1. One Month Earlier
Chapter 1
One Month Earlier
“ I can carry these, John. It’s not necessary—”
John jumped forward and took the shopping bags out of her hand. He gave her a slight shake of his head and motioned for her to walk ahead of him. “No can do, Mrs. Taylor. It’s my job.”
Amy gave him a small smile, her black heels clicking steadily against the gleaming hardwood floors of the lobby. When she reached the elevator, she pressed the button and shifted from one foot to the other. John, an eager and bright-eyed thirty-year-old who’d been their doormen for the past ten years, waited alongside in his crisp and pressed red-and-gold uniform, his blond hair slicked back. The doors to the gray-colored elevator pinged open, and Amy stepped on, pausing to take the bags from John when someone else called out for him.
Across the lobby, the glass doors slid open, revealing Mrs. George, their neighbor from across the hall. She hurried across, an expensive white fur coat draped over her shoulders and her black five-inch heels making a steady clicking sound. Reluctantly, Amy held the door open for her until she stepped on, the smell of her sickly-sweet perfume wafting up Amy’s nostrils. As soon as the doors pinged shut, trapping them together, Amy immediately regretted it.
Even on a good day, she didn’t like Mrs. George.
The elderly woman with her bleached teeth, platinum-blond hair, and pounds of makeup slathered on her face was both cruel and envious and never missed a chance to make Amy feel smaller than she already did. So much so that Amy often went out of her way to avoid the woman altogether and plastered an insincere smile on her face whenever they were forced into the same circles. Even now, as Mrs. George examined her reflection in a small mirror, Amy felt anxious.
She knew the older woman was getting ready to pounce.
When Mrs. George placed long, red, manicured nails on Amy’s arm, she knew it was over.
And there was nowhere else for her to go while she pleaded for the elevator to go faster.
“When were you going to tell me that charming husband of yours got a new car?”
Amy laughed weakly. “Oh, you know what men are like. They love their new toys.”
Mrs. George threw her head back and laughed, the sound like grating nails against a chalkboard. “Yes, my Richard is the same.”
Amy tried to inch away from her neighbor, but the old woman dug her nails in hard enough that Amy wondered if they were going to leave marks. “You look well, Mrs. George.”
Mrs. George’s grip on Amy’s arm tightened, and her catlike green eyes lit up with triumph and humor. “Thank you, dear. You know, I have the number of an excellent plastic surgeon. I can ask him to squeeze you in. You look like you could use it.”
Amy tilted her head in Mrs. George’s direction and counted backward from five before responding. “That’s very kind of you, Mrs. George, but it’s not necessary.”
Mrs. George tossed her hair over her shoulders and waved her comment away. “Of course, it is, especially with Eric’s new promotion.”
Amy’s stomach clenched. “Promotion?”
“Oh, look at you. Acting like you don’t know. The whole building is talking about it, and you know, because of his connection to the mayor, he’s a shoo-in. You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if he ran for office.”
Amy’s thoughts tripped over each other, all in their haste to get out.
A promotion meant he’d be spending less time at home, but it also meant he’d be more stressed out. She couldn’t decide if it was a good thing or a bad thing, and as her neighbor rambled on about anything and everything she could think of, Amy was only half-listening. On the twelfth floor, when the doors finally pinged open, Amy hurried out and pretended to get a phone call. She offered her neighbor an awkward half-wave as she raced down the carpeted hallway. The door to the penthouse clicked open; Amy stepped in and immediately froze.
The smell of brandy filled the air, and quiet jazz music played in the background.
Eric was home early.
Slowly, carefully, Amy let the door click shut behind her and kicked off her shoes. She carried them over to the shoe rack, treading lightly the entire time. When she spun around, shopping bags still in hand, Eric was leaning on the kitchen counter, watching her intently. Her hand flew to her chest, and her heart missed a beat as she bent down to pick up a few of the items that had rolled onto the floor. After shoving the ham, packs of cheese, and tomatoes back into the bag, she rose back up to her feet with as much dignity and grace as she could muster.
He was still watching her, the same unnerving glint in his eyes.
Her eyes darted around the room, looking for the source of his anger, but she found none.
Still, she knew it didn’t mean it didn’t exist.
Eric was always finding an excuse to be mad at her or a reason to ridicule her, and as much as she hated to admit it, she had gotten used to it.
Forcing a half-smile to her lips, Amy set the bags down on the counter. Then she hung her tailored brown coat up behind the door, leaving her in a pair of wide-leg pants and a beige oversized tunic.
She was rummaging through the bags, taking out the groceries, when Eric finally spoke, “Out spending money again?”
“I was picking up a few things for lunch,” Amy replied, keeping her tone as light as possible. “And I picked up a few things for Judy, June, and Beth.”
Eric snorted. “It’s easy to spend someone else’s money, isn’t it?”
A wave of unease washed over her.
