The Ex Page 7

  Unless…

  No. Not that. Nobody knows about that.

  She reaches a trembling hand into her purse and pulls out her phone. She needs to call the police to report this. It’s the simple and obvious thing to do. Except she can’t make herself dial 911. When did she become so frightened of the police?

  Of course, that’s a rhetorical question. She knows exactly when she grew wary of the people who could potentially throw her in jail.

  But she doesn’t have a choice. She needs to call them.

  It will be fine.

  Chapter 11: The New Girl

  “It’s paint.”

  The officer taking the report from Cassie doesn’t seem terribly impressed. Sympathetic, but not impressed. Admittedly, she was hysterical when he first arrived, sobbing about blood on the windows of her store. But Officer McNeil took one look at the crimson stain and made his declaration. Paint.

  Cassie’s brows knit together. “Are you sure?”

  He nods without hesitation. “Yep.”

  “Oh.” She frowns, feeling stupid. “I thought for sure…”

  In retrospect, he’s clearly right. The way the red material cakes against the door clearly resembles paint. And it sort of smells like paint. She saw it and her mind immediately went to blood. She wonders if that was the desire of whoever did this. They could have chosen any color of paint, but they chose something that looked like blood.

  “There are a lot of vandals in this neighborhood,” Officer McNeil says with the wisdom of a man much older than his years. Cassie looks at his buzz cut and baby face and decides he couldn’t possibly be older than she is, but he acts like a cop with one week till retirement. “I’m surprised this is your first incident.”

  “Yeah,” she mumbles.

  “I’ll put in the report.” The officer holds up his notebook. “But… you know, this kind of stuff happens. At least they didn’t break anything, right?”

  That’s true, but it’s hard to explain how personal this feels. Maybe he’s right—maybe it was some random kid who did it. But somehow, it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like this attack was aimed directly at her.

  “That homeless woman right outside,” the officer says. “She might have seen something. Did you ask her?”

  “No,” Cassie says. She doesn’t want to admit Maureen the Homeless Lady makes her nervous, and she would never willingly approach her.

  “Let me go ask her then.”

  Please don’t, Cassie wants to say. The officer already wrote down his report and now she wants him to leave. But he insists on questioning this homeless woman.

  Cassie follows in the officer’s shadow as he marches out of the store to the nook that Maureen has made her home. She’s surrounded by unfolded dirty pieces of cardboard, both under her and behind her. She’s wrapped in a coat that is several orders too warm for the current weather, with a coat on top of her legs as well. And to her right, in a row on the pavement, are not one, not two, but three coffee cups. She looks up at the officer, the creases on her face lined with dirt, and she frowns. Cassie could imagine someone who lives on the street would be wary of cops.

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” Officer McNeil says.

  Maureen squints at him. “Yup?”

  “Someone committed an act of vandalism here last night.” Officer McNeil waves a hand at the door of the bookstore. “Did you see anything suspicious? Anyone throwing paint?”

  Cassie takes a step back, her nose crinkling at the odor of urine. But she stays close, eager to hear Maureen’s answer.

  “No, I didn’t, Officer!” Maureen says, grinning to show off a single tooth in her upper gums. “I didn’t see nothing! Not a thing!”

  The officer frowns at her. “Are you sure about that?”

  “Nope!” Maureen replies. Then she bursts out laughing. Probably at something said by the voices in her head.

  Well, that was about as helpful as Cassie expected it to be.

  After Officer McNeil leaves, Cassie lets out a sigh of relief. She opens up the bookstore, but there’s no one waiting to come in, so she’s free to wallow in self-pity and google ways to get paint off of glass. Sounds like some vinegar will do the trick.

  Zoe arrives at the store just after lunch with what appears to be a new piercing in her nose. Her right nostril is slightly inflamed—a tiny circle of red surrounding a diamond stud. She’s glancing back at the door as she pulls off her coat. “What’s with the new décor, Cass?”

  “It’s not a new décor.” Cassie rolls her eyes. “Someone threw paint on the door. If you’ll help me, we can get it off with vinegar.”

