Chapter 11 Lucy
LUCY
The following morning, I sit and stare at my laptop screen, still feeling the sharp edge of sexual frustration.
Normally, when I get an itch like this, I simply scratch it. I have a healthy relationship with sex and am comfortable with my boundaries. I’m as happy solo as I am with a partner.
But given my mother’s morning habit of stopping by my room when she feels like it, I resist. Sure, I locked my door, but even her knock would jolt me out of it. Although, I’m tempted to shower, just so I can have some privacy.
“Focus,” I mutter as I look at the spreadsheet of transactions I made from one of Dad’s notebooks overnight. It’s a bit like one of those puzzle books. Like, if the man in the green hat isn’t Paul, then what T-shirt is Jim wearing.
My phone vibrates, and another message from Henry pops up.
Henry: Do you know where we keep that little gadget to bleed the radiators? I can’t find it.
I lean back in my chair and look up at the ceiling.
When I divorced Grudge, I gave myself some time to mourn, then tried to convince myself that my future relationships would be even better.
But they weren’t. And the few colleagues I had who spoke about their relationships, never spoke about them in the wild and breathless and deeply connected way I’d felt about Grudge.
Would I have still divorced him if I’d known what I had with Zach was the real deal and nobody else would ever come close?
I tried with every part of my being to believe the whole “soul mates are bullshit” routine. Like, how could so many people divorce, or remarry after the death of a spouse, if that person wasn’t at least as good as the person they were with previously?
But then, I realized, sometimes there is only one person for you. And everyone that follows is a substitute. They’ll do a decent job of living up to the title of husband, wife, partner, whatever, but they won’t be the one you lost.
My phone vibrates again.
Henry: I know how much you hate the cold so want to make sure it’s warm when you get back.
Me: Please, stop trying. I’m not coming back. We’re done. I’m a long way from New York, so stop before I block you.
Through my childhood bedroom window, the sky is the kind of gray that suggests more snow is imminent.
I focus back on my laptop. I don’t trust anyone with what I found, so I quickly photographed everything and transferred it to my laptop and saved it in multiple locations.
But what I’ve learned makes me feel sick all over again.
My father set Grudge up because of the reputational damage of having a biker as a son-in-law.
He never went back to Justin Loeb to attack him a second time.
Instead, my father used an unnamed Midtown Rebel to pretend they were Grudge and break into Loeb’s apartment while he was sleeping and increase the severity of the assault.
I don’t know how everyone fell for it, except maybe they saw the Rebel’s build and assumed they were the same man.
The jury never truly listened to my testimony, that I remembered Zach was there with me when I fell asleep and when I woke.
Or a vague recollection of him holding me in the night when I cried.
And they never listened to his brothers, who were willing to verify they saw his bike at the clubhouse at various times of the evening.
Because my father had already ordained it that Grudge…
Zach…would take the fall. And he made me feel like he’d helped me out, getting Grudge’s sentence reduced, in return for the divorce, when it was possible he wouldn’t have been imprisoned at all for the assault he landed on Loeb in the first instance.
The walls of this house are closing in on me. Everything feels ill-fitting. Too tight. I can’t breathe. Quickly, I jump from the stool and pull on some track pants and a soft hoodie.
I throw all my things into my suitcase, including my old laptop that contains the videos of me and Zach, and drag everything to the hallway. Mom is with Dad right now. I don’t know where I’m going, I just know I can’t be in this house a moment longer.
I didn’t owe my father anything before I found out. I owe him even less, now. And not even my mother’s pleadings could persuade me to make a different choice.
In desperation, I take my father’s truck and fill it with my belongings.
But when I pull out of the driveway, I have no idea where I am going.
I sit at the junction onto the main road, and I don’t even know if I’m turning left or right.
My life was meticulously planned, and for whatever reason, everything is exploding. The only thing I know is that I’m going to get all the paperwork in order, to get Zach pardoned. He didn’t do what he was accused of, and expunging his record is something I can offer him to help soften the blow.
Resting my head on the steering wheel, I take a deep breath. Then, another.
I had a decent life in New York, perhaps a little lonely. I could just go back to it once I’ve righted the wrongs of my father. Try harder to build a circle of friends.
But then, I’d miss Colorado.
I turn right toward town, unsure where I’m headed beyond that. Maybe coffee and pastries will help while I figure it out, and it only takes ten minutes to drive there and find a parking space.
