The Miles Between Us (13 page)

So why was she drawn back to a time and place in her life that had been so difficult
in so many ways? A time when she’d endured so many body blows, it was a miracle she’d survived?

If there was an answer to that question, it was locked inside her, and the key, she felt certain,
lay somewhere on that short block of mixed commercial and residential real estate in the West Village where she’d spent her early twenties.

New York
, in the late Seventies, had been an exhilarating place. As musicians, they’d lived and breathed the local music scene, which was eclectic and exciting, and ran the gamut from folk to rock, from disco to punk. CBGB’s and Max’s Kansas City were the hot spots, where bands like the Ramones, the Talking Heads, Blondie, and Patti Smith played. It had been an amazing time for anyone who loved music, even more so for those who wrote and played it. Although she’d never been into partying, she’d spent a fair amount of time in the clubs, hearing bands both new and old, famous and obscure. And although she was married to Danny, she did most of her clubbing with Rob. They were, after all, musical collaborators and partners. Times were hard; the three of them had lived from paycheck to paycheck, barely making ends meet. But the music fed them in a way that money never could. They lapped it up, like kittens with a saucer of warm cream, and the music they absorbed in those salad days of the late Seventies heavily influenced the music that expanded and exploded their careers throughout the Eighties.

Times were different then
. The travesty that was the war in Vietnam still hung, a dark shadow, over the nation like a bad dream. The anti-war protests were over, but the effects of the war were long reaching. Returning soldiers, instead of receiving a hero’s welcome, had been treated like pariahs. Many of them were scarred for life. She knew this intimately, because she’d married one of them. Danny had been broken inside. He’d left a piece of himself behind in the jungles of Vietnam, and he’d gone to his grave still missing that crucial piece.

And New York
itself was different then. The West Village had been a little darker, a little edgier, in those days before gentrification took over, pushing out all but the wealthiest of residents—or those with rent-controlled apartments. Drugs, prostitution, and crime had been, if not rampant, at least more visible. She barely recognized the neighborhood these days, with its new restaurants and bars on every corner, its expanded green space, the older buildings that had been rehabbed.

Except, of course,
for Freddy Wong’s building. Freddy was a likable guy. Personable, always smiling. He was also colossally tightfisted. The kind of man her parents had always referred to as a skinflint. Freddy himself would undoubtedly call it being frugal, but in truth, he was a miser to his core, a man who’d never spent a penny he could find an excuse to hold onto.

Shabby was too kind a word for t
he building. It looked tired and depressed. The big red and yellow sign that hung over the restaurant entrance was cracked and faded, the plate-glass window at the front streaked and smeared with decades of city dirt and auto exhaust. The second-story windows still sat blank and expressionless, like a face with no eyebrows. She was certain the apartment was empty. And she knew Freddy still owned the place, because she’d looked up the number in the yellow pages, called it, and asked for him. She’d hung up before he answered, because what was she supposed to say to him over the phone? He might not even remember her. Much easier to show up in person. He’d always liked her. Chances were good that in person, she could sweet-talk him into giving her the key and letting her inside.

She stood there, uncertainty gluing her to the sidewalk, while in her stroller, Emma babbled contentedly.
Her heart fluttered, and her pulse gave a little skip. Was she sure she was ready for this? It was a step she couldn’t undo. Like a sight that couldn’t be unseen, or words that couldn’t be unspoken, taking a step back into her past couldn’t be untaken.

Casey
inhaled a deep breath to steady herself, steeled herself and, hands tightly gripping her daughter’s stroller, she wrestled it off the curb and stepped into the street.

And her cell phone rang.

She stopped, pulled it from her purse and looked at it. Recognizing the number, she debated whether or not to answer. If she told him where she was, she would never hear the end of it. If she lied, he’d know. He always knew when she was lying.

The phone continue to ring
. Muttering under her breath, she wrenched Emma’s stroller back up onto the sidewalk and answered the phone. “Hey,” she said, sounding a little breathless to her own ears.

“Hey
. I’m sorry I sounded like I was in the middle of some top-secret CIA operation when you called. I had a couple of bigwig record execs here, checking on the progress of their wonder boy.”

“And were they impressed with his progress?”

“Impressed enough to take him to lunch.”

Mildly o
utraged, she said, “Without you? His producer?”

“I’m not somebody they have to
wine and dine. He’s the goose that laid the golden egg. I’m nothing more than hired help.”

“They have expense accounts
. And you’re certainly more than hired help. You’re the one responsible for his progress. I would be highly insulted if I were you.”

“
I don’t care enough to be insulted. Besides, it means I have a couple hours free to have lunch with my gorgeous wife. And that trumps insulted any day.”

Still holding the phone, she raised her eyes
to the apartment across the street. Those blank windows, that browless face, seemed to mock her. A sudden gust of wind blew a strand of hair into her face, and she reached up and shoved it behind her ear. She’d already disappointed him once recently, when she’d taken the girls to Coney Island; she didn’t have the heart to do it again. Not even if it meant her trip down memory lane would have to be postponed.

“Babe?” he said.

“Sorry. I got sidetracked. I’m a little out of the way right now, but Emmy and I can catch a cab and meet you somewhere.”

“How about the Hard Rock Cafe
? Paige has never been, and she’s itching to check it out.”

“
A little touristy, and there’ll probably be a wait, but I suppose there’s a certain coolness factor involved for a teenager. She can go home and tell her friends she ate there.”

“That’s what I figured
. You game?”

“I’m game
. I’ll flag down a cab, and we’ll meet you there. Snag a table, because you’ll almost certainly get there ahead of me.”

