For 100 Nights (100 2)

It takes my brain a second to catch up. “Um. That’s today?”

“At one o’clock in Greenpoint. Oh, shit. Please don’t tell me you’re going to cancel.”

The excuse that’s perched at the tip of my tongue dissolves when I hear the disappointment in his voice.

“No. No, it’s all good,” I assure him. “Of course, I’ll be there.”

He exhales dramatically. “Oh, thank God. Lita’s already called and texted me five times this morning about one neurotic thing or another. I swear there’s not enough cheap Chardonnay in all of Greenpoint to get me through an entire afternoon of her angsting.”

I laugh, even though I don’t really feel it. We make arrangements to meet up at the gallery, and although an exhibition forty-five minutes away in Brooklyn is the last thing I feel like doing today, I don’t want to let my new friends down. I also know I can’t cower in the penthouse any longer, wishing my problems would just go away.

Sooner than later, I need to figure out how I’m going to deal with Rodney.

And if I can’t deal with him, I need to figure out how I’m going to find the strength to walk away from Nick.

Chapter 15

I set out for Lita’s exhibition in Brooklyn a little past noon, using the long subway ride and the crush of people all around me to drown out the noise in my head. It’s not so easy to drown my remorse. My guilt for how I left things with Nick this morning clings to me as I get off at the station in Greenpoint.

It’s been months since I’ve been back to my old neighborhood, but today it feels like years. Some of the shops on Nassau Avenue have changed or closed down. Others are sporting new paint jobs and rehabbed interiors. Even my old apartment building—the mid-century brick eyesore where I rented a tiny one-bedroom unit—is undergoing a dramatic renovation.

I’m so close to the narrow side street off Nassau, I can’t resist detouring past it for a quick look on my way to the gallery. Construction scaffolding climbs the sides of the building and on the wire fencing surrounds the property, vinyl banners advertise the modern new condominiums that will be opening for occupation later in the year.

Once the renovations are complete, there will be little left of the old building. Would I even recognize it? In many ways, my life has been just as profoundly altered since I left this neighborhood a few months ago.

How different everything would be if I had never met Claire Prentice.

I had considered her housesitting offer a miracle at the time—a life line I desperately needed.

If not for that opportunity from Claire, serendipitous as it was, I would have never have met Nick. Without him, my stepbrother would have nothing to gain from me. I would still be working behind the bar at Vendange and Rodney might never have reentered my life.

But there’s no turning the clock back now, no more than I can turn it back and change what happened nine years ago.

Fate never forgives.

It never forgets.

I realize that now, even if I’ve been too foolish—too selfish—to truly understand that before.

As I head back up the main street to the gallery, I am relieved to find Matt waiting for me as soon as I enter the place.

“There you are!” He’s got a half-empty glass of wine in his hand as he hooks his arm through mine and leads me into the center of the gathering. He turns a serious look on me and lowers his voice. “We have a situation.”

I frown, confused. “You mean with Lita?”

“Our girl’s on the verge of a meltdown. She’s been hiding in the restroom for twenty minutes and won’t come out.”

“Seriously?” I hurry along with him to the back of the gallery, cutting through the throng as discreetly as possible. There is one small unisex bathroom, and we find the door locked. I rap quietly on the panel and call Lita’s name.

“Leave me alone.” Her reply is muted, miserable-sounding. “Just . . . go away, you guys. I can’t do this.”

Matt and I exchange a glance. “What do you mean, you can’t do this? Lita, open the door.”

All I get is silence. Followed by the sound of a toilet paper roll rattling and then Lita blowing her nose.

“Come on, honey. Talk to us. Open the door.” I slide my gaze to Matt and lower my voice to a whisper. “Is this normal for her?”

He shrugs. “I dunno. This is the first exhibition of hers I’ve been to. Like I told you on the phone this morning, she’s been neurotic about this showing all day.”