CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN AUGUST

The subway screeches to a stop.

“Is it weird?” I ask, as the voice announces the station.

We’re all standing next to each other after the dress fiasco, as passengers disembark. I’m on my way back to the apartment to finish my day remotely.

Lainey loosens her grip on the grab hold. “Maybe he was just being nice.”

“Yeah,” Melody agrees, moving away for some final stragglers jumping on the train. “You’re probably overthinking it.”

“I don’t know,” I say, as the train jerks to a start. I monitor my toe to avoid any nearby foot traffic. Lainey grabs the grip, and Melody has her arm looped around the pole since she can’t reach the hooks. “It just seemed kind of … Pretty Woman to me.”

“Kinda,” Melody admits.

“Like he’s being a savior, but I don’t need a savior.” Or showing off his money. She doesn’t know anything. “I’m sure it was nothing but …”

Lainey ducks her head as the train hits a curve. “You could just return it. Get a dress your mom can afford.”

“What did your mom say?” Melody asks, adjusting the strap of her satchel.

“You know her,” I say, moving my feet to keep my balance. “She didn’t want to cause any trouble.”

No one speaks for a moment. A little girl down the row whispers to her father, pointing to us, probably amazed at Lainey’s height. The father smiles.

“Do you think it’s a little … controlling?” Melody asks, swinging on the pole to face me.

As usual, Melody plumbs right down to the heart of the issue. Is it controlling? Or just loving? Like the time when I called the Stanford loan office, asking why the automatic payments had stopped. Yes, they had stopped, because someone had paid off my debt. My one-hundred-thousand-dollar debt.

“I don’t know,” I answer, truthfully.

After a pause, Melody speaks again, digging in her satchel for some gum. “Do you ever feel like you’re in the first scene of Music Man when you’re standing on a train like this?”

“No,” we answer, in unison.

The little girl approaches us, holding something. She glances back at her father for support, who motions her ahead. Then she stops about a foot away from us. “Are … you … Lainey Trevor?”

“Um,” Lainey says, in a low voice. “Yeah.”

The girl beams and thrusts out a piece of paper and a pen. “Can I have your autograph?”

Lainey blushes three shades and stammers, “Yeah, sure, of course.”

The train jerks to a stop, and the little girl stumbles as Lainey grabs the neck of her coat, keeping her upright. Now, the little girl blushes. “Thanks,” she says.

Lainey hands her back her signed paper and pen. “No problem.”

Limping back to the apartment, I tell Wiley about the phone call with Eli and the crypto letter. I just can’t hold it in anymore. The day has turned sweltering, the hot scent of garbage arising from the sidewalk vents.

“Just ask him,” Wiley says. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical explanation.”

“I know, I should,” I say, waiting at a corner as a taxi whizzes by, horn bleating in its wake. “But it’s like the longer it goes, the harder it is to ask.”

The sound of crunching chips comes over the phone. “All I know is this. If you’re going to get married, you probably shouldn’t have any secrets.”

“Right,” I say, crossing the street with the masses. “And have you told Josie about how you slept with her cousin?”

“Once,” they say, sounding defensive. “Before we were really serious. And he’s not even really a cousin, more like a second cousin twice removed or something.”

“I’m sure that will make all the difference.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“I’m not de—”

“You so are. Here’s the thing. Either you trust him, so you tell him and try to figure this out. Or you’re afraid that maybe he’s hiding some awful secret … like … bestiality or something.”

“Bestiality?” I pull my head back. This gets a few stares from my fellow pedestrians. It seems bestiality is a bridge too far even for New Yorkers.

“Or something,” Wiley emphasizes. “Oh shit. Sorry. I gotta go. Got a meeting in like two seconds. But … tell Smokeshow what’s going on. Please.”

“Okay, okay,” I grumble. “I will.”

I see our block coming up as we hang up when the phone vibrates with a text in my hand.

I can meet with you, but near me in Hudson Valley

Okay, thank you, I type back. When? Where?

How about this Saturday?

Works for me.

Okay, 1 pm. Meet me at the Cooper

1414 Genesee Street

See you there, I write back.

It’s Adam Redmond’s number. The stepfather.

