Page 26 of The Better Sister

“And did you know of any dog and pony shows that Adam might have had?”

“No, but partners don’t tend to share that kind of news until it’s official. Show me the money, as we like to say. I’m very sorry not to be able to tell you more, Chloe. And forgive me for prying yet again, but I hope you’re not wondering about Adam’s fidelity to you. I never once saw him turn an eye toward another woman.”

“I know, and I keep telling myself the same thing. But I have to wonder if this has something to do with his murder.”

“Knowing Adam, he was probably planning some big surprise for you. I’m sure there’s an explanation.”

Maybe, but it was an explanation I would probably never have. My husband had lied to me about where he spent the last two days of his life. There was no way around it.

A beep on the phone told me that another call was coming through. It was the doorman calling from the lobby. I told Bill that I needed to go. Nicky was here.

Everything about Nicky is always bigger and louder than it needs to be. Normal people fly in airplanes every day and manage to make it to their ultimate destination all by themselves. I had even offered to arrange (and pay) for a car service from LaGuardia, but Nicky assured me she could find her own way. Now, nearly two hours after her flight landed, she was finally at my apartment door with two hip-high suitcases, a purse roughly the size of my wine fridge, and, most surprisingly, a man I didn’t recognize.

“Chloe, meet my guardian angel, Jeremy.”

Jeremy held up a sheepish hand. “Hey.” His hair was thinning, and his denim shirt didn’t hide a slight paunch, but he had bright green eyes and a dark beard. I could see him being Nicky’s type. He was looking at Nicky expectantly.

“Oh, right, sorry. It’s down that hallway. The first door on the right, as I recall.”

I watched, dumbfounded, as this stranger walked past me and made his way to our powder room.

“What the hell, Nicky.”

“I should have known you’d freak. He was on the shuttle bus with me and saw me struggling to get my bags off at Grand Central. He gave me a hand and we ended up sharing a cab downtown. By the time we got here, he needed to pee. It’s no big deal.”

I thought of all the hours I had spent around random men Nicky managed to befriend. This one sort of resembled an older version of the guy she’d brought to Asiago, where I had my first waitressing job in high school. After ordering a three-course dinner and an entire bottle of wine—he was older than her, of course—they left without paying. It was the only time I was ever fired.

Nicky insisted her date probably just forgot, but a month later, she came to my room sobbing because the same guy had used her ATM card to clear out nearly a thousand dollars from her savings account to cover a football bet. And then she kept dating the guy for another three months after that.

It was a familiar cycle with my sister. She’d complain to me about her boyfriends, alleging wrongdoings ranging from drug abuse to theft to drunken attacks of rage. You can’t tell your sister that a man spit in your face and called you a stupid whore unless you’re planning to leave him. But that’s how it was with Nicky. She’d say too much and then accuse me of being judgmental when the relationship continued, brushing off her earlier grievances as “venting.” As a result, I was skeptical about every man she brought around. They were either as bad as she said they were during the low phases, or were off-kilter enough to be drawn to a woman who seemed to thrive on histrionics. Either way, I had no interest in knowing any more than necessary. Until, of course, she met Adam.

When my unexpected bathroom guest emerged, he extended his hand for a quick shake. I was relieved when I caught a whiff of our lavender hand soap. “Jeremy Lyons. Sorry about barging in like this. And sorry about your loss.”

Of course Nicky had told a total stranger why she was in town.

I thanked him for helping my sister and ushered him out the door just as Ethan emerged from his bedroom. Usually he was reluctant around Nicky, especially when a long time passed between visits. He hadn’t seen her for well over a year, but rushed to greet her with a hug.

“So thatwasyou,” he said. “I thought I heard some dude.”

“Someone helping with the bags,” I said, managing to mask my annoyance.

I could tell Ethan was trying his best to seem happy to see Nicky. Of course he tried. But as we made polite conversation about whether the flight was okay and why she had opted for the shuttle (“I guess I didn’t want to be alone in my thoughts in a taxi, plus it’s cheaper”), I could see Ethan shrink from a sloppy second hug that lingered too long, and the way she touched his hair like he was a baby.

“I don’t even know what to say about Adam,” Nicky said. “I’m so sorry. For both of you,” she added.

I nodded. “Thank you. I know it’s a loss for you, too. Let me give you two some time to catch up together.”

I had already spoken to Ethan about this in advance. Nicky would be less likely to do something rash like insist on taking custody of Ethan if she didn’t feel like I was trying to control the situation. But Ethan had promised to come get me if she was too much to bear. And under no circumstances was he to trust her with a word about the details of his father’s murder. Remember when that beautiful American actress married a handsome prince, and the trashy side of her family sold stories and pictures to the tabloids? I had thought of Nicky.

As I passed Ethan’s bedroom, I noticed that he had straightened it since we got home the previous day. By his standards, it was almost clean. I wondered if he did it because Nicky was coming, or for the same reason I had scraped my bathroom tile grout with a bobby pin until four in the morning.

Once I was alone in my office, one look at my screen saver—a photo of Adam, Ethan, and me in front of a Louse Point sunset—had me trembling again. I wondered if I was ever going to regain control of my emotions. I forced myself to try to work, jotting down notes for a piece I would probably never publish. I had rejected Catherine’s suggestion of a press release, but she had called again this morning, suggesting that I write something for next month’sEveabout Adam’s murder. “Nothing salacious,” she said. “But people will want to hear from you. You’re the face of the magazine. And I know you, Chloe. Writing is how you digest. How you feel. How you live. You’ll know when you’re ready.”

After forty minutes, it was clear I wasn’t even close. I woke up my computer and googled “Jeremy Lyons.” The second hit was the stranger who had used my powder room. He was a research fellow at the University of Kansas. According to a recent faculty news sidebar, he would be speaking at NYU the next day about monetary policy.

So maybe he was a helpful stranger after all. Given Nicky’s history, I felt no guilt about checking.

I closed my browser when I heard a tap on the office door. It was Nicky and Ethan. Seeing the two of them together, I realized how much Ethan was beginning to resemble her as his face matured. He had his father’s dark hair and eyes, while Nicky was still a dark blond with only minimal help from L’Oréal. But like his mother, Ethan was long and lanky, with a thin nose and angular features.

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