Thought I Knew You (21 page)

Chapter 25

S
eptember brought two major milestones.
One should have been huge: Hannah’s first day of kindergarten. But that event was usurped by the looming one-year anniversary at the end of the month. One full year without Greg.

When I put Hannah on the bus on the second of September and waved to her with one hand while blotting my eyes with a tissue with the other, I thought for the millionth time in the past year,
Her daddy should be here to see this.
I was quite used to the sentiment, sure that a milestone wouldn’t pass when I wouldn’t acknowledge Greg in some way.

I felt sentimental about the one-year mark. It was the anniversary of a horrific tragedy, but somehow, guiltily, I felt accomplished. I thought it was terrible, in a way, to feel any benefit from Greg’s death, but I felt stronger, more sure of myself. I could clean a gutter! I could repair plumbing! I had learned a lot in the last year.
I am going to be okay.
Should Greg be there? Yes, without question. Did I wish things were different? Absolutely. But somehow, life went on. And I had come a long way from the sorrowful wreck of a woman who could barely get herself and her children dressed. I hadn’t even sworn at a stranger in almost six months. So for that at least, I found a very small reason to celebrate.

I decided to acknowledge the anniversary on September twenty-eighth, the Tuesday that Greg left for his trip, the last day I had seen him. I didn’t know the date he technically disappeared, or died, if we were going with the current theory.

The morning of September twenty-eighth dawned like every other morning. I got Hannah on the bus. I took Leah to the toddler gym and chatted with the other mothers while Miss Megan clapped her hands and directed all the children to circle time. But I was repeatedly jolted by memory. I found myself trying to remember what I had done last year at whatever exact time I had the thought. I couldn’t. I could remember October first, that Friday when Greg didn’t come home, but I had no memory of kissing my husband his last kiss goodbye. I was sure that I did kiss him goodbye; I always did. Later, I was struck by the fact that I couldn’t remember our last words to each other.
I love you. Be safe.
That was what we always said. Try as I might, I could not specifically recall saying it.

I didn’t remind Hannah and Leah about the anniversary. I went about the evening ritual, as if the day were like any other.

After I put them to bed, I sat in the living room with Greg’s notebook and pen. I turned to the back of the book, where there were about twenty blank pages.

Dear Greg,

Today, I’m honoring you in my heart as you’ve been gone from our lives for one year. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you. Not a day goes by that I don’t wonder what happened to you. I’m writing this to help with my never-ending quest for closure, and in the farfetched chance I ever see you again, may you read it and know how I felt.

First and foremost, I miss you. I miss your laugh. I miss our early mornings and our late nights and our private moments. Our marriage wasn’t perfect, but I did believe that it was good. I have since learned that you kept things from me. Your inheritance. Apparently, you golf? You possibly had a girlfriend. You stayed at a lavish hotel together. I feel like a fool, naïve and trusting. For our marriage was so very dear to me and clearly not equally important to you. You held parts of yourself hostage, parts I never had access to. Because of that, I never really knew you. Which makes my whole life seem like a joke. For that, I am angry and may never forgive. I’ll try.

The girls miss you. Even with all the things I am angry about, I cannot take away the fact that you were a wonderful father. Hannah has stopped asking for you daily. It was hard on Leah, but it’s getting better. Our life is permanently altered now. And if it ever comes out that you chose this path, I will never forgive you.

I heal a little every day. I finally fixed the broken spindle in the banister. I replaced the doorknob in Hannah’s room. I’m learning to do your household chores. It’s tough work, being you and me at the same time, but I’m stronger than I ever imagined.

Love, Claire.

I opened one eye. Hannah stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed in fury. I closed my eyes and prayed for it to be a dream.
Will I ever sleep past seven again?

“Mommy, this is ’portant. Leah said that she wants to be Rapunzel, too. Today is trick or treat, and Leah’s gonna ruin it. Wake up!”

“I’m awake, Han. I’m awake.” I sat up and blinked. Geesh, the bedroom was a mess. “Well, Hannah, we have two Rapunzel dresses somewhere, I think, in the playroom. If Leah wants to be Rapunzel, too, I don’t see why not.”

“Because. The movie did
not
have
two
Rapunzels.” She held up one finger an inch from my face. “It had
one
Rapunzel. And that’s me. Because I have long blond hair, and Leah has curly brown hair. She can be Belle.”

It was easily the fourth Halloween discussion that week.

“I am
not
Belle. I don’t even
like
Belle. She wears ugly yellow. I want to be Rapunzel,” Leah said from the doorway.

Hannah turned to her. “Leah, you are
the little sister
. You have to do what I tell you to do. And I say you have to be Belle.”

I held up my hand. “Hannah, you know as well as I do that no one tells Leah what to do. Now listen. We have two trick or treat nights. One tonight here, and one tomorrow in Nanny and Pop-pop’s neighborhood. You can be Rapunzel tonight, and Leah can be Rapunzel tomorrow.”

“But—” two voices cried in unison.

“That’s it. Take it or leave it,” I commanded.

They filed out of the bedroom, angry at each other, but angrier at me. Newly joined in solidarity against a common enemy, they huddled in Hannah’s room. I heard whispering. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I looked at the clock. Six thirty.
Good grief.

That evening, I escorted two Rapunzels up and down the neighborhood streets. I made small talk with the neighbors and visited briefly with Robin and Rob Masters who, prior to Greg’s memorial service, I hadn’t seen in months.

“How are you holding up?” Robin asked, pouring me a cup of hot apple cider.

I shrugged. “Better every day,” I said truthfully.

Robin and Rob had no children, but were about ten years older than I was. I never knew if they couldn’t conceive or if they chose not to. They seemed to love children. I heard Hannah in the living room, explaining hers and Leah’s costumes to Rob.

