The Hotel Neversink by Adam O'Fallon Price & Adam O'Fallon Price

Author:Adam O'Fallon Price & Adam O'Fallon Price
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Epub3
Publisher: Tin House Books

The next morning, Len answered the phone with a froggy hitch in his voice. “Hello.”

“Hi, it’s me.”

“Hi. What time is it?”

“Eight thirty. You were sleeping?”

“My dirty little secret. We sleep in on Sundays.”

“What does Suse eat?”

“Honestly? I let her stay up watching TV with me, eating ice cream. She’s usually crashed until nine or ten.”

“Len.”

“It’s just so nice to sleep in once a month. I know, I’m a horrible father.”

“No,” she said and looked around the room, the Queen Anne bed beneath her and heavy curtains drawn against the prying eyes of the city. “You’re not. Sorry to wake you up, I was just wondering if you’d mind me staying one more day this time.”

“No. Why?”

“Well, I ran into an old friend last night. From college. She invited me to dinner with her and her husband, and I just thought it would be nice. But I understand if you think no. We shouldn’t really pay for another night here.”

“No, you should. I could come down.”

“What?”

“Sure, Javits could watch things for the night.” She paused, making a contemplative sound while ordering her thoughts, but he’d already understood her reaction. “Never mind, it’s fine.”

“Are you mad?” she said.

“Me? I totally understand, an old friend. I was just offering to be nice, honestly.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Feet still sore from last night’s walk, she took a cab the twenty-odd blocks to West Sixty-Fourth. The restaurant, she had noted the night before, opened at eight. She requested the table in the window and ordered coffee to start, saying someone was meeting her. No one would rush a woman being stood up—she knew that from working in the hotel restaurant. You treated a woman being stood up like a terrorist wearing a vest made of dynamite. She could take two or three hours, bravely ordering breakfast after a long while, dabbing her eyes now and then.

But as it turned out, she’d sipped only half the coffee when Daniel emerged, holding the hand of a small girl. They were followed by a woman carrying a baby. He wore a conservative blue suit and overcoat, and the little girl a bright-red jacket with wooden buttons. His wife wore a long fur coat with a high collar, which, combined with her sunglasses, conferred a regal, even imperious, look. They walked east and disappeared north at the next block.

Rachel put down three dollars and pushed back out into the street. It was a bright, cold winter day, and the rising sun, rather than warming the air, clarified and sharpened the chill. Daniel’s family had crossed the road and was walking two blocks ahead, slowly. She drew nearer. The wife held the baby over her left shoulder, and it seemed as though the child had identified Rachel as an enemy agent, tracking her behind them with an unhappy watchfulness.

The clan stopped on Sixty-Ninth Street, at a small Episcopal church named St. Stephen’s, a picturesque brick building set back from the road in a tranquil yard and further obscured by a rank of holly bushes.

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