ACCIDENTAL TRYST Read online

  "To my grandson, Trystan Montgomery, the son of my beloved though estranged daughter, Savannah, may God rest her soul, I leave my remaining voting stock of Montgomery Homes & Facilities, Limited and also hereby name him as my successor to the position of CEO and Chairman of the Board."

  Fuck me.

  8

  Emmy

  We're here," the cab driver said as we lurched to a stop, and I looked out the window at the bleak surroundings. Gray buildings, rusty wrought iron railings and sidewalks with trash blown up into the corners like cobwebs. I swiped my almost maxed-out credit card and signed the receipt.

  I needed to ask Suit Monkey to forward my confirmation email from Airbnb to his phone so I could double check the address of where I was supposed to be staying after I visited David. I pulled out the phone just as it buzzed with a text from himself, asking me to forward him his assistant's contact info. I quickly looked up "Dorothy (Assistant)"in his address book, finding her between "Debbie (don't answer unless you're in a dry spell)" and "Dude from Vale (with the ski pass hookup)." I scrunched up my nose, forwarded Dorothy's contact to my own phone number, then climbed out of the cab.

  I took my wheelie bag from the cabbie and hefted my purse onto my shoulder. I pulled my cardigan closer around myself to ward off the late spring chill. Gray afternoon clouds had rolled in. I'd have to text Suit Monkey later.

  I was late. David was probably going out of his mind waiting for me. David whom I hardly ever saw because he was here in this rundown part of New York, and I was in sunny South Carolina. If only I could figure out a way to get him there. Hopefully I could get some advice from the administrative offices or the social workers at his facility while I was here.

  An orderly was sitting on the steps, smoking. His short dreads bobbed as he listened to whatever was piping through the earbuds nestled in his ears. I'd know that figure anywhere.

  The orderly looked up and caught me smiling. "Emmy girl, is that you?"

  "Sure is."

  D'Andre stood, his six-foot-five frame blocking the view up to the front door as he reached out a fist.

  I bumped it with my own. "Who are you listening to these days," I asked.

  "Logic," he replied, and he reached for my bag. "He's a genius."

  "I'll take your word for it. And you still working on your own lyrics?"

  "Sure am. Started a YouTube channel."

  "Huh. That's the second person today."

  "Rappin on YouTube?"

  "No, at least, I don't think so. Just gaming or something. Anyway, how's David?"

  "He's been going out of his mind waiting for you. And man, trying to tell him not to call you?" D'Andre shook his head. "That was not fun. What happened to your phone anyhow?"

  "Long story. Accidentally switched phones with a total stranger. But the bottom line is I won't have access to that number for at least the next few days. I'll give you the number I'm using, but you'll have to monitor him, he can't keep using it after I get my phone back. The man on the other end is a self-important one-percenter." A funny one who I'd enjoyed bantering with, but still . . .

  The thought of Trystan Montgomery in his busy suit-wearing life having to deal with David's calls every day could be quite entertaining. It would drive him crazy. I smiled to myself. If it wouldn't upset and confuse David, I'd totally let it happen.

  "Intriguing." D'Andre grinned, and we headed up the stone stairs and into the bright fluorescent-bulb-lit lobby.

  "Irritating, more like." I huffed then arranged to keep my suitcase in the office while I visited with David.

  * * *

  David was sitting in the chair by the window in his small room when I entered. If he sat in one certain spot, he could see down the street, between the buildings and to the water of Rockaway Inlet that led out to the Atlantic Ocean.

  "This isn't Manhattan," David said as I entered. "I was told I'd be staying in New York."

  "It is New York," I said softly so as not to startle him. His gray hair was clipped short, thanks to D'Andre I was sure. Haircuts weren't administered nearly as neatly or as often as I knew David was used to even though I kept his account stocked with funds for all the extras like haircuts and adult diapers. He turned toward me, his eyes not lighting with recognition. I never knew what I would get when I visited him.

