CHAPTER NINETEEN
Back home, when Greta had pictured spending time with her very classy, high-society cousin, she’d never imagined they’d be walking through Times Square with Cece wearing Greta’s sundress and pink baseball cap. They maneuvered around throngs of tourists, people who seemed to be from every corner of the world, judging from the languages she heard and the messages on their T-shirts. Cece was in her glory, taking it all in like someone seeing the world with fresh eyes. She was mesmerized by the ever-changing electronic billboards that loomed on all sides. Greta had to make an effort to keep up. The heat radiated off the pavement, and the crowd was thick, but none of it bothered Cece. Something had gotten into her—that much was sure. Greta couldn’t believe the transformation from the girl she’d first met. Without Vance and Katrina there to rein her in, she’d become willful and crazy.
This expedition had started back at the apartment, after Nanny and Brenna left to go shopping. Greta and Cece had talked in the kitchen for two hours, Cece asking questions about Greta’s life back home in Wisconsin, wanting to know every detail. She loved hearing stories about Greta and her brother when they were little kids. How their dad had built them a tree house in their backyard and how Greta’s mom had started board game night on Sundays, blending virgin strawberry daiquiris for them to drink as they played. “For years, I thought that was what real strawberry daiquiris tasted like,” Greta said. “When I ordered one in a bar, I almost spit it out.”
None of the stories were exceptional, but Cece hung on to every word. “Maybe someday I can come and visit you?” she said, tilting her head to one side.
“Anytime. My mom would love it.” They went up to Greta’s room, where Cece looked with great interest at everything her cousin had brought from home. At Cece’s request, Greta pulled out her clothing and laid it all out on the bed.
“Where did you get this?” she asked, holding up a cream-colored top. It was sleeveless with a shirred front.
“On the clearance rack at the Gap.”
“The Gap?”
“You know the store—the Gap?”
She thought. “No, I don’t know it, but then, I’ve never been to Wisconsin.”
“It’s not just in Wisconsin. They have them everywhere. It’s a mall store.”
Cece nodded and kept looking over each item. “Did you bring the red sweater?” she asked.
“What red sweater?”
“The red sweater with the bling around the neck?” She gestured to her throat. “It matched your Santa hat.”
“Oh, sure.” The Santa-hat reference cleared things up for Greta. Cece was talking about the red sweater she’d been wearing in the family’s last Christmas card photo. “No, I left it at home. It would have been too warm for summer.”
“Too bad. I liked that one.” Cece rummaged through the closet, admiring the few sundresses Greta had brought, each of which she’d combined on the hanger with a little jacket or sweater. As an intern, she’d had this idea she’d be working in an office in New York, and so she had prepared to look nice. She knew what she’d brought probably wasn’t the most professional, but she figured she’d add to her wardrobe once she knew what the other women wore to work. Now she saw that her clothes, most of them from the mall or Kohl’s, looked cheap by comparison. But Cece didn’t seem to look down on her clothing at all; if anything, she seemed intrigued. “What do you call this fabric?” she asked, running her fingers over the front of a ruffled top.
“Rayon, I guess? Some kind of synthetic.”
“It feels cool.”
“It’s nice because it doesn’t wrinkle.”
As Cece riffled through her clothing, she chattered away. She told Greta how excited she was when her mother had Brenna. “I was an only child for so long. I was a teenager when she was born.”
“I know. I remember your Christmas card that year. You were opening a gift, and the baby was inside.”
Cece said, “Brenna was always my baby. Nanny used to let me feed her and take care of her and change her diaper, but my mother told me not to, that it was Nanny’s job to do all that. So after that I just played with her. I could make her laugh so hard. She smiled when I walked into the room. It was amazing to have that kind of effect on someone so tiny.” She held one of Greta’s button-down shirts to her front for a moment, considering, and then set it down again. “One time a few years ago, Nanny took me and Brenna to her place in Brooklyn. We went undercover, and no one even knew who we were.”
