“Yeah,” Charlie agrees. “I fight with my friends sometimes.”

  “It happens,” I sign. And then I add, “I’m sorry if I’m in a bad mood.”

  “Maybe you don’t want to do flashcards anymore?” His face looks hopeful, like maybe he doesn’t want to practice math problems. “I have an idea! Let’s play War. That will cheer you up.”

  With that, he places his little hand on mine. It’s a small gesture, but it actually does cheer me up a little bit. He is such a caring child.

  I smile at him, and he smiles back. Excitedly, he reaches for his backpack, which is stuffed with games, activity books and snacks.

  While searching for the deck of cards, he comes across a lollipop.

  Charlie loves lollipops.

  He sits up straight, with his sugary treasure in his hand, and his eyes light up. “Look what I found! Harper, this will make you feel better.”

  “You don’t have to give me that!” I say. “It’s your only one.”

  “I want you to have it. I want you to feel happy.”

  I accept the lollipop and Charlie continues his search for the deck of cards. As I unwrap the treat, I realize that if the nose-dive that is currently occurring between Jason and me doesn’t right itself soon, I might not be Charlie’s tutor anymore.

  I won’t even see him anymore.

  Worse than that, he might feel like I’ve abandoned him. How could he possibly understand the complexity of the relationship between his father and me? To Charlie, it will simply seem that one day I’m spending time with him, and the next day I’m not.

  He might think that people will always leave him, or that he did something wrong.

  This is truly a soul-crushing thought, but I don’t want Charlie to see how upset I am. He’s trying so sincerely to cheer me up.

  I try as hard as I can to act happy, which, it turns out, is even more draining than just feeling sad.

  By the time the jet touches down on the New York tarmac, I’m totally fried.

  I need some alone time. Desperately.

  The three of us get off of the plane, and I see two cars waiting for us.

  Jason is on the phone. He walks across the tarmac, toward the first of the waiting cars. I follow, with Charlie. A steward is behind us, pulling a cart with our luggage.

  A chauffeur hops out of the first car as Jason approaches, and opens the back door for him. I watch Jason nod and move toward the back seat, as if he might get in without even saying goodbye. Then, at the very last minute, he looks over his shoulder at me.

  He holds the phone away from his ear long enough to shout, “Hop in the other car, Harper. The driver already knows your address.” With that, he steps up into the car.

  Charlie, unlike his father, actually takes the time to give me a proper goodbye.

  I lean down, and he wraps his skinny arms around my neck and squeezes me hard. I love this kid.

  He backs up. His backpack strap is falling off of one of his arms, and I straighten it instinctively. His hair is swept over his eyes, and when he blinks, his eyelashes touch his bangs.

  He really does need a haircut.

  I reach out and smooth his hair down, just because I want to show him that I love him.

  He smiles. He likes it when I do things like that: smoothing his hair or licking my finger and then wiping a streak of jam off of his face. They’re the kind of loving gestures a mother would do, I realize, as he looks up at me with adoration in his eyes.

  “Bye, Charlie,” I sign.

  “Bye Harper. See you soon? When you come to my house, I’ll give you a hundred lollipops!”

  I wonder if he senses that I may not be his tutor for very much longer. The trouble between his father and me must be a red flag, and I wonder if his offer of sweets is attempted bribery.

  “Thank you,” I sign. “One’s probably enough for me. I don’t want to get a tummy ache!”

  I look up and see Jason looking out the window. He’s watching us. I wonder if he’s annoyed by how long the goodbye is taking.

  “You better go. Your dad is waiting.” I sign.

  Charlie runs off, toward the waiting car, and I make my way toward the second SUV.

  Exhaustion overcomes me and I fall asleep on the way home. It’s rush hour, and traffic is heavy in the city, so I have time to reach a deep sleep. It’s enough to leave me feeling slightly refreshed yet completely disoriented when the driver pulls up in front of my new apartment building. For a minute, when I open my eyes, I have no idea where I am, or what I’m doing here.

  Is this really my apartment building?

  The fog of sleep dissipates slightly as I step out into the fresh air. The chauffeur deposits my suitcase onto the sidewalk next to me, and I thank him.

  It’s evening, around six, I think, though my phone battery died somewhere over the Atlantic, and I don’t know for sure. Buds are just coming out on the trees, and I take a deep breath to try to ground myself and wake my body up. I watch the SUV pull away, disappearing into the thick sea of tail lights before me.

  For once, I’m alone. Completely alone. It’s a massive relief.

  At last I have some space—away from Jason. Maybe I’ll actually be able to figure out what I should do next.

  I take in one more breath of the blossom-scented air and then enter the building. The doorman is talking to a resident, and he doesn’t look up as I pass. That’s fine by me. I just want to be alone.

  Once on my floor, I feel almost like I’m seeing everything with new eyes. I’d only lived in the place for a week before we left for Ireland, and now, after being in a foreign country, everything looks strange. Many of the buildings in Ireland were old, and had narrow hallways. My new apartment building hallway seems super-sized in comparison.

  I reach my place and search my purse for my key. I’m dreaming about a glass of wine, a hot bubble bath, and maybe even a half of one of the dark chocolate bars that I’ve stashed in the refrigerator. I need to show myself some love, even if Jason won’t.

