“Elizabeth?” my mom asks, prodding me.
I can tell her patience has worn thin, so with a resigned sigh, I tell her she doesn’t need to map it.
“I can just tell you how to get there.”
On the drive, I try to come up with at least one plausible reason for how I could afford to live in Walt’s apartment all on my own. There’s no possible way. It’s obscenely nice, a building meant only for the upper echelon of wealthy New Yorkers. Short of being a closet billionaire, I come up with nada.
As we pull up to the address and I direct them around the side to the parking garage, Charlotte looks back with a confused frown.
“Why did you take us here?”
“This is where I’m living.”
Her jaw drops. “What do you mean? You live here? In this building?”
I nod.
For the first time all day, my mom and sister are speechless. We ride the elevator up to the 35th floor and then step out into Walt’s apartment.
They both put two and two together quickly enough. Even though Walt isn’t the type to have a smattering of personal photos hanging on his walls, it’s clear whose apartment we’re in. He’s the only person in my life who could afford to live in a place like this.
“You’re living with Walt?” my mom says, more of a fact than a question.
Still, I nod in confirmation.
My sister laughs to herself as she continues down the hall, heading in the direction of the great room. “Are you joking? This is his freaking apartment? Had I known…”
Her sentence dwindles off, and my stomach squeezes tight with discomfort.
Had she known, she would have agreed to marry him?
I feel sick at the thought.
“Yes, so now you can see why I was hesitant to bring you both back here. I’m not sure whether or not I’m allowed to have guests over. It’s not my apartment.”
“We’re not guests, Elizabeth. We’re family. Besides, I know Walt.” Charlotte tacks on a carefree wave. “He won’t mind that I’m here.”
What in the world does that mean?
My mom doesn’t make herself at home quite as fast as Charlotte does. She clasps her hands together and walks gently down the hall, stopping to admire the artwork along the way. I catch up to her as she stands in front of a marble bust of Apollo that rests on a pedestal. I have no doubt it’s an original.
“He’s an avid collector,” I tell her with a sense of pride.
“Seems like it,” my mom says with a tone of appreciation.
“You can see all of New York from up here,” my sister says from her perch near the windows in the great room.
Rather than join her, I ask them if they’d like something to eat or drink. They both agree they could use a snack, so I head into the kitchen and start to root around in the refrigerator. The housekeepers must have come today and stocked it with food. There’s more than enough to choose from. I tug out some fresh fruit that’s already been cut up, vegetables, cheese, and some hummus so I can make a platter for us all to share. I’m halfway through slicing the cheese when I hear the elevator arrive.
I freeze and jerk my head to the left, wondering if maybe my sister or mom left the apartment without my noticing and now they’re returning. I glance over at the clock and assume it’s too early for Walt to be home. It’s only 4:30, but then I hear my sister’s voice as she calls out.
“Walt!”
I imagine her flashing him a sparkling smile as she rushes over to greet him.
“Charlotte. Julianne. I wasn’t expecting to see you both here.”
“Sorry for the intrusion,” my mom says. “We came into the city to see Elizabeth.”
There’s an inkling of truth in there somewhere, I suppose.
“I don’t mind,” he says, sounding as if he truly means it. “Sorry, I’m getting over a cold, so I’ll spare you both a hug.”
Charlotte laughs. “Don’t be silly. I don’t mind.”
My eyes want to roll so badly.
“Where’s Elizabeth?” he asks.
“In the kitchen, getting us drinks, I think,” Charlotte says.
“Right. Let me go see if she needs any help.”
Quickly, I set down my knife and fix my hair. I tack on a tentative smile once he rounds the corner. His presence is as breath-stealing as a punch to the gut. Had I not seen how sick he was yesterday, I would never suspect he was under the weather at all. He’s wearing a black suit and tie. His chin is clean shaven, his hair styled with a touch of pomade. He walks toward me and my body buzzes with anticipation.
I’m expecting something—feeling excited, even—as he draws near. He looks to feel the exact same until he suddenly comes to a stop a few feet away from me and smiles tightly. His hand fists gently and then he bounces it on the counter.