“Shall we have dinner together later?” he suggested, as if we were one big, happy family. “We need to spend more time together, now that Caroline’s gone.”

“I have work to do.”

I didn’t add that I didn’t want to spend time with him because I knew he was lying to me. Juliet lied too; so did Ursula. I’d thought I could trust Caroline, but I’d been wrong. In my entire family, there was no one I could count on to tell me the truth.

CHAPTER 18 DEIRDRE

CHAPTER 18

DEIRDRE

Jude’s city hall office was only two express stops away from Grand Central. I took the 4 train north and exited the subway, heading east on Forty-Second Street. A massive sign with the words TUDOR CITY in bold letters sat in the sky near First Avenue. Almost twenty-five years in New York—my entire existence—and I couldn’t understand how I’d missed it before.

I found a stone staircase on the block between Second and First Avenues, and I headed up. The development hovered a block above the rest of Midtown, and while that didn’t sound like much distance, it felt serene when I clambered to the top. There was a small park to my left and another to my right, across the viaduct that bridged Forty-Second Street. Ben’s building was right in front of me, its towering beauty hidden by massive scaffolding. The top floors were visible, with white stonework dramatically edging the red brick. It was clearly a stunner. On my way in I checked out the stained glass around the arched doorway and the polished suit of armor lurking just inside. Tudor City was committed to its theme; I had to give it that.

“I’m visiting Ben Northcutt in 13G,” I told the uniformed doorman. He was wearing a surgical mask, which wasn’t that common anymore in Manhattan, though you still saw a lot of them in Queens and the Bronx.

“Your name?”

“Deirdre Crawley.”

I waited while he called upstairs, muttering my name into the receiver. “Yes, sir, I’ll tell her.” He hung up. “Mr. Northcutt isn’t available right now.”

“Excuse me?” I’d rushed over, desperate to talk to Ben. I hadn’t expected to find the door slammed in my face.

“Sorry, miss, he’s busy.”

I wandered outside, unsure what to do next. Reagan often joked about my failure to pass the marshmallow test, but she wasn’t wrong. I was an impatient person who would happily take one marshmallow that instant instead of two in twenty minutes’ time. I crossed the street and stood in front of the little park. I tried leaning against its wrought-iron fence, but that was uncomfortable. I checked my messages and waited. I had no guarantee that Ben would appear, but I had literally nothing better to do.