The floor of Gretchen’s living room is covered with toys, books, and the occasional garish, plastic dish or cup. Lydia stands by the door in her coat, trying to decide whether to pick her way through the wreckage to the couch or stay where she is. Out in the hall, she can hear Gretchen still apologising to the teenage babysitter.
“Sorry again. I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” The response is mumbled, and a moment later the front door closes.
“Everything okay?” Lydia calls over her shoulder.
“Yes, thank god.” Gretchen appears beside her and starts picking up bits and pieces of clutter and throwing them into a large, rectangular fabric container to the side of the room. “I don’t know what I would have done if she’d said no. It’s not like I can just take a day off. We’re severely understaffed as it is.”
“Is that what you were arguing with the warden about?” Gretchen’s head snaps around to look at her, and Lydia realises she may have overstepped her bounds. She always has trouble in social situations. If Gretchen were a subject she was interviewing, Lydia would instinctively know where the boundaries were, when she could push or break them and when to pull back. Not now. You’re in her home, she scolds herself. The rules are different. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”
“No, it’s okay.” Gretchen sets the small stack of books in her hands down on the coffee table. “It’s just a bit… you know.”
“Yeah.” Lydia understands. To be overheard receiving a dressing-down from your boss is embarrassing. She had accidentally robbed Gretchen of her professional dignity, and now here she was intruding on the chaos of her private life too. “I’m sorry, I should go.”
“No, please,” Gretchen looks at her earnestly, “at least stay for dinner. It’s the least I can do.”
She doesn’t really want to, but the poor woman’s eyes are pleading and her voice sincere, and together they conspire to melt Lydia’s frozen heart just enough. “Alright. Sure.”
“Great.” Gretchen beams. “I hope you like reheated lasagne.”
*
An hour, two plates of pretty decent lasagne and half a bottle of wine later, Gretchen pinches the stem of her glass between finger and thumb and swirls the deep red liquid within gently as she talks. “So then after he left, I didn’t really have much of a choice. Mortgage to pay and two kids to feed.”
“You never thought about applying for a job somewhere else? Someplace a little less…”
“Nightmarish?”
“I was going to say depressing, but…”
“Please, I work there. I know what it’s like.” Gretchen takes another sip of wine. “I mean I do my best to keep both parts of my life separate, you know? Like, work Gretchen and home Gretchen. Doctor and mom. But the human brain doesn’t work that way. You can’t voluntarily compartmentalise stuff.”
“It must be hard.” Lydia sips from a glass of water and resists the urge to check her phone for messages from Alex.
“You know what the worst part is?” Gretchen sits back and looks her right in the eye. “I’m terrified that I’m going to bring some of that evil, some of the wickedness that infects that place home with me, and pass it on to them.” She nods towards the ceiling.
“How would you even do that?”
“I don’t know.” Gretchen shakes her head. “It sounds crazy, doesn’t it? But I swear, some days I feel like I’m carrying something around with me. Clinging to me. Something dark.”
“If you like, I could put a good word in for you at this private hospital in New York? I’m sure with your experience they could find a place for you.”
“Really?” Gretchen’s whole face lights up, and Lydia catches a glimpse of how beautiful she must have been before life extracted its terrible toll.
“Sure, I’ll call them tomorrow.”
Gretchen’s eyes drift lazily off to one side and slip out of focus, and Lydia knows why. She’s imagining another life. A better life. A parallel universe where she’s happy again. Then her smile disappears, and her face falls. “No,” she says quietly. “It wouldn’t work.”
“Why not?”
“I’m already underwater on this house, bills, a pile of credit card debt. I’d have to pull together the deposit for a new place, and in New York? I mean…” She waves a hand helplessly.
“New York’s more than the Upper East Side and Carnegie Hill, you know. I’m sure we could find you someplace.”
“We?” Gretchen grins at her. “What, are you my realtor now?”
“I’m just saying—”
“Thanks,” Gretchen stops her. “I appreciate it, I do. But it’s…” a strange look overtakes her face, a haunted look that Lydia has seen somewhere before. “It’s not a good time.”
Lydia hesitates. “Something else going on at Mortem I should know about?”
“The less you know about that place the better,” Gretchen replied firmly. “Trust me, if you have any sense, you’ll chalk this whole trip down to experience and go write your book about something else.”
“That’s what he said,” Lydia mutters, rolling her eyes. “Everyone knows what’s best for me except me, I guess.”
“Who?”
“Huh?”
“You said that’s what he said. Who is he?”
“Oh,” Lydia’s hand moves instinctively towards her chest, fidgeting when she thinks of Alex, but she checks herself. “Just this detective I spoke to about Jason’s—”
“Horrendous trail of gore and misery?”
“Case.”
“Right.” Gretchen’s green eyes twinkle. “Tall fella? Brown eyes?”
“Yeah…” Lydia frowns. “How did you know?”
“I remember him visiting Jason a lot when he first arrived. Alex, right?”
“That’s him.”
“He’s cute.”
Lydia fixes Gretchen with a look, but she can’t help cracking a smile and Gretchen grins back. “Actually we went to school together, back in Philly.”
“Small world.”
“Yeah.” Lydia’s phone rings, and her hand shoots to her bag to fetch it out. “Speak of the devil,” she says, seeing Alex’s name on the screen. “Do you mind?” Gretchen waves an open hand, still grinning like a schoolgirl, and Lydia is torn between amusement and mild irritation as she lifts the phone to her ear. “Hey, we were just talking abo—”
“Lydia,” Alex interrupts her, his voice strained and distant. Is that the line, or is that him? “Something’s happened.”
Lydia’s expression tightens, her voice suddenly sharp. “What? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, but you need to see… you need to come…”
“You’re breaking up.” Lydia stands up, frowning. “Where am I supposed to come?”
“The museum.”
“The museum... where we were today?” She sounds surprised. What the hell is going on?
“Yes. Come to the front entrance. Tell them I asked for you.”
“Alex, what’s going on?”
“Please,” the line crackles. “Just come.”
“Alright.” She hangs up.
“What’s going on?” asks Gretchen.
“I don’t know.” Lydia lifts her leather jacket off the back of her chair and pulls it on. “He wants me to come to the museum.”
“Of modern art?” Gretchen looks as confused as Lydia feels.
“Yeah, we were there today and…” She frowns. “I don’t know, I guess something happened. I’m sorry to dash off like this.”
“No, it’s fine.” Gretchen gets up and walks her to the door. “I hope everything’s okay.”
“I’m sure it is.” Lydia pauses on the threshold. “I mean, why else would a man I’ve barely seen in twenty years demand that I meet him at a creepy museum in the middle of the night?”
“You know what men are like,” Gretchen replies, casually. “Maybe it’s some ill-conceived romantic gesture.”
“Maybe.” Lydia considers the proposition. “You know,” she eyes Gretchen suspiciously, “for a woman who does what you do, you have a remarkable talent for optimism.”
“I know. It’s my best quality.” Gretchen beams, and once again, for just a second, she looks ten years younger. “Take care, and thanks for the ride.”
Lydia’s thoughts have already turned to Alex before she reaches her car, running through various scenarios that might lead him to summon her to the museum in the middle of the night, each more unlikely than the last. But amidst her worry and confusion, she is distantly aware that Gretchen is still standing in the doorway watching her even as the red sports car pulls into the street and, with a low growl, accelerates off into the winter night.