Page 138 of The New Couple in 5B

Just a visit, a trip into the past. I don’t know how long my father has. But he looks happy as Sarah hands little Rosie to him, and he lifts her up to the congregation and everyone oohs and aahs and cheers. It’s joyful, and above, through the holes in the roof, I see the bright blue sky and the high, towering clouds.

I have sold our apartment at the Windermere. There was a bidding war, despite all the horror that has taken place between its walls. The buyer, as rumor has it, is a renowned psychic who claims that it was his calling to live there, that the Windermere beckoned him. He’s welcome to it. He outbid Lilian, who still seems to want to reclaim that piece of her family’s legacy. Then finally, she sold the adjoining apartment to him, which he will put back together into one apartment.

I never did find out what Lilian was to my husband, if anything, or if it was just one more Aldridge scheming to reclaim apartment 5B. It doesn’t matter now.

My book is in its fifth week on theNew York Timesbestseller list, due in part, I think, to the real-time scandal, the trial, my husband’s suicide. The Windermere has no more secrets to keep. It’s all out in the light now. Arthur Alpern says that he believes I’ve healed it. Fresh blood. Maybe he’s right. Maybe not. Time will tell.

And I have no idea where I will go next.

Sadness, grief, loss. I carry it all with me. But I accept this as a part of my life, as a part of all life. And in this moment, I don’t let that darkness rob me of the joy at the birth of my niece, and the happiness of my sister. We can be both. Dark and light. Sadness and joy. They dwell side by side in everything. And Chad, my Chad, the man he might have been, is still with me. I still hear his voice, and catch his scent on the breeze. The man in the news—the one who lied and murdered—that’s not the man I loved. I don’t even recognize him as the same person.

Now Max sits beside me, awed by the place where I grew up.

He leans in close. “You have to write about this,” he says.

“Maybe someday.”

He wraps an arm around me, and I move in closer. He remains the most true and loyal friend a person can ever have. I smile at him, grateful that he’s come with me on this trip home. Friendship, such an underrated relationship. And yet, sometimes friends are the family we choose. Without him, his support, I might have been crushed by the weeks after Chad’s death. He was there. The rock.

Later, after celebration and food, I find my way back to the river where Sarah and I used to play for hours as children. It’s full and rushing with the spring thaw, filling its banks.

My father joins me, coming to stand beside me. For a while we are silent, watching the water flow and hawks circle overhead, the bees visiting the wildflowers.

“So do you still think I lied about the world out there?” he asks. His voice is gentle and raspy.

I smile and take his hand. It’s frail in mine and I look into his eyes and see how old he’s grown. I stop short of quoting Shakespeare again but get close.

“I think there’s more in heaven and earth, Dad, than either one of us will ever know.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and then he gives me an assenting nod. “Fair enough, rose petal.”

Together, we walk back toward the barn, which glows white against the gloaming.

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