  Before I even fit my key into the keyhole, I know something is wrong. The door moves slightly under the pressure of the key; it swings inward, because it isn’t closed all the way.

  I place my fingertips on the door, and gently push. Yes, it definitely wasn’t latched—it swings easily open.

  Well, maybe the building owner was here, doing some work while I was away. Jason is paying for the place, so the landlord might not even have my number. Maybe the building owner even ran it by Jason, and Jason forgot to tell me.

  It’s amazing how much I want to justify the open door and push my instinctive feelings under the rug.

  The problem is, there’s so much under there already. All I’ve been doing for the past three days is pushing things under the rug, and there’s no room for anything else.

  Something is wrong. Really, really wrong.

  I can feel it.

  My instincts tell me that someone was here, but I also feel in my gut that the intruder left long ago. Days before, even.

  Even though I don’t get the sense that anyone is still here, I move tentatively. I tiptoe down the hallway, into the living room. My ears are perked for any hint of sound, any flash of movement.

  I reach the living room and take a sharp breath inward. My hand flies up to my mouth as I gasp.

  Everything that was on the kitchen countertop is now on the floor, as if someone cleared it with the sweep of an arm. Papers, magazines, my laptop, and a bowl of fruit lie scattered. The books I’ve moved in with have all been pulled off of the shelves. The floor is a sea of my belongings.

  The apartment kitchen came stocked with plates, cups and glasses, so I’d procrastinated on unpacking a box of my favorite kitchenware. Before leaving for Dublin, the box was still in the corner of my living room. Now, the contents are emptied and strewn across the floor. Broken glass is everywhere.

  I step carefully, but my feet crunch against the glass, and the sound echoes off of the walls, scaring me for a moment. I kneel and see a china plate I inherited when my grandmother passed away. It’s smashed into two pieces. I pick up both halves, and stare at them, as if my stare might make the two halves into a whole.

  I shudder violently.

  It’s like it’s hitting me, all at once: someone was here. Someone was in my home!

  I leap up to my feet, dropping the plate. It crashes to the floor, breaking further.

  The intruder didn’t want to rob me—if that was the case, my laptop would be gone.

  No.

  Someone was here because they wanted to make a point.

  They wanted to scare me.

  I think of Thomas Greening, and the way he grinned at me with that leering smile. The way his face contorted when he said Jason’s name. He wanted me to give Jason a message, and now I find myself wondering if this is yet another message from Jason’s old acquaintance.

  I step back, back, back, until I’m at the threshold of my apartment once again.

  My suitcase is still at the doorway, where I left it in my shocked state. I pull it along with me as I hurry down the hallway.

  Chapter 20

  Jason

  It was so hard to leave her once we got back to New York. As I watched her and Charlie through the passenger window, I just kept on thinking about how much he loves her. How much she means to him.

  Charlie barely remembers his mom. I show him pictures, but he was just an infant when she died. How could he remember?

  Seeing him with Harper, I know. I know that he misses having a mother. I try to give him enough love for two parents, but I know that I work too much. What is my son going to say when Harper leaves?

  She can’t keep working for me. Her connection to me is putting her life in danger.

  It’s like my past is repeating itself, in a horrible, twisted second act to a drama that I just want to forget.

  I’ve spent years trying to forget.

  But now, Thomas Greening is back.

  My phone rings and I answer immediately.

  “Jason? Jason…” It’s Harper. She starts crying and I can’t understand the next string of words that come out of her mouth.

  “Slow down,” I say. I jump up out of my chair, and reach for my car keys. Something is wrong. Really wrong. She sounds scared…or hurt. Please, God, don’t let her be hurt. I rush toward my home office door.

  “Someone broke into the apartment. I-I went inside and everything was torn apart. My grandmother’s china…” She starts crying again.

  “Where are you?” I ask. My mind is focused and clear. I’m moving through the house. I can hear the sound of video games faintly coming from the arcade. Charlie is playing. Good. I beeline for the kitchen where his sitter is preparing his dinner.

  Harper is making more sense now. “I’m at a coffee shop down the block. I… My phone died. I came here to charge… I had to get out of there, Jason. I called the police, but they want to meet me at the apartment and I don’t know if I can go back there alone… I…” Again, her sobs take over.

  “Harper, hold on,” I say.

  Away from the phone, I talk to Charlie’s sitter quickly. She agrees to watch him while I run out for a while, and I thank her. I’m practically running as I make my way to the garage.

  “Harper, do you know the name of the coffee shop?” I ask.

  She’s quiet, and I wait. In a minute she answers me. “It’s a Java Joe’s” she says, naming a chain that has stores on every corner of the city.

  “When you left your apartment, did you go left or right?” I ask.

  “I don’t know, I…” She sniffles. “I think… Yeah, I’m pretty sure I went left.”

  “Okay.” I’m in my Ferrari, gunning it down the driveway. “Stay there. Everything is going to be all right. It’s just a break-in. It happens all the time. Don’t worry, okay?”

  “Okay,” Harper says.

