Brooklyn had told him it wasn’t his fault. But she was just saying that, he knew. She knew, everybody knew, that he had killed Emma Blake. Seth Draycott had killed Emma Blake.
“I am a murderer,” he said it out loud, trying it on his lips. It sounded horrible, foul even. He never ever thought he’d say those words and have them be true.
* * * * *
Simon let his hands fly away on the keys. Averil was good for him, it was obvious. With her, he never got writer’s block. It was easy. She fit him—it was so natural. He could hardly believe he finally had her.
Suddenly, the phone rang. He picked it up before Averil awoke.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Simon? This is Brooklyn.”
“It worked,” he announced gleefully. “Averil— she loves me.”
He felt Brooklyn smile over the line. “Glad I could help. But this isn’t about that.”
“What is it about?”
There was a long silence. Then, she said. “I feel like a horrible person. Yesterday, I hated the girl who came to the gala with Seth. Her name was Emma. And now she’s dead.”
Simon’s voice cracked. “What?”
“A car hit her this morning. Emma Blake is dead. And I hated her on the last day of her life. What kind of a horrible person am I?”” Brooklyn sounded like she was nearly in tears.
Simon got over his shock. It was kind of scary that the girl he had met just yesterday was gone now. She didn’t exist anymore. But he had to be there for Brooklyn. “You aren’t horrible at all, Brooklyn. How could you have known?”
She sighed. “I know you’re right. But still. I feel crazy. I’m almost as bad as Seth. He thinks he killed her,” she let out a bitter laugh. “Anyway, I have to be going. I just needed to talk to someone who didn’t already know and wasn’t broken about it yet. Thanks.”
And she hung up.
* * * * *
Brooklyn put the phone down. That had to be the most psychotic phone call she’d ever made. She’d have to apologize tomorrow. She lay down among the many pillows in her bed, nursing a horrible headache. But it wasn’t just a headache. The rest of her ached too. She hadn’t known Emma well, but she had known her. She’d grown up with her. Her death had hit her hard. And she wondered, if it hit her hard and she barely knew Emma, how hard must it have hit Seth? He had kissed her. He had known her well.
He seemed so broken, that it broke Brooklyn’s heart. She had no idea how to convince him that he didn’t kill Emma Blake. She wondered what she would say when people at Princeton asked her how Christmas had been.
Wonderful. It was wonderful. I still haven’t told my mom that her husband is cheating on her. And a friend of mine got hit by a car and died. It was a very merry Christmas.
Brooklyn closed her eyes and let out a troubled sigh.
* * * * *
Part Three
HAPPILY EVER AFTER
Seven years later……
Brooklyn clinked her crystal wine glass against the one of the man opposite her—her husband. Tipping her head back, she took a sip of the red wine, and then looked back at him.
She had chosen a beautiful guy to marry, she knew. He was much like a model, with golden hair, tanned muscled arms, and deep blue eyes. He looked like a Californian surfer. However, in his crisp, pale blue, buttoned-down, collared, long overcoat and black pants, he looked like a model for Burberry.
They’d met at Princeton, and after he had gotten the courage to ask her out, they had never stopped. Brooklyn hadn’t seen Seth in ages, and she laughed when she remembered the way she was about him. She heard he was engaged now, and though it had hurt her deeply when she found out, she had numbed that wound a long time ago. She had Carter now. She didn’t need anyone else.
“You’re staring at me, Brook. Why are you staring at me?”
She smiled. “Because you’re kinda, sorta, good looking.”
“Kinda, sorta? You don’t think I’m upright beautiful?” he teased.
“Carter!” she groaned.
“Sorry. Is Ella with the nanny?” he asked about their two year old daughter.
Brooklyn still couldn’t believe how fast life had sped up. It seemed like only yesterday that she was Brooklyn Ryder, graduating from Princeton. And now, here she was, Brooklyn Jules, twenty-seven, married, and with a daughter. She nodded at her husband. “Yes, the nanny took Ella to feed the ducks in Central Park,” she told him.
