HALF AN HOUR later Corinne stood outside a nondescript apartment building on Bank Street. She stared at the gold numbers on the wall, and then at Will’s name in the directory. Just seeing it horrified her, and she shot around the corner, trying to catch her breath. A coffee shop beckoned her across the street. She would go there instead. And think. And then go back uptown, where she belonged.
But her legs wouldn’t move—or rather, they moved in the wrong direction, back to the apartment building. A woman in her twenties came out, and Corinne ducked out of the way, afraid she’d be seen. Her phone beeped. She glanced at the screen. Dixon.
She hit SILENT. Corinne had sent him a text saying she wasn’t going to make dinner tonight, but she hadn’t explained why. She couldn’t speak to him right now. Her guilt would be obvious in her voice. She ran her hands down the length of her face. Squaring her shoulders, she turned to the buzzer panel and pressed the button for Will’s apartment. The door unlocked, and she pushed into a vestibule with tiled floors, a blinking fluorescent bulb on the ceiling, and a line of small metal mailboxes along the wall. More mail sat on top of a radiator. A bike with a flat tire was propped against the wall.
After opening another door, she was confronted with a set of worn stairs. She started up them, the risers creaking. A line of doors greeted her on the landing, a motley mix of smells emanating from under them. She climbed another flight. Someone had drawn an anatomically correct woman on the hallway wall.
She imagined Dixon’s face if he knew she was in a place like this. Her mother’s judgmental gasp. She thought of what she’d told her cousins: It’s just cold feet.
Still, she kept climbing.
Finally she reached the fourth floor. Will stood at his door. “Are you all right?” he cried, pulling her toward him.
Corinne stepped away, leaving an arm’s-length space between them. “What do you mean?”
Will stared. “I read that you were in a car crash. I was so worried.”
Corinne looked down. Of course. Every paper was talking about the crash. “I’m fine,” she said woodenly. “It was just an accident.”
“What about your cousin? Is she going to be okay?”
Corinne nodded weakly. There was no swelling in Natasha’s brain, which meant she should wake up soon. Then again, some patients in this condition never regained consciousness.
There was a long pause. Corinne glanced down the carpeted hall, staring at a red door at the other end. “Well, come in,” Will said awkwardly, stepping aside and gesturing Corinne into the apartment. Corinne ducked her head and followed.
They entered a small room with an exposed-brick wall. A modern-looking gray couch sat in the corner, flanked by two midcentury tables. Vintage cookbooks and hardcovers lined the built-ins along the brick wall. A pass-through window revealed a galley kitchen; knives were ranged along a magnetic strip on the wall, and pots and pans hung from a rack over the burners. It occurred to Corinne that most people in Manhattan would think Will was doing well for himself. Just not the people she hung around with.
On the back wall was a huge tin sign bearing the name of the local restaurant Will had worked for in the Vineyard, the Sextant. “Oh my God,” Corinne blurted, letting down her guard for a moment. “Is that the road sign?”
“Oh.” Will smiled bashfully. “Yeah.”
“They let you have it?”
“Not exactly. I sort of . . . stole it.”
Though the Sextant had been a staple of the island since nineteen-twenty-something, the only time Corinne had been there was with Will. It was the fourth time they went out together, the first time they dared to go somewhere in public—though it certainly wasn’t anywhere Corinne would be spotted. Corinne remembered asking why the bartenders hadn’t swept up the sawdust or the mussels on the floor, and Will had laughed and said, “It’s supposed to be like that.”
Now Will stared at the sign with a faraway look on his face. Corinne wondered if it reminded him of her. She liked the idea of his thinking of her while he was cooking. And then, instantly, she hated that she’d just thought that. Her emotions were so scrambled that she felt tears prick her eyes.
Will stepped forward. “What is it?”
“I don’t know,” Corinne said, tilting toward the wall. “I’m confused. And I lied to you.”
Will looked up and blinked. “I know.”
“About this weekend. The crash. I’m not fine.” Then Corinne cocked her head. “Wait. How did you know I lied?”
Will raised one shoulder. “I sensed it,” he said, his voice not quite steady. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
Corinne shook her head, wondering if she shouldn’t have brought up the crash at all. Everything coming out of her mouth was wrong.
Will sat her down on the couch. “I heard the car started to sink.”
Corinne’s eyes filled with tears. “It all happened so fast. Thank God for my sister. She took charge.” And then she told him about swimming to shore, running to find a passing car, the ambulances coming and taking them away. Will listened patiently, his gaze never leaving her face.