She ended the call, took a last, long look at the apartment
windows. This probably wasn’t the right time, anyway. How was she supposed to maneuver the stroller up those stairs? If she left it on the street, somebody might steal it. And who knew how sanitary the building was? When she’d lived here, the place had been overrun with cockroaches. No matter how much she cleaned and sprayed, the roaches had considered themselves the tenants of note, while she and Rob and Danny had been nothing more than squatters. Once or twice a year, Freddy had paid for an exterminator. The rest of the time, she was on her own. If the place had been sitting empty for any length of time, she didn’t want to think about what might be in there, and she didn’t want to expose Emma to anything dirty or toxic. Better that she should come alone, another time, when Rob was at work and Paige could stay with Emma and nobody would question her whereabouts.

But she’d
so wanted to get in today, had emotionally prepared herself for whatever demons she was about to face. Now, she’d have to prepare herself again. Although this had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, she’d known, somewhere inside her, that she would do this. She’d known it ever since she rounded that corner with Paige and saw that Wong’s was still here, still in business.

And s
he’d been ready to do it now.

But there would be other chances, times that were more appropriate
. Today, she would have lunch with her husband. Priorities were priorities, and Rob came first. Their relationship was a little rocky right now. She needed to find a way to mend it, needed to slap some good, strong mortar on the chinks between the bricks.

So she wheeled the stroller between two parked cars and flagged down a cab
. As she settled herself and Emma into the back seat, she took a few calming breaths and arranged her face in a serene expression. There was no point in making Rob suspicious. This wasn’t something she could talk about with him. He wouldn’t understand, and she wasn’t up to being badgered. She needed to face her demons alone. Later on down the road, when things were better between them, she would share it with him.

But not now
. Not today. Today, she would wear her game face, interact with her husband, and tell herself that disappointment wasn’t a heavy weight in her chest.

* * *

She made it through lunch without any bloodletting. The music was loud, the atmosphere playful and friendly, the food acceptable. Paige dropped her customary “Been there, done that” attitude long enough to enjoy the novelty, Emma gnawed happily on her sister’s French fries, and Rob only studied her quizzically once or twice. When he asked where she’d been when he called, she flashed him a rueful smile and said, “We were headed to the World Trade Center. But we can always do it another day.”

He arched his eyebrows, but didn’t question her further
. She wanted to exhale a sigh of relief, but knew it was far too soon to be relieved. Rob had this uncanny ability to see right through her, and if he suspected she was lying to him, he would never confront her in the presence of the girls. He’d wait until they were alone, and then, operating under the well-intentioned belief that it was for her own good, he’d badger her until she caved. It was the way he operated. She adored him, but had to admit that sometimes he was a little overprotective. He’d been that way with her for as long as she’d known him. A time or two, it had saved her from disaster. More often, it made her crazy. Normally, she had no trouble handling him. Underneath the tough-love exterior, the man was a marshmallow. There was a sweetness to him that shone through in his eyes, his smile. Yes, he had a temper, but it generally surfaced only when something, or someone, hurt somebody he loved. Or when she was doing something so incredibly stupid that she was in danger of hurting herself. How could you argue with a man like that?

Still, it was a relief when the meal was over and she was no longer under his
eagle-eyed scrutiny. She kissed him goodbye, then killed a little time with the girls in the gift shop. Paige picked out a classic white Hard Rock Cafe New York tee, and Casey chose a tiny pink and white My First Hard Rock Cafe tee for Emma.

And they hit the street.

At midsummer, the height of tourist season, the streets swarmed with people carrying expensive cameras and gawking at the tall buildings. She hadn’t seen this much polyester since the disco era. After leaving the air-conditioned coolness of the Hard Rock, she found the humidity stifling. It flattened her hair and left Emma fussy. She’d lived through heat waves in New York, and compared to some she remembered, this was pretty tame. But the humidity added to the discomfort she already felt in the midst of all these people. The locals, always in a hurry, shoved past without so much as an “excuse me,” while tourists stood in colorful clusters and blocked the sidewalks.

Her grip firm on the stroller and Paige at her elbow, Casey moved steadily in the direction of Times S
quare. Her long-legged husband, who could cover twelve city blocks in the blink of an eye, was undoubtedly already back at work. While she, vertically challenged and pushing a heavy baby stroller, would take much longer to cover that kind of territory.

Her senses on hyper-alert, she moved with the crowd, gradually becoming aware of the child half a block ahead
. Five years old. Hair the color of honey that fell in soft waves to her waist. Pink sneakers, pink shorts, a yellow tee shirt. A walk she would recognize anywhere, a chubby little hand that held tightly to the woman walking by her side.

Katie.

The buzzing began in her ears, spread to her extremities. It was impossible. The rational side of her knew that her daughter had been dead for eight years, that even if Katie were still alive, she would be a teenager now. But her heart refused to accept the truth, refuting the evidence she’d seen with her own eyes.
BELOVED DAUGHTER
.
Katie.

Katie, Katie, Katie.

“Stay with Emma,” she said to Paige, and took off down the sidewalk at a brisk pace, winding in and out between people, losing sight of the girl, searching frantically, finding her again. She knew the child wasn’t Katie, couldn’t be Katie, but still, she had to be sure. Had to see with her own eyes. She reached the end of the block. The light changed, and she raced across the intersection, brakes squawking and horns blaring as she danced in and out of traffic, breathing hard, her lungs aching from the thick, soupy air. Mere feet away, she reached out a hand to grab the child by the shoulder. The little girl, perhaps sensing her presence, turned around and smiled at her.

Brown eyes
. Narrow cheekbones. Pretty smile.