Which still begged the question: what the hell did her husband do? Maybe he was the key to bringing down John Carson once and for all.
Nina watched me for a long time. I didn’t move an inch. She was going to tell me what I needed to hear. I knew it.
“Matthew,” she said, “you can demonize my husband all you want. But that won’t change what he is. My husband.”
And just like that, my hopes deflated, right along with my self-righteousness. Fuck, I’d be in confession for half a day after this conversation. Because really, who wishes that another man was a criminal just to make his wife available?
It wasn’t just coveting. It was mental sabotage.
“That night, I was referring to my friend. You remember, I told you about her.”
“The one who tried to ruin Eric’s wedding?”
Nina nodded. “Yes, that’s the one. She was there the night he was arrested. I think she was rather enjoying herself.”
Fuck. I was a terrible person. A really no-good, fucked-up scumbag. I didn’t deserve a woman like this. Not when I was doing everything I could to make her life sound uglier than it was.
“You gave me a gift,” she said quietly. “And I am so grateful. Without it, I don’t know if I could have returned to my life.”
“Yeah,” I muttered as I rubbed my hands over my face. “Okay.”
“But I did need to go back,” she continued. “To be the mother my daughter needs. To be the person my family needs.”
She squeezed my hand, then stood up. She brushed off her coat, and it was like we had never been crumpled there on the sidewalk together. The princess of the Upper East Side was back, and she was more immovable than ever.
I stood too. The evening was over, now that I had royally fucked it up. She was right. About everything.
It was time to go.
“I’m sorry about those shitty things I said,” I told her. “It’s not an excuse. I’m just jealous that he got to you first. I’m jealous because I convinced myself I deserved you more. I was wrong.”
It was the truth. Even if it did hurt like a barbed spear.
“Oh, Matthew,” Nina said sadly. “You don’t deserve to have me. Not because you’re a bad man, but because I’m just not available to be had.”
“I don’t want to have you,” I said and suddenly realized it was the truth. “You’re not a fucking object, Nina. You’re not some pretty toy I want to have on my shelf to take down whenever the mood strikes me. You’re a person. I just…wanted to know you. Because you are worth knowing, doll. I don’t know much, but I do know that.”
I must have hit a nerve, because suddenly she turned, and her eyes shone brighter than the rock on her finger, silvery and wet under the night sky.
She cleared her throat a little too loudly. “Well. It seems I’m letting everything go tonight. I’ve answered all your questions, Matthew. Is there anything else you want to know? My bank account numbers? Maybe my social?”
Everything, I wanted to say. Anything. I want to know what you look like when you wake up in the morning. I want to know if you prefer coffee or tea. I want to know what kind of eggs are your favorite and whether you say prayers before you fall asleep and if you’d ever think about walking away from this life to be with a poor fuckin’ nobody like me.
“Just—just one thing,” I lied. And maybe I shouldn’t have asked at all. But I had to know. I suddenly needed the answer like I needed my next breath. “Is he good to you?”
Nina stared like she hadn’t understood the question.
And then, to my utter fucking horror, she burst into tears.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I scrambled across the sidewalk, shooting glares at people clearly wondering just what the hell I had done to make the girl cry.
Without thinking, I gathered Nina close, cradling her between my arms, stroking her hair, urging her face into my shoulder so I could soak up every morsel of pain she was currently feeling. Fuck. Fuck. Normally it wasn’t like this. I was an asshole, sure, which was why I made do with other assholes. Other men’s girlfriends, wives, who had even fewer scruples than I did.
I didn’t even care about kissing her anymore. I was just glad I could hold her again, even if it was to offer her comfort against what I had already done.
How fucked up was I?
“Shhh,” I crooned. “I’m sorry, baby. It’s going to be okay.”
Nina hiccupped and swiped under both eyes with quick, vicious movements. Then slowly, she disentangled herself from me with a long sigh.
“Sometimes,” she said. “I do forget. What it’s like to have someone who…cares. I don’t have many friends these days, you see. The cost of coloring outside the lines of my set, as it were.”
“You mean what happened with your other friend?” I asked. “The one who liked Eric?”
“Turned the rest of them against me.” She pulled a compact out of her purse, took a look at herself, and sighed again with resignation. “Look at me. Like a bloated punching bag.”
She looked fucking beautiful.
Bitches, I thought. Catty shrews, all of them.
“You need a friend, doll?” I asked gently.
More tears appeared, and though she sniffed them back, a few still managed to escape, then a few more when I wiped the first off her cheek with my thumb. For a moment, she closed her eyes, almost like she wanted to lean into my touch.
But she didn’t. And against every instinct I had, I pulled my hand away.
“Friend,” she murmured. “Really? Would you be friends with someone who slapped you twice in one night?”
“I’ve been friends with a lot worse,” I offered, trying to sound as light-hearted as I could. “I’ll be your friend, Nina. You need one, let me do the job. Please. It’s the least I can do after what I’ve put you through.”
She offered a shaky smile as she pushed one final tear from her cheek. “Just friends?”
I bit back a cheeky grin. “Just friends. I promise.”
She examined me for a moment. “All right. Friends.”
We looked at each other across the pavement for a long time. I waited with her while she called a car to pick her up, but decided not to pressure her anymore. I didn’t want to break Nina de Vries. If anything, I yearned to make her stronger. I wanted to see that fight in her again. And I was patient enough to wait for it.
So when she pulled away from the curb in a big black SUV, I waved a guilty wave, knowing I would have to pay a visit to the priest again, but also that it wouldn’t be the last time. It didn’t even bother me that I was well on my way back to Brooklyn when I realized I hadn’t come up with a reason to see her again.
Or that she hadn’t answered the final question I asked about her husband. And her used-to-be friend.
Intermission I
March
Nina’s phone buzzed in her lap, tempered by the layers of her silk charmeuse skirt, where no one would notice it. She had been sitting in Sylvia Blake’s parlor for over two hours, staring at a catered lunch with the planning committee of the Manhattan Children’s Autism Foundation. They were supposed to be finishing up the final stages of the invitation design, among a few other things. But of course, these ladies, friends she had known most of her life, were using the luncheon to tipple a few too many glasses of pinot grigio and gossip.