The Ex(13)

As Temple turned in my direction, Boyle slammed himself hard into his chair, rolling backward a foot.

“We’re going to wait for the GSR results before booking him,” Temple said. “I called for a rush.”

“If he’s clean, you’ll release him?”

“No, I didn’t say that. But I told Boyle to hold off on the transport for now. We’ll take it from there, okay? But, I swear to God, Olivia, if you burn me on this, if we release him today, and he flees—”

“I know, your office will never trust me again.”

“No. My office will never trust me again, and I’ll devote every moment of my unemployment to making your life a living hell. That’s how much this matters. Now, I’m heading back to the courthouse until we hear back from the lab. A very upset Detective Boyle will be escorting Harris to a holding cell. Try not to gloat, okay?” Once he was out of view, I allowed myself to smile. The gamble had paid off.

Once those tests were back, Jack could go home. Maybe we’d even sit down and talk after all these years.


THIRTY MINUTES INTO MY WAIT, I had already ignored three voice mail messages from Don, pleading, imploring, and then pleading once again that I get back to the office immediately. My legs beginning to tire, I finally gave up and assumed a seat on the bench outside the detective squad. By now, the man rambling about the NSA had been led away, and his fragrant neighbor had managed to air out.

I waited until exactly two PM and then called the main number for the firm. Don would be at the courthouse by now for a pretrial conference he’d been dreading all week.

“Good afternoon, Ellison and Randall.”

“Einer, have you looked up that computer stuff I called about?” I turned my back to my fellow bench occupant.

“Just finished. I think I’ve got diabetes from reading it all. ‘I’m just a girl, sitting in front of a boy, next to the filthy Hudson River, asking him to love her.’ Cue a shirtless Matthew McConaughey before he lost all that weight and won an Oscar.”

“What’s the gist?”

“Just like you said, there was a missed-moment post that went up on the Room ten days ago. The author of that post was Charlotte Caperton, the Room’s publisher. I’ll send you a link now. A woman named Madeline responds, saying, I think that was me. Charlotte then forwards that message to Jack Harris. Then some e-mails back and forth between Jack and Madeline—typical online dating triteness, not an ounce of sex talk. That’s why Tinder’s more my speed.”

“The e-mails, Einer.”

“Right. Then last night, she suggests meeting at chapter twelve this morning. What’s that, a café or something?”

“No, but what else?”

“He says, see you there. And that’s it.”

“So how do I get hold of this woman?”

“I guess e-mail her.”

“You don’t have a last name? Nothing?”

“No, that’s sort of the point of a certain kind of e-mail account, Olivia.”

“It’s important, Einer.”

“Of course it is. Like everything. By the way, Don was apoplectic when he walked out of here. What’s the deal with this new client?”

I resisted the urge to point out that he’d learned that word from me and still wasn’t certain what it meant. “It’s fine. I’ll deal with Don. Just send me all those e-mails.” I was already picturing how grateful Jack would be once I cleared all this up.

THE FIRST E-MAIL FROM EINER had no subject line. The body of the message was a link, which I clicked.

The Room

June 7, 2015, 8:07 am

Good morning, Roomers. As you know, we here at the Room try to balance our beloved sarcasm and snark with a healthy dose of heartwarming romance. And ain’t nothing that warms Auntie Charlotte’s heart like a Missed-Moment post. If I took all the hours I spend finding you the best missed connections on the Interwebs and devoted them to my own personal life, I might have someone in my bed other than Daisy the Ugly Pug.

But this morning, I have an extra-special post for you. It’s written in the third person, which I’ll explain below.

Here goes:

He saw her on the grass by the Christopher Street Pier Saturday morning, 6:30 am. He was kicking off the day with his usual morning run. She was barefoot in last night’s party dress, drinking champagne from the bottle. He looked in her direction, and she raised her bottle in a toast. He noticed that in her other hand, she held a book. He wants to know more.

Come on, fellow romantics. That’s a specific time, date, location, and description. We can do this! Are you the woman in the grass? Do you know who she was? Here’s why you should come forward.

The “he” in this post is a catch: an acclaimed novelist, a graduate of Columbia University, and an all-around good guy. He has a huge heart. And I happen to love him more than anyone else in the world (and that includes Daisy).

He may kill me for posting this, but if we Roomers can connect him to this mysterious woman in the grass, maybe the sacrifice will be worth it. Let’s get those e-mails rolling in!

I closed the Room post on my screen and returned to my e-mail account. The subject line of Einer’s next message was “Fwd: What did you DO?” I clicked on the message to open it. The introductory explanation was to me from Einer: