Outside the SoHo Gallery

W Houston Street, Manhattan

11:35 PM

Ethan dropped into the back seat of the taxi and shifted over, wondering if Jess would join him or wait for the next ride. When she slid in beside him, he didn’t know whether to feel relieved or even more guilty.

“Lenox Hill. 343 East 74th Street,” she told the driver.

As they pulled away from the curb, Ethan tried to read her expression. It was too dark to see much, but her eyes looked dry. She crossed her legs, her body language stiff and foreign. It felt like he was sharing a cab with a stranger.

They drove in silence for a couple of blocks. When she finally spoke, it was in the same tone she used with her law firm clients. “You need to call the gallery on Monday. They won’t be taking calls over the weekend.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Of course you can. There’ll be a penalty for withdrawing your bid, but I doubt they’ll bother suing you for breach of contract. Not if they can find another buyer, which shouldn’t be a problem. They won’t be able to claim any damages.”

“I’m not withdrawing my bid.”

“Really?” She peered out the window. “Then I guess you have two hundred thousand dollars to burn. Here I was thinking you had student loans to pay off, and you’re secretly a millionaire.”

“I’ll find a way to finance the painting, Jess. It won’t affect you.”

Her head whipped back toward him. “How the hell does this not affect me? We were supposed to get married next year, Ethan!”

We were supposed to get married. He noticed her choice of words. Lawyers never misspoke. Had she just broken off their engagement?

The cab stopped short at a red light, triggering a riot of car horns. He covered his ears, waiting for the cacophony to die down before trying to speak again. “I didn’t plan for things to go off the rails like this, Jess. I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

She stared at him, her mouth agape. “You’re sorry? That’s it? You act weird all evening. You humiliate me in front of my friends. Then you blow a quarter of a million dollars on some random, hideous painting without even asking my opinion. I’m way beyond hurt. I’m fucking furious.”

The cabbie glanced over his shoulder, then quickly faced forward.

“You have a right to be.” Ethan rested his hand on the seat between them, not daring to touch her. “When we get to your apartment, I can pick up my things and head back to Boston.”

“It’s too late for that.”

“I know.”

“I’m not talking metaphorically.” She tapped her Apple Watch. “It’s almost midnight. The last train left an hour ago.”

“Then I’ll stay at a hotel.”

“Is that what you want?”

“No.” He tried to look her in the eyes, but she turned away. “I want to talk through this.”

The cab accelerated to swerve around a double-parked car, throwing them back into their seats. Jess reflexively grabbed his arm, then jerked her hand back, glaring at him.

“Fine.” She clicked on her seatbelt. “I’m stuck in this death trap for the next ten minutes, so go ahead. Start with something simple, like trying to explain what the hell you were thinking. Were you really that drunk?”

He massaged his throbbing temples. “No. By the time the auction got underway, the alcohol was starting to wear off.”

“Then what was it? Some testosterone-fueled pissing contest between you and Jace?”

“Not really. Well, he did play a role, I guess. I just couldn’t stand the thought of that prick owning one of Callie’s paintings.”

“Callie?” She laughed. “You mean Callahan Perrin, the artist? You make it sound as if you know her.”

He sighed. Screw the NDA. “That’s because I do. She’s a patient at Belmont.”

He braced himself for Jess’s reaction, counting the seconds. It was like waiting for the thunderclap after a flash of lightning.

“Callahan Perrin,” she finally said. “At Belmont. And you know this because you’ve seen her?”

“More than that. I’m the med student assigned to her team. They had me sign an NDA. That’s why I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Okay, Ethan.” Jess turned to face him, her face illuminated by flashes of red light from a passing ambulance. The wail of its siren dropped to a lower pitch as it receded. “No more bullshit. You need to tell me everything.”

*

Ethan washed down a couple of ibuprofens with black coffee. He was fully sober now, sitting at the kitchen table and nursing the start of a killer hangover. A ceiling-mounted floodlight glared down on him like the desert sun.

He’d told Jess the basics about his week at Belmont. How he’d been assigned to Callie’s team. How he’d gotten to know her during their sessions. But now she was pressing him for details he didn’t want to give.

“Are you sure about the non-disclosure agreement?” He squirmed in a vintage Bauhaus dining room chair, which definitely favored style over comfort. “I don’t want to get either one of us in trouble.”

