“River, no.” I was in no mood to formulate a more diplomatic refusal. “I can’t.”
“You don’t want to discuss it with me? That’s fine. I can see that you’re tired and upset. We can talk in the morning.”
I knew he was trying to be kind. It took all the strength left in me to do the same. I put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, River. I can’t go with you to Haiti. I know you’ll do great work there, but you’ll have to do it without me. There’s somewhere else I have to go, somewhere I should have gone months ago.”
He stepped in front of me as if to block the way to my bedroom. “Please don’t go back to him, Jane. I know that’s what you’re thinking. It’s written all over your face. He lied to you. I know how attractive that kind of life must be — who doesn’t like money, comfort? — but you’re so much better than that.”
“It’s not the money,” I said. “I don’t care about comfort. You don’t know me as well as you think. Please, River. Let’s not argue about this.”
He stepped aside, but twenty minutes later when I emerged from my room with my hastily packed bag, he was still waiting, arms folded, face grim. “Don’t go,” he said again. “I need you. And think how hurt my sisters will be.”
“Diana and Maria will understand,” I told him. “I’ll call and let them know how I am. Where I am.” I reached out and put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, River. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
There was no self-pity, no sadness in his eyes, just determination, as if he was confident that by casting around for just the right words he might change my mind. “It’s three in the morning. Go back to bed for a few hours. Think it over a little bit longer. We’ll talk more in the morning.”
“I know you’ll do great things in the world.” Catching him off guard, I stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “I’m sorry I’m not the woman you thought I was.” When I turned to close the apartment door behind me, he was still standing in the middle of the living room, watching me with disappointed eyes.
From the phone of an all-night bodega, I called a cab to take me to the train station. Though the first train to Old Saybrook wouldn’t depart until 6:18 a.m., I used my time in the well-lit, almost empty station to strategize. How could I find out Nico’s whereabouts? Last night in the movie theater, I hadn’t been quick enough to take down the phone number that had been advertised for anyone who knew my whereabouts, and besides, that public announcement had been made months ago. It was likely the number had been disconnected by now. I thought of Lucia; she lived somewhere in the area, but I wasn’t sure where exactly. I searched the train station for a working pay phone, and when I finally found one, I dialed information with my last two quarters. Lucia Porth, Old Saybrook, was an unlisted number. As for Mitch, Nico’s manager, I had no idea where he lived, and even if I knew, his phone number would likely be unlisted as well. The others who might know where Nico had gone — his former employees — either had dispersed to parts unknown or were living with him, wherever he was. Should I walk over to the Waldorf School where Maddy had been enrolled to see if she was still there? Her teachers would remember me, and maybe they would entrust me with any gossip they had. But it was now Saturday; I couldn’t wait until Monday to find Nico. I got on the train to Old Saybrook with no idea where I would go when I arrived, but by the time the train pulled into the station I had devised a plan.
The police station was within walking distance; I remembered passing it in my daily travels. Pulling my suitcase behind me, I headed over there. When the woman at the desk asked if she could help me, I said, “I hope so. I have a lead on a missing person.”
CHAPTER 27
Charles Pettigrew, the town’s chief of police, insisted on personally driving me all the way to Nico’s apartment in Manhattan. At first, nobody in the police department believed I was Nico’s missing fiancée. I must have cut a bedraggled figure. I had dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep and was hardly dressed to fit anyone’s notion of Prince Charming’s missing Cinderella. If I’d planned better, I would have showered before getting on the train, but my need to get to Nico had overridden common sense. So after I’d shown my ID to the officers on duty and they’d reveled over having “found” me, I sidled over to the policewoman at the front desk.
“Is there a place I could go to clean myself up?”
“Sure thing, if you promise not to climb out the window and go missing on us again.”
With the bar of soap I’d brought along, I freshened myself up as best I could in the ladies’ room sink and chose the least wrinkled blouse and skirt I could find in my suitcase. I brushed my hair and clipped it off my face, then changed my mind and took out the clip. Now as I rode in the passenger seat of the police cruiser, just a few hours away from Nico, I wondered if he still wanted me back. He might be angry with me. That was fine; I could handle his anger. If he were indifferent, though, it would kill me.
