The One That Got Away by Leigh Himes Read Free Book Online Page A

leaves just beginning to turn yellow and red, that filled the square. Between the branches, I could make out the fountains, the strollers, the wrought-iron benches, and the large bronze statues. I could also see people moving around like windup dolls, walking straight, thenturning, then disappearing from view. They moved in ordinary clothes toward ordinary jobs and ordinary houses, oblivious to the luxurious paradise that floated just twelve floors above.
    I turned back to the living room and the people in it: Alex intently scrolling through messages on his phone; Oscar trying to maneuver the wheelchair back out the door; Gloria untangling her balloons.
    Only Sam stood motionless, his big blue-gray eyes fixed on mine and his mouth slightly open. We stared at each other for a few seconds, our eyes locked and knowing. I shrugged and gave him a funny look. He grinned and giggled his baby giggle.
    This will do just fine,
he seemed to say.
    It had been two days and two nights since I’d last showered, so that became the next order of business. Alex led the kids away, promising them cartoons. When I heard the click of the television and the shrill voice of Dora the Explorer, I walked toward the opposite hall in search of a master bedroom.
    It was much like the living room, but in shades of white, gray, and a blue somewhere between slate and robin’s egg. Anchoring the room was a king-sized bed with a smooth, spotless white duvet and four stiffly arranged pillows. The tables and dressers were equally clean and uncluttered—with no car keys or pennies, no dry-cleaning slips, no single socks or errant Lite-Brite pegs. Just wide expanses of polished wood with an occasional silver-framed photograph or ceramic elephant.
    The bathroom continued the same white, gray, and blue color palette, but this time in marble. I saw a walk-in shower with a massive showerhead, a double vanity sink, and a huge rectangular soaking tub. Open shelving held stacks of white towels, plush circular rugs dotted the floor, and a separate room housed the toilet. It lookedlike a hotel bathroom, the maid having just left, except for a toy boat lying on its side beside the tub’s drain.
    Though I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, I turned on every light and began opening the vanity drawers. Little boxes clacked into one another, all solid black or silver and emblazoned with simple monograms: “Chanel,” “Bobbi Brown,” “NARS.” The second drawer held designer face creams and body lotions; the third was full of fancy perfumes and shampoo. I pulled out a pot of Crème de la Mer and touched a tiny bit on my face. It smelled as one would expect—like the sea.
    Opposite the shower was a door that opened to a long room anchored by a marble-topped island. On each side hung clothes and coats interrupted every few feet by floor-to-ceiling shelves housing neatly folded clothes, as if for sale in a fancy boutique. At the back, two full-length mirrors faced each other, allowing whoever stepped before them an infinite look at both front and back.
    Everything was organized by type and then color, the stacks of blouses, T-shirts, skirts, jeans, sweaters, and dresses creating fabric rainbows around the white room. One section of hanging clothes held an array of black satin, smoke gray velvet, and silver sequins, the most elegant collection of formal wear I’d ever seen in person. Tucked to one side were zippered garment bags, the fabrics underneath too vulnerable to be exposed. At home, there was only one garment awarded a home in plastic—my wedding gown.
    But all that paled in comparison to what I saw when I looked up. Perched on a thick shelf that ran all the way around the top of the closet was a cavalcade of leather. Not just bags, but designer purses, all polished and poised for action, their gleaming leather and heavy gold chains begging to be touched.
    I reached up and took them down one by one. There was a tasseled gray Balenciaga, a purple-and-black