door, having no idea where I was going, no purse, no coat, no thought beyond the hysterical edge that rode through me.
At the elevator, I pressed the button with urgency. My breath came in rapid jerks. “Hurry,” I pleaded, pressing the call button again and again. If I could just get outside, I told myself, I’d be okay.
But when the door finally opened, I froze at the sight of one of the Dakota board members who had always adored Sandy but had been barely civil to me, speaking heatedly to none other than Sandy’s estate lawyer.
My brain lurched. I couldn’t let them see me, not now, but my feet wouldn’t move. I stood there panicked, despair and the sheer weight of my life falling apart making it impossible to move. Then I saw him.
“What the h—”
Max cut himself off and leapt out from the corner of the elevator where he’d been standing, and grabbed my arm. The lawyer and board member continued whatever heated discussion was going on while Max half dragged, half carried me up the narrow stairs that led to the next floor.
I still couldn’t think. I allowed him to take me wherever he wanted. On the eighth floor, he held my arm, and in some part of my brain I registered that his hand was large, strong, but gentle, and I remembered him putting the Hello Kitty bandage on my palm. In the disjointed fragments of my scattered mind I registered safe, nothing more.
We didn’t stop until he came to a door of what I knew was one of the small, utilitarian apartments used for servants. He pulled one of those mountain-climbing clips from his pocket that held his keys, then he guided me inside. He didn’t look at me until he shut the door.
“Are you all right?”
What to say? No, I’m not all right? No, I’ll never be all right again?
“What happened back there?” he pressed, his forehead creased with concern.
My clouded brain tried to clear, my eyes burning with the effort.
“When the elevator opened,” he explained, “you were standing there like you were … losing it.”
I must have swayed because he grabbed me.
“Then when you saw that crazy whack-job board member freaking out on that guy, it was like you were going to crash.”
“So you took action,” I whispered.
He shrugged. “I figured I should get you away from them.”
My throat tightened even more at the mix of kindness and strength, as if he were used to taking charge, making snap decisions, averting disaster.
“Hey,” he said softly.
I covered my face with my hands, my hair swinging forward.
“Whatever it is, you’ll get through it.”
“You don’t know that,” I managed.
“Trust me, I know all about bad shit happening and surviving.”
I glanced at him through the threat of tears. “How old are you?”
“Does it matter?”
“No.” But somehow it seemed important.
“Twenty-seven.”
Five years younger than me. Someone else might have wondered how bad things could have been for a ruggedly handsome man of twenty-seven who had a relative with three beautiful children and lived in a large apartment in the Dakota. But something in his dark eyes told me he had seen more than he should have or wanted to.
“I’ll make you some tea,” he said, guiding me to a chair in the tiny kitchen that was so like the one in Sandy’s suite.
I pulled my knees up, hugging them to my chest, wanting a distraction. “Is this where you live?”
He glanced back at me with a lopsided grin as he tossed his coat aside. Raking his dark hair back with both hands, he shrugged, his forearms defined but not obscenely muscular. “I’m living here for now.”
I had noticed that he was tall before, but now I could see he had the broad shoulders of an athlete rather than a bodybuilder, tapering down into a slim waist and hips. Yet again I had the sense that he was in control every second, exceptional in some way that made me feel he could do anything.
After having read my husband’s journals, I had the distinct thought that this man was
At the elevator, I pressed the button with urgency. My breath came in rapid jerks. “Hurry,” I pleaded, pressing the call button again and again. If I could just get outside, I told myself, I’d be okay.
But when the door finally opened, I froze at the sight of one of the Dakota board members who had always adored Sandy but had been barely civil to me, speaking heatedly to none other than Sandy’s estate lawyer.
My brain lurched. I couldn’t let them see me, not now, but my feet wouldn’t move. I stood there panicked, despair and the sheer weight of my life falling apart making it impossible to move. Then I saw him.
“What the h—”
Max cut himself off and leapt out from the corner of the elevator where he’d been standing, and grabbed my arm. The lawyer and board member continued whatever heated discussion was going on while Max half dragged, half carried me up the narrow stairs that led to the next floor.
I still couldn’t think. I allowed him to take me wherever he wanted. On the eighth floor, he held my arm, and in some part of my brain I registered that his hand was large, strong, but gentle, and I remembered him putting the Hello Kitty bandage on my palm. In the disjointed fragments of my scattered mind I registered safe, nothing more.
We didn’t stop until he came to a door of what I knew was one of the small, utilitarian apartments used for servants. He pulled one of those mountain-climbing clips from his pocket that held his keys, then he guided me inside. He didn’t look at me until he shut the door.
“Are you all right?”
What to say? No, I’m not all right? No, I’ll never be all right again?
“What happened back there?” he pressed, his forehead creased with concern.
My clouded brain tried to clear, my eyes burning with the effort.
“When the elevator opened,” he explained, “you were standing there like you were … losing it.”
I must have swayed because he grabbed me.
“Then when you saw that crazy whack-job board member freaking out on that guy, it was like you were going to crash.”
“So you took action,” I whispered.
He shrugged. “I figured I should get you away from them.”
My throat tightened even more at the mix of kindness and strength, as if he were used to taking charge, making snap decisions, averting disaster.
“Hey,” he said softly.
I covered my face with my hands, my hair swinging forward.
“Whatever it is, you’ll get through it.”
“You don’t know that,” I managed.
“Trust me, I know all about bad shit happening and surviving.”
I glanced at him through the threat of tears. “How old are you?”
“Does it matter?”
“No.” But somehow it seemed important.
“Twenty-seven.”
Five years younger than me. Someone else might have wondered how bad things could have been for a ruggedly handsome man of twenty-seven who had a relative with three beautiful children and lived in a large apartment in the Dakota. But something in his dark eyes told me he had seen more than he should have or wanted to.
“I’ll make you some tea,” he said, guiding me to a chair in the tiny kitchen that was so like the one in Sandy’s suite.
I pulled my knees up, hugging them to my chest, wanting a distraction. “Is this where you live?”
He glanced back at me with a lopsided grin as he tossed his coat aside. Raking his dark hair back with both hands, he shrugged, his forearms defined but not obscenely muscular. “I’m living here for now.”
I had noticed that he was tall before, but now I could see he had the broad shoulders of an athlete rather than a bodybuilder, tapering down into a slim waist and hips. Yet again I had the sense that he was in control every second, exceptional in some way that made me feel he could do anything.
After having read my husband’s journals, I had the distinct thought that this man was
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