Carter smiled at the picture, then glanced at his watch. He stood up, abruptly. She followed suit, standing up too. “What is it?”
He frowned. “I have to go. My meeting starts soon.” He reached over to hug her, and gave her a small peck on the lips.
Brooklyn nodded, but her smile had slipped as well. “It’s okay. You go. I’ll see you for dinner, though, right?”
Carter nodded. “Definitely, sweetheart.” And with a last caress of her cheek, he was gone.
Brooklyn sighed. Having a husband who was always working wasn’t the best. But at least he came home every night, unlike her father. Her thoughts glided over to Cecily. Her mother still lived in their childhood home, but she was so different than she used to be. After separating from her husband, Cecily had changed completely. She became a person Brooklyn had never known before — a person who Cecily, herself, had said goodbye to twenty years before. Now, she wore long tribal skirts, much more beaded jewelry, and her hair was rarely ever in a bun.
Sometimes, Brooklyn felt like she had taken her mother’s place as the wearer of pencil skirts, sharp buns, and black heels. It wasn’t that she minded that much, but it had been the future she had hoped she never had, when she was younger. She had wanted to be anyone but her mother. And now, here she was, exactly the way she had wanted not to be.
But it wasn’t horrible, she knew that too. There were so many people out there who couldn’t afford half the things she owned. Brooklyn often reminded herself how lucky she was, whenever she felt like her life hadn’t turned out the way she wanted to.
Standing up, she paid the bill, and then took a taxi home. She walked in to find Ella playing on the marble floor. She stood back for a minute, just to see her. Her daughter was very much like her father—very blonde —but she did have Brooklyn’s green eyes and a dust of freckles across her nose and cheeks. However, her nose was Carter’s, and those full lips were his too.
Ella was beautiful— Brooklyn was thrilled to admit. Her daughter had every feature to perfection. She could have been a model, though Brooklyn would never dream of letting her do that.
Ella looked up, saw her, and a smile stretched across her face. “Mommy!” she cried, with her adorable lisp.
Brooklyn crouched before her daughter and then lifted her up into her arms. She looked into her daughter’s eyes, so much like her own. “Hey, Elle. Did you feed the ducks today?”
Ella nodded, still smiling. “Daddy?” she asked.
Brooklyn’s smile faltered a little, but she plunged on. One thing she had learned about parenting was that she couldn’t let her child see her raw emotions—the tears, the pain. She had to be perfect in her daughter’s eyes. She forced a smile. “Daddy had a meeting, sweetie. He’ll come for dinner, though, okay?” She knew Ella couldn’t understand everything she said, but somehow, she liked that. She could tell her daughter anything, while Ella just stared at her, listening, without judging her. Of course, this was because she didn’t understand, but it was comforting, all the same.
“Guess who’s coming over, today? Auntie Kat and Uncle Romeo,” Brooklyn cooed at her daughter. It even surprised her how much her voice changed when she was talking to Ella.
Ella looked at her, puzzled. “Romie?” she said, trying to sound out what her mother had said.
Brooklyn smiled down at her daughter. “Ro-me-o.”
Ella frowned and shook her head. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Brooklyn carried Ella with her to the door and swung it open. Standing there were Kat and Romeo. As soon as Kat saw Ella, she lifted her
from Brooklyn’s arms and into her own. Brooklyn laughed as Kat greeted Ella.
In the two years since Ella was born, Kat had proven to be a complete baby lover. She couldn’t stay away from Ella, and Ella loved her. And Brooklyn was just thankful to get some time off from Ella without having to leave her with the nanny. The fact that she needed a nanny and couldn’t look after her own daughter herself made her feel guilty, but having a family member look after her sometimes made her feel a little less bad.
She turned to Romeo, who had stepped inside. “Crazy wife you’ve got,” she said, indicating to Kat, who was laughing with Ella.
Romeo laughed. “Don’t I know it? Where’s Carter?”
