2. Then
TWO
then
I expect there’s some mediocre circle of Hell that mimics New York City in August.
One for mundane evil—insurance executives, debt collectors, student loan agents. People who don’t quite rise to the level of brutal torture but still need to languish in mild persecution forever. Like the devil’s own white-collar prison.
Sometimes, I wondered if I was in it.
Especially there, underground, in the subway station on Fulton.
My watch stared back at me, showing the same time it had twenty seconds before.
7:14 p.m.
The same time my iPhone displayed. I checked them a lot, lately, restlessly flicking my attention down to my wrist, mashing my thumb into the button along the side of my phone screen.
It was an odd feeling—always being on edge, waiting for nothing. At least there, on the platform, I could convince myself that I was anxious for the train to arrive. Just like I told myself I was simply waiting for work to end, waiting for class to start or finish, waiting for whatever takeout delivery.
Just then, with an actual reason to feel impatient, I almost believed it.
The tunnel felt like a giant exhaust pipe. No air. Just fumes. A herd of small-time Wall Street traders crowded behind me, mouth-breathing. They pushed forward as the wail of the C train approached.
I didn’t find them as annoying as I usually did, that day. With their hangdog faces and sweat-stained dress shirts, I felt for the poor bastards. Clearly, most of them had a hell of a day.
I knew I had.
We all packed ourselves into a car, shuffling to fill the available space. I picked a pole in the right side of the crush and glanced around, finding the typical mix of Wall Street pikers and Brooklyn night-shifters, all on their way uptown. Too many people, packed into too little space.
I decided that I hated the damn subway.
I need to talk to Dad about getting a company car . If he insists I haul my ass down here to work every week until graduation, the least he could do is lend me one of Stryker he didn’t so much as glance at me after that.
Years before, someone ogling her would have annoyed me. I’d since learned that it happened way too often to get worked up about it every time. Even in her casual Saturday morning wrap dress, no one ignored Jacqueline Stryker.
I inherited most of my features from her; the black hair; the green eyes; and her Mediterranean complexion. On me, the combination fell somewhere just north of ordinary. But not for my mother.
Of all my father’s many treasures—and he had a few—he often said that she was the most beautiful. The rarest. Luckily, the six-carat Harry Winston on her left hand made her status crystal clear.
Mom took most things in stride, including her husband’s possessiveness and her many admirers. Calm and politely indifferent to the waiter’s attention, she sat back in her chair, adjusting her white dress and canting her head at me. “You’re distracted today, mi amor .”
Calm, polite, and perceptive.
It was an irritating combination. Too relaxed to argue with. Too sure of herself. Too right.
Sometimes, I wondered if I’d get away with more if I weren’t an only child. Having her insight targeted on me twenty-four-seven was equal parts exasperating and—if I was honest with myself—comforting.
I sighed, reaching up to rub the back of my neck. Checked my watch again.
11:54 .
“I’m fine.” Because I was .
She kept her expression smooth, watching me with certainty so complete, I started to doubt myself.
Aren’t I fine?
My grades were fine. My apartment was fine. I worked out, went out, didn’t do anything addictive with any sort of regularity. My family was fine. Working with Dad at Stryker a slow, building glow. Warmth washed out from my center, trails of heat tingling into my extremities.
The subway stopped abruptly, breaking our spell. She glanced up at the map behind her and stood in a rush, ducking to avoid my gaze.
“Excuse me.”
Her soft voice heated my blood as she brushed past me on her way out of the car. I turned my head and opened my mouth, but nothing came out. She disappeared before I could speak, but her sweetness lingered all the way Uptown.