  "No. It's not. That is not the Hudson River, I'll tell you that much."

  "You're right, we're not in Manhattan, but we're just outside. We're near JFK airport."

  David nodded, his eyebrows rising. "That's very useful. Noisy, I bet. But probably smart given all the traveling I have to do this coming year."

  I smiled and perched on the end of his hospital bed so I could face him in the chair. "Traveling? Where are you headed?"

  David grunted. "My job takes me all over. You have to keep an eye on the Far East manufacturers, you know? My clients would skin me alive if I hadn't personally visited and approved of all their investments."

  "Huh." I nodded. "You have a very important job."

  "It's a big responsibility managing other people's money. They have to have the utmost trust in you." A shadow passed over his rheumy eyes.

  I swallowed, hoping his mind wouldn't serve up the reality of his situation and what had happened to him and his business. "So, what's the food like at this hotel?" I asked, buying into his odd reality.

  David's eyebrows rose. "Oh well." He smiled. "It's the best of course. Normally I avoid hotel restaurants, but this one is pretty good. And it's very entertaining. There's a Chinese family that runs it. Their kids are a hoot. The two daughters are acrobats. They do an incredible show where they hang from the ceiling during dinner."

  "Wow," I deadpanned. "Talk about dinner theater!"

  "Right? I wish you could see it. Maybe you'll stay for dinner." David looked at me, and like a curtain slowly being peeled open to reveal the day, his gaze sharpened, and he came back. "Emmy! It's so great to see you. Why didn't you say something. Always sneaking in like this, trying to surprise an old man." He grinned.

  "Hey, David." I stood and walked over to him so I could lean down and give him a hug. I squeezed his bony shoulders and pressed my cheek to his papery one. "Great to see you too."

  "Well, you're a sight for sore eyes. Look at you. Your new fella must be treating you well. When can I meet him?"

  "Wait, what?"

  "Now, now, Emmy. You don't need to be shy. I'm happy for you."

  I swallowed thickly. I'd really been hoping we could talk properly today, but now I was starring in his elaborate made-up world. Goodness knew what would come out next.

  I peered closely at him.

  "What?" he asked.

  I only saw his keen intelligence and mischief dancing behind his eyes. No confusion.

  "Nothing. You missed a spot shaving, by the way," I redirected our topic.

  "Did not."

  I shrugged. "Did too."

  He rubbed a hand over his jaw, and I felt a twinge of guilt.

  I knew full well it was D'Andre who shaved him. The facility didn't allow anyone scissors, razors, or even nail clippers after Mrs. McClatchkey nipped her husband repeatedly on the arm with hers.

  "So how's my little shoebox in the Village?"

  I took a breath, bracing myself for telling him the same news again for the first time. "You remember we had to sell it, right?” Eight years ago when our whole world fell apart.

  "We did?" His eyebrows dropped down heavily. “Maybe I remember that.”

  "And you live here now.”

  “And where are you living?”

  "Charleston, South Carolina. Where I went to college? Remember how much you loved the history and the restaurants when you came to visit?"

  "So you're not living in New York? No wonder I haven't seen you. Why didn't you tell me?" The hurt was unmistakable.

  I reached for his bony hand and squeezed. It was cool to the touch. In the past, I'd remind him his memory wasn't working right, but sometimes that just angered
him. Of course guilt still choked me because he was right. I hadn't been up to see him enough. There simply wasn't much I could do about it. "I come as often as I can. You know that."

  David looked away toward the window, giving me the silent treatment.

  I waited. I thought of changing the subject again, but I simply couldn't think of what else to talk about.

  "I always wanted you to find love, but now I feel jealous of this new fella who's taking up all your time."

  I let out a surprised snort of laughter. "I don't have a fellow, David."

  He looked at me. "Why would you hide it from me? If you moved away to be with a fella—"

  "I'm not hiding anything." I frowned.

  "Well, then who's this Trystan man answering your phone?"

