Chapter 21: Door

It was a Tuesday night in December, and the snow was coming down sideways.

I climbed three flights of stairs in Pilsen with a manila envelope under my arm.

Clarence had given me the address on a napkin.

"He sold the penthouse in August," he had said.

"He lives over a bakery. I'd say it's an improvement, but I'm biased toward bread."

I stood on a landing that smelled like cinnamon, in front of a green door with a brass number four.

It had been nineteen weeks since the gala.

Harvey had not called once.

He had not texted, or sent flowers, or sat on a stoop.

He had not done any of the things I had told myself I would hate.

Four months ago I would have called that a relief.

Tonight I had stood in my studio for an hour with my coat on, furious that it wasn't.

I knocked.

Footsteps crossed a wooden floor.

The door opened on a chain.

Then it closed, and the chain slid off, and it opened again.

Harvey stood in the light in a grey sweater with the sleeves pushed up.

He was heavier than he'd been in July.

The shadows were gone from under his eyes.

There was a pair of reading glasses pushed up into his hair, and a paperback open facedown in his left hand.

He looked at me.

"Cassia," he said.

"Hi."

"I'm sorry." He took a step back from the door, and then another.

He put his empty hand flat against his chest.

"I didn't call. I promised I wouldn't. Is something wrong? Is it Maddie? Is it your mother?"

"Nobody's hurt."

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