Page 248 of The Sinner: James

2

RAIN

New York

Christmas is around the corner,and here I am, sitting in my apartment, surrounded by deafening silence.

It’s unusual for this time of year to be so quiet.

It’s been a long couple of days since I returned from the island, and I still bump into things, trying to adjust to my old life.

Everything he bought for me while we were on a shopping spree last week has been delivered.

When I got home, the boxes were all stacked up in the foyer, waiting for me.

The day before my arrival, the 19th Century French painting he’d purchased for me had been delivered as well.

I argued with the delivery people, disputing the accuracy of their information with the shipping company, convinced it was a mistake.

The man in charge of the transportation called the auction house and discussed the issue with someone over the phone for a few good minutes.

The person at the other end of the line insisted it was Mr. Sexton’s wish to deliver the painting here.

They had the paperwork to prove it, so I gave up and let them do their job.

It’s a magnificent piece of art.

I absently stir my tea, staring at the beautiful painting. It portrays a young woman holding a bouquet of roses.

She steals the spotlight with her delicate features and expressive face.

Her gaze is tipped to the side, her eyes gleaming with nostalgia while she reflects on something no longer in her grasp.

Soft, brown hair frames her oval face, highlighting her alabaster skin and clear blue eyes.

Her rueful expression had struck me when I had laid my eyes on her, prompting me to suggest to him to put a bid on it.

I never thought he’d buy it for me or I’d be staring at it in my home with my heart crushed.

Sighing, I pick up my phone from the table, swipe the screen, and scroll down through my contacts.

I call Mom, Dad, and Daria, and none of them answer their phones.

I dial Eve’s number but change my mind and tap the screen to end the call before she has the chance to answer.

My gaze shifts to the window, and my mind drifts away.

Glittery white snow drapes over the trees and sidewalks, covering the alleys and the benches. Everything is still and silent.

Conflicting thoughts swirl in my head as my eyes hover over the scenery.

How did I get here?

What went wrong?

Two years ago, I visited Italy, celebrating Christmas with a group of friends.

One year ago, I was here, in New York, and lived in a rathole several blocks from here. I was broke and had no friends and almost no family members to keep in touch with.

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