Amy waited for a few moments before answering, doing her best to keep the tremor out of her voice. “Sylvie was telling me they’re doing this part-time program for seniors. Anyone over fifty is welcome to apply.”
Eric lifted the glass up to his lips and eyed her over the rim. “You’re not qualified. Why would they want to hire you? You haven’t even had a job since you worked that entry-level job at the magazine.”
Amy’s stomach tightened into knots. “Yeah, but the good news is they don’t need people with experience. It’s sort of like an outreach program, and it’s only a couple of times a week.”
Eric set his glass down with a little more force than necessary, causing some of the liquid to slosh over. “And who would be here to take care of the house?”
Amy finished setting out the rest of the stuff and suddenly wished she had something else to do, anything to keep her hands busy and to keep her from having to look at Eric directly.
“Let me guess. Marie will be here,” Eric interrupted in a vicious voice. “Maybe I’ll send Marie away. She’s an unnecessary expense when I have a wife who is perfectly capable of handling everything on her own.”
Amy’s mouth turned dry. “I—of course. I didn’t mean to—”
Eric held a hand up and leveled her with an angry look. “No, you never mean to, do you? You don’t think, and you don’t consider. It’s like being married to a child.”
A hard knot formed in the center of her stomach as Eric finished his drink and put his glass down ever so carefully. “I’m sorry. I’m making your favorite food today.”
Eric made a low noise in the back of his throat, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused now. “Don’t bother. I’m going out to dinner.”
With that, he spun on his heel and disappeared into the bedroom.
Hastily, Amy shoved the bag with her grandchildren’s clothes underneath the sink. She was shutting the cupboard and trying to ignore the racing of her heart when Eric emerged, a thin steam following behind him. He looked put together in a custom-made suit with his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back and a determined gleam in his eyes. With one last dismissive look over his shoulder at her, he pulled the door shut behind him.
Amy was chopping up vegetables when he stormed in a short while later, his face flush with anger. “The elevator is being fixed. Why am I surrounded by incompetent idiots?”
Amy pressed her lips together and didn’t say anything.
She knew nothing was going to calm him down anyway.
Whenever he was on a rampage, it was better for her to nod along and let him get it all off of his chest or risk being fodder. After years of experimenting, she’d finally got the message. Now, as she moved around the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards, Eric muttered in the background. He was tugging on his tie and rifling through the kitchen when he came across the drawer where she hid the bag full of clothes.
Scowling, he took the bag and threw it into the trash can. “They don’t need any more clothes. Buy them something useful, for heaven’s sake.”
After running a hand over his face, Eric took his phone out and left again.
For a long time, Amy stood there, staring at the trash can in disbelief. With shaking hands, she pulled it out from under the sink, got down on her hands and knees, and rifled through it. She didn’t realize she was crying until her shoulders began to shake. Gingerly, she rose back up to her feet and stumbled into the guest bathroom. Bright fluorescent lights nearly blinded her as she took the clothes out and filled the sink up with water.
In the kitchen, she took her phone out and called her daughter.
Sylvie answered on the fifth ring, sounding harried and out of breath. “Hey, Mom. I can’t talk for long. I’m about to step into a meeting. Is everything okay?”
Amy cradled the phone between her neck and shoulder. “It’s fine. I just wanted to check in. How’s Stan? And how are the girls?”
“Stan is on a business trip,” Sylvie replied, conversation rising and falling around her. “The girls are fine. I haven’t seen them in a while, actually. We should all plan something soon.”
Amy’s heart swelled with joy and happiness, making it feel like it was twice its size. “I’d love that. I could take you all out to dinner. There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk about—"
Sylvie was rarely the first one to suggest they make plans.
Amy was afraid that if she waited too long, her daughter would be too busy.
Again.
Sylvie’s voice sounded far away; then, it came back on clearer than before. “Mom, I’m sorry. Can we talk about this later? I’ve got another phone call. Love you.”
Amy gripped the phone tighter and ignored the low thrumming in her ears. “Sure, I can make plans for dinner—”
Before Amy could finish the rest of her sentence, the line went dead.
With a sigh, Amy cut the chicken into thin strips and tossed it into a pan, pausing to drizzle some olive oil, paprika, and a sprinkle of cinnamon. After covering the pan, she scrolled through her contacts and paused at Lucas’s number.
He picked up on the second ring, yelling at someone in the background. “Hey, Mom. Is everything okay?”
Amy sniffed, the words lodged in her throat. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Are you and Susan free for dinner tonight?”
Lucas said something else in the background. “I’m sorry, Mom, but I’m pulling an all-nighter. The DA is burying me with paperwork, and we really need to prep for this case.”
Disappointment settled, hard and heavy, in the pit of Amy’s stomach. “What about Judy? I miss my granddaughter.”
“She’s traveling with a few friends, but Susan and I can set something up when she’s back.”
Amy swallowed back the disappointment.
