A Scarlet Cord (25 page)

Clutching Matt’s arm, Melanie jostled her way through the crowd that bulged at the seams of the expansive Port Authority Bus Terminal. Even as she tried not to look like a gawking tourist, she felt excitement rise within her. Energy seemed to pulse like blood through this vein into New York City. She watched the weary faces of commuters and wondered how people could ever become immune to the amazing sights and sounds of this place.

Melanie fell in step with Matthew’s long gait and endeavored to blend in with the flow of the midmorning crowd. They hurried past benches where vagrants slept undisturbed, and she watched in fascination as the masses dispersed into seemingly choreographed queues in front of ticket booths and storage lockers, onto escalators, and finally, like water from a dam, flowed with the throng out onto 42nd Street.

Yellow Cabs zoomed past, some stopping, others moving on. The prospects of getting a taxi right away looked good, but even if she had to wait a few minutes—or walk several blocks up the street where it was less congested—she was in no hurry.

“You go on, Matt,” she insisted, when he offered to hail a taxi for her. “I’m perfectly capable of getting myself a cab.”

Her brother’s office was within walking distance of the terminal, but Melanie was headed for an art museum a mile in the opposite
direction. Karly had intended to come into the city with them today, but five-year-old Jace had awakened with a fever and a nasty cough, so Karly had stayed home with him. Though Melanie offered to remain behind with her, Karly had insisted, “This is the last day that watercolor show will be in the city, Mel. Besides, it’ll be nice for you and Matt to have some time alone together. You hardly ever get to do that.”

It was true. And now Melanie was glad she’d come with Matt. They’d had a wonderful visit on the bus ride into the city, and they planned to meet later for lunch.

She waved him away. “Go on, big brother. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

She caught him sneaking a glance at his watch.

“I’m positive. I know my way around pretty well by now.”

“Are you sure you have enough cash for cab fare?”

“Matthew!” She laughed. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I am not a little girl anymore. And it’s not like this is my first trip to New York. I will be fine. Now get moving … You’re going to be late for work.”

“Well, if you’re sure …”

“Get out of here,” she commanded, giving him a playful shove.

Matthew stepped aside just as her hand connected with his shoulder and she lost her balance, teetering on the edge of the curb. “Watch it, there,” he warned, reaching out to steady her. But as he did so, the heavy satchel she carried slipped from her shoulder, propelling her into Matt’s arms. He nearly lost his balance then, and they both got the giggles.

When they were both on firm footing again, Matthew arched one eyebrow skeptically. “And I’m supposed to believe that you’re a big girl who can take care of herself?”

She laughed again and reached up to give his cheek a sisterly pat. “Get out of here. Before I do something really stupid.”

He smiled and gave her a quick hug. “I’ll meet you at The Raven at 1:30,” he reminded her. “You have the address?”

She patted her bag where the restaurant’s address was safely tucked away. “Got it. Quit worrying. I’ll be fine.”

He shrugged and headed down the street.

Still smiling, she stepped to the curb and held her right hand aloft, watching as her brother’s broad back disappeared into the horde of pedestrians. It had been good to have this time with him and Karly.

With a pang, Melanie thought of Jerica and wondered how her daughter was getting along. Melanie missed her, but they’d spoken on the phone each evening, and it was clear that she was having a wonderful time with Grammy and Grampa.

In the midst of the New York traffic, a new wave of Yellow Cabs appeared. Melanie raised her arm higher. Half a block up the street she watched a tall man reach for the door of the cab that had pulled up beside him. At first glance, the man looked so much like Joel Ellington that for an instant her breath caught in her throat.

Stop it!
she chided herself. It had happened often right after Joel’s disappearance. As it had that day at the zoo, and too many times since, her heartbreak caused her imagination to conjure Joel out of any male who happened to be tall or sandy-haired or athletically built. She’d hoped that phenomenon was a thing of the past, but she couldn’t take her eyes off this man. She watched him climb into the cab and was startled that even in profile, he looked remarkably like Joel.

His cab was moving toward her now, pulling out into the flow of traffic. She craned her neck and resisted the need to blink, lest she lose sight of this cab in the swarm of other taxis that crawled along the avenue.