I worried also about how he might have changed after his accident. It wasn’t that any changes in his appearance or personality would make me love him less; that could never happen. But I had to steel myself for the worst. If the Nico I’d loved was gone forever, I would mourn him, but I would love the new Nico no less — whether or not he was prepared to accept me back.
Chief Pettigrew was full of talk about the search, about the many dead ends the department had hit in their investigation of my disappearance, and how the absence of any leads had caused many of his colleagues to conclude that foul play was involved. “Where were you?” he finally asked. “How was it that nobody turned you in for the reward money?”
I told him about where I’d been living and working, and how one woman had recognized me but must not have known about the reward. “We did get a call from New Haven,” he said. “An old woman claimed she’d seen you working at a soup kitchen, but we checked her out and dismissed her as unreliable. She had a history of mental illness.” He scratched his ear. “Damn. And there you were the whole time. I imagine Nico will see to it that heads roll.”
“Don’t worry,” I told him. “I’ll see to it they don’t.” I may have sounded more confident than I was, but Chief Pettigrew looked relieved.
“Nico and I are old friends,” he said. “I used to work on his security detail back in the day. If nobody’s warned you yet, I probably should. He’s changed. The whole ordeal — first losing you and then the accident — devastated him. Imagine Nico Rathburn not able to play the guitar. You should brace yourself.”
I assured him I was ready, and he dropped me off in front of Nico’s new place, handed me a business card, and said I should call him if I needed anything at all.
The Tribeca apartment house Nico was living in stood sleek and modern among the block’s older, homier buildings. I stood out on the sidewalk awhile, squinting up at the facade — dark like a pair of mirrored sunglasses, and expensive-looking but blank and cold. It was about as different from Thornfield Park as anything I could have imagined. An imperious-looking man stood guard at the front door and frowned down at me when I told him I was there to see the gentleman in the penthouse. When I gave him my name, though, his expression changed.
“I’ll ring right up,” he said.
Moments later, I was in the elevator, whirring silently skyward. I expected I’d be greeted by Amber or Linda, but when the doors opened, I found myself face-to-face with someone I’d never seen before, a heavyset middle-aged woman wearing the pastel oversmock of a nurse. She took one look at me and stepped into the foyer, closing the door to the apartment behind her.
“I’ll be damned,” she said. “It really is you. He’s got your picture up beside his bed.”
I held out my hand for her to shake, but instead she threw her arms around me. “I’m Louisa — Nico’s nurse. He’s going to be so happy to see you. And I’m happy for anything that will cheer him up.” She invited me in, and I followed her deep into the apartment. The gleaming hardwood floors were edged by exposed brick; a long bank of glass overlooked the W
est Side Highway and, beyond that, the sun-spangled Hudson. The rooms were sparsely furnished and looked barely lived in. If I hadn’t known this was Nico’s home, I never would have guessed he lived there.
Louisa told me Nico was upstairs in the media room. “I’ll take you to him; I was just about to bring in his morning coffee. All he does is watch TV. He won’t put any music on the stereo; it frustrates him. He sits there in his armchair hour after hour, refusing phone calls from his friends, so depressed it hurts to look at him.”
I had never seen Nico so much as glance at a TV the whole time I’d known him, so Louisa’s report alarmed me. “Will he regain the use of his hand?”
“I’ve seen cases like his before,” she said. “If he would do his physical therapy like he’s supposed to, he’d have a decent chance of getting some mobility back, maybe even most of it. But Mr. Stubborn in there won’t have any of it. Maybe you can convince him.”
I promised to try and asked if she would let me bring him his coffee, thinking a surprise might do him some good. She readily agreed, adding that she wished she could see the look on his face when he saw me.
