into smaller, cozier spaces, each its own perfect shade of ivory or beige or taupe, and with fireplaces, pin-striped armchairs, and rugs that made the room without you having noticed them at all.
“I set you up in the west wing,” Meredith said, filling a beveled glass with ice, then pouring tea nearly to its brim. She clanked a silver spoon into a crystal sugar bowl and offered me a scoop. “It’s the last door upstairs, all the way to the right. Why don’t you have a bite to eat, get settled, and then I’ll show you around. I have a little plotting to do, but it shouldn’t take more than an hour.”
I nodded, taking a sip of my tea. It was perfect: bright and slightly sweet. “That sounds great. Thank you. I can’t believe this.”
“It’s my pleasure, Katie,” she said as Pinot, who’d been off somewhere, swooshed back into view and into Meredith’s arms. She petted him, top of his head to the tip of his tail, and he purred blissfully. “We are both so glad you’re here.”
My room was outrageous. A king-size upholstered bed, blown-glass lamps on mirrored nightstands, and a ceiling that accentuated the sharp lines of the gabled roof. Two glass doors with matching windows on either side led to a private deck featuring unobstructed views of the pool, its nearby cottage, the surrounding gardens, and the ocean that roared behind it. Attached to my room, through another one of those high-gloss archways, was a sitting area with anivory chaise, a writing desk, and a wall lined with black-and-white photos of horses midair. I had a feeling they were very expensive. The horses, and the art.
My bags—all sixteen of them—had been placed in the closet, a walk-in off the bathroom suite: marble and chrome, but softened by rattan accents, plush towels, and dangling eucalyptus. I took a screaming hot, twenty-minute shower, slathered myself in a thousand dollars’ worth of French skincare products, slipped into a blue-and-white-pin-striped robe, then collapsed face down onto my very fluffy bed and squealed.
I didn’t even bother to open my laptop. The edits, I decided, could wait. Instead, after thirty more minutes of lying around, I tossed on a sundress and padded downstairs into the great room. Meredith was perched on one side of a linen sectional, flipping through a Horchow catalog while Pinot napped at her feet. She glanced up.
“Did you find everything you needed?”
“Yes,” I said. “This is really so nice. Thank you.”
Meredith tipped her head toward the opposite end of the couch. I sat down, taking it all in. The coffee table books. The vases, the woodwork, the way the summer air swept through the room. How the sparkling afternoon sun flooded the gleaming hardwood in bright, shimmering streaks. Meredith put down her reading, then lowered her glasses onto the bridge of her nose. Above her, I swear, hung a Rothko.
“Can I ask you a question, Katie?”
“Oh, okay,” I said. “Of course.”
“Selma mentioned your parents live in Westchester, but you did not wish to stay with them. Why is that?”
I fiddled with the fringe of a cashmere throw blanket. “My parents are... I was just there last weekend, and...”
She was quiet for a moment. I was too.
“Are you not close with your family?” she said.
“No, I am, it’s just...” I wrapped my arms around my elbows. “Well, I mean, I don’t know. It just didn’t make sense to stay there. It’s really a lot for them, and...”
Meredith looked at me for a moment, then handed me her catalog. She reached for another and thumbed it open but said nothing. I studied an eight-thousand-dollar triptych of botanical sketches on the glossy-but-fading page, desperate to fill the silence.
“Does anyone else live here?” I said. “You have a daughter, right? The equestrian? Does she ever come to visit?”
“It has been a very long time,” Meredith said, “since anyone I’ve truly loved has been behind these gates.”