“For real?” The word undercover piqued Greta’s interest. “How’d you do that?”
“We took the service elevator down and left out the basement door. We had to go past the maintenance man’s apartment and take the stairs up to the street.” She held up a sundress, a subtle paisley print with a halter neckline. “Can I borrow this?”
“Sure.”
She dropped her robe, and it fell to her feet. Then she quickly slipped into the dress like a fish diving through water. “How do I look?” she asked, once the dress was on and properly adjusted. She admired herself in the mirror, turning to check every angle.
“Beautiful.”
“What shoes do you usually wear with this dress?”
Greta went over to the closet and took out a pair of strappy flats. “These sandals.”
Cece sat down on the bed to put them on, then held her feet out, assessing the look. “We have the same size feet.”
“Pretty close.”
She went back to the mirror. “Now I look just like you, Greta.”
“Not exactly. You wear it much better,” Greta said admiringly. When she wore the dress, it fit snugly over her hips. On Cece, it swung freely.
She shook her head. “No. We look the same now.” She slung her arm around Greta’s shoulders and pulled her into view. “Almost exactly the same. Anyone might think we’re sisters.”
Greta stared at the reflection of the two of them and smiled. Huh. They did look similar. Maybe not sisters, but close enough to be related anyway. Without her signature dark-lined eyes, red lips, and flawless foundation, Cece could be anyone else. Especially wearing the sundress Greta had gotten from Kohl’s three summers before at an end-of-season sale. “You look so different now,” Greta said. “No one would even know it’s you.”
Cece must have agreed, because a second later, she put on Greta’s pink baseball cap, grabbed her arm, and led her out of the apartment. “What are you doing?” Greta asked, laughing.
“You’ll see.” There was no stopping her. She was so insistent that Greta barely had time to grab her phone and sunglasses before they left. “No questions,” she said. “Just come with me.”
“Where are we going?” Greta asked after they’d left the apartment.
“Out on our own,” she said. “To do whatever we want. No one to tell me what to do. Come on, Greta. It will be fun.”
“Well, maybe just for a few minutes, and then we have to come right back.” Greta had imagined they’d take a quick walk around the lobby or maybe a short trek around the block. Hopefully, a taste of freedom would tide her over.
They followed the exact route Cece had described when telling about the time she, Nanny, and Brenna had gone to Nanny’s place incognito. The service elevator had padded walls and a scuffed vinyl floor. As they went down, Greta said, “I don’t think this is a good idea, Cece. What if someone recognizes you and we get mobbed? You could get hurt. I would feel terrible if that happened.” Cece’s parents would be furious too. There was nothing about unauthorized excursions in the information Vance and Katrina had given her. Clearly, this just wasn’t done.
“Oh, don’t be like that!” Cece gently punched her arm. “This will be an adventure.” The elevator door opened, and she led the way out. “I’m so glad you came. Katrina and Vance would never be on board for something like this.”
Right before they exited the building by way of the service door, Cece leaned over and picked up a brown plastic doorstop and wedged it under the do
or, leaving it propped for their return. Outside, they climbed the concrete steps to street level. Greta had half expected a crowd of people to be waiting, but there was nothing there but a dumpster off to one side. Cece continued on, getting to the corner of the building and turning onto the sidewalk. The farther they got from her building, the more Greta worried. “Slow down.” She could barely keep up with her. “I don’t want to lose you.”
Cece turned back, her expression exuberant. “Then hurry up, Greta!”
“Where are we going?” Greta asked, lengthening her stride to keep up. The sidewalks were getting crowded now, and they had to weave around people coming their way. No one noticed Cece. Her Wisconsin disguise was working, and she was just another face in the crowd.
