They weren’t on the road long. They took a left, and then quickly turned into a parking garage beneath a splashy high-rise called Belmont Tower. It had a doorman out front, the kind you see in New York, and I drove on, finally pulling into a restaurant parking lot just up the block.
I killed the engine, wondering if there was a restaurant inside the high-rise. I wondered if it was the location of the corporate apartments. I wondered if this was where Walter Spannerman lived.
Using my phone, I found the information: Belmont Tower was a Spannerman project, and there was also a video link. I clicked it and saw Walter Spannerman boasting about the building amenities; as his final selling point, he proudly announced to viewers that he’d chosen to live on the top floor.
I stopped the video, but like a man choosing to march unassisted to his own execution, I stepped out of the car and made for Belmont Tower. I signaled to the doorman when I was close and he approached.
“It’s a beautiful building,” I said.
“Yes, sir. It really is.”
“I was wondering if there’s a restaurant in the building? Or a dining club for the tenants?” I said.
“No, there isn’t. However, the building has a relationship with La Cerna next door. It’s a five-star restaurant.”
“Are there any apartments for rent?”
“No, sir.”
I put a hand in my pocket. “Okay,” I said. “Thanks for your help.”
A few minutes later, dazed at the idea that Vivian had most likely gone with Spannerman to his penthouse, I was in my car and on my way back to Charlotte.
I arrived half an hour after London got back from school and when I opened the door, she came running.
“Daddy! Where were you?”
“I had to work,” I said. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t pick you up.”
“That’s okay. Auntie Marge was there. She drove me home.” She put her arms around me. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too, baby.”
“I love you.”
“Ditto,” I said.
“What does ditto mean?”
“You say ‘ditto’ when you want to say the same thing. You said I love you, so I said ditto, meaning I love you.”
“That’s neat,” she said. “I didn’t know you could do that.”
“It’s just a crazy world, isn’t it? Did you learn anything fun in school?”
“I learned that spiders aren’t insects. They’re called arachmids.”
“You mean arachnid?”
“No, Daddy. Arachmid. With an M.”
I was pretty sure she was wrong, but she’d figure it out eventually. “That’s cool.”
“It’s because insects have six legs and spiders have eight legs.”
“Wow… you’re pretty smart, you know that?”
“But I still don’t like spiders. I don’t like bees anymore either. Even though they make honey. But butterflies are pretty.”
“Just like you. You’re pretty, too. Prettier than any butterfly,” I said. “Can I go say hi to Auntie Marge for a minute?”
“Okay. I have to check on Mr. and Mrs. Sprinkles. Did you remember to give them water?”
Oops.
“No, I didn’t. But they had plenty yesterday. I’m sure they’re okay.”
“I’ll go make sure.”
I kissed her cheek and put her down. She ran toward the steps and vanished from sight. Marge, I noticed, had been watching us from the kitchen.
“You’re a good dad, you know that?” she said when I reached her.
“I try. How was she?”
“You mean in the hour I’ve had her? I had to drive her home and get her a Popsicle. And then, Mom showed up with a ton of food and I had to deal with that, too. I put some in the refrigerator and some in the freezer, by the way. Let’s just say that you really owe me for this one. I’m exhausted. What a day! I’m not sure I can take any more.”
My sister had a flair for sarcastic melodrama, obviously. “I didn’t think I’d be back so soon.”
“Neither did I. And when you did get home, I thought you’d resemble a pile of mashed potatoes. What happened? Was she even there?”
“I saw her,” I said. “Well, kind of.” I told her what had happened. While I spoke, she poured two glasses of ice water and handed one to me.
“Can I ask a question?”
“Go ahead.”
“Why didn’t you just wait for her?”
“After they went to Spannerman’s place, I realized I didn’t want to see her after that.”
“Because?”
“She was… with him. Probably at his penthouse or whatever. And…”
“And what? She left you. She told you she was in love with him. You do know she’s sleeping with him, right?”
“I know that,” I said. “I just don’t like to think about it… I don’t want to think about it.”
Marge offered a sympathetic expression. “That makes you perfectly sane.”
I hesitated, realizing I was utterly exhausted. “What am I going to do?”
“You’re going to take care of yourself. And you’re going to continue to be a good father to London.”
“I mean about Vivian.”
“For now, let’s just worry about you and your daughter, okay?”
I never should have gone to Atlanta.
On Tuesday, I tried to bury myself in work on Taglieri’s commercial, but it was hard to stay focused and I thought endlessly of Vivian. I would see her in the Bentley, Spannerman in the seat beside her; whenever I imagined her expression, it was the same one I’d seen on the patio.