“Forget the NDA,” Jess said over her shoulder as she steeped a cup of tea. “That’s just so you won’t sell your story to some gossip rag. I’m sure Maddie would be thrilled to talk to you.”

Shit. He’d forgotten Jess’s sister worked for Prime Dirt, one of the most aggressive gossip blogs on the web.

“You won’t tell her, right?”

“Obviously. I’m not stupid.” She sat down across from him. “Or vindictive. You should know by now you can trust me to keep a secret. That’s part of the problem.”

“I didn’t keep this a secret for long, Jess. I only met Callie last Monday.”

“Yeah, well apparently that was enough time.”

“Enough time for what?”

“For you to call her Callie.” She set down her teacup. “I still can’t get over how they let you spend time alone with her.”

“That’s how the rotation works. We’re supposed to build a rapport with our patients, so we can help the team.”

“And this rapport. Are we talking therapy sessions?”

“More like conversations.”

“Interesting. I can’t imagine a depressed, suicidal young woman would have much to say to a med student with no psych training.”

“She didn’t at first. But when I opened up to her, she opened up to me. I don’t know. Maybe her meds kicked in, but it was like someone flipped a light switch. We started talking, first about superficial things, then about our families and...” He trailed off, noticing how Jess’s eyes had narrowed. Why did he suddenly feel like he was being deposed by a hostile lawyer?

“Did you tell her about us?”

“Just that we’re engaged, but I didn’t share anything personal.” 

“How is that not personal?”

He opened his mouth to defend himself, then thought better of it.

“Jeez, Ethan. Have you even watched her reality TV show? You know”— she made air quotes with her fingers – “Prodigy. Playing mind games is her M.O. The whole series is basically ten episodes of her stealing boyfriends and turning normal-seeming guys into obsessive stalkers.”

Ethan frowned, not liking the implication. “That’s just a TV show, Jess.”

“Yeah, but art imitates life, right?” She laughed. “I don’t think I ever told you – I mean, why would I? – but we used to watch Prodigy in law school as a joke. We turned it into a drinking game. Take a shot whenever Callie flirts with a married man. Take two shots whenever she hooks up with her best friend’s boyfriend. Chug a beer every time the camera cuts to a scene of her channeling all that drama into painting something brilliant. Maddie said she probably staged her latest suicide attempt to grab publicity for another season.”

“That’s bullshit. Believe me, Callie’s suicide attempt was very real. She came within seconds of killing herself, which is why she’s in Belmont right now, struggling to get her life back together. She’s overcome things you can’t imagine.”

“Really?” She crossed her arms, nostrils flaring. “I see. How callous of me.”

“I'm just saying. If you knew the painful details of her life, you wouldn’t be so quick to judge her.”

“I’m not judging her. I couldn’t care less about her.” Jess got up and started pacing, heels clacking on the parquet floor. “What I care about is that she got into your head. How else am I supposed to explain what happened tonight?”

She kicked off her shoes and shut the lights, but instead of heading straight to her bedroom, she stopped in the living room. After a moment’s hesitation, Ethan followed her. Beyond the sliding glass door to the balcony, block after block of luxury high-rise apartments winked back at them like fireflies in the night.

He waited in silence, remembering Doctor Grieves’ advice that it was sometimes best just to listen. This felt like one of those times.

Finally, her silhouette turned to him. “What happened, Ethan? Last weekend in Boston, everything seemed perfect, but tonight…” Her shoulders heaved. “I feel like I don’t even know you.”

“I’m the same person I’ve always been, Jess.” He wanted more than anything in the world to wrap his arms around her, but the tautness of her shoulders warned him away. “But I’ve kept things from you, things I’ve been afraid to share. That needs to end tonight.”

“Oh my God.” Her breath hitched. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with that fucked up girl.”

“This isn’t about Callie. It’s about me, and what happened after Abbie’s death. After my accident.” He drew a deep breath, then exhaled through pursed lips. “If you want to call off the engagement after hearing what I have to say, then I’ll understand.”

“Okay.” Jess flopped down on the couch and patted the cushion beside her. “Let’s talk all night if that’s what it takes. But there’s one thing you should know first. You’re not the only one with secrets.”

***

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