The car rolled by not ten feet from where she stood, but the glare off the windows prevented her from seeing inside. Then it moved into shadow, revealing the face of the passenger inside. He was staring back at her, recognition obvious in his stricken expression. The thin scar that marred his right cheek was clearly visible.

It was him! It was Joel!

Her knees went weak and her hands began to tremble.

After so many months, so many sleepless nights wondering if he was even alive, there could be no mistake. Even if the scar on his cheek had not confirmed it, there was no doubt that he recognized her as well.

The man—
Joel
—turned away quickly, leaning forward to speak to the driver. As she watched his taxi melt into the river of vehicles on 42nd Street, another Yellow Cab eased up to the curb and stopped beside her.

Behind her, a man groused in a thick Brooklyn accent, “Hey, lady, you want the ride or not? ’Cause if you ain’t in a hurry, I am …” He snorted and heaved an exaggerated shrug.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled over her shoulder. Opening the heavy door, she climbed into the cab.

The driver’s gaze met hers in the rearview mirror. His dark eyes snapped. “Where to, miss?” he asked in a heavy accent she couldn’t place. Her mind drifted.

The cabby put his arm on the back of the seat and asked again. “Hey, miss … Where you want to go?”

“Oh … I’m sorry. Here …” In a fog, Melanie dug in the side pocket of her satchel for a business card. For a fleeting instant, she entertained the idea of having the driver follow Joel’s taxi. But one glance out the windshield at the sea of yellow ahead of them, and she came to her senses. “This … this is the place,” she said, handing him the card with the museum’s address.

The driver held it to the windshield, as though he might be farsighted. He studied the card for a moment, glanced down at a map spread open on the seat beside him, and put the vehicle in gear. “Yes. Yes, I get you there.”

He eased the cab into the flow of traffic, and Melanie fell back against the dusty seat. The city that rose up on every side ordinarily aroused intense excitement within her. But now she was oblivious to
it. One thought pelted her mind again and again:
He recognized me. He knew it was me, and he drove off anyway
.

Like a bucket of icy water, deep pain and humiliation poured over her, and a lump of old grief swelled in her throat. Trembling and powerless to stop the rush of memories, she leaned her head back on the seat, only vaguely aware of the erratic swerving and braking as the driver negotiated the busy streets.

Finally, the taxicab rolled to a stop in front of the museum. Melanie rummaged in her purse for the right change, paid the driver, and stepped from the vehicle in a daze.

Still shaken, she slowly mounted the steps to the massive building and went inside. Soft strains of Vivaldi floated from the ceiling speakers, muffling the street sounds behind her.

She checked her coat and satchel with the attendant and took the elevator to the basement where her favorite gallery was located. She spent an hour wandering through a maze of muted watercolors and richly textured oils. But she barely saw their beauty. Finally, she stopped in front of a large nineteenth-century canvas depicting a father and child. The curly-haired girl in the painting gazed into her father’s eyes with rapt adoration. Melanie’s throat tightened as she recognized the expression of her own daughter. Jerica had often gazed at Joel Ellington with the same longing affection. Her eyes misted, and she felt strangely lightheaded.

Why, after all these months—just when her heartache had begun to dull and she felt as though she had rejoined the living—had she seen him again? That brief moment, when their eyes met and recognition was acknowledged, had awakened a gnarled tangle of emotions that could not rationally coexist.

She felt something near euphoria at knowing for certain that Joel was alive. Often, in the weeks after she had received his letter, she had imagined that he was ill … even that he’d died. Or that he had amnesia and could not remember anything about their life together, about the love they shared. Never mind that neither delusion made sense
with what his letter said. She had been desperate for some explanation, however absurd, for why he would have left her even while declaring that he loved her.

But side by side with her joy now was despair—and anger. For knowing that he had recognized her but made no effort to speak to her, she had to face the fact once and for all that he had fully meant to leave her.

Yet wedged between those extremes of emotion smoldered a frail spark of hope. He was here in the city. Maybe she could talk to him, plead with him to tell her what had happened. Perhaps yet she would find answers that, if not easily understood, at least could offer some closure on this dismal chapter of her life.

