Chapter 2 #2
Now I’m getting mad. Everyone’s in on it, even my family. I turn to the guy. “Look, I don’t know you, so for the love of God, stop calling me baby.” I twist back to my mother, whose perfectly plucked brows are raised by my outburst.
“Mum, I’m so glad you flew here, thank you — but why the hell is everyone saying I’m with this guy?”
Mum leans in to kiss my cheek, her powdery rose scent a small comfort in this strange reality.
She sits down with a sigh, taking my hand.
“Darling, I understand you’re confused, it must feel like we’re ganging up on you, but I promise we’re not.
The doctor said you can go home, the scan seemed healthy.
You’ll have outpatient sessions to help you with this memory loss, if it persists.
Let’s get you dressed and we’ll all go home, okay?
Laura and I will stay a few days, make sure you’re sorted out. ”
Home. The word seems the only bright point in a sea of darkness. At least home will make sense. But then I have a horrible thought.
“He’s not coming too, is he?” I can’t even look at Rob.
Mum and Laura glance at each other, and my mother pats my hand, providing scant comfort. “Of course he is, darling — Rob lives there, too. And don’t worry, he’ll take care of you.”
“So . . . where do you think I live?”
Please say Brooklyn, please say Brooklyn.
The man finally speaks. “We live close, baby — sorry, Josie. On Union Square. We moved in just before we got married.”
I look away. The realization I am not actually going home to the apartment I love begins to sink in.
“I live in Williamsburg,” I mutter.
There’s a heavy silence broken by Dr. Lin’s arrival. “How is the patient this morning?” She examines the clipboard in her hand. “Better? Physically, at least? . . . You’re clear to go, Josie. We’ll set up specialist appointments to monitor your amnesia.”
Mum smiles. “Thank you, doctor. We’re getting her ready now.”
“Here are some painkillers for the wrist and bruising. It’ll be sore for a while. No more than six a day. Feel better, Josie.” The doctor departs with her customary abruptness, having barely glanced at me.
“Right, let’s get you up, darling.” Mum looks across me at the bearded man. “Rob, her clothes?”
Behind me, Rob reaches into the tall bedside cabinet. Curiosity makes me turn to watch. He retrieves a pair of slim gray pants, a plum blazer, a gauzy blouse, gray ankle boots, and a bra and panties. I don’t recognize any of them, although I do have a similar blouse at home.
He hands me a watch, the face smashed, the hands stuck at 6.17. That must be when I had my accident.
“I’ll get that fixed for you.” Rob lays a silvery-gray trench, a burgundy purse, and my bike helmet, the one with the green flowers, on the armchair. The helmet is the only thing that’s mine.
“You were riding through Manhattan in this outfit?” Laura frowns, fingering the blouse. As a young mother in suburban England, she is usually in jeans and drives everywhere.
“Josie always rides in her work and social clothes.” Rob doesn’t wait for me to respond. “She refuses to stop riding, even though I’ve told her it’s dangerous. Says it’s much quicker to ride than get a car, and having money doesn’t mean we should throw it away.”
I half-smile at that — I’ve never said those words to this man, but it sounds a lot like me. And I do love riding past all those drivers stuck in gridlock.
“Well.” Mum’s tone is brisk. “No more riding for a bit, I think. Your bike was a write-off. Now, Josie, up!”
She helps me sit upright. I’m aware the man behind me can see my bare back and the top of my butt in the gap of my gown.
“Not with him here.”
“Oh. Sorry,” Rob mutters. He moves away.
Laura smiles sympathetically. “Give us a few minutes, Rob.”
His footsteps retreat, and the glass door closes.
“Now, sweetheart.” She hasn’t called me that since I was a child being punished for naughty behavior.
It’s a loving endearment but intended to soften something sterner.
“Put your undies on, and try to remember this is hard for Rob, too, you not remembering him. He loves you and wants to take care of you. Here are your trousers.”
I do as I’m told. What must this be like for him? He believes he is my husband. He certainly seems kind, and Mum, Laura and Suzie all clearly care about him.
“Sure, I can be nice.” I bare my teeth at my sister, in the fake grin we used to share as children. Even if she’s as deluded as the rest of them, having Laura in the room is reassuring.
The fact that I’m about to go to a home that isn’t mine, with a man who isn’t my husband, is too overwhelming a prospect to dwell on.
Clearly, I have no choice. I’ll stay there with Mum and Laura for a while, while everything gets, as Mum said, sorted out.