“I am Rapunzel, and this is Rapunzel’s little sister,” she said proudly.

“Oh, wow!” Rob exclaimed. “What is her name?”

“Rapunzel!” Leah replied, indignant.

I smiled at their ingenious solution.

“I can’t imagine, Claire. I’m so sorry for this year. I know I’ve said it to you a few times, but if you ever need anything, we’re always here.”

I did know that, and I appreciated it. I briefly wondered why Greg and I hadn’t become closer to the Masters than just sharing friendly neighborhood banter. We should have done dinners, picnics, or neighborly things. I made a mental note to try harder, to connect.
Small ripples.
So many things seemed like small ripples, minor effects of Greg’s disappearance.

We drank our apple cider, traded small talk, and then waved goodbye as the girls and I continued on the very important business of Trick-or-Treating.

Chapter 26

I
sucked it up and made
plans to visit Drew the second weekend in November. I got the girls all hyped up to spend the night at Nanny and Pop-pop’s and dropped them off Saturday afternoon.

I took the train from Annandale into Manhattan, where Drew would pick me up. I hadn’t seen him since the memorial service and had only spoken to him once. Our friendship had changed over the past year. I didn’t know if it was because I had needed him so much or because Greg was technically no longer in the picture. Our past few encounters had fallen into one of two categories: fraught with tension, or formal and distant.

I wondered what the evening would bring. I wondered what Olivia would be like. I hoped he was alone when he picked me up. My stomach lurched as I thought about seeing Drew with a woman. Maybe once, years ago, he had brought someone to dinner. I vaguely remembered her. How had Drew dealt for ten-plus years?

When I walked up the steps to the terminal at Penn Station, Drew stood right where he texted me he’d be—in front of the Au Bon Pain. I studied him in the few seconds before he saw me. He looked wonderful—tall and dark, open-faced, and friendly. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, scanning the crowd. His eyes caught mine, and he broke into a wide grin and waved. When he hugged me, my heart thudded.
This is ridiculous
, I scolded. Drew was my best friend. He was seeing someone, seriously enough to want us to meet. He’d been watching me with Greg for years. I needed to calm down, but I didn’t know how. He smelled like Drew, soap and shampoo, like home to me. What had I been thinking?
This is going to be impossible
.

“Hi,” he said, ducking his head almost shyly. “You look great, Claire. I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me too. I need a night out. I need you, actually.” I put my head on his shoulder.

He gave me a quick squeeze. “Well, let’s go. Wait till you see my apartment!” He led me through the crowd and to the street. We hailed a taxi.

“I can’t believe you live in Harlem!” I also couldn’t believe we were taking a taxi a hundred blocks. Drew must be rich.

“Stop, it’s not like it used to be. The crime in southwest Harlem is incredibly low. When was the last time you went into the city? The eighties?”

I stared out the window, watching the city go by, like a silent movie running at the wrong speed. Traffic was surprisingly light. The opulence of the Upper West Side melded into rundown row homes of Morningside Heights. We turned on 119th Street, and the row homes faded into beautiful brownstones with sculpted steps and ornate front doors. The cab stopped, and Drew got out. The tree-lined street boasted historic and stately homes.

“These are gorgeous!” I exclaimed.

“See? And you doubted me.” He grinned evilly.

His apartment was huge by New York standards, with hardwood floors and a large, elaborate fireplace. The kitchen was small, but he had two reasonably sized bedrooms—
two bedrooms. Unheard of!
The living room and dining room were one open room separated by a display of ten different-sized stained-glass windows hanging from chains, with smaller ones hanging from each to create a faux wall. Some had ornate, bursting lilies and roses in a kaleidoscope pattern, and others were simpler, alternating square patterns in basic colors, reminiscent of old New Jersey farmhouses. Light flooded around the frames, and the prism effect created hypnotic dancing spots of light throughout the room.

“Drew, did you do this? It’s beautiful!”

He shrugged. “I needed a divider between the rooms, and walls are so last year, you know?”

I laughed. I had only been to one or two of Drew’s previous apartments. His living area was clean, with a surprising sense of style. I briefly remembered what Greg’s bachelor pad had looked like—all utility, simple furniture and faux wood. Drew’s had flair—a small sculpture, a tray of sand and marbles on the coffee table, not a Yankee candle in sight. Very chic. Clearly, the handmade art was all one of kind, not chain store accessorized, like my own house.

When I said as much, he laughed. “Well, Claire, I
am
an artist. Which reminds me. Guess what we’re doing tonight?”

“What?”

“We’re going to a gallery opening.” My jaw dropped. I had brought nothing to wear to an event like that.

“Don’t panic. It’s just a one-room gallery a few blocks over. They’re showing my collection. Remember the one I told you about, with the lunchtime affairs?”

I nodded. How could I forget?

“It’s called
Illicit
. Please don’t say no. I want you to see it.” His took my hand, his touch sent pulsing jolts up my arms, curling my toes.

“What do I wear?” I asked, slowly withdrawing my hand. My eyes held his for a beat.

“Anything you want. It’s a small reception, probably less than twenty people. But it’s the art world. Everyone dresses crazy. You’ll be fine. Don’t worry. And besides, you’re going with me, and I’m the star of the evening.” He performed a deep bow, tipping an imaginary hat.

I went to his guest room to unpack and figure out what to wear. I had packed the wrap dress Sarah had raved about in San Diego, but it looked so
Mom-ish
. I pulled out a pair of black leggings and a black boat-neck glitter sweater. The outfit was fashionable and not me at all. I had taken it off of a mannequin at a store where I had never shopped before because the shop was out-of-my-league trendy. I put the ensemble on in front of the mirror and could barely believe my reflection. I added a pair of pointy-toed flats and shyly opened the door.