49. Salem
SALEM
I shift the car into Park and stare up at the four-story white house with a gray roof that looks wider than my brownstone and my neighbor’s put together.
Climbing out, I open the back door and grab the cake box from the floor.
Balancing the box with one hand, I lock the car.
Though, looking around at the quiet suburban street, I doubt I have to.
My phone vibrates when I’m a few feet away from the door. I balance the box as I click play on the audio message.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Jones. This is Mr. Chen. We caught a lead in the search for Denzel. You may recall that for the more difficult cases, my team and I outsource a couple of hours to a larger agency with more resources. A junior agent there caught a break. Denzel was seen entering Mexico by car a couple of weeks ago, shortly after you reported talking to him on the phone. His whereabouts in Mexico are unknown, but we’re confident we’ll have more information soon. I’ll be in touch again shortly.
Mexico? I stare at my phone.
With who?
What for?
Placing my phone on top of the box, I wipe my palm against my sweater and then tap the audio record button.
“H-hi, Mr. Chen—” I stop recording and take a deep breath. My parents were also copied on the message. I need to sound calm for them.
I start to hit record again when a car pulls in behind me.
I turn and wave.
“Salem, is that you?” Liz, Blue’s mother, asks as she climbs out of the car, grinning widely.
“Hi, Liz. I came to check on Ana?s. How is she?”
“How very sweet of you.” She pulls some grocery bags from the trunk. “It was touch and go at first, but I think we figured out the right meds schedule.”
I move to help her, but she says, “It’s okay. They’re light. Come in.”
“Is she in a lot of pain?” I ask.
“She’s a silent sufferer, like her brother.
” She reaches into her purse and pulls out her keys.
“I only know because I’m keeping track of her meds, and she’s needed more painkillers than the schedule allows.
The doctor said it’s fine, as pain management is important for the first few days, but she had a tough morning. ”
She opens the door and removes her shoes, and I follow suit. I look down at my socks, not sure what I’m feeling. She catches me and smiles. “Heated marble.”
“Oh.”
I keep meaning to look into that.
I follow her past a polished brass and glass elevator that has a chandelier with crystal birds sitting atop a brass branch.
She quirks an eyebrow over her shoulder.
“Sorry?” I ask, realizing I missed something.
She nods to the box.
“Oh, I made her favorite.”
This time her brows sweep down and bunch together.
“Uh, Fraisier cake,” I say.
“Oh.” She nods. “She calls you her new bestie.”
I smile. “Beautiful home,” I observe as we pass a grand room with sculptures and mounted art.
“Thank you,” she replies, placing her bags on the kitchen counter and helping me offload the cake.
“May I?” she asks, her hands on the lid.
“Of course.” I step back so she can peel it open.
Phew. It didn’t shift on the drive.
“Salem…it’s stunning.” She covers her mouth. “Are those real flowers?”
“Mm.” I stare at the flower crown dusted with sugar pearls atop the traditional French cake made from sponge, cream, and fresh strawberries. “They’re edible.”
She pulls out her phone. “It reminds me of water lilies for some reason.” She snaps a picture of the cake. “Have you ever been to Monet’s garden in Giverny?”
“Uh, Giverny?”
“In the region of Normandy in France.” She snaps another picture. “With your eye for beauty, I think you might enjoy it. One second.”
She returns with a glass cake platter. After I lower the sides of the box, she lifts the cake and slides it on.
“Goodness, it really is exquisite.”
“You have to taste it first,” I tease.
She laughs as she retrieves plates, utensils, and a cake knife.
The glass-paneled elevator faces a window, and as we rise to the third floor, it feels like we’re scaling the row of trees.
“This way,” Liz says as I look left and right down the long hallway. “Third door on the right.”
Liz gently twists the handle and peeks in. “Good, you’re awake,” she says, then steps inside. “You have a visitor.” Liz nods for me to enter.
Extending the cake first, I announce, “Special delivery.”
“Whoa,” Ana?s says, her voice a little hoarse. “Is that you, bestie?”
“Guilty.” I chuckle.
She’s nestled in the middle of a large bed, under the covers and surrounded by pillows, including a wedge pillow that’s propping her up. Natural light pours in through the triple-arched windows. Her eyes crinkle at the corners. “I knew you’d come.”