“To Times Square!” She looped her arm through Greta’s, like they were schoolgirls in an old movie. “To find me a date for the Forgotten Man Ball.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
New York City has some of the finest restaurants in the world, but Dalton wanted something hot, fast, and cheap, so he headed to McDonald’s for a breakfast sandwich. The place was packed, and the line moved slowly. Luckily, he had time. As he waited, he couldn’t help but notice that the air-conditioning was not on full force. Maybe, he surmised, the management was trying to cut costs, or maybe it was a strategy employed to keep customers from lingering. In any event, when he returned outside, the heat was not a shock to his system.
He did a quick search for Matt, glancing down the side street where they’d first met and then walking the perimeter of Times Square. A pretty girl tried to hand him a flyer for a comedy club, and he took it just to be polite. “Thanks,” he said, and she nodded with a smile. Down the block, he came to a trash receptacle and threw it out, first checking to make sure she wasn’t looking his way.
Dalton still hoped he might run into Matt. Leaving the message at the hot dog stand was something, but he knew it would be more effective to talk to him in person. Matt needed to know that Ellie, the love of his life, hadn’t moved on the way he’d thought. She loved him and was tormented by his absence. Matt had to call her, if only to assure her he was still alive. Dalton wanted more for those two than that, though. He’d never thought of himself as a romantic happy-endings kind of guy, but in this case, he wanted a happy outcome for Matt and Ellie. Those two belonged together. She was great. And Matt? Such a good guy but so sad. Despair radiated from him. Dalton wanted him to know that things could get better.
Dalton sat on the sidewalk of the side street where he’d first met Matt. Again, he put out his hat for donations and played the harmonica, alternating between the only two songs he knew. After two hours of playing on and off, and greeting people in between, he’d made a few dollars. He’d call that a success.
Time to stretch his legs.
Putting the money in his pocket and sticking the hat back on his head, he set out to walk around Times Square. Again, Dalton was struck by the energy of the place, the sounds of music mixed with conversation, the smell of delicious food. And the sights! So much to see. His dad was right. It was a big tourist trap, but what a magnificent trap. He walked over to the metal bleachers. When he’d first noticed them, it seemed a random place to put raised seating, but once he was a few rows up, he saw how perfect they were for getting an overview of the place. He sat and thought about his next meal and how hot it was getting now that the sun was climbing in the sky.
Without having someone to talk to, his thoughts just rattled around in his head, and a realization startled him. He wasn’t just alone.
He was lonely.
Lonely. It wasn’t just the loss of friends and family. He also felt as if he’d lost himself—the brother, friend, and son he’d once been. So very weird. He couldn’t remember ever feeling quite that way before.
From his perch in the bleachers, Dalton watched the people milling around, some walking with bottled beverages in hand, more taking pictures—mostly selfies with the electronic billboards in the background. He started to narrow his focus to specific people, watching the way one couple walked together hand in hand, then noticing a mother pushing a stroller containing a sleeping toddler, a thumb in his mouth. A group of teenagers strode past wearing identical green T-shirts. There were ten or so. A school group, maybe?
And then he saw her. The young woman he’d seen getting out of Cece Vanderhaven’s limo the other day. The one who’d given him a thumbs-up. She trailed a woman in a pink baseball cap who meandered like she was slightly drunk. The pink-capped woman wandered into one of the cheesy gift shops, the kind filled with “I heart New York” coffee mugs and T-shirts. The door to the shop was propped open, all the better to entice people to come in. Dalton couldn’t see much, but he knew what was inside the store. He’d gone in there once to cool off, amazed that there were people in the world who still bought ashtrays and plastic snow globes. The second woman followed the pink-capped woman into the store. Thinking of how she’d looked outside the limo made him grin. He remembered the hesitant way she’d stood there, and how she’d caught him looking and smiled right back. Like they knew each other and shared a joke. In this enormous city, what were the chances they’d cross paths again?
But they really hadn’t crossed paths. He’d spotted her from a distance.
After a few minutes, he stood up. They were still out of sight, but something inside of Dalton told him he needed to get closer or he might never see her again.