I feel myself smiling. Finally, one thing is going my way.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you. Or your mom. Honestly, I didn’t.”

Jay and I sit next to each other on the couch, while Babushka perches on an ivory-tassled pillow. Jay combs his hair with his fingers.

“But you have to understand how it was presented to me. Caitlyn said you really wanted that dress and were super upset that you couldn’t get it.”

This sets my teeth on edge. “Does that sound at all like me?”

He shrugs, his expression abashed. “No, not really.”

“Then I think Caitlyn misled you.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he agrees. “Or the saleswoman misled her.”

“Maybe,” I admit, as Babushka leaps into my lap. “Anyway, I’m not getting it. I’ll go somewhere else with my mom.” Somewhere Caitlyn hasn’t recommended, I add, in my head. “But I do appreciate the thought.”

He nods, then after a pause, slaps his knees.

The cat startles.

“Okay. That’s settled, then,” he says, with an air of relief and pops up to a stand. “So now the real question is … what should we do for dinner? A curry, I’m thinking?”

But that’s not the real question. The words tickle my lips.

Did you take care of her? It’s now or never.

“Or Chinese, maybe?” he asks, misinterpreting my silence.

“Jay,” I say. “I have to ask you about something.”

“Okay,” he says, looking alerted by my tone. Slowly, he sits back down.

My mouth gets sticky dry.

“What?” he asks, with some alarm. “What is it?”

“At the tasting,” I say, taking a deep breath. “I saw a text from Eli. I didn’t mean to pry, but your phone was face up, and I saw it. It said “Did you take care of her?”

His face turns ashen, beads of sweat popping up on his forehead. “Okay?”

“And then I heard you talking about something with him, when I came home a little early the other day.” I don’t say anything about sneaking around his office. “You said she doesn’t know anything. Again, I didn’t mean to be eavesdropping, but I heard it.”

Jay looks down at his interlaced hands but doesn’t say anything.

“So I guess my question is … who is she?” I ask.

Frowning, he shakes his head. “No one,” he says. “It’s … it’s not what you think.”

“It’s just,” I say, strangling on the words. If I don’t get them out now, I may never. “Are you involved in something … illegal? With Eli? Like a Ponzi scheme or something?”

He rears his head back. “No, God no. Of course not. Why would you think that?”

I shrug. “Or maybe not that. Maybe something with crypto?” I ask, giving him the chance to confess.

He looks puzzled for a second, but then he pauses and his mouth stiffens. “This is from the letter, isn’t it?” he says, simply. He doesn’t even sound angry, just disappointed. “In my office. You weren’t looking at invitations. You were snooping.”

A wave of shame washes over me. “Is it true though?” I ask, in a small voice. “Is there something wrong?”

He pauses a moment, as if trying to collect himself, his face taking on an unhappy cast. “Listen, we both know Eli’s a bit much. And I get why you might not trust him. But no, we’re not doing anything illegal.” He sighs. “The crypto market took a hit, you probably know that.”

“Yes,” I say. “I guess I did.”

“And we were invested in it … to some degree,” he amends. “So we have to report that to the Feds. That’s all. Nothing else. It’s a comment letter. That’s just … part of doing business, Alex. Everyone gets comment letters.”

I busy myself petting Babushka. “So, who’s she, then? Who was he asking about?”

“A woman from our board. She’s … making noises.” He grips his knees. “As she should. That’s her job. But it’s making Eli nervous.”

I consider his explanation. It makes sense. Maybe that’s all it is, a meddling board member. But why be so sneaky about it?

“Alex, if this is going to work, we need a level of trust between us.” He motions between us with his hand. “Right? You agree with that?”

I nod. “Yes, I agree.”

He gives me a long, hard look. “And if you’re not ready to get married, it’s okay. But … just be straight with me, okay? I know I love you. I know I want to spend my life with you. But if you’re not ready to make that step, I get it. You are just starting your career, and I know you’re worried about Greg and—”

“I’m ready,” I say, interrupting him.

He’s right. I need to trust him. He isn’t just a Chris rebound. My mom’s wrong. I do love him. I know that I do.

“I’m ready,” I say again.