Brooklyn smiled tightly. It was like she only ever saw Carter at night, when he came home, except for once a month, when he squeezed in a short drink with her at the same place every time. He left too early in the morning for her to even kiss him goodbye. It wasn’t like she spent all her time pining after him. Brooklyn had graduated with a degree in interior designing. In fact, she had her own interior design company. But she had let her employees run it for the most part, ever since Ella had been born. “He had a meeting. He’ll be home for dinner.”
Romeo looked at her concernedly. “He never seems to be around. I’ve barely seen him since the two of you got married.”
Brooklyn sighed. “Stop exaggerating, Romeo. You’ve seen him plenty.”
Romeo shook his head. “Anyway,” he continued, “Can one get sick from drinking too much herbal tea? Mom is drinking a huge cup every hour. Maybe it was better when she drank a glass of red wine every day.”
Brooklyn shook her head. “No, Romeo. Because along with that red wine, comes a mother who is uptight with her pencil skirts and clicking heels and very very busy life.”
“Sounds almost exactly like you, Brooklyn. That description barely fits mom anymore, but you fit into it like a glove.”
Brooklyn rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that Romeo was right. “Shut up.”
* * * * *
Averil walked home from her dance lesson, feeling exhilarated. She still found it a little weird that she now taught classes instead of attending them. But it was still what she loved doing, and she would get used to it.
She unlocked the apartment and walked in, pulling off her snow caked boots. “Anyone home?” she called.
Simon came out from his bedroom and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her slowly. She could barely believe that in three months, she was going to marry him. She took his face in her hands, feeling the light stubble that covered his face and touched her forehead to his. “I love you.”
He grinned. “Glad to hear it. You know, because we’re getting married soon and all.”
She laughed, looking at him. His dark brown eyes were mesmerizing, and he had kept his curls long, until the nape of his neck. Despite people telling him to get contacts, he still had his glasses, which she loved about him. Somehow, they added to his persona. She turned away and threw her bag on the worn sofa. “I am so tired!” she said, sitting down.
“Your students really that bad?” Simon asked, sitting down beside her and massaging her worn back. She leaned into him.
“No, they’re good. Actually, one of them is really good. Her name is Haven. She’s going to be better than me and every other ballerina out there if she pursues ballet. She’s just amazing. And she’s smart too. You’d like her,” she said, turning back to look at Simon. “Even though she’s only fourteen, she interacts like an adult.”
“I’d love to meet her. Maybe I should come to the studio one day. I love watching you dance,” Simon told her.
“No, I don’t really dance anymore. I tell them how to dance. I haven’t done a dance routine except as a demonstration in a long time,” Averil said, feeling a little sad. When she was younger, she thought she’d become a dancer herself, not just teach others how to dance. She loved teaching, she honestly did, but somehow she felt like her dreams hadn’t been fulfilled.
“You’re twenty-six, Averil. You still have a lot of time.”
She shook her head. “Have you seen any forty year old ballerinas, Simon? No, of course not. The career of a ballet dancer is short.”
Simon took hold of her shoulders and spun her around. “You can do it, Averil. At twenty-six. we’re all struggling to find our calling. Eventually, we all do.”
Averil leaned closer until their lips met. The feeling was electric, just as it had always been. She reached up and let her hands curl into his silky hair was his hands slid from her shoulder to her waist. He tightened his hold on her, pulling her closer, their bodies tangled together on the couch.
* * * * *
Seth Draycott stared out of the taxi window, gazing at the familiar buildings near his home. New York was a part of him, he realized. He couldn’t move away from it any more than he could cut off his right arm. He’d had a brief stint where he’d moved to LA. It had lasted six weeks. Even surrounded by the beaches and hot sun, he couldn’t enjoy himself. He missed the buildings towering above him, the freedom to do what you want without having people stare, the hustle and bustle. New York, it seemed to him, was truly alive.
