“I’m so sorry I had to cut this night short,” he says.
“I’ll make a call to the bakery first thing in the morning.” A pause. “The woman who waited on me needs to know her mistake.”
Phone calls concerning a mistake will be made tomorrow. That much is true.
But not to anyone Thomas expects.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
Monday, December 10
Nothing about Dr. Shields’s home comes as a surprise to me.
I get invited into many people’s residences on Monday mornings to do makeup, and evidence of their weekend’s activities is usually on display: the Sunday New York Times splayed out on a coffee table, wineglasses from a party drying upside down on a dish rack, kids’ soccer cleats and shin guards scattered by the entryway.
But when I arrived at Dr. Shields’s town house in the West Village, I figured it would look like a spread in Architectural Digest—all muted colors and elegant pieces of furniture, chosen for aesthetics rather than comfort or function. And I’m right, it’s like an extension of her meticulous office.
After Dr. Shields greets me at the door and takes my coat, she leads me into the open, sunny kitchen. She’s wearing a creamy turtleneck sweater and dark-rinse fitted jeans, and her hair is in a low ponytail.
“You just missed my husband,” she says, clearing away two matching coffee mugs from the counter and depositing them in the sink. “I was hoping to introduce you, but unfortunately he had to head into his office.”
Before I can ask more—I’m so curious about the man—Dr. Shields gestures to a small platter of fresh berries and scones.
“I didn’t know if you’d had the chance to eat breakfast,” she says. “Do you prefer coffee or tea?”
“Coffee would be great,” I say. “Thanks.”
When I finally texted Dr. Shields back on Sunday afternoon, she again asked how I was feeling before she invited me here. I truthfully replied that I was a lot better than when I left the hotel bar on Friday night. I slept in until Leo licked my face demanding a walk, worked a few jobs, and went out with Noah. I did one other thing, too. As soon as the bank opened on Saturday morning, I deposited the check for seven hundred fifty dollars. I still feel like the money could float away; until I see the balance on my statement, it doesn’t seem real that I could be earning so much.
Dr. Shields pours the coffee from a waiting carafe into two china cups with matching saucers. The curve of the handle is so delicate I’m a little worried I might break it.
“I thought we could work in the dining room,” Dr. Shields says.
She places the coffee and the platter on a tray, along with two small china plates in the same pattern as the cups. I follow her into the adjoining room, passing by a small table that holds a single silver-framed photograph. It’s of Dr. Shields with a man. His arm is around her shoulders and she is gazing at him.
Dr. Shields looks back at me.
“Your husband?” I ask, gesturing to the picture.
She smiles as she arranges the teacups in front of two adjacent chairs. I take a closer look at the man, because this is the first thing about Dr. Shield’s house that doesn’t fit.
He’s maybe ten years older than she, with slightly bushy dark hair and a beard. They appear to be almost the same height, about five foot seven.
They don’t seem like a match. But they both look very happy in the photo, and she always lights up when she mentions him.
I move away from the picture and Dr. Shields motions to a chair at the head of the glossy oak table, beneath a crystal chandelier. The table is bare save for a yellow legal pad and, beside it, a pen and a black phone. It isn’t the silver iPhone I’ve noticed on Dr. Shields’s desk before.
“You said I’d just be making some calls today?” I ask. I don’t know how this fits into a morality test. Is she going to ask me to set someone up again?
Dr. Shields places the tray on the table, and I can’t help noticing that every single blueberry and raspberry is perfect, like the same designer who chose the graceful pieces of furniture for this room also selected the fruit.
“I know Friday evening was unsettling for you,” she says. “Today will be more straightforward. Plus I’ll be right here in the room with you.”