A half hour later I have Page dressed in a linen shift dress, unembellished tan sandals on her feet, her baby chick–colored hair combed back into a loose ponytail. She’s wearing concealer, a dusting of the fawn eye shadow and a red lip, nothing else. I’ve taken all the bracelets off her arms, unclasped the rhinestone cross from her neck. I’ve given her a small saddle bag to keep her phone and wallet in, removed the cheap pearl studs from her ears. She looks good, I think. Natural.

“There you go!” I say brightly. “Do you need help finding the subway? I can walk you to it before I head home.”

She looks at me quizzically. “But you’re coming with me, Vera.”

I pause, scoff unintentionally. “No, I’m not.”

But Page doesn’t laugh back and she doesn’t make a move out of her bedroom doorway, either. “I need you there. To hold my hand.” Her eyes, they widen, a quiver on her lips like she might cry, and I back away, farther into the room and she follows, her face so close to mine I can taste her exhale.

“You think I can spend time with Odilie’s friends? They hate me. I’m part of the reason she’s dead.” I feel dizzy. I want to lay my forehead down. I wonder, for a tiny shimmer of a moment, if Page has drugged me somehow, like her mere presence has shot poison through my bloodstream.

“I’ve already mentioned inviting you. No one thinks that way. No one who actually knew Odilie and Tom. Trust me.” The last part a shiver of a phrase.

I’m about to protest again when I hear Sam’s voice in my ear, Do whatever she wants. So I let out a sigh. “Okay, let’s go for it.” And I force myself to smile, my mouth aching from the effort.

I take off my own pumps and opt for the Thom Browne loafers I got on the RealReal, hope that my blousy top isn’t revealing my cleavage too much, that my naturally pouty lips and sharp cheekbones that cast me so easily as the evil mistress have been neutralized by the lack of makeup, the under-eye circles I’m not covering up.

Once we’re heading out the door to Brooklyn Heights, only a short walk away, I turn to Page. “They know I’m coming, right?”

Page gives me an obstinate look. “Of course they do.”

And we’re off.