“I brought your favorite.” I pad over and lower the cake to give her a view.
She grabs her glasses from the nightstand and thumbs them on. “Oh. My. God.” Her toothy grin stretches wide.
“Isn’t it exceptional?” Liz exclaims.
“Still have to taste it first,” I remind her.
She waves her hand over the cake toward her nose. “God, the scent.”
“Oh, I used date syrup for the cream, and gluten-free flour for the sponge. I promise it’s still delicious. The decorations are sugar-based, unfortunately, but I made it easy to pluck off so you can skip ’em. I read that sugar and gluten can cause inflammation.”
Ana?s turns to Liz. “Can we adopt him?”
“Sure.” Liz laughs. “Though it might make things awkward for Arnie.”
Ana?s looks at me and offers a sympathetic smile. So, she knows.
Of course she knows.
“May I offer you tea or coffee? Mint would probably go well. Or Cinnamon?” Liz asks.
Ana?s and I both answer, “Cinnamon,” as Liz makes space for the cake on the coffee table across the room.
“Pull up a chair.” Ana?s gestures to one of the two armchairs.
After Liz leaves and I pull up a chair next to the bed, Ana?s removes her glasses and says, “I’m glad I wasn’t part of the breakup.”
I arch my eyebrows.
“I know you weren’t, like, a couple-couple, but it still feels like a breakup to me.”
“Yeah, well, my bond with you is tight.” I extend my fist to her, and she bumps it.
“He misses you. Like, really misses you. He knows he could have handled things better. He’s never been in a relationship. And that’s not an excuse; it’s just a fact.”
“Ana?s—”
“I know. I need to mind my business. Can you blame me, though? I really want you to marry Arnie and join our family.”
Time for a change of subject. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I had adhesions cut off my organs,” she tells me, then reverts to the previous topic. “So, do you think you’ll work it out?”
I shake my head, fighting a grin as she clasps her hands together under her chin and blinks rapidly.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “The whole situation left me feeling kinda disposable, when I thought I meant more to him.”
“You’re not disposable to him. Not in the slightest. This is gonna sound like semantics, but it’s not that there was another man. It’s just that another man triggered feelings from a time when he was at his worst mentally. Did he ever talk to you about that time in his life?”
I shake my head.
She opens her mouth, then closes it. “It’s not my story to tell.
It’s just…he wasn’t doing well. And while it hasn’t gotten that bad since, it still gets really bad for him in here.
” She taps the side of her head. “You’re dating someone who struggles with his mental health.
He retreats when he should reach out. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
It’s like breathing for him. Have you ever dated anyone like that? ”
I shake my head. “No. I ha— Ah!” I shriek as a blur of fur jumps into my lap.
Ana?s bursts out laughing. “That’s Alfie. He’s especially gifted at stealth attacks.”
“Christ.” My shoulders drop as I pet the furball who decides to couch himself on my lap.
Sighing, I say, “I heard everything you said. I just need time.”
“That’s good. It’s hopeful. I’d be sad if you were adamant that you’re through with him.”
“He makes me…grrr. He got into it at the game the other day, and I was ready to fight the army of security guards who were closing in on him.”
“I caught that game. He filled me in afterward. You looked ready to go to war.”
“I’m a chill dude. But come for me or mine, and…” I mutter.
Ana?s beams at me, flashing her teeth.
“What’s that smile for?”
“You just called him yours.”
I focus on petting Alfie and change the subject again. “They have a lead in the investigation to find Denzel.”
“Is he okay?”
“I don’t know. He was seen entering Mexico.”
“Huh. He has friends there?”
I blow out a breath. “I don’t know.”
“How are you holding up?”
Liz returns with the tea.
I nod that I’m okay.
She frowns, like she’s not sure she believes me.
The rest of the afternoon breezes by with easy conversation. We finished off three-quarters of the cake, and they made me promise to come back and teach them how to make it.
Heading to my car, I check my phone and see a missed call from Lucien.
“Hey. Isn’t it late in Paris?” I ask when he answers my call.
“I flew into New York on a red-eye this morning.”
“Ah.”
“Are you free to meet me for dinner?” he asks.
“Uh…” I stare down at my sweater and jeans. “Sure. Somewhere casual?”
“How about the Chapel?” he suggests.
“Cool. See you in an hour.”