He laughs. "I won't. I can just not drag it out as long. The Edison is what's important. We've all put in too much to let her down."
It's so cute how he refers to the theater as if it's a woman. There's a lot that’s cute about Henderson Quade.
Too bad he lives three-thousand miles away from me.
"I—" my phone rings. I'm tempted to ignore it, but my lack of impulse control gets the best of me. It's Angie.
"Tabby, where are you?"
"With Henderson. At his place." I give him a small smile and a wink. "I texted you I wouldn't be home. What's up?"
"Oh my God, you don't know."
This is never a good thing to hear. My stomach drops in anticipation of the bad news that is surely coming my way.
"Tab, Jonathan Spencer Maxwell was in an accident."
Initially, I feel nothing. I don't like the man, but I don't want to relish in his unfortunate luck. Then, it hits me.
Paisley.
"What happened? Was Paisley with him? Is she okay? Why didn't he call me?"
"I don't know. All it says is his car was hit by a runaway SUV. There were two others in the vehicle with him. There's nothing on anyone’s condition."
The edges of my vision narrow as my heart drops. "I have to go. I have to find her. I—" I look around Henderson's studio apartment, trying to get my bearings. Trying to figure out what to do next. Trying not to vomit.
I disconnect without saying anything, dialing Maria. No answer.
I try Jonathan Spencer Maxwell, but that call too goes unanswered.
Out of desperation, I try Anastasia Jerome. She doesn't answer, but texts. "Can't talk. We're at NYU Langone Long Island."
Henderson is out of bed, staring at me. "What's wrong? What happened?"
I relay my scarce information, finally springing to my feet. "I need to go. Where's NYU Long Island? Is that far away? Where are my pants?" I look around frantically. Clothing is strewn from one end of the small apartment to the other. I find my leggings and then my leotard. I think I had a sweatshirt at one point in the day, but I don't think I had it when I got here last night. I certainly wasn't wearing it when the rest of my clothes came off. "Crap. I don't have a shirt. How am I supposed to go to the hospital without a shirt?" My mind swirls with all the things that my baby could be facing right now without me.
I need to get to her.
I don't care if I have to walk in there buck naked.
"Here, take this." Henderson's tossing a pile of clothes at me. It's a soft, worn T-shirt, as well as a sweatshirt. Both have the name of his theater written across them. I pull them on quickly, and scan the area for anything else I may have tossed aside when we made ample use of every available surface throughout the night.
Pulling my hair up into a knot, I stop. He's sitting on the side of the bed, looking at his hands. He's pulled on a pair of jeans and looks like something out of the pages ofVogue.
"I … I have to go."
"Of course you do. The Uber will be here in three minutes to take you to the hospital. NYU Long Island, right?"
I shrug. I should know this. A good mother should know where her three-year-old is.
Henderson stands and walks across the room to me. "Your car is a gray Toyota Corolla. BBG 6234."
I nod. The words have already escaped my mind. "What if she's not okay? I wasn't there for her."
He puts his hands on my arms, squeezing gently. "I'm sure she's okay. If she wasn't, someone would have been in touch."
His words make sense but in my mind, I keep screaming,you should have been there.