Eventually, I’ll need to face Zach, so I’m not sure if this is delaying the inevitable or fortifying myself with comfort food before I do.
I vaguely remember Quinn Moran. I think I was sandwiched between her and her sister at school. In fact, as I think on it, I remember that Melody Moran went missing, at some point.
I’m nosey enough to want to know if she ever returned.
The bakery smells delicious as I stand in line and look at the shelves stuffed full of sweet goods determined to tempt me. And given I couldn’t have an orgasm earlier, a thick and gloopy cinnamon roll with an unnatural amount of cream cheese icing is just what I need.
“What can I get you?” Quinn asks. “And is it for here or to go?”
I look around the light walls and airy vibe. “I’ll eat in. And I’d love a triple-shot latte and one of the cinnamon rolls, please.”
“Oh, good choice. I think we should be friends. Anyone who can handle a triple shot is worth getting to know.”
I smile as Quinn starts to make my coffee. “Years of law school. And I think we already know each other. We were at school together. Lucy De Bose. I think I was two years above you in school, and a few years below Melody.”
Quinn glances back at me, scrutinizes me for a second, then laughs. “Holy shit. I should have recognized you from your hair. I had mad envy for it when it was longer. You used to wear it up in this thick, messy bun, and I could never get my hair to look like that.”
I touch the edges of the bob. “You have no idea how much effort that took, though. This length is much easier.”
“Suits you. So, you’re a lawyer, now?”
I nod. “Yeah. I work in New York.” At least, I did. “I’m back here for a while, though, now. Assuming I don’t kill my parents.”
“That feels like something a lawyer might have a problem with.”
“I’d do a really good job of pleading my case. No judge would blame me.”
Quinn plates up a cinnamon bun. “You want this heated?”
I shake my head. “Don’t want all the icing to melt off.”
“Oh my gosh. Yes. I mean, I do it, but I hate that too.” She hands the plate to me, then returns to the coffee. “Where are you staying?”
“Up until ten minutes ago, I was staying at my parents’.
As of right now, I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing, to be honest. I wish there were one of those corporate rental type places that are all over New York.
Where you don’t know how long you are going to stay somewhere, so you can just settle for a second to find your feet while deciding what’s next. ”
“Kinsey,” she says to the woman working next to her. “Can you cover for a few minutes?”
“Of course.”
Quinn tips her head to the far end of the counter, where there is an opening to the kitchen. “Are you serious about needing a place? Because I might be able to help you out.”
I realize I am serious, and I have the funds to cover anything I want. “I am. Why?”
“One second.” She finishes off making my coffee and hands it to me. Then, she puts another cinnamon roll on a second plate. “This one’s for me. Come with me.”
I follow her through the back of the bakery to a door that currently stands open. “I used to live up here, but I recently moved in with my boyfriend. We literally just finished fixing it up to become a furnished rental. I’d happily let you take it on, say, a bi-weekly agreement if you wanted.”
We follow the staircase to another lockable door at the top.
Quinn grabs a set of keys in her pocket and unlocks it.
When we step inside, I immediately arrive in a nicely finished, bright apartment.
The kitchen counter is white marble with a narrow vein of gray.
The sink is lovely and deep. The chrome appliances reveal no expense has been spared.
“It’s beautiful, Quinn.”
“Thanks. It’s where my family lived, so it might be more space than you need. There are three bedrooms. But before I show you around, we should eat.”
She pulls out the stools at the breakfast bar. “Please. Sit. Damn, I should have made myself a coffee. Do you want to have a quick peek while I go make one? No pressure to take it, obviously.”
“Sure.” I nod. “That’d be great.”
Quinn heads back down the stairs, and I step into the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. I pass a beautiful bathroom, with a large white claw-foot tub.
There are two equally sized bedrooms, each painted a restful white with accents in denim blue and sunflower yellow.
There is no bedding on the bed, but the mattress is still in thick plastic wrapping, showing just how new everything is.
The main bedroom is beautiful, with an en suite bathroom in moody gray slate tile and dark marble. Sunlight pours into the bedroom through two large windows facing Main Street.
At the other end of the hallway is the main living room. It’s a large space with a wood table that seats eight, and a large sectional sofa. I’m just checking out the view from the window when Quinn reemerges with a coffee.
“Sorry about that. Please, come eat.”
I follow her back to the kitchen. “Your apartment is beautiful,” I say.
“Thank you. It’s been a journey.” Quinn smiles at me. “But it’s yours. If you want it.”