Hideaway Page 23

  That got through. “Oh. Thank you.”

  Another nurse stepped up to answer a phone. “Poor kid.”

  The first watched Cate race down the hall. “Which one?”

  She saw Noah’s younger brother, Eli, curled into a ball on a small sofa, earbuds in, sleeping.

  “Don’t wake him.” Bekka, Noah’s sister, stood by a little coffee/tea station. “He just finally fell asleep.”

  “Bekka.”

  “Let’s sit over here.” Dunking a tea bag in a paper cup, she walked to a pair of chairs.

  She looked exhausted, her dark cloud of hair drawn back into a tangled pouf of a tail. Deep shadows dogged her eyes—gold like Noah’s. She wore gray leggings and a black tee with COLUMBIA emblazoned over it.

  She went there, as serious about her ambition to become a doctor as Noah was about theater.

  “I only just heard, and I came right away. They won’t let me see him, or tell me anything.”

  “Hospital policy. We can add you to the list. But right now he’s sleeping. They can’t give him much for the pain right now because of the concussion. Mom and Dad are with him. Grandma and Ariel just went down for something to eat.”

  “Please.” Cate grabbed Bekka’s hand. “Tell me how he is.”

  “Sorry. I’m a little punchy. The hospital called last night, or early this morning. The police were already here when we got here. Noah came in unconscious, but he came to, tried to tell the police what happened. He’s got a concussion, detached retina, left eye, orbital fractures, both eyes, a broken nose.”

  Bekka closed her eyes, sipped at the tea. And a tear leaked out. “Fractured cheekbone, left again. Bruised kidneys, abdominal bruising.”

  She opened her eyes again, met Cate’s. “They beat him, two of them. Just beat and beat him.”

  Both arms hugged to her belly, Cate rocked. “Is he going to be all right?”

  “He’s going to need surgery for the retina, and possibly on both eyes for the orbital. We’re waiting for the specialist to examine him. He’ll need surgery for the cheekbone fracture because there’s some bone displacement. They need to wait until the swelling goes down, until he’s more stable.”

  “Oh God.” Breathing in, breathing out, Cate pressed her fingers to her eyes. “How did this happen? Why would anyone do this to him?”

  “He said he was walking back after you got a cab.”

  “Oh God, oh God.”

  “He thought there were two of them, and that’s what the witnesses who scared them off said. Two men, white men according to the witnesses. Noah doesn’t remember much, just walking and something, someone hitting him from behind. He doesn’t remember, or didn’t, what they looked like. The witnesses had more, but not much because they were about half a block away. But they said, when they started to beat him, they . . .”

  “What?” At the hesitation, Cate clutched Bekka’s arm.

  “They called him a nigger chink, a faggot, and they said he’d get more and worse if he tried to fuck a white girl again. They said if he ever put his hands on Cate Sullivan again, they’d cut off his dick.”

  “They—” She couldn’t find words, not in her mind, much less voice them.

  “That doesn’t make it your fault. But . . . our mother, especially our mother . . . You have to understand how hearing that, seeing him, makes her feel.”

  She couldn’t understand. She couldn’t understand anything. “I don’t know what to do, what to say, how to feel.”

  “The police are going to need to talk to you.”

  “I don’t know anyone who’d do this to him. Bekka, I swear it.”

  “You don’t have to know them.” On the sofa, earbuds out, eyes open, Eli watched her. In those eyes, eyes of a fifteen-year-old boy, lived such bitterness. “They know you.” He rolled off the couch. “I’m going for a walk,” he said, and walked out.

  But they don’t, Cate thought. They don’t know me.

  “Eli’s angry,” Bekka began. “Right now he can only see his brother in the hospital, put there by white men over a white girl. He can’t see past that yet.”

  Cate closed her hand over the little heart she wore every day. “Will your family let me see him?”

  “Yes, because he’s already asked for you. Whatever they feel, right now, they want only what’s best for Noah. Wait here. Let me go talk to my mother.”

  Shaken, sickened, Cate waited. Because she knew Lily also waited, worried, she texted an edited version she’d expand on in person.