  I froze.

  "Knock, knock." The voice came from the doorway.

  I dragged my eyes away from David and looked up to see D'Andre at the door.

  "The administrator needs to see you in the business office, if you have a moment," D'Andre said.

  I stood, rubbing my hands down my skirt. "Sure."

  * * *

  "Miss Dubois." The administrator greeted me and held out her hand. "Penny Smith, I'm the one you speak to on the phone."

  "Oh, right." I shook her hand. "It's great to put a face with a voice."

  "Likewise. I appreciate you coming during the week when I have regular office hours."

  "I'm glad I could make it. Normally it's impossible for me to take time off work during the week, but I finally have some vacation time."

  "And you spent it coming to see David. He's your uncle?" She motioned for me to take a seat in the worn chair in front of a desk covered with piles of paperwork.

  "Um. Yes. Well, a foster uncle. My late foster mother's brother. It's complicated."

  "Well, in my experience real family hasn't much to do with blood ties. He's lucky to have you. Looks like you fostered each other. Does he have any other family?"

  "Neither of us do. I . . . I think this is in his medical file, isn't it?"

  "We have a lot of patients, and I wanted to hear it from you."

  I cleared my throat. "So you needed to see me for something specific?"

  Penny sighed and shifted uncomfortably, her eyes flicking down to a folder in front of her. "Well, yes. So, I'm sure you've noticed his dementia is getting worse. We are getting close to a point where we won't have the resources to give him what he needs at this facility. How is it going with finding a facility closer to you in South Carolina?"

  I clasped my hands together on my lap, squeezing my fingers together. "Not well. I've looked into all the places I know who have Alzheimer's care, and we're . . . well, we're waiting. I'm waiting. There's a waiting list that may take over a year."

  Penny nodded. "I've been in contact with the Medicaid planner you found to evaluate the eligibility requirements between New York and South Carolina. I think you might be able to make the case for him to get Medicaid assistance there. But because of the change of state you’d need to cancel his eligibility here, and then reapply in South Carolina, so there may be a period where you'd have to pay out of pocket."

  "And hope he gets approved. That might be almost impossible." Completely impossible.

  "Keeping him in New York may be the easiest option as far as funding goes," Penny continued, her eyes bleeding sympathy. "But as long as he doesn't see you frequently he deteriorates. And of course, a move to another facility will further affect him. Adversely. Although that might be unavoidable at this point."

  The lump in my throat had grown so much it had sunk into a boulder in my chest. "So my choices are move him closer to me, but risk losing coverage that he desperately needs, or keep him in New York, but he'd have to leave this facility anyway?"

  "I'm afraid so, yes."

  I willed myself not to cry. "H-how long do I have until you can't keep him anymore?"

  She let out a long breath. "As the dementia grows, the more he fights and argues with the staff. Unfortunately, recently he has gotten physical at times."

  "What?" The thought of David becoming violent was as alien as Trystan Montgomery turning out to be a virgin. I wrapped my hands around my waist. Where in the Sam Hell had that thought come from? "My God. I'm so sorry. Are . . . are you sure? I mean, David isn't . . . I mean he's never been violent. Ever."

  "It often happens with dementia patients. Bizarrely, it's sometimes in their moments of extreme lucidity that it happens. They 'wake up' as it were and don't understand why they're here, where they are, or why they don't recognize anyone. Often times they might try to leave and have to be restrained. And they get quite belligerent with people trying to stop them. We've put an ankle bracelet on David, and it sets off the sensors by the exit several times a week. He's been trying to walk out of here pretty consistently."

  I tried to wrap my mind around what she was telling me. I'd thought he could stay here indefinitely until I figured out a way to get him closer to me. But now that was off the table too. "Are . . . are there any facilities you recommend for someone like David. I mean, if he stays in New York State?"

  Penny pursed her lips. "We've put some calls in, but are you sure that's what you want to do? I think seeing you more often would be better for him."