In the kitchen, I fixed a mug of coffee the way he used to like it — black with two teaspoons of sugar — and climbed the spiral staircase, following Louisa’s directions, to the media room. On the enormous flat-screen TV, cable news delivered the report of a hurricane bearing down on Cuba. I entered the room. The lights were turned down low, and the room appeared windowless and so gloomy it could have been midnight. Over an armchair plunked directly in front of the TV, I could see the back of Nico’s head, a dark silhouette against the room’s even darker shadows. The television’s blue flicker played over his hair.
Copilot lay off to the side of the room, curled up as if he’d just been yelled at. He pricked up his ears when I came in, then he jumped up with a soft yelp and bounded for me, almost knocking the mug from my hands. Nico didn’t even turn around to see what had excited his dog. “Go lie down,” he said mechanically, then shifted in his chair and sighed. “Isn’t the coffee ready yet, Louisa? What’s taking so long?”
On the end table beside him was a remote control. Reaching around from behind, I set down the mug and grabbed the remote; he didn’t so much as glance in my direction. I clicked the red button and heard Nico jump to his feet, probably working himself up to yell at Louisa for turning off his television. Instead, though, he was silent. Then he said, “Louisa? Is that you?” I took a step toward the wall, feeling around for a light switch. Where could it be? “You used a different soap this morning. It reminds me of…” Then his tone changed. “That is you, Louisa, isn’t it?”
“Copilot recognizes me,” I said. “I’m surprised you don’t.” My hand landed on a switch, and I flicked it. Light flooded the room. Nico stood in front of me, but instead of joy what I saw on his face was something like horror.
“For fuck’s sake! Am I losing my mind now, too?”
My voice came out much calmer than I actually felt. “You seem perfectly sane to —”
But before I could finish, he had run over and thrown his arms around me, hugging me so tightly I could barely breathe. “It’s really you?” he asked, sounding more worried than happy. “I’m not hallucinating?”
“Who else could it be?” There was his scent again, the wood smoke and spice of his aftershave. I pulled back to get a better look at him, taking a moment to drink in the features I had missed so much: his dark eyes, his firm jaw, his full lower lip. Then I pressed myself into his chest. His cheek against mine felt warm and rough.
“Jane… Jane,” was all he said.
“I’ve found you,” I said. “I can hardly believe it.”
“You found me? I’m not the one who was lost!” He kissed my face over and over again, my forehead, my cheeks. “This can’t be real,” he said into my hair. “This has to be an acid flashback.”
I laughed, delighted to be in his arms. “I swear I’m not an acid flashback.”
“That’s just what I’d expect a figment of my imagination to say.” He tightened his grip again. “Prove you’re real, then. Kiss me.”
I did. Then I brushed his hair back from his forehead and kissed that too. My lips found a scar that hadn’t been there before, just over his left eyebrow, half-hidden by his hair.
To my surprise, Nico pulled back abruptly. “But where have you been all this time?” he asked. “And why are you here?” As unpredictable as his moods had always been, I couldn’t recall ever seeing a shift this abrupt.
“It’s a long story.” I wanted to reach out for him, to hold him again, but I was afraid he might rebuff me. “I’ll tell you everything.”
“I was sure you’d been hurt or even murdered. Or that you must have died of frostbite in an alley. I couldn’t sleep for weeks, I was so worried.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Better than fine. I found work, and I’ve been living cheaply and saving up, and I plan to apply for Pell Grants and loans and go back to college in the fall.”
To my surprise, Nico smiled, albeit ruefully. “Pell Grants? I guess you really aren’t a hallucination. My brain would never have made up that part about Pell Grants.” Now his arm was back around me. I nestled under his chin. “You’re okay,” he said. “I can hardly believe it. You’re really okay.”
We held each other a long time. When he finally spoke, his tone had changed yet again. “Are you really going back to school, then?”
“That’s the plan,” I said. “I can apply to schools in Manhattan.”
Again he released me, refusing to meet my eyes. “That’s the only reason you’re here in New York? To go back to college?”