  He’s sleeping. Two men jumped him last night. He’s hurt, but resting now. I’m waiting to see him, and I’ll tell you everything when I get home.

  Lily’s answer came instantly.

  Give him my love, and take some for yourself.

  She got up to pace. How did anyone sit in waiting rooms? How did they stand that creeping, crawling time of waiting to see, to touch someone they loved?

  Bells dinged, feet slapped the floor outside the waiting room. Phones rang.

  She didn’t want coffee, she didn’t want tea. She didn’t want anything but to see Noah.

  His parents walked by. His mother kept her face turned away, leaning into her husband. His father, tall like Noah, lean like Noah, looked in at her as they passed.

  She saw sorrow and fatigue in his eyes, but no bitterness, and no blame.

  And that single glance brought on a rush of tears.

  “I can take you to his room now.” Bekka stood in the opening to the hallway. “He’s in and out. And when he’s awake, there’s pain, so you can’t stay long.”

  “I won’t. I just need to see him. I’ll leave after that, get out of the way.”

  “It’s not you, Cate. It’s the situation. I’m going to wait out here.” She paused at the door, and her eyes—dull and weary—met Cate’s. “As long as Noah wants to see you, I’ll work out a kind of visitation schedule. I’m not going to put my mother through any more upheaval. I’ll let you know the best times for you to come see Noah. For short periods at first. Rest, a lot of rest and a lot of quiet are what he needs.”

  “I won’t stay long.”

  Bracing herself, Cate pushed the door open.

  Nothing could have prepared her. Bruises violent as storm clouds covered his beautiful face. Swelling distorted its shape. His left eye bulged out, red and raw. More bruises, black, yellow, purple, surrounded his right.

  He lay so still on the white sheets in a hospital gown of washed-out blue that showed more bruising on his arms, ugly scrapes clawing down his skin. For a moment she feared he wasn’t breathing, then she saw the movement of his chest, heard the beep of the monitor.

  Everything inside her wanted to rush to him, simply cover his body with her own and pour her heart into him. Give him strength, ease all the pain.

  But she walked slowly, softly in the dim room with its single window shaded against the light. She took his hand, lightly, gently.

  “I wish I could be here when you wake up, I wish I could talk to you. But you need to rest. I’ll come every day, stay as long as they let me. Lily sends her love, and even when I can’t be here, you have to know you have mine.”

  She bent down, kissed his hand, then left as she’d come in. Slowly and softly.

  In the drugging summer heat, in the blast of summer sun, Cate walked the nearly thirty blocks home.

  The early hour meant shops remained closed, most tourists had yet to venture out. It was a time, as she walked uptown, of dog walkers, nannies, joggers heading to the park, suits with early meetings. No one paid any more attention to her than she did to them.

  She’d left him there, battered and broken, because he had a family who loved him. And one who now resented her. Even Bekka, she thought. What Bekka did, she’d done for Noah.

  Cate couldn’t blame her. Couldn’t blame any of them.

  How much, she wondered, would Noah blame her?

  She walked from the heat to the cool of the lobby, to the elevator, down the hall, to the door. Insi
de.

  “Catey. Oh, my poor baby. Come, come sit down. Did you walk? Let me—”

  Shaking her head, shaking all over, Cate bolted to the powder room. The sickness she’d carried inside expelled, brutally, viciously, as Lily rushed in behind her, held her hair back with one hand, reached for a guest towel with the other.

  “All right, sweets. It’s all right.”

  She wet the cloth with cold water, laid it against Cate’s forehead, then the back of her neck.

  “Here now, you need to lie down. Come on now.” She pulled Cate up, supported her as she wept, made soothing noises as she steered her to the bedroom and the bed. “I’m going to get you some water, some ginger ale.”

  She hurried out, came back with two glasses. “Water first, that’s my girl.” She propped pillows up, settled Cate back against them. “Slow sips, that’s the way. When you’re steady enough, you’re going to take a nice cool shower, and I’ll get you some fresh clothes.”

  First, Lily sat on the side of the bed, brushed Cate’s sweat-damp hair back from her face. “Can you tell me?”

