33
A noise startles me and I jump a little in my seat. I realize after a beat that it’s only Gabby, turning the key in the lock on her front door. She’s home from work now. It’s probably going to be a while before I stop being skittish.
A couple of seconds later, Gabby saunters into the living room, carrying a couple of Whole Food bags.
“Hey,” she says in greeting. “You doing okay?”
“Much better,” I say from the couch. “I actually worked on my book a little bit today.”
“How was the new therapist?”
“I liked her—and she comes highly recommended by Dr. Agarwal, the shrink who treated me in the ER. Only time will tell if she wants to blow my brains out, too.”
“Very funny.”
“It’s probably a good sign I can laugh about it.”
“Totally. You like salmon, right? I picked up a couple of fillets for dinner. Let me pop them in the oven.”
As she heads into the kitchen, I sink back into the couch in her lovely living room, an enchanting mix of modern and boho decor. I’ve been ensconced here for the past couple of days—since Sunday night. After I’d bolted from Erling’s, I managed to flag down the car I saw turning onto her street and convince the driver to take me to the local police station. On the way, I’d called Jay Williams, who drove to Westchester immediately.
As I told my story in the police interview room that evening, shaken and exhausted, I wondered frantically about Erling. Had she taken off? Or would she try to completely spin the story, claiming that I was a deranged patient who had attacked her during a session, forcing her to try to shoot at me in self-defense?
But Williams apparently vouched for me, filling the cops in from his end and encouraging them to speak to the White Plains police about Kurt’s murder. On our drive back into the city, Jay said that the gun Erling pulled was probably the same weapon she’d used to kill Mulroney, and the police would figure that out soon enough. Plus, when they searched her house, they would surely find traces of blood and DNA from the former patient and lover who became her victim.
It got better. While we were on the highway, Williams heard through a contact in the Westchester police force that Erling had been apprehended.
As shaken as the experience left me, I feel oddly okay now. Mentally stable. Fairly in control again. I haven’t managed yet to dig up every answer I need, but I’ve gotten my hands on the one with the most value to me: what had sent my mind spiraling away from my body one October afternoon.
I’ve tried since I’ve been at Gabby’s to stay on top of my work. No podcast this week—I ended up bumping it after all, calling Derek and informing him that Sasha wasn’t ready to handle the show on her own. Next, I called Sasha and told her if she ever went behind my back again, it would be her final day as my intern. Let the chips fall where they may.
I’ve filled Roger in since I’ve been here. Hugh, too. And Damien. I still don’t know if his “interest” in me was sincere, but he took the time and seemed to care. I figured I owed him an update.
Gabby reemerges a minute later, carrying a bottle of chardonnay and two wineglasses. She sets the glasses on the table, uncorks the wine, and pours.
“Are you going to keep working with the private eye?” she asks.
“Yeah, he’s still trying to figure out where I was Wednesday night and very early Thursday, though of course I have the facts that matter most. You were right all along, Gabby. I had witnessed something terrible.”
“Does that mean the fight with Hugh never played a role in your disassociation?”
“Not directly at least, though I was obviously pretty upset and discombobulated afterwards. It seems I must have turned my phone off when I was at Le Pain Tuesday, probably because I didn’t want to see any more calls from him coming in.”
“I assume you went by train to Erling’s. But do you think you took the train back to the city after finding the body?”
“Williams is looking into it, but probably. When you dissociate, you can still function normally, and I probably wasn’t totally unglued by then. I mean, I called WorkSpace, so I still knew who I was, plus I showed up there later. But I was probably in bad shape already. I left my purse in my drawer, almost as if I was leaving myself behind.”
Gabby nods and takes a long sip of wine. “Erling must have been totally freaked when she started to piece the truth together.”
“Absolutely. And in hindsight I realize that once she began having suspicions, she made sure she was in close contact with me. I think she even said little things to rattle me. She insisted I should have a lawyer with me if I spoke to the police again. That made me so tense at the time. And sometimes I just felt stressed being in her presence, but didn’t understand why.”
“Ugh, I’m so sorry for everything you went through. Will this affect how much you can trust the new therapist?”
“I don’t think so. This one’s very different, and she’s a psychiatrist, too, so the approach won’t be the same. She even wants me to try medication, something to help prevent a relapse. I feel okay right now, but I don’t want to take any chances. If the case in New Jersey goes to trial, I’ll certainly have to testify.”
Gabby jumps up, ducks into the kitchen again, and returns shortly with a bowl of hummus and little squares of toasted pita bread.
“And what about Hugh?” she asks, plopping back into her chair.
“I told him I would meet him at the apartment for dinner tomorrow night. I can’t put it off any longer.”
I grab a pita square and scoop up hummus with it. This is the first time since Sunday that I’ve had even a hint of an appetite.
“Are you going to try to work things out with him?”
“I’m not sure. We’ll talk tomorrow. And then, I guess, I’ll take it from there.”
I’m actually pretty sure what I’m going to do, but it doesn’t feel fair to admit it to Gabby before I tell Hugh. He’s still my husband.
“Well, just so you know, you’re welcome here any time.”
“Thanks, Gab. It’s been so good to spend time with you again.” A thought suddenly occurs to me. “Hey, by the way I never found the gift you dropped off for me on Sunday.”
Gabby flops back onto the cushion, raking her hair with her hands. “Oh boy,” she says with a sigh. “There never was a gift.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’d gone to your apartment to talk to Hugh.”
“Talk to Hugh about what?” I say, feeling a ripple of worry.
“The fact that I didn’t believe he was telling you the whole story about the fight you guys had. Maybe it was from being in some kind of delirious state when I was sick, but it seemed strange to me that Hugh would think you’d taken off without any word simply because of a heated discussion over kids. That’s not your style—so I suspected there was more to it than that. And I told him so.”
It takes me a moment to process this.
“And what did he say?”
“He said that anything involving your marriage was between him and you. End of discussion. I had no idea you were coming home that day, and when I ran into you, I told you the first thing that came into my mind, which of course you’d figure out soon enough was a lie. . . . I hope you don’t think I stepped out of line, Ally. It was only a theory at that point, and I didn’t want to bring it up to you and upset you unnecessarily if it wasn’t true.”