  “I don’t know…” Zoe purses her lips. “I kind of like it, actually. It gives the store a little color.”

  “You’re just saying that because you don’t want to help me clean it up.”

  “Could be.” Zoe grins. She’s got a crooked incisor on the left that is Cassie’s favorite thing about her. “Why don’t you ask your boyfriend the hot doctor? I’m sure he’d help you.”

  “I guess he would…”

  “Are you kidding me?” Zoe plunks herself down on a stool behind the desk. “The guy is so into you. He’d scrub that paint off with a toothbrush if you asked him.”

  Cassie laughs. She doubts he’d scrub the paint off with a toothbrush, but he’d definitely help her if she asked him. But somehow she doesn’t want him to know about this.

  “Please?” Cassie says.

  “Okay,” Zoe says. “But you owe me a sandwich.”

  “Deal.”

  Zoe reaches into her purse and pulls out a compact. She touches up her makeup several times per shift. “You should have sandwiches here.”

  “You mean like a pile of them?”

  She rolls her eyes. “No, like you should make them to sell. Bookstore and sandwich shop.”

  “Um,” Cassie says.

  “It’s a good idea!” Zoe insists. “People love eating while they read. It’s a whole industry, and you should cash in!”

  Cassie shakes her head. “I don’t know how to make food people would want to pay money for.”

  “It’s not like it’s hard,” Zoe huffs. “I was at a café yesterday and got a ham sandwich, and it was just a few slices of ham, a piece of Swiss cheese, and some mayonnaise. That was it! Six dollars. I kid you not.”

  “I don’t know.” Cassie bites her lip. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Well, come up with a better one then.” Zoe glances around the store through her mascaraed ‘lashes. “Because otherwise, this place is gone.”

  Zoe is right. Cassie hates to admit it, but she’s absolutely right. And Zoe is the only other person in the world who cares. When they were both graduating and Cassie told Zoe about inheriting the shop, Zoe jumped at the idea of helping out. They both loved books, and between the two of them, their literary knowledge was encyclopedic. They made excited plans about how much fun they’d have running Bookland together.

  The reality wasn’t as great as the fantasy. When none of their ideas to boost sales panned out, Zoe took a second job bartending. She also has some online job Cassie doesn’t understand except she hopes it doesn’t involve pornography. Cassie has offered to release Zoe from any work or financial obligation, but Zoe has stuck it out. I believe in this place, Zoe keeps saying. We can make it work.

  Zoe doesn’t know the truth. There’s only one reason the bookstore hasn’t gone under, and it’s something Cassie can never tell her about.

  The door to Bookland jingles, signifying a new customer. Cassie looks up eagerly—this is only her second customer the entire day. The crimson paint seems to be repelling customers. Just what she needs. Maybe Zoe can mind the store while she goes out to get that vinegar.

  It’s a young man, which is a bad sign. Young men do not make up even one percent of their customers. Cassie isn’t sure if it’s because men that age don’t read or perhaps they only read electronic books. But before he even opens his mouth, she knows what he’s goi
ng to say.

  “Excuse me,” the young man says. “Do you have a copy of Netter’s Atlas of Human Anatomy?”

  He’s a medical student. Of course.

  “We don’t carry medical books,” Zoe says regretfully. “But maybe I can show you some other things you might like…”

  “Well, all I really need is—”

  Except before the man can finish his sentence, Zoe is leading him by the arm to the back of the store. That’s why Cassie is glad Zoe sticks around, even if she has to work two jobs on the side. Zoe will persuade him to buy a few books he doesn’t even want, just for the chance of getting her number. She’ll taunt him with it until the sale is final. Without Zoe, Bookland wouldn’t have a chance.

  While Zoe is in the back with their customer, Cassie raises her eyes to look at the crimson paint splattered across the entrance. God, it looks so much like blood. She wonders when the vandals who did it were here. Was it in the middle of the night, when the streets were empty? Or were they watching the door in the evening, waiting for her to lock up to make their move?