He paid the driver and walked up the stairs to his house on Park Avenue. He felt exactly like his father, coming home to his big house, kissing his wife, or in Seth’s case, fiancée, and pulling his tie down to make it less uncomfortable. Somehow, he had fallen into his Dad’s shoes, through and through. Honestly, he didn’t mind. He’d always admired his father.
He sat down on a leather sofa chair and looked up at his fiancée. Her name was Valerie, Valerie Muse, she was from London, and she was beautiful. Those were the three things he said when anyone asked him about her. There was so much more, though. She had short hair in an elegant curled bob with butter highlights and a chestnut base, dark violet eyes, an elegant nose, and dark lips that very full and beautiful. She had an old fashioned, elegant beauty, like someone from the 1920s, with a small waist, big eyes, and flapper’s hair. And because she was from London — though she had lived in New York since she was nineteen— she still had a hint of a British accent in everything she said.
“Seth,” she called, appearing from the kitchen, followed by their live-in maid, Sara.
“Hello, darling,” he said, kissing her. She smiled at him.
“I’m going out, to the art gallery. I think it’s called Painter’s and Co.? I want to jazz up the living room and the corridors,” she told him.
He nodded. “Of course, Val. Do whatever you want.” He kissed her on her forehead and waved goodbye as she left.
He knew he was very lucky to have found her. After years spent pining for Brooklyn, it felt good to love someone he could have. Deep down, he still knew his heart sped up when he met Brooklyn at parties and other places, but the rest of him ignored that. She was married, with a child. There was nothing he could do now. He was too late. And plus, he had Val. He had almost convinced himself that he didn’t want or need Brooklyn anymore.
Still, he wondered about her. He’d never met her husband, and he wondered what her daughter must be like. Beautiful, like her mother, no doubt. He wished he could go see Brooklyn. Really see her, instead of just a short exchange of words at a party. They used to be best friends. What had happened to them?
He wondered what her life was like now. He’d visited Cecily a couple of times, to see if Brooklyn was at her childhood home, but she wasn’t. And honestly, the Cecily he had known while growing up wasn’t there either. She was a new person now, almost a hippie, who offered him herbal tea instead of wine and gave him scarves as presents instead of Cartier watches. It was one of the most drastic changes he had ever seen.
Suddenly, the phone rang. He reached over to pick it up. “Hello?”
“Hello?” It was a voice he instantly recognized—one that sent his heart beating wildly. He tried very hard to ignore that fact.
“Brooklyn?”
“Oh, Seth. I was cal
ling to invite you to the Christmas gala.” she said. “I hope you can come. And bring Valerie, please. I’d love to meet her.”
“When is it?” Seth asked. He knew, of course. The Ryder gala was always on Christmas Eve. He’d known that since he was twelve. But he wanted to hear her voice.
“Christmas Eve. In two days,” Brooklyn said. “Can you make it?”
He nodded, and then realized she couldn’t see him. “Yes, of course. I always leave Christmas Eve open for the gala.”
“Alright then. Bye,” and she hung up.
* * * * *
“Hello? Sir?”
Ty Brenson looked up from the desk to see the customer in front of him. She was dazzlingly beautiful, he noticed at first look, which just made him feel more alone. In his early twenties, when he had called himself a bachelor, it felt cool. But at twenty-six, he was starting to realize the word “bachelor” was just a fashionable and chic cover up for the word “alone.” And yes, he was truly alone, he had found out.
Shaking his head to pull himself out of his own reverie, he looked up at the customer. She was pretty, with a short curled bob, and striking dark arched eyebrows. She had these odd but beautiful violet eyes and full dark lips. She had the beauty of a different era, he thought. He would love to paint her. “Hello. My name is Valerie. Valerie Muse,” she said. She had an accent—British—he noticed.
He almost laughed at that. It was so coincidental that she would be a perfect muse for him, and her last name was Muse. “Can I help you, Valerie Muse?”
“Yes. I have a couple of paintings I’d like to buy, actually. I was wondering if you could have them delivered to my home. If you could just take down my name and address and ship them over, that would be wonderful.”