  My nose stung, and I lost the battle against tears as my eyes filled. "No. Of course I'm not sure. I don't know what to do."

  "Is there anyone you know who might be able to pull some strings to get him into an affordable place closer to you? Oftentimes, if you know someone, they might be able to put in a good word, bump him up the list.”

  "But I can't risk him losing coverage if I move him to South Carolina. I can't afford to pay for it out of pocket. It's an impossible position."

  "I know," Penny said gently. She grabbed the box of tissues next to her and held them out to me. "That's why I was hoping you'd know of any other family members or relatives of David's who might be able to share the burden with you. I'm sorry you are on your own with this. But whatever you decide, he'll have to leave this facility before the end of next month."

  9

  Emmy

  Outside the overcast clouds threatened rain. It was early evening when I finally said goodbye to David, having left him eating a plate of meatloaf, mash potatoes, and beige broccoli. I wished I could sign him out and take him for a meal at one of the old expensive steak houses he used to frequent in the city. Smith & Wollensky's perhaps. I blinked back more tears from my swollen eyes. I'd told David I had allergies when I came back from talking to Penny.

  I'd finally remembered to text Trystan to send me the confirmation email I got from Airbnb to his email but I still hadn't heard back from him. God, this was getting complicated.

  I walked along the narrow sidewalk. Within minutes I felt I could wipe a layer of grime from my skin and see it. The smell of the halal grill on the corner sent the pungent scent of roasting meat and strong spices wafting out to mix with the exhaust or honking rush-hour taxis and stagnant drains.

  Finally, after a twenty-minute walk, I found the right address. I squinted at the dirty numbers on a brick pillar next to a rickety looking metal stairway that looked like it descended into the bowels of hell.

  I looked down into the gloom. Were those eyes peering back up at me?

  "You better be a cat down there and not a rat," I whisper shouted. My spidey senses were zinging off the charts as I stood on the sidewalk debating what to do.

  I was a headline: Single girl books "room" in New York for two nights at low, low price. What did I expect? I guess I expected Lady Luck to give a shit, but she'd been on an extended smoke break since this morning when my flight was delayed, I lost my phone, and the news about David's eviction had been dumped on me.

  I pulled out Trystan's phone to see if he'd emailed the confirmation and mulled my options for a few more minutes. Knock on the door and risk meeting a serial killer or double check the address? Double checking seemed like the smart decision. I opened a
new text message to Suit Monkey.

  * * *

  Hi, me again. I know you're busy. Sorry. I'm standing outside this Airbnb, or what I remember the address to be, and I feel like if I go inside, I may never come out alive. It has to be the wrong address. Will you check in my email and forward it to your email so I can see the address? Please, please, please.

  * * *

  After I hit send, I waited and pretended to be on the phone so no one would talk to me. Pedestrians passed by periodically, groups of men with beards and hats, walking to the synagogue I'd passed. The building above the basement apartment looked as derelict as its foundation. The windows were dirty, the first-floor ones barred, and a few newspapers piled up outside the main entrance at ground level. In fact, on closer inspection it looked to be the remains of someone's bed for the night. Panic began to churn my insides. I'd prepaid for the Airbnb, and there definitely wasn't enough room in my budget for an additional hotel bill.

  I stared down at the phone in my hand, willing Trystan to text back. As I watched, the battery bar ticked down to nineteen percent. I needed to plug it in. I was going to have to call him.

  * * *

  My call went straight to voicemail. "Hi, you've reached Emmy's phone—" I mashed the end button. Does anyone ever like the sound of their own voice?

  He was either on the phone already or the battery had died.

  It was five thirty. Surely he was done with his reading of the will or whatever by now. I hated that I was having to bother him on what was clearly a difficult day.

  No.

  Screw it.

  This was an emergency.

  I dialed again.

  Straight to voicemail.

  I dialed again.

  And again.

  And again.

  "What?" Trystan's voice barked.

  "Oh, hi. This is—"