  She hates to admit it, but she sometimes still gets that feeling someone is following her. Ever since that first date with Joel. It’s a creeping sensation going up her spine, and it only happens when she’s alone. Sometimes she’s certain she hears footsteps. But whenever she dares to turn around, there’s nobody there.

  Is it someone clever enough to follow her without being detected? Or is she simply losing her mind?

  After all, why would someone follow her? She has no enemies. And she has just about the most boring life ever. All she does is work and go out on dates with Joel. She enjoys her life, but it’s hard to imagine it would be interesting to an observer.

  Then again, if someone threw paint on her door, they’re more than an observer.

  Cassie shakes her head. The policeman said it was vandals and he’s probably right. The simplest explanation is usually the correct one. What are the chances someone is following her?

  Chapter 12: The Ex

  God help me, I’ve been following her.

  I deleted the WhereAmI app. I swear I did. But it turns out that stupid app is harder to get rid of than I thought. I downloaded it again, figuring it would have deleted all the information about Joel, but it hadn’t. As soon as I opened the app, there was his avatar. The tiny picture of him floating on the screen, telling me his exact coordinates on a map of the city.

  So I went there.

  And he was with that girl again. The one with the olive skin, who he’d kissed that night. Lydia told me Joel has been dating, but apparently, it’s just that one girl.

  By now, I would say he thinks of her as his girlfriend.

  I’ve nicknamed her Olive because I haven’t yet figured out her name, but I’ve found out many other things about her. She owns a business that, based on the number of customers I see coming in and out, isn’t doing very well. She likes to wear skinny jeans, and she’s got the legs to pull it off. She leaves every day at about two, goes into the deli down the block, and buys herself a coffee.

  I have followed her more than once onto the subway during her journey home. She has no idea I’m there. I don’t dare get too close, because there’s a reasonable chance she might have seen a photo of me on social media, and I don’t want her reporting to Joel that I’ve been stalking her. Olive looks like the sort of girl who wouldn’t confront me, but would certainly tell on me.

  I’m glad Lydia has refused to spend time with me anymore, because I almost certainly would have broken down and told her I’ve been following Joel’s new girlfriend around. And then she would have told Pete, who would have told Joel.

  I recognize how bad it is that I’m doing this. I should be focusing on my own career. Meeting new men. Anything but following my ex and his new girlfriend around.

  I can’t though. It’s become a crazy addiction. Following Olive.

  Well, not just following her.

  “It smells wonderful, patatina.” Nonna wanders into the kitchen, where I have two burners going on the stove. The more upset I am, the more elaborate my meals become. “What is it you are making?”

  “Chicken cacciatore,” I tell her. The meat is simmering in a pan, and I’ve got a pot of water on the brink of boiling. The linguine is waiting to be thrown into the pot. Did I mention it’s homemade linguine? Nonna has a pasta machine and I find it therapeutic.

  Chicken cacciatore was one of Joel’s favorites. When he was having a rough week, sometimes I’d make up a little menu for the week, and let him choose the dishes he wanted each day. You’re my favorite restaurant, he’d say with a grin.

  “Such a good cook,” Nonna muses. Her brow crinkles. “But you should not be here! You should be out… with a man!”

  “I’m fine.”

  “No.” She shakes her head. “Not fine. I have a perfect man for you. My friend Gloria’s youngest grandson.”

  Youngest grandson? My eyebrows shoot up. “How old is he?”

  “Don’t worry—he’s eighteen! That is legal age.”

  “Nonna, I’m not dating an eighteen-year-old!”

  “I did not say ‘date’! Just for a little fun. You know what I mean.”

  My jaw drops open. My ninety-year-old grandmother, born and raised in Sicily to a strict Catholic mother, did not just say that to me. “Nonna! How could you say that?”

  “Because it is a fact of life, patatina.” She shrugs. “If you do not want this boy, then go on the internet. They have websites where you can meet men now. They are everywhere!”

  “Nonna…”

  “It’s true!” she insists. “You swipe right when you think he is nice-looking. And if you don’t think he is nice-looking, you Snapchat him.”

