The Wife Between Us(27)

As she walked toward the elevator, the only other neighbor on Richard’s floor, Mrs. Keene, stepped out of her apartment, holding the leash of her bichon frise. Whenever they bumped into her in the lobby, Richard pretended he needed to collect his mail or came up with another excuse to avoid her. “She’ll talk you to death if you let her,” Richard had warned.

Nellie suspected she was lonely, so she gave the woman a smile as she pressed the call button for the elevator.

“I’ve been wondering why you haven’t been around lately, dear!”

“Oh, I was just here a few days ago,” Nellie said.

“Well, next time, knock on my door and I’ll have you in for tea.”

“Your dog is adorable.” Nellie gave its puffy white fur a quick stroke. The woman and her dog looked as if they shared a hairstylist, Nellie thought.

“Mr. Fluffles likes you. So, where’s your paramour?”

“Richard had to go to Atlanta for work.”

“Work? On a Sunday?” The dog sniffed Nellie’s shoe. “He’s so busy, isn’t he? Always racing off to catch a plane. I’ve offered to keep an eye on his place while he’s gone, but he said he’d never impose on me. . . . So where are you off to now?”

Lonely and gossipy, Nellie thought. The elevator arrived and Nellie held the door open with her forearm until Mrs. Keene and her dog were safely inside.

“I’m actually going to work, too. I teach at a preschool and I need to clean out my classroom for the end of the year.”

Graduation was tomorrow, and though traditionally teachers sorted through the rooms a few days after the students left, making it something of a party, complete with smuggled-in wine, Nellie needed to do it now because she was leaving for Florida at the end of the week.

Mrs. Keene nodded approvingly. “How lovely. I’m glad Richard found himself a nice young lady. That last one wasn’t very friendly.”

“Oh?”

Mrs. Keene leaned closer. “I saw her talking to Mike, the doorman, just last week. She was quite agitated.”

“She was here?” Richard hadn’t mentioned this.

A glint in Mrs. Keene’s eyes told Nellie how much she was enjoying being the conveyer of such news. “Oh, yes. And she handed Mike a bag—Tiffany’s, I recognized that distinctive blue—and said he should give it back to Richard.”

The elevator doors opened again and Mrs. Keene’s dog lunged toward another neighbor who’d just walked into the building with her pug.

Nellie stepped out into the lobby, which resembled a small art gallery: A large orchid graced the glass table between two low-backed sofas, and the cream-colored walls were enlivened by abstract paintings. Frank, the Sunday doorman with a thick Bronx accent, greeted her. He was her favorite of the white-gloved men who kept watch over the residents of this Upper East Side building.

“Hi, Frank,” Nellie said, grateful to see his wide, gap-toothed smile. She glanced back at Mrs. Keene, who was in animated conversation with another neighbor. It sounded as if Richard’s ex had simply returned something he’d once given her, and that he hadn’t even seen her. Who even knew what was in the bag? Obviously their split had been acrimonious.

Many were, Nellie told herself. Yet she still felt unsettled.

Frank winked at her, then pointed outside. “Looks like it’s gonna rain. Do you have an umbrella, hon?”

“Three of them. Back at my apartment.”

He laughed. “Here, borrow one.” He reached into the brass stand by the door.

“You’re the best.” She extended her left hand to accept it. “Promise I’ll bring it back.”

She noticed him glance at her ring and do a quick double take before he caught himself and looked away. He’d known of their engagement, but Nellie usually twisted the diamond to the inside of her hand so it would be hidden when she walked around the city. Richard had suggested it, reminding her that one couldn’t be too careful.

“Thanks,” she said to Frank, feeling a flush creep over her cheeks. It felt a little ostentatious wearing something that probably cost as much as Frank earned in a year—that cost as much as she made in a year, too.

Did Richard’s ex live nearby? Nellie wondered. Perhaps she’d even passed her on the street.

She didn’t realize she was fidgeting with the release button on the umbrella until it sprang open. Her father’s voice rang through her mind: Don’t ever open an umbrella inside. It’s bad luck.

“Stay dry,” Frank said as Nellie stepped outside into the swollen gray air.


Sam wore her long sleep shirt—the one with WHAT A BEAUTIFUL MESS written in script across the front.

Nellie rustled the paper bag containing poppy-seed bagels with egg, cheddar, bacon, and ketchup—their favorite hangover remedy—in the air. “Good afternoon, sunshine.”

Sam’s sandals from last night were kicked off just inside the front door, followed by her purse, then, a few feet later, her miniskirt. “The trail of Sam,” Nellie joked.

“Hey.” Sam poured coffee into a mug but didn’t turn around to look at her. “What happened to you last night?”

“I went to Richard’s. Too much tequila.”

“Yeah, Marnie said he showed up.” Sam’s tone was curt. “Nice of you to say good-bye.”