If you won’t call me, then at least look out your window tonight at ten. I want to give you something.
Trey
“He stopped by too. Just fifteen minutes ago. He was hoping you’d be home,” Harry said from behind the desk. She glanced up dazedly and saw Harry’s brown eyes on her, his gaze kind. Concerned.
“He did?” she asked hoarsely. If you won’t call me, then at least look out your window tonight at ten.
Her heart started to thrum loudly in her ears. Her doorman nodded somberly. “He seemed pretty disappointed when I told him you hadn’t come home from work yet.”
“Thanks, Harry,” she replied thickly. “I’m kind of loaded up at the moment,” she said, looking down at her heavy briefcase. “Can I come back down to get the big arrangement?”
“I’ll have Alex bring them up in a few minutes,” Harry assured, referring to their maintenance man.
—
The written message kept repeating in her head. I’m not giving up, Eleanor.
If you won’t call me, then at least look out your window tonight at ten.
She recalled how she’d written a similar message, inviting him to watch her striptease on that first night in the coffee shop. It seemed like ages ago. The memory made a spike of mixed longing and shame go through her.
Her motivations had been so mercenary toward him in the beginning. But her longing had only grown exponentially since that time. Her sexual attraction had bloomed into a full-fledged, hopeless love.
Her reasons for inviting him to look inside her world that first night were single-mindedly sexual and selfish.
What could Trey’s reasons be for asking her to look into his home?
Alex delivered the huge, gorgeous arrangement just as she’d finished putting the wildflowers in water. A moment later, she stood back and admired the pair of bouquets on her kitchen counter, a knot forming in her throat. Trey had been right, of course. It was hard to say which arrangement she loved more: the wild and unassuming, or the sophisticated and sensual.
The beautiful flowers seemed to mock and tempt her nearly as much as the closed guest bedroom door down the hall. Feeling confused and restless, she changed into a pair of yoga pants, a sweatshirt and tennis shoes. A brisk walk would clear her head. Maybe she’d divine the “right” answer as to what precisely she’d be doing at ten o’clock tonight.
Much to her surprise, she found herself determinedly turning down Oak Street a few minutes later. She entered the lobby of an apartment building and approached the doorman.
“I’m here to see Sandra Banks?” Eleanor told the doorman. “I’m Eleanor Briggs. She’s not expecting me. I’m not sure if she’ll be home—”
But the doorman was already dialing Caddy’s best friend’s number. It still stunned her a little, that she was standing here in Sandra’s lobby. She’d been avoiding Sandra’s requests to get together since Caddy died, a fact that pained and embarrassed her as she waited there now.
The idea had occurred to her out of nowhere as she walked down the inner drive. As her sister, Eleanor had thought she’d known Caddy better than anyone on earth. But Caddy had always taken a big-sister protective attitude toward Eleanor.
There could be no doubt that a sisterly relationship and a best-friend relationship were two very different things.
The doorman spoke into the phone. He hung up a moment later.
“She’s not here at the moment, but she said she’s only a few blocks away, if you’d like to wait?”
Eleanor nodded thankfully and took a seat in the lobby. Within minutes, Sandra was entering the front doors, laden down with several shopping bags and her briefcase. A grin broke over her face when she saw Eleanor standing up to greet her.
“Eleanor, how wonderful to see you. What a surprise.” She dumped her bags heedlessly on the carpet and rushed her. They hugged tightly, Eleanor laughing, warmed to the core by the other woman’s exuberance. “We haven’t seen each other since—”
“The funeral,” Eleanor said, smiling as she stepped back. Sandra looked healthy and prosperous, her cheeks and nose pink from the cold wind off the lake. “How have you been?”
“Busy. Work, the holiday season. You know how it is,” Sandra said, nodding at the shopping bags on the floor that were filled with gift-wrapped packages. “How are your parents?”
“Fine.” She made a face. “Actually, there is some news on that front. Maybe I can fill you in over a drink?”
“That’d be great, I’d love that. Have you moved into Caddy’s place?” Sandra asked.
“Yes.”