“It’s one of the reasons.” I clasped my hands behind my back. “Would that be such a bad thing?”
“Not for you, I guess.” He frowned. “You’ll make new friends, and you won’t have time for a has-been like me.”
“Right. Because of course I’ll be the most popular girl on campus.” I tried to keep my tone light. “Don’t you want me nearby?”
Nico retreated to his chair and sat silently for a while, opened his lips as if to speak, then closed them again. Suddenly I felt embarrassed. I had assumed he would be as thrilled to see me as I was to see him; I’d been so sure we would go back to being as close as we ever were. But his face grew somber, and I realized I might have gotten it wrong. Caught off guard, he’d been happy to see me, but once he’d recovered his equilibrium, he might hold my long absence against me. What I had done could be unforgivable: I had worried him and wounded his pride. Contrite, I approached his chair and sat down on the floor beside him, resting my head on his knee. He didn’t pull away.
“I’m here because I want to be with you,” I said. “That’s the real reason.”
“Yes, but why? Why would you want to?” The question startled me into momentary silence, so he answered it himself. “You feel sorry for me.”
I bit my lip. “I’m sorry about Bibi… and about your arm.”
He flinched. “So I’m right. You do feel sorry for me. And now I’ll be your project, like Maddy was. Is that your plan? You’ll visit me in your spare time?”
“If that’s what you want from me, I’ll visit in my spare time.” I was hurt.
“Sure. Why not? Why shouldn’t you go back to school and have a normal life like anyone else?” His tone was bitter. “Sooner or later you’ll meet some art student. Someone with an actual future. You’ll marry him and leave me again.”
“I don’t care about being married.”
“You should care. If I were the man I used to be, I’d make you care. But like this” — with his right hand he gestured to the one resting in his lap — “I can’t play guitar anymore, and that’s all I was ever good for.”
He was silent again. If he’d been anyone else, I might have pitied him. Instead, I exhaled with relief. His last words gave me some insight into why he was holding back. They told me he didn’t resent me for leaving him.
“It’s about
time you rejoined the living and started taking care of yourself.” I got to my feet and ran my fingers through his shaggy hair. “Time for a trim. And what about this?” I slid a finger down his rough cheek. “Don’t you have a razor in this place?”
“Am I repulsive, Jane?”
“Very, Nico.” I kissed the top of his head. “But then you always were.”
He chuckled, and I combed his hair as best I could with my fingers. Then I carefully touched his limp arm. “Louisa tells me you aren’t doing your physical therapy. That’s got to change.”
“Aren’t you disgusted by me?” He drew back his long bangs to reveal the raised flesh of his scar. It wasn’t terrible-looking, but my stomach lurched to think of the pain he must have felt.
“Scars are sexy,” I told him. “It makes you look dangerous.” I took his face in my hands and kissed the tip of his nose. “Now, enough of this moping around. Let’s go out in the fresh air. Do you have a terrace? A balcony? A nearby park?”
“There’s a roof garden.”
“Show me where it is.”
At the top of another winding staircase, sliding doors led out to a terrace hidden to the world by a lush wall of potted trees. I gestured toward a pair of lounge chairs beneath a cheerful striped umbrella. “You wait here. I’m going to make you lunch.”
“I never eat lunch anymore.”
“But today you will. We’ll eat together.”
There wasn’t much in the refrigerator, but I did find bread and cold cuts. I made a plateful of sandwiches and gave one to Louisa before taking the rest up to Nico. We stretched out side by side on the lounge chairs. I had so many questions for him. First and foremost, where was Maddy? She was living with her mother in Paris, this time with an au pair Nico had hired to keep her safe in case Celine proved as neglectful as she had before. The au pair called Nico every few days, putting Maddy on the phone. “I didn’t want Maddy to see me this way,” he said. “I didn’t want to scare her.” He seemed to think he had turned into some kind of monster. I took his broken hand in both of mine, brought it up to my lips and kissed it, hoping to dispel the despair that had passed across his face like a storm cloud.