She began to pull off the walls the construction-paper butterflies the children had made and tuck them into folders that she would send home with each child. She winced as the edge of one cut into the soft tip of her index finger.
“Fudge.” She hadn’t sworn properly in years, ever since she’d shocked little David Connelly and had to scramble to convince him she’d merely been pointing out a toy truck. She put her finger in her mouth and reached into her supply closet, taking out an Elmo Band-Aid.
She was wrapping it around her finger when she heard a noise in the hallway.
“Hello?” she called.
No answer.
She walked to the doorway and peeked out. The narrow corridor was empty, the linoleum floors reflecting the gleam of the overhead lights. The other classrooms were dark, and their doors were pulled shut. The church’s old bones creaked sometimes; it must have been a floorboard settling.
In the absence of the laughter and chaos, the school felt off-kilter.
Nellie reached into her purse and pulled out her cell. Richard hadn’t phoned yet. She hesitated, then texted him: I’m at the Learning Ladder. . . . Call if you can. I’m here alone.
Sam knew where she was, but Sam was napping. Nellie would just feel better if Richard knew, too.
She started to put her cell back in her bag but tucked it in the waistband of her Lycra pants instead. She peeked out into the hallway again and listened for a long moment.
Then Nellie resumed pulling artwork off the walls, working quickly, until they were bare. She took down from an easel the activity schedule printed in big letters. She reached up to strip a large calendar from a bulletin board. Velcro cards attached to it listed the day of the week and a symbol for the weather. A smiling sun was still affixed to Friday.
Nellie glanced out the window. The first drops of rain had started to softly patter down.
She almost didn’t notice the woman standing just behind the gate.
A tall climbing structure partially obstructed her view. Nellie could only make out a tan raincoat and a green umbrella blocking the person’s face. And long brown hair whipping in the wind.
Maybe it was someone out walking her dog.
Nellie craned her head to see at a different angle. There was no dog.
Could it be a prospective parent checking out the school?
But it wouldn’t make sense for someone to come on a Sunday, when the Learning Ladder was closed.
It could be a parishioner . . . although the service had ended hours ago.
Nellie pulled her phone out of her pocket, then pressed her face close to the window. The woman suddenly moved, hurrying away, blending in with the trees. Nellie spotted the woman round the corner by the three gravestones.
Toward the entrance on the opposite side of the church.
Sometimes that door was propped open by a heavy brick when nighttime activities, such as an AA meeting, were scheduled.
Something about the way the person abruptly turned away—that quick, jerky motion—reminded Nellie of the woman who’d caused her to drop her purse in the bathroom on parent-conference day.
Nellie couldn’t be there for another minute. She grabbed her bags, leaving papers still scattered across her desk, and headed for the door. Her cell phone buzzed in her hand and she flinched. It was Richard.
“I’m so glad it’s you,” she gasped.
“Are you okay? You sound upset.”
“I’m just alone at the school.”
“Yeah, you told me in your text. Are the church doors locked?”
“I’m not sure, but I’m leaving now.” Nellie hurried up the stairs. “It feels sort of creepy for some reason.”
“Don’t be scared, baby. I’ll stay with you on the phone.”
She glanced behind her as she exited the building, then slowed down and caught her breath. She reached the end of the block, opened her umbrella, and began to walk toward the busier cross street. Now that she was outside, she knew she’d overreacted.
“I miss you so much. And I feel horrible about last night.”
“Look, I’ve been thinking about it, and I saw you push him away. I know you love me.” He really was too good to be true.
“I wish I could’ve been with you today.” She didn’t want Richard to know she’d forgotten about his trip. “After graduation, I’m all yours.”
“You have no idea how happy that makes me.” His voice felt like safety.
In that moment, she decided she didn’t want to continue teaching. She’d travel with Richard in the fall. She’d still be around children—their children.
“I need to get back to my client. Are you feeling better now?”
“Much.”
Then Richard spoke the words that would stay with her forever:
“Even when I’m not there, I’m always with you.”
CHAPTER
TEN
She lives on an active street. New York City has dozens of blocks like hers—not ritzy, not poverty-stricken, but falling somewhere in the wide swath of the middle.
It reminds me of the neighborhood I lived in when I first met Richard.
Despite the torrential burst of rain that has just ended, enough people are around so I don’t stand out. A bus stop is on her corner, next to a deli, and two doors down from her building is a small hair salon. A father pushing a stroller crosses paths with a couple walking hand in hand. A woman juggles three bags of groceries. A Chinese-food delivery guy splashes through a puddle and splatters me with a few drops, the aroma of the meals stacked on the back of his bicycle wafting in his wake. In the past, my stomach would have been tempted by the succulent smells of chicken fried rice or sweet-and-sour shrimp.
I wonder how well she knows her neighbors.
She might’ve knocked on the door of the apartment above hers, handing over a UPS delivery box that was mistakenly left by her door. Maybe she picks up fruit and bagels at the deli, where the owner mans the cash register and greets her by name.
Who will miss her when she disappears?
I’m prepared to wait quite a while. My appetite is nonexistent. My body feels neither hot nor cold. There is nothing I need. But before long—at least I think I have not waited very long—I feel a quickening in my pulse, a hitch in my breath, as she rounds the corner.
She is carrying a bag. I squint and make out the logo of Chop’t, the takeout salad place. It swings as she walks, matching the gentle sway of her high ponytail.
A cocker spaniel darts in front of her and she pauses to avoid becoming entangled with the leash. The owner reels in the dog, and I see her nod and say something, then she bends down to stroke its head.
Does she know how Richard feels about dogs?
I’m holding my cell phone to my ear, my body half turned away from her, my umbrella tilted to cover my face. She continues walking toward me and I soak her in. She wears yoga capris and a loose white top, with a Windbreaker tied around her waist. Salad and exercise; she must want to look her best in her wedding gown. She pauses in front of her building, reaching into her purse, and a moment later, she vanishes inside.
I let my umbrella drop and massage my forehead, trying to focus. I tell myself I’m acting crazy. Even if she were pregnant—which I don’t believe is a possibility—she probably wouldn’t be showing yet.
So why did I come here?
I stare at her closed door. What would I even say if I knocked and she answered? I could beg her to call off the wedding. I could warn her that she’ll regret it, that he cheated on me and he’ll do the same to her—but she’d probably just slam the door and phone Richard.
I don’t want him to ever know I’ve followed her.
She thinks she’s safe now. I imagine her rinsing her plastic salad bowl and putting it into the recycling bin, applying a mud mask, maybe calling her parents to talk about last-minute wedding details.
There is still a little time. I cannot be impulsive.
I have a long walk home. I round the corner, retracing her steps. A block later I pass Chop’t and I turn around to go in. I study the menu, trying to guess what she might have craved, so I can order the same thing.