  “Two men. His face, G-Lil, they beat him so bad. He’s going to need surgery, more than one. Two men on his way home from walking me to a cab. They beat him. And they called him ugly names. They said because he’s not white and I am. They said my name. He’s just lying there, so hurt. His family blames me.”

  “Of course they don’t.”

  “They do.” Swollen eyes spilled more tears. “His mother wouldn’t even look at me. His brother wouldn’t stay in the same room with me. They said my name when they hurt him.”

  “Because they’re ugly, racist, bigoted shitheels. Not because of you. His family’s scared and worried, angry and worried. Give them time. What did the doctors say?”

  “I only know what Bekka told me. They can’t give him much for the pain because of the concussion, and he needs surgery. I saw him for just a minute, but he was sleeping. I couldn’t stay because . . .”

  “That’s all right. He’s young, he’s strong, and nobody’s in better shape than a dancer. Sip a little ginger ale now.”

  She urged Cate to drink, then nudged her into the shower, got her girl some fresh clothes. Checking the time, calculating, she put off calling Hugh. No point waking him so early with this kind of news. And the same went for Aidan.

  She’d call her director as soon as she felt Cate was steady. Another hour before Mimi arrived, she thought. Considering, she texted her personal assistant, asked her to work from her apartment, and to hold any calls that weren’t vital.

  She’d make tea. She’d—

  “G-Lil.”

  She turned to see Cate, wet hair pulled back in a tail to leave her face, so young, so sad, unframed.

  “Why don’t you lie down awhile, my sweets? I’m going to make us some tea.”

  “I’m all right. The shower helped. I guess throwing up did, too. I’m all right. I’ll make tea. Being busy with something has to help, too.”

  She started to walk toward the kitchen, then stopped, pulled Lily into a hug. “Thanks.”

  “Nothing to thank me for.”

  “Only everything. You’ve been my mother, my grandmother, somehow both almost as long as I can remember. You’re my G-Lil, and I needed you so much.”

  “Now you’re going to make me cry.”

  “You didn’t call Dad or Grandpa yet, did you?”

  “I was going to give it another hour.”

  “Good.” She stepped back. “I’ll make tea, and maybe you can help me figure out what I should do.”

  “All right. I like figuring.”

  They started for the kitchen together when the house phone rang.

  “I’ll get that.” Lily detoured, picked up the phone. “Lily Morrow. Yes, Fernando. Oh.” She glanced toward the kitchen. “Yes, send them up.”

  In the kitchen, Cate studied a bright red tin. “Energy Boost Tea. Does it work?”

  “Not especially. We’d better put on some coffee, too.”

  “You want coffee?”

  “Sweets, that was Fernando in the lobby. Two police detectives are coming. They need to talk to you. I thought it best to just get it done.”

  “Yes.” Cate put the tin back, turned to the elaborate machine Lily claimed she loved almost more than sex. “I want to help. I don’t know how I can, but there may be something. I really am all right, G-Lil.”

  “I can see that. You’ve always been a strong one, Cate.”

  “Not always, but I remember how to be one. I’ll make coffee for all of us.” She managed a wan smile. “Do you think cops drink it black like in the books and movies?”

  “I guess we’ll find out. I’ll go let them in,” she said when the buzzer sounded.

  Lily gave the living room a narrow glance as she walked through, worked out how to set the stage so she sat with Cate on the main sofa. If her girl needed some support, she’d be right there.

  She opened the door.

  Whatever she’d expected, it wasn’t a middle-aged woman with gray-threaded brown hair worn Judi Dench–style short and a skinny black man sporting short, neat dreads who looked barely old enough to order a legal drink.

  They both wore suit jackets—his a charcoal gray with a nice clean cut, hers black and dumpy.

  And they both held up badges.

  “Ms. Morrow, I’m Detective Riley. This is my partner, Detective Wasserman.”

  Riley, the woman, gave Lily a steady stare out of frosty blue eyes.

  “Please come in. Caitlyn’s making some coffee.”

  “Terrific view,” Wasserman commented while his dark eyes scanned the glass doors and beyond, the room and, Lily realized, everything in it.

  “It is, isn’t it? Please, sit down.” She gestured, very deliberately to the chairs facing the sofa. “We’re both of us just sick about Noah. Caitlyn just got back from the hospital a short time ago. I hope you find who hurt that boy.”