It wasn’t that her kids didn’t care, but she’d raised them to have their own lives. To be independent and hardworking and to put their families first.
She knew she shouldn’t be upset she was on the outskirts, especially when she knew the kids had no idea what her marriage was really like. Still, as she came up with an excuse to end the call with Lucas after hearing Eric in the background, Amy suddenly realized she was well and completely alone.
If she ended up collapsing into a heap on the floor, how long would it be before anyone found her?
Amy’s chest tightened as she switched off the stove and transferred the food into containers. After putting them in the fridge, she walked into their bedroom and lingered in the doorway. The king-sized bed was far too large for her liking, the flower patterns on the wall too dull, and the olive bed sheets Eric had picked out too neat.
None of it felt like it was hers.
She was a stranger in her own home, and she was surprised by how good it felt to rip the sheet away. Amy left it in a heap on the floor and reached for the pillows, throwing them haphazardly over her shoulders. Her heart was pounding when she turned her attention to the closet and threw an armful of her clothes onto the bed. Each act of defiance made her feel better, and somehow, the fact Eric was going to hammer into her when he got home didn’t scare her.
If anything, it emboldened her, at least until the entire room was in a state of disarray, and the tightness in her chest still hadn’t abated.
Amy’s hands shook as she got down on her knees and pulled a bag out from under the bed. She unzipped it, threw it onto the bed, and stared at it for a long time. With Lily’s words playing out in her head, she found herself filling the bag up, adding her clothes, toiletries, and a few sentimental belongings she’d hidden in a secret compartment in the closet, full of mementos from when the children were younger.
Once she was done, she perched on the edge of the bed and swallowed. “What are you doing, Amy? What on Earth are you doing?”
In the silence of their penthouse apartment, Amy Gruntle sat in the middle of her room, surrounded by clothes and sheets and pillows littering the entire floor, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when she glanced up at the clock and realized how late it was. Not when she stood up and saw the flush in her cheeks and the wild glint in her eyes in the bathroom as she splashed cold water on her face.
And not when she changed out of her heels and into a pair of comfortable flats.
With one hand in the closet, rummaging through her secret compartment, Amy kept the other hand pressed into the carpeted floor. Her heart was still hammering uneasily when she pulled out a purse full of cash. In a daze, she tossed it into the bag and hoisted it off the bed. In the bathroom, she avoided looking at her reflection directly.
Amy had one hand on the knob when fear slammed into her again, making her take a few steps back.
A small tremor raced through her, and Amy draped an arm over her stomach.
She didn’t want to stop and get sick.
Not here, not now.
Not when her racing mind might seize the opportunity and talk her out of it.
Amy hated the idea of one more delay or one more excuse to be in her gilded prison a minute longer.
Slowly, she glanced at the luxurious apartment, bathed in the soft glow of the moon, and she waited for the familiar resignation. When it didn’t come, she patted Lily’s letter, burning a hole through her pocket, and released a deep, shaky breath. With trembling fingers, she took out her laptop, set it down on the counter, and drummed her fingers while she waited for it to start. As soon as it did, she drafted an email before she could change her mind.
After timing the email to make sure it was sent a few hours from now, Amy snapped her laptop shut. She put it away and gave the apartment one final look, expecting to feel something, anything for the place that had been her home for the better part of twenty years. All Amy felt as she slammed the door shut behind her and turned the lock was relief.
The feeling stayed with her as she pulled her sunglasses down over her head and wheeled her bag out behind her. In the elevator, she kept wiping her hands on the back of her jeans. When the doors pinged open, she tightened her shawl and glanced around the half-empty lobby. Amy resisted the urge to tap her feet as the doors finally shut again.
Breathing out a sigh, she leaned against the wall and squeezed her eyes shut.
A blast of hot air hit her in the face as she stepped out into the garage, where rows and rows of new luxury cars were parked. Her feet were light and soundless as she wandered through the lot, a growing sense of unease building in the back of her skull. She was about to turn around and go back when her canary yellow car, the same one she’d bought with her first paycheck, peeked out at her on the far side of the lot.
Running her fingers over the outside, Amy felt some of the knots in her stomach tighten.
She shoved her bag in the back, slammed the door shut, and pressed her face against the cool metal. A heartbeat later, she took the key out of her pocket and got into the front seat. When she turned the key in the ignition and eased her foot onto the gas, a jolt went through her. Amy hunched lower in her seat and gripped the steering wheel with both hands.
As soon as she drove out of the parking lot and onto the empty streets of the city, Amy felt like she could breathe again. And the farther away she drove from Eric, and the only life she’d ever known, the better she felt.
Miles away from the city, she turned up the music, rolled down the window, and stuck one hand out, with nothing but the trees, the moon, and an empty highway for company.
Amy could hardly believe she’d finally plucked up the courage to leave Eric.
Or that she was driving away in search of the peace Lily promised her she’d find, far, far away from her husband.
She prayed her stepdaughter knew what she was talking about.