Page 30 of Plain Sight

Lily leans closer, her breasts pressing against my ribs. “I had to keep him talking for a little while. I asked him how long he’d been doing this for a job.”

“Yeah?”

“He said fourteen or fifteen years.”

I’ll have better luck finding Walsh on the street.

Jamie.

“Mom.”

You have to stop.

“I have to keep going.”

I won’t think less of you.

“We’ve had this conversation before.”

It’s warm in Morris Heights. The summer heat hangs over all the concrete. Wind moves in huge gusts that come down to the street in irregular patterns. At least there’s a breeze in my hair. It’s too hot to cool me down, but it exists.

I won’t think any less of you. That’s still true. How do you like being married?

“I love being married.” It hurts. Why does love have to hurt? Seems like it shouldn’t. “I love her so fucking much.”

You could rest with her.

“I can’t. That’s the thing.” I don’t remember the last time I slept for more than twenty minutes. Probably when I had those painkillers. “I can’t sleep, and it feels like I’m going to burst out of my skin. It’s better if I keep moving. Because, Mom, fourteen or fifteen years—that’s you. That’s you and Dad and Mason. There’s no way he wasn’t the one.”

You need to rest.

“I’m looking for something, Mom. This is restful.”

What I’m looking for is an apartment building. It’s a narrow one. Rent-controlled units. No elevator. If we’d lived here after my parents died, Gabriel and I would have had to carry Mason up the stairs every night. I cross the street and push one of the buttons on the buzzer.

“Yeah?” a woman’s voice says.

“Pizza.”

She buzzes me in.

Not a safe thing to do! But I’m not going to hurt her. I just climb the stairs until I find the door to the rooftop, walk to the edge, and sit down.

From here, I can see in the windows of the building across the street.

Half an hour later, a man comes down the sidewalk in a blue hoodie and a pair of khaki shorts. He has the hood up despite the heat and doesn’t hesitate when he reaches the building.

I don’t have a firm handle on which unit he might be living in, but that’s why I’m here. Sometimes you have to get your hands dirty. Or your jeans dirty. The building’s ledge is covered in dust.

A minute later, one of the windows on the second-highest floor lights up.

The man comes back into view, flipping his hood back as he digs his phone out of his pocket.

Light hair.

He looks at the screen for a few minutes, then picks his head up and peers at the building.

And then his eyes lift.