“Excuse me … ma’am? Are you all right?”

Melanie started at the light touch of a hand on her shoulder. She looked up into the face of a museum guard, feeling as though she were awakening from a deep sleep. She scrubbed her face with her hands. “I’m … fine. Thank you.” Standing, she stretched her muscles and gathered her purse and the museum’s guidebook from the bench beside her.

She looked at her watch, puzzled. “Do you have the time, please?” she asked the guard. Surely it was not as late as her watch indicated.

The guard pulled back a sleeve of his uniform jacket. “I’ve got 12:35.”

“Oh … thank you.” She was stunned. She had sat in front of this painting for nearly an hour. In a strange trick of time, it seemed she had been here for only a few moments.

She retrieved her coat, hurried out the front doors, walked a few blocks down the street, and summoned a taxi. She gave the driver the address of The Raven.

Her brother was sitting on a bench in front of the restaurant when she stepped out of the cab. Smiling, he rose and came toward her. “How was your morning?”

That was all it took to bring the tears. “Oh, Matt. I saw him!”

“What? Saw who? What are you talking about, Melanie?”

“I saw Joel, Matt.”

“You’re not serious? Where? Did you talk to him?”

“No. I—”

A boisterous party of four came out of the restaurant just then, bumping into Matthew. He took his sister’s elbow and steered her toward the entrance.

“Let’s get a table, and then we can talk.”

In the sparse crowd of early afternoon, they were seated almost immediately.

When the waiter had taken their order, Matt reached across the table and touched her hand. “Okay, tell me what happened.”

“I saw him … in a cab. It was him, Matt. It was Joel.”

“Melanie …” His tone told her that he was more than a little skeptical. “Are you sure? You know this has happened before. You’ve told me yourself that you’ve thought you spotted him before, and it’s always turned out to be a mistake.”

“No, Matt. This time was different. I saw the scar on his cheek … I was only standing a few feet away. He saw me too. It was obvious that … he recognized me.”

Her brother studied her as if her face might reveal whether he could really believe her incredible claim. “Well, what did he do? Did he stop the cab? Did he say anything?”

She shook her head. “He … he spoke to the driver and then the cab pulled away. I … I was too stunned to try to stop him.” She twisted the linen napkin in her lap. “I spent the morning at that art museum I told you about. I’ve been there all morning … just thinking, trying to figure out what to do. Oh, Matt, we’ve got to find him. He’s here … in the city. I have to know what happened.”

Matthew’s forehead creased with deep lines. He sighed and shook his head slowly. When he finally spoke, his voice was hard, “I wish this had never happened. You were doing so well, Melanie. I
finally felt like I had my sister back. So help me, I don’t know what kind of hold that man has on you—”

He stopped short, and Melanie recognized in the clench of his jaw that he was struggling to control his temper. “I’ll never forgive him for what he did to you, Melanie. Forget about him. He’s not worth it.”

“But …”

“Melanie, think about it.” His voice rose several decibels. “What in the name of all that is holy do you have to gain by tracking him down now? He destroyed the faith you had in him, he crushed Jerica’s little heart … and for what? A lousy fifteen grand?”

“Matthew, that’s not fair,” she cried. “You don’t know that Joel took that money. He … he wasn’t like that. I just can’t believe he did it. He wouldn’t—”

Melanie cut off her words abruptly as the waiter appeared at their table. She cast her eyes downward while Matthew ordered for both of them. When they were alone again, Matthew leaned across the table and spoke deliberately, clearly struggling to keep his voice low. “You have built Joel up in your mind to be some kind of hero. You’ve romanticized this whole sorry affair until you can’t see the truth when it’s staring you in the face.”

Matthew dropped his head. “You ask anyone in Silver Creek—anyone at all—if Joel Ellington took that money. Ask them,” he challenged. “You know what they would say, Mel. Do you honestly think everyone else is wrong and you are right? That doesn’t even make sense. You’re deceived! You’ve let your emotions and your pain make you totally blind to the truth where Joel is concerned.”