Page 103 of Still Me
“Good-bye, Louisa,” he said, his expression unreadable. “Good luck.”
I stepped out. And the huge mahogany door closed firmly behind me.
—
I sat in the diner for two hours. I was in shock. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t rage. I just felt paralyzed. I thought at first that Agnes would sort this out. She would find a way to convey to her husband that he was wrong. We were friends, after all. So I sat and waited for Michael to appear, looking slightly awkward, ready to pull my cases back to the Lavery. I gazed at my cell phone, waiting for a text message—Louisa, there has been terrible misunderstanding.But none came.
When I realized it probably wasn’t going to come, I thought about simply heading back to the UK, but to do so would wreak havoc on Treena’s life—the last thing she and Thom needed was me turfing them out of the flat. I couldn’t return to Mum and Dad’s—it wasn’t just the soul-destroying thought of moving back to Stortfold but I thought I might die if I had to go home as a failure twice, the first time broken after drunkenly falling from a building, the second fired from the job I had loved.
And, of course, I could no longer stay with Sam.
I cradled my coffee cup with fingers that still trembled and saw that I had effectively boxed myself out of my own life. I considered calling Josh, but I didn’t feel it was appropriate to ask him if I could move in, given I wasn’t sure we’d even had a first date.
And if I did find accommodation, what was I going to do? I had nojob. I didn’t know if Mr. Gopnik could revoke my work permit. Presumably that only existed as long as I worked for him.
Worst of all, I was haunted by the way he had looked at me, his expression of utter disappointment and faint contempt when I had failed to come up with a satisfactory answer. His quiet approval had been one of the many small satisfactions of my life there—that a man of such stature had thought I was doing a good job had boosted my confidence, had left me feeling capable, professional, in a way I hadn’t since looking after Will. I wanted so badly to explain myself to him, to regain his goodwill, but how could I? I saw Agnes’s face, eyes wide, pleading. She would call, wouldn’t she? Why hadn’t she called?
“You want a refill, sweetheart?” I looked up at the middle-aged waitress with tangerine-colored hair holding the coffee jug. She eyed my belongings like she had seen this scenario a million times before. “Just got here?”
“Not exactly.” I tried to smile but it came out as a kind of grimace.
She poured the coffee and stooped, lowering her voice. “My cousin runs a hostel in Bensonhurst if you’re stuck for somewhere to stay. There are cards over by the till. It ain’t pretty, but it’s cheap and it’s clean. Call sooner rather than later, you know what I’m saying? Places fill up.” She put a hand briefly on my shoulder and walked on to the next customer.
That small act of kindness almost did it for my composure. For the first time I felt overwhelmed, crushed by the knowledge that I was alone in a city that no longer welcomed me. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do now that my bridges were apparently pushing out thick black smoke on two continents. I tried to picture myself explaining to my parents what had happened, but found myself once again butting up against the vast wall of Agnes’s secret. Could you tell even one person without the truth slowly creeping out? My parents would be so outraged on my behalf that I couldn’t put it past Dad not to ring Mr. Gopnik just to set him straight about his deceitful wife. And what if Agnes denied everything? I thought about Nathan’s words—ultimately we were staff, not friends. What if she lied and said I had stolen the money? Wouldn’t that make things worse?
For perhaps the first time since I had arrived in New York I wished I hadn’t come. I was still in last night’s clothes, stale and crumpled,which made me feel even worse. I sniffed quietly and wiped my nose with a paper napkin while staring at the mug in front of me. Outside, life in Manhattan continued, oblivious, fast-moving, ignoring the detritus that piled up in the gutter.What do I do now, Will?I thought, a huge lump rising in my throat.
As if on cue, my phone pinged.
What the bloody hell is going on?wrote Nathan.Call me, Clark.
And, despite myself, I smiled.
—
Nathan said there was no bloody way I was going to stay in a bloody hostel in bloody God knew where, with the rapists and the drug-dealers and God knew what. I was to wait until seven thirty when the bloody Gopniks had left for bloody dinner and I was to meet him at the service entrance and we would work out what the hell to do next. There was quite a lot of swearing for three text messages.
When I arrived his anger was uncharacteristically undimmed.
“I don’t get it. It’s like they just ghosted you. Like a ruddy Mafiosi code of silence. Michael wouldn’t tell me anything other than it was a ‘matter of dishonesty.’ I told him I’d never met a more honest person in my bloody life and they all needed their heads looking at. What the hell happened?”
He had shepherded me into his room off the service corridor and closed the door behind us. It was such a relief to see him it was all I could do not to hug him. I didn’t, though. I thought I’d probably clutched enough men in the last twenty-four hours.
“For Chrissakes. People. You want a beer?”
“Sure.”
He cracked open two cans and handed one to me, sitting down on his easy chair. I perched on the bed and took a sip.
“So... well?”
I pulled a face. “I can’t tell you, Nathan.”
His eyebrows shot somewhere toward the ceiling. “You too? Oh, mate. Don’t tell me you—”
“Of course not. I wouldn’t steal a teabag from the Gopniks. But if I told you what really happened it would... it would be disastrous. For other people in the house... It’s complicated.”
He frowned. “What? Are you saying you took the blame for something you didn’t do?”
