The Dollhouse(90)

“So tell me.” Esme crossed her arms. “Why are your belongings in my apartment?”

“You see, Miss Conover—”

Esme cut her off before she could go on. “Yes, Stella tells me you walked Bird while I was away. And I thank you for that. But you don’t need suitcases to walk a dog.”

“You remember I lived right above you? Well, I had to leave my apartment.”

“And why was that my problem?”

“I had to move out, but I didn’t want to leave Bird. No one else on the floor offered to take him in.”

“Bunch of hermit crabs. Not surprised at that.”

Encouraged, Rose carried on. “So you see, I decided to stay here until you returned. Miss Conover said you wouldn’t be back until Monday.”

“Were you planning to make a quick escape before I came home?”

Not being able to see Esme’s eyes made it difficult to connect with her, to gauge what she was feeling. “To be honest, yes. I felt horrible, doing this, but it was an emergency, because Miss Conover had to go to the hospital.”

“I ought to call the police on you. I know exactly what you were up to. You wanted to find out more about what happened to me, so you made yourself right at home and went through my things.” Her voice rose. “This is a complete invasion of privacy.”

Jason stepped forward. “Rose’s father just passed away. She lost her job, her father died, and taking care of Bird became very important to her. She was out of line, that’s true, but she didn’t mean to do you any harm.”

“Who are you?”

“Sorry, Esme, this is Jason Wolf. He’s a journalist as well.”

“Jason Wolf. Quite the name.” She looked him up and down before turning back to Rose. “Why did you call me Esme?”

She’d blown it. But considering there was no way this woman would ever grant them an interview, the truth might as well come out.

Rose pointed to the bookcase. “One night I took out your copy of Romeo and Juliet. It caught my eye, the binding was so old. It’s a gorgeous edition.” She paused. “And a letter dropped out.”

“And you read it, of course.”

The awfulness of what Rose had done hit home. This poor woman wanted nothing more than to live in peace, not have to relive what must have been the most horrific few moments of her life. No matter what she’d done in 1952 to Sam and Darby, decades had since passed. “I apologize. I wasn’t thinking straight. I never should have read it. Or come in here at all.”

“You got that right.”

“Esme, I know what happened at the club, about the drugs, and Sam, and I wanted to know more. I couldn’t help myself. Maybe it’s because I’m a journalist. But it’s also because I’m a woman in a tough spot, not totally unlike the one you and Darby were in. No one’s here to blame anyone.”

“How dare you talk to me of blame?” Waves of anger emanated from her body.

She was blowing it. “Please, for Sam’s sake. He should know the truth as well.” Rose was taking a risk. Either Esme would rise to the bait, or she’d close them off forever.

Esme opened her lips, but no sound came out for a moment, all of her bluster faded away. “Sam?”

“He’s in town. We saw him a few hours ago. I’m sorry if that’s a shock.”

“A shock. Yes, you could say that.”

“Can I get you some water?”

“Yes, please.” Esme lowered herself into the armchair. Rose grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and by the time she’d returned, Jason had draped the throw over Esme’s shoulders. Her fierceness was gone, replaced by an overwhelming melancholy.

Rose knelt at her feet and looked up. “Please. What can I do to make this up to you?”

“Put on my record.”

She knew the one Esme was referring to. She walked over to the small record player, turned it on, and, with a shaking hand, lifted the needle and placed it carefully on the edge of the revolving vinyl. The familiar recording of the two women’s voices began, Esme and Darby, singing, followed by the tiny giggle at the very end.

Rose couldn’t help but smile. “I heard you playing this the day we met in the elevator. It’s beautiful. And intriguing. Your voices are remarkable together.”

“I’m so pleased you think so. And now it is time for you to get the hell out of my apartment.” Esme’s mouth was set in a firm line, her cheeks slightly flushed.

“Okay, we’ll go. I’m sorry it all came crashing down. I only started asking questions because I was worried about you. Being all alone—I get that. I’m alone now. No family, no job. I have to start again from the ground up. I’ll be the first to admit my behavior here was suspect. But it’s because I need to know how to do this. How to start again.”

“Don’t compare our situations.” Esme pointed a long, crooked finger at Rose and slowly rose back to her feet. “Maybe I could have had a different life; we’ll never know. Once I was marked, scarred, it was all over. I was only a shell after that, working in the back room of a button company, balancing books and paying bills, staying away from people who felt sorry for me or wanted to find out the lurid details.” She paused, breathing heavily. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? Do you want to see it for yourself? Me as a freak?”