  “Good. Just stay there. I’m on my way.”

  Chapter 21

  Harper

  Don’t worry? How could I possibly not worry? Jason’s words ring in my ears. I’ve been keeping my voice low, but my panicked phone call has attracted some stares. A woman walks toward me, holding two cups of coffee.

  “You okay, honey?” she asks, extending one cup. “Here, take this.”

  “Thank you.” I reach for the cup. I don’t think I can drink caffeine right now—I’m jacked up on adrenaline—but it feels nice to hold the cup.

  “Boyfriend trouble?” she guesses.

  I don’t want to explain the whole thing, so I just nod.

  “Been there.” She frowns deeply and pats me on the arm. “If you need anything, I’m right here, okay?”

  I nod, her kindness making me well up again. I hold the cup tightly, drawing a slight comfort from the feel of warmth against my skin, and the fact that it was just a break-in, and I’m safe, just like Jason said.

  Nothing happened to me—it was just my stuff.

  But this thought begs the question—why? The intruder didn’t even take anything. Who would want to scare me like that?

  Jason owes me an explanation. This time, I’m not going to let him brush me off. This time, I’m going to get answers.

  By the time I spot Jason, twenty minutes later, I’ve worked myself up into a state. This is all—in a way that I don’t understand—his fault. It’s because of him. Greening said that they go way back. Did Jason do something to Greening to piss him off this badly? What is Greening after? And what does that have to do with me?

  Jason knows more than he’s telling me.

  I feel myself glaring as he approaches my perch by the window. At the same time, simmering down deep inside me, beneath layers of defensiveness and hurt, there’s a distinct feeling of safety when I see him.

  I stand up, and as he nears me he opens his arms, like he wants to wrap me in a hug. But I don’t want his comforting embrace—it feels too late for that. He owes me an explanation, not a hug. I cross my arms, deflecting him.

  “Will you tell me what’s going on?” I ask. “Does this have something to do with Thomas Greening?”

  “I don’t know,” he says.

  He’s not telling the truth. I can tell by the way he looks away from me as he speaks.

  I frown. “I have to go back to the apartment. The police will be there any minute now.” I look down at my cellphone and see that it’s now quarter past seven. The police said that they would meet me at seven thirty. “Will you come with me?” I ask. Though I’m upset with him, I don’t think I can face the apartment alone.

  He shakes his head.

  No? Really? Anger begins to rise through me. “What do you mean, no?” I ask.

  “We’re not going back there. I called the police, I talked to them. I took care of it.”

  “You know something—something that you’re not telling me.”

  “All I know is that you’re not going back to that apartment. Not tonight. Come on.” He reaches for the handle of my rolling suitcase, and begins to head out of the cafe.

  I follow him. I don’t know what else to do.

  He’s quiet on the way home. It occurs to me that though I’ve been with Jason in three different countries, in helicopters and on jets, I’ve never seen him drive.

  His hand rests loosely on the wheel, and he steers the sports car effortlessly through the still congested traffic. He is focused but relaxed, and he seems strangely confident, despite the stressful situation we’re in. I have to admit that I find it soothing.

  As we drive in silence, I become lulled by the quiet safety of the car, the smooth gravitational pull of the turns, and the whir of tires against pavement.

  By the time we reach the mansion, I feel slightly calmer. Mostly, it’s because I’m too drained to maintain my hyper-vigilant, pissed-off state.

  Wordlessly, I follow Jason into the mansion and through the west wing. He leads me to a guest room, and once we’re there, he opens a window to let in some fresh air, and turns on the bedside lamp. He puts my suitcase near the dresser, and then ducks into the bathroom. By the time he comes out, I’m standing by the bed, about to drop my tired bones down onto it. I might fall asleep right on top of the covers, fully dressed.

  “There are towels in the bathroom,” he says. “The shower faucet is one of those ones that you have to pull out to get the water flowing.”

  “Okay.” My voice is dull and flat.

  “Hey,” he says, stepping closer to me. This time, I don’t get my act together enough to deflect his incoming embrace. He wraps his arms around me and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

  I don’t know why I’ve been fighting this. His hug feels good. It heats my whole body, warming me from the inside out. For the first time in days, I feel completely safe and cared for. He just keeps holding me, and I let myself melt into his arms.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers. His voice is deep and raspy in my ear. “I’m sorry that I was so sharp earlier… I just… I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

  I feel myself clinging to him now, like he’s a life raft and I’m adrift in the ocean. My fingers grip against his back as he holds me tight. “I know that you can’t understand this now, but trust me, Harper. I’ll take care of everything. I promise.”

  I want to believe him. It feels good to be held in his arms. My body reacts to his hug as though it’s the answer to all of my problems.

  But hugs can’t last forever, and as soon as we part, my tired mind sinks into confusion again. He leaves me, telling me to get some rest. I drop into the bed, and tears soak the pillow as I cry myself to sleep.

  ***

  I wake up to the sound of my alarm, telling me that it’s time for work. The idea of a normal day of tutoring sounds almost crazy to me, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that maybe it’s just what I need.

  Everything’s been happening so fast. I just need to pretend things are normal while I get my feet back on the ground again.