And I’ll call Peter and tell him about the accident.
That’s the only way I can deal with all of this craziness.
I’m glad to get out of the room. Ever since Dad died, I’ve hated the smell of hospitals.
The man I’m told is my husband is waiting in the corridor. “Ready?”
I shrug, following him out of the hospital, flanked closely by Mum and Laura.
In the parking lot, Rob beeps open a peacock-green Lincoln with cream leather interiors.
“Nice.” I can’t help but show my appreciation. It is nice.
He senses my hesitation at where to sit. “How about we let Iris ride shotgun and you go in the back?”
“Good idea,” I reply, as Mum starts to protest. “Really, Mum. I’m happier in the back with Laura.”
Rob drives expertly through the wide streets, quieter than usual after the morning rush. In less than ten minutes, he pulls into a well-kept alley behind a tall, glass-and-stone building overlooking Union Square Park. He gets out as a valet emerges from the back of the building.
“Welcome back, Mr. Billing. Happy to see the patient is with you.” The young man opens my mother’s door first, then mine. I step out onto the pavement, my body sore and stiff.
Rob hands him the keys. “Thanks, Will.”
“Recognize your building, darling?” Mum examines my face carefully.
I look about me. There’s visitor parking and a large double entrance door into the building. I don’t really recognize the tower, except it might have been on a recent episode of Luxury Listing NYC. If it’s the one I’m thinking of, the penthouse has an epic wraparound terrace.
“Sorry, no . . . Maybe I’ve seen it on TV?”
Laura puts her hand on my arm. “Don’t worry, it’ll come back.”
I doubt that, but say nothing. I avoid looking at Rob. I can almost feel his disappointment.
Rob flashes a fob at the side of the entrance doors, which swing open into an elevator corridor.
Beyond that, the opulent front lobby has a triple-height ceiling and a vast, modern, chainmail chandelier dripping luxuriously into the lofty space.
Past a tall set of glass doors is a hotel-style porte-cochère, with a smartly dressed concierge standing in its shade.
And beyond the entrance, the busy street of Union Square East and the park are gleaming in the late morning sunlight.
This place is intimidatingly glamorous.
Mum guides me into a wood-paneled elevator, and Rob presses the button for the eighteenth floor.
There are only nineteen and twenty above that.
I know from my job — and watching too many episodes of Luxury Listing NYC — that the better the view, the higher the price.
Seriously, how much money does this guy have?
The elevator doors open smoothly, and we step out in silence. Leading us to the end of a long corridor, Rob unlocks a set of double doors marked 1802 and throws them open.
I pause, taking it in.
The space inside is nothing short of gorgeous. We’re in a bright foyer with white flooring and a circular table with a huge vase of delphiniums and hydrangeas — my favorites. Despite my confusion, I feel a spark of joy at their beauty.
The high ceiling has elegant moldings, and the recessed lights cast a shimmer on a smaller version of the chandelier downstairs.
The central wall opposite displays a semi-abstract, moody ocean painting, with a gap to either side offering glimpses of the open space beyond.
I suspect this will be the most fabulous property I’ve ever seen — and, as a real estate journalist, I’ve been in some pretty spectacular places.
This is way too fancy to be my home.
“Anything ringing a bell?” asks my sister.
I shake my head. “It’s lovely, though.” My voice sounds floaty, like I’m not quite here.
“You chose it.” It’s first time Rob has spoken to me since the hospital. “Everything. I mean, I love it too, but I wanted you to have your dream home.” He pauses, as if waiting for me to say something. When I don’t, he dips his head. “You guys all want tea? Iris?”
Mum nods. “Please.”
I am still processing what Rob said. I chose this? All of it? I scan the room again, my gaze landing on countless lovely objects. How can I not remember?
“Three teas, please, Rob,” calls Laura, moving her case into a bedroom. I glimpse a painting I recognize before she closes the door and walks into the area beyond the wall.
“Come on, darling, let’s get you comfy on the settee.” Mum guides me forward, and the living space opens up before us.
Directly ahead, several steps lead down into a vast living-dining room with a wall of sliding doors beyond, through which I can see a wide terrace.
The ceiling height soars above this sunken area, which is flooded with light.
To my right, on the upper level, is a modern kitchen, complete with a marble island and leather bar stools.
Past the kitchen is another set of steps down into the living room, and another corridor beyond.
This place is unbelievable.