Page 250 of The Sinner: James

Fangs of guilt sink into my chest.

I am such a lousy friend.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier. I’ve been busy these past few days. Are you in Colorado?”

“No, no. I’m still in New York. I booked a flight for tomorrow morning.”

She breathes a chuckle.

“At least I think I did… I’m sorry, but I’ve been a little distracted lately. All I know is that I’m packing right now,” she says, amused, and laughs at the other end of the phone line.

She sounds excited and seems in good spirits, different than how she was a few months back when we were talking on the phone.

“You?”

“I’m here as well,” I say in a softer voice, no smile lining my lips. “Listen... Are you busy tonight?”

I barely finish asking her that when her voice explodes in my ear, and her joy brings a grin to my lips.

“Yay... I thought you’d never ask. I sure am, but it’s not what you think. I’m packing my shit up before heading home and cleaning the place. I haven’t been ‘busy’ in a while, if you know what I mean. Not since my ex-boyfriend broke up with me.”

“What if I pick you up, and we come back to my place and order some food. We can watch TV or something… You can bring your stuff here, spend the night over, and leave in the morning. A car will take you to the airport.”

Silence comes from the other end of the phone line.

“Seriously?” she asks incredulously.

“Yes. Unless you have different plans.”

“No, no. There are no different plans. I’d love to. Sure. Oh, my God. We haven’t done this in a while...” she says, enthused.

“Okay, then. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll take a cab.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m coming to you.”

“The weather sucks.”

“I don’t care. I want to get out of this place if only for an hour. I’ll get a car. Don’t worry about me.”

“Okay,” she says.

An hour later, the limo stops in front of a two-story apartment building in the Bronx.

I step out, climb the stairs leading to the entrance, and press the intercom button.

She buzzes me in.

“I’m here,” she says, waving at me from the second-floor window.

Smiling, I walk in.

The stairs and the corridor are narrow and dimly lit, while the walls are painted in a dark hue of beige that has seen better days.

I reach a small door at the end of the hallway.

It’s cracked open, so I push through.

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