  “You know him well, personally and professionally?” Riley took out a notebook as she sat.

  “I do, yes. He’s a very talented young man, and a very good young man. I’m very fond of him.”

  “Do you know anyone who’d want to hurt him?”

  “I don’t. I honestly don’t. He’s well liked by the company. I’ve never heard anyone say a bad word about him. When Cate started seeing him, I gave him a good once-over.” She smiled as she said it. “He passed the audition.”

  Wasserman rose as Cate came in carrying the coffee tray. “Let me get that for you.”

  She handed it over, stood a moment. “I’m Cate.”

  “Detective Riley, Ms. Sullivan. My partner, Detective Wasserman.”

  “How do you take your coffee?”

  “A little cream, no sugar,” Riley said.

  “Cream and sugar. Thanks,” Wasserman said as Cate busied herself with the coffee.

  “Noah’s roommate called me this morning. I went straight to the hospital. I don’t understand why anyone would do that to him, to anyone.” She passed out the coffee, sat beside Lily. “Noah’s sister told me what they said to him. I don’t understand that either.”

  “How long have you been involved with Noah?” Riley asked.

  “We started seeing each other early February.”

  “Did anyone object to that?”

  “Our seeing each other? No. Why would they?”

  “Maybe someone you’d been dating,” Wasserman suggested, “someone Noah was involved with before you.”

  “He’d dated some people, but he wasn’t seeing anyone when he asked me out.”

  “And you?” Riley prompted.

  “No. I hadn’t dated anyone before Noah.”

  Wasserman’s eyebrows shot up. “Anyone?”

  “I lived in Ireland for several years. We went out in groups. I never really dated solo. There’s no jealous ex-boyfriend in my life. I don’t know of any jealous ex-girlfriends in Noah’s. I don’t know anyone who’d do something so vicious and ugly. I’d te
ll you if I did, if I had even a glimmer of a thought of someone.

  “You’ve seen him. You’ve seen what they did to him. They used my name when they did.” She clutched the heart at the base of her throat. “I’m sure you know what happened to me when I was ten. I know cruel people and what they’re capable of. But I don’t know who would do this to Noah.”

  “Take us through Monday.”

  Cate nodded at Riley. “The theater’s dark on Monday, so we spend time together. I had two classes at NYU, so I met him about one, at the coffee shop—the one where we had our first date. It’s what we do. That’s Café Café at Seventh and Forty-sixth. About one, I think. We went back to his place. His roommates have day jobs, so we could be alone. We met some friends for dinner. About eight, I think, at Footlights, that’s, ah, Broadway and Forty-eighth. A lot of the gypsies go there. The chorus people.”

  She cast her mind back to what seemed like years ago, another life ago.

  “Some of them were going clubbing after, but we . . . Monday night’s the only night he’s not onstage. We went back to his place. About midnight, he walked me over to Eighth to catch a cab. I had reading to do for a morning class. He always walks me to Eighth.”

  When her voice broke, Lily shifted closer, took her hand.

  “Always to Eighth?” Riley repeated. “Would midnight be another routine?”

  “Usually, I guess. I have class on Tuesday morning. He always walks me, and waits until I’m in the cab, waits until I drive away. I can look back, see him waiting on the corner until we’re out of sight. He—”

  She cut herself off, set down her coffee cup with a rattle. “It’s routine, almost every Monday night. Oh God, God, they knew he’d be there, knew he’d walk back from Eighth, right around midnight, Monday night.”

  “Do you know if anyone threatened him?” To pull her attention back, Wasserman leaned forward. “If anyone made comments about him dating you specifically, or specifically a white girl?”

  “No. No. He’d have told me. I’m sure he would. No one ever, ever said anything like that to me. The two people who helped Noah. Did they see the men who did this?”

  Riley glanced at Wasserman, gave him the slightest nod.

  “They’d just come out of a bar, and they’d had a few. When they turned the corner, they saw the attack. They shouted, started running toward Noah. The assailants ran east. The witnesses weren’t close enough to get a good look, in the dark, from half a block, and after a few beers.”