Twisted River by Siobhan MacDonald Read Free Book Online Page A

was there before him.
    â€œA drunk on the subway,” she said quickly, just the way she’d rehearsed. “That’s all, Elliot. Looks worse than it feels.” She chanced a smile through the lies. A shooting pain seared down her jaw.
    Elliot looked at his dad.
    â€œThought you said the subway was safe. That Bloomberg used to take it every day when he was mayor.”
    â€œThe subway is safe, son. But I can’t guarantee it one hundred percent. It’s certainly safer now than when I was a kid.”
    Elliot’s face dropped. His father had told him something that appeared to be untrue. Poor Elliot. He idolized his father and Hazel was always reluctant to say anything to fracture that childhood faith.
    â€œWhoa, Mom!! Look at you. What the hell happened?”
Jess had joined them now, showered and uniformed, and, for once, interested in someone other than herself.
    â€œMom was attacked by some drunk on the subway,” Elliot chipped in.
    â€œFor real?” Jess assessed the situation. “What did the cops have to say about it?” She flicked her hair. Jess’s reaction to the assault seemed detached. Hazel could feel hurt but she knew that Jess was a slow burner. Sympathy would come later.
    â€œNo need for the police. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, Jess. It won’t happen again.” Hazel had made this promise before, but this time she really meant it. Oscar was fiddling with his electric razor, avoiding her gaze.
    â€œJeez, Mom, you seem fairly chilled about all of this,” said Jess.
    â€œEnough, Jess,” said Oscar. “Go see if Celine has put a pancake mix in the fridge and get started on breakfast. We have this under control.”
    Hazel wasn’t chilled. She was in shock. It had been the sheer surprise of it. The force of the blow had stunned her, the depth of anger had left her reeling.
    â€œGo on, then, guys . . .” Oscar shooed the kids out of the bedroom.
    He turned to Hazel. “Celine still does that, right? Leave a pancake mix in the fridge?”
    â€œYeah, she still does that,” Hazel answered mechanically.
    Celine was their part-time nanny who came in afternoons for the children after school.
    â€œYou’re determined to go in, then?”
    â€œPlease, Oscar . . .” She looked at him, almost pleading.
    â€œOkay, then, Hazel, have it your way, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
    Â â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢Â 
    Riding down the elevator, Hazel tried to avoid looking at her reflection by following the paths of the spidery white veins in the marble floor tiles. As residents from lower floors joined the car, she took out her cell and pretended to read.
    â€œGood morning, Mrs. Harvey, how you doin’ today?”
    Sidney Du Bois, the doorman, was upbeat as always. Hazel had long since given up on trying to get him to call her by her first name. He too liked to be addressed as plain Du Bois.
    â€œFine, thank you, Du Bois.” She turned her head to the side as if to admire the flower arrangement on the stand. Just four more strides to the door.
    â€œThe children just about missed the school bus this morning, Mrs. Harvey. But I shouted at the driver to wait.”
    â€œThank you, Du Bois.” She looked at him now.
    What could she do? It would have been rude not to.
    â€œMy pleasure, Mrs. Harvey,” he said slowly, his expression hardly changing.
    Du Bois—efficient, polite, and unfailingly discreet. By far the best doorman on the Upper West Side. She exited the air-conditioned lobby and stepped out onto the sidewalk, into the growing heat of the September morning.
    She almost wished the season would change in that ridiculously schizophrenic way that summer could become winter overnight in this part of the world. She felt vulnerable in her light cotton blouse and linen pants. She’d have much preferred to hide under layers of coats and hoods, but