You Are Not Alone(21)
“Amanda? It couldn’t have been…” Jane says.
“Please,” I beg. “Can—can someone go check?”
“Shay—” Jane begins, but my sobs cut her off.
“We have to help her,” I whisper.
Cassandra stares at me with her unblinking eyes. Then she does something extraordinary. “Wait here.” She hands me her umbrella. “I’ll go look.”
I watch her descend in quick steps, her bare legs flashing beneath her poppy-colored, belted raincoat.
In the distance I hear the approaching rumble of the train.
Hurry, I think, even as I acknowledge the impossibility of what I’ve just seen.
“Could it have been someone who just looked like Amanda?” Jane asks.
I shake my head. My teeth are chattering. “She was the same—I swear I saw her—I’m sure of it.… But how could it be her?”
I stand under Cassandra’s umbrella, my stomach clenching as the train’s brakes scream. But then, a moment later, I hear the train pull away from the station, the thunder of its wheels growing fainter and fainter.
Nothing happened. It was an ordinary stop for the subway train.
I’m almost beginning to wonder if any of it happened, if my mind betrayed me. But Jane is still standing beside me, and my skirt and top are soaking wet, and I’m clutching the smooth wooden handle of Cassandra’s oversize umbrella.
Cassandra reappears, climbing the stairs—first just the top of her glossy black hair, then her strong, symmetrical features, then her slender frame.
“Everything’s okay, Shay.” She puts a hand on my arm, just like she did at the memorial service. Her touch is the only source of warmth on my body. “I didn’t see anyone who looks like Amanda down there.”
“Are you sure?” I ask desperately. But my heartbeat is slowing. The sisters are helping the world to stop spinning.
I see Cassandra give Jane a quick look before shaking her head. “I don’t think so, but maybe I missed her. She might’ve caught the subway before I got down there?”
That’s impossible; only one train came in between the time the woman descended the stairs and now.
I start to try to explain again what I saw. But just before I get to the part about the polka-dot dress, I cut myself off. It might make sense that I spotted a woman who resembled Amanda. But one in the exact same outfit? I’d seem crazy—especially given how I must look in my drenched outfit with my bedraggled hair sticking to my face. So I just nod.
“You’re probably right.” I swallow hard. “I’m really sorry.… I don’t know what happened.…”
Cassandra links her arm through mine. “Our morning meeting was canceled. Are you in a rush?”
“We were just going to grab tea,” Jane adds. “There’s a little café around the corner. Why don’t you join us?”
I look at them, stunned. After all this, they want to be with me?
It’s more than an act of kindness. It feels like a gift.
What are the odds that I’d run into the Moore sisters at this exact juncture; that they and Amanda would somehow intersect in my life again? It seems impossible. Yet here they are.
I’m going to be late for work, but I find myself nodding. I’ll call my temp job and claim an emergency, and I’ll make up my hours tonight.
I’m not going to turn down an invitation from these women again.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CASSANDRA & JANE
SHAY—TREMBLING, SHATTERED, and unsteady—grips Cassandra’s arm as the sisters lead her through the misty, rain-dampened air toward a café.
The hostess tries to seat them by the window.
“Actually, could we have that booth?” Cassandra points. “It looks cozier and our friend is soaking wet.”
It’s also more private; a few other customers are in the upscale diner.
The hostess matches Cassandra’s smile with one of her own. “Of course.”
After Shay is seated, Cassandra takes off her raincoat and drapes it over Shay’s shoulders. “You’ve got to be freezing in this air-conditioning. Do you want anything to eat?”
Shay shakes her head as Cassandra slides onto the opposite bench, so both sisters are facing Shay.
In another few moments, with the dry jacket wrapped around her and her hands cupping a steaming mug of chamomile tea, Shay’s shivering ceases.
But she still appears fragile and dazed—exactly how the sisters wanted her. When people feel vulnerable, they’re more likely to spill their secrets.
“You must really miss Amanda,” Jane begins gently. “I know we do. We talk about her all the time.”
Shay looks down at her mug of tea. Despite her obvious chill, her cheeks flush. “Um, the truth is…”
Tension floods Cassandra’s body. Jane perches on the edge of the bench, her fingernails clutching its wooden rim. But the sisters’ faces remain placid. Shay has to feel safe and unhurried.
“I don’t know why her death is affecting me so much.” Shay starts to say something else, then she lifts her mug and takes a sip.
Cassandra exhales, so slowly and softly she doesn’t make a sound. Jane doesn’t move a fingertip. Shay is on the brink of something pivotal; they don’t want to sway her in the wrong direction.