  “I don’t think that’s correct.”

  “I am just telling you that you must stop thinking about Jo-el.” She fingers the pasta I’ve made, inspecting its consistency. “He is not so wonderful.”

  I pick my phone up off the kitchen counter. Without thinking, I click on the WhereAmI app, which immediately locates Joel’s avatar.

  I should delete the app. I should get rid of it for good in a way that I can’t get it back, even if I’m tempted.

  I’m deleting it.

  Now.

  Chapter 13: The New Girl

  “I can’t remember the last time I went to the zoo!” Cassie declares as she waits in line with Joel to buy tickets to get into the Central Park Zoo. It’s a beautiful day, the kind that makes you happy to be alive, even though the families in front and behind them in line both have shrieking kids, and one of those kids is holding a balloon that keeps smacking Cassie in the face.

  “Me either.” He gives her hand a squeeze. “It’s going to be fun.”

  Yes, they’re holding hands. They hold hands all the time now. Even when they’re just walking down the street, he reaches for her hand, and they lace their fingers together. She hates to admit how much she loves it. And Joel looks so good today, in his jeans and hoodie sweatshirt, with his chestnut hair adorably tousled by the wind.

  The tickets for the zoo are obscenely expensive, which probably partially explains why Cassie can’t remember the last time she’s been to the zoo. She’s stopped offering to pay for things. He always waves her off, and she can’t afford any of the things they do together anyway.

  “What animal do you want to see first?” Joel asks her.

  She taps a finger against her chin as she inhales the distinctive odor of animals. “I’ve always been partial to the penguins. How about you?”

  “I like the polar bear.”

  She’s got a book on penguins at the store. It’s in the children’s section, and it just arrived a week earlier. She flipped through it, like she often does with new arrivals. The baby penguins were so cute. She wanted to scoop them up and keep one as a pet.

  “Joel? Joel!”

  Joel jerks his head around, and his eyes widen. A smile spreads across his lips, but she knows him well enough to know w
hen his smile is forced.

  She follows his gaze to the source of the voice. There are two couples striding toward them, flanking a blonde child of about five years old. One of the men waves enthusiastically at them, and Joel winces.

  “Friends of yours?” Cassie murmurs.

  “That’s Pete who called my name,” Joel murmurs back. “He’s my best friend, actually.”

  Oh, lovely. She’s about to meet The Friends, without any preparation whatsoever. She looks down at her skinny jeans and sweatshirt. These aren’t the clothes she’d want to wear for a first impression, but there isn’t much to do about it now.

  Joel handles introductions. The tall guy in the NYU hoodie with messy dirty blond hair is his best friend Pete, and the gorgeous blonde with the porcelain skin is his wife Lydia. The little girl is their daughter, Violet, who is wearing an impractical velvet dress and shiny black shoes that look like they cost as much as everything in Cassie’s closet put together. The other attractive couple is Anna and Con. Anna has a visible baby bump poking out of her stylish black-and-white striped top. Both women look like they’ve leapt out of the pages of a fashion magazine.

  Cassie feels uneasy about the fact that Joel’s best friend has a daughter and his other close friend has a pregnant wife. He’s thirty-six—he must be thinking about marriage and children in the near future. The thought of being pregnant any time soon makes Cassie queasy. Her life isn’t in any kind of shape to bring a child into it. But then again, Joel hasn’t hinted at marriage yet or gone any faster than she’s comfortable with. So maybe she shouldn’t overreact.

  After Joel finishes introducing his friends to her, it’s Cassie’s turn. He slings an arm around her shoulders and says, “This is Cassie.”

  “Mommy.” Violet tugs on Lydia’s arm. “She looks like Francesca.”

  The color drains out of Joel’s face. Since that first night, they’ve somehow managed to go the whole month without the topic of Joel’s ex-girlfriend coming up. Cassie has tried to hint at it, but Joel always deftly changes the subject. It’s clear Francesca is the last thing he wants to talk about, which makes Cassie increasingly curious.