He climbed down the bleachers, zigzagging around other people on his way down. Once he was at ground level, he crossed the plaza and headed to the gift shop, veering around random tourists and performers dressed for photo ops. He also passed a food truck selling delicious-smelling empanadas. As he got to the gift shop door, an elderly couple was exiting, so he stood back to let them pass. Just as he was about to go inside, the pink-capped woman came flying out, bumping into him. She stopped, laughing at their collision. “Excuse me,” Dalton said, although technically, it was her mistake.
On her heels, her friend came rushing out, and following her was an older man, yelling, “Come back here! You have to pay!”
Dalton noticed then that pink-cap wore a pair of sunglasses with the price tag still attached to the side piece. Her friend frantically said, “She didn’t know. We’ll put them back.”
The man, who had to be the owner of the store, angrily said, “The hell you will. I’m calling the police.” He raised a fist to the tourists passing by and shouted, “You shoplift from my store, you will be prosecuted!”
The pink-capped woman said, “I told them to put it on my account,” her voice so soft and sweet, no one could have heard her but Dalton.
Her friend began arguing, saying the other woman didn’t understand about paying at the register. The owner yelled back, repeating what he’d said about calling the police and the store’s policy regarding shoplifting. Pretty soon, their voices began to overlap, neither one listening to the other.
“Please don’t call the police. She didn’t mean anything by it, honest.” The young woman had stopped arguing and was pleading now. “We’ll put the sunglasses back and go.”
Talking right over her, the owner said, “No one steals from my store. Do you hear me? No one!” As his pointed finger got closer and closer to her face, she took a step back.
Through all of this, Dalton was right there in the thick of the group. Anyone glancing their way would think he was part of the altercation, but the only one who noticed him was the pink-capped woman, who repeated her line to him once again: “I told them to put it on my account.”
Dalton put two fingers in his mouth and blew his loudest taxi-calling whistle. When both the owner and the friend stopped talking, he pulled cash out of his pocket. “Okay, let’s settle this. How much do the sunglasses cost?”
“Five dollars,” the owner said, folding his arms. “Plus tax.”
“Here.” Dalton shuffled through his cash and handed him a five and two singles. “That should cover it, right?”
&n
bsp; The owner held the bills loosely in his hand, but only for a second, and then the money was in his pocket. He gave the girls a look of disgust. “I’ll let it go this time, but I never want to see you two in my store ever again. Now get out!” He turned and went back inside in a huff.
“How can we get out if we’re already out?” the pink-capped girl asked, wide-eyed. She turned to her friend. “I don’t want to go in his store again anyway, Greta. He was mean.”
“He was mean,” Dalton said, and then faced her friend, pleased that he had a name to match the face. “Greta, is it?” To his surprise, she started blushing. “Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear your name.”
She glanced up through her lashes and said, “Thank you for helping us. I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t shown up.” She pulled her friend away from the doorway and steered her down the sidewalk.
Dalton followed. When they stepped aside to let a guy using crutches pass, he pivoted in front of them. “No need to thank me. I was glad to help.” He stuck out his hand. “My name’s Dalton. Dalton Bradshaw.” The fake last name came out without much thought. He didn’t normally lie. He’d already given his correct name to Ellie and her sister, and to Trisha at the hot dog cart, so it wasn’t exactly a secret. But now he wanted to keep his identity under wraps, at least for the time being. People who knew he came from the Bishop family viewed him differently, either looking down on him for coming from wealth or liking him for the same reason. He wanted this woman to judge him on his own merits.
“Nice to meet you, Dalton Bradshaw.” She slipped her hand into his and that was it. Once their hands were pressed together, skin against skin, neither one made a move to separate. She blushed again, and then they locked eyes. He wasn’t sure if she remembered him from the pizza parlor, but there was definitely something there, a connection. He would have remembered meeting someone named Greta, so he was certain they were strangers, but he got the strangest sense of familiarity. It was like they’d met before, maybe as kids at summer camp, or in a dream or another lifetime.
Good Man, Dalton Page 14