Chapters (41)
He would just tell me to stay away, which is probably wise advice, except that you can never find out a thing by not asking difficult questions.
There is, however, one person who might know.
I look her up on Facebook and when I message her, she responds pretty quickly.
She messages her address and, an hour later, I find myself walking down a street in a very nice part of town near Cambridge where the luxury condos tower over the sidewalks and slim moms, with fifteen-hundred dollar strollers, exercise in the park.
I look up the address a few more times, double-checking that I am going to the right place. This is the last place I expected her to live.
Nicholas only told me a few things about his mom and how he was raised, but the one thing I know for sure is that he didn’t grow up with money. And this building has new money written all over it.
A doorman opens the door for me and asks who I am here to see. I tell him her name and after a polite smile he makes a call to her apartment. A few minutes later, I stand in front of her door.
I knock twice and hold my breath.
“Coming!” she yells from somewhere deep in the apartment. It takes her a few minutes to get here.
“Olive?” she asks abruptly as she opens the door.
“Yes, thank you for seeing me, Mrs. Crawford.”
Nicholas’ mom waves her hand and invites me inside. There’s a cigarette in between her two fingers and, with her other hand, she drags an oxygen tank on two wheels behind her. It makes a loud sound on the hardwood floor and I wonder if it will cause damage after continuous use.
The apartment itself is gorgeous.
There are floor-to-ceiling windows looking out onto the park below. The furniture looks like it’s straight out of the West Elm catalog. The only thing that doesn’t seem to fit is Mrs. Crawford.
She’s not very old but very overweight. There are fast food wrappers everywhere along with empty liquor bottles and beer cans. On the console table behind the couch, I spot pill bottles. She may not be actively trying to kill herself but I’m not sure she’s not going to succeed at it at this rate.
“What do you want?” Mrs. Crawford asks me.
“Um…” I stutter, not sure where to start.
“You said you were Nicky’s girlfriend and you had some news for me.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” I nod.
I look around her place and again forget what I came here for.
This apartment must cost four grand a month, at least.
Where does she get this kind of money?
Has Nicholas been supporting her?
“If you’re not going to talk, you best get out of my house,” Mrs. Crawford barks at me.