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Authors: Linda Francis Lee
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thought you knew exactly where I lived. Which is impossible. Right?”
I think he shrugged.
Once I opened the door, he trotted through the vestibule and stopped in the gallery with its intricately laid floor and massive light fixture of frosted glass and ornate metalwork hanging from the fourteen-foot-high ceiling. The gallery led directly into the library with its high, wide windows and rich draperies. To the left of the library, through a massive set of double doors with glass transoms, stood the master bedroom, which in turn circled back through a long hallway to the gallery.
I was seven years old when I first saw the glossy magazine photograph of the Dakota. From the beginning, I loved the building. I suspect it had something to do with the way it looked like the building where Eloise lived. The tale of a little girl with no discernable family who had the run of the Plaza Hotel had been my favorite book when I was growing up.
At eight, when my mother took me with her to the Dakota to visit some man, I was left to my own devices for the bulk of an afternoon. I climbed stairwells and rode elevators, sitting on the elevator’s bench seat like a princess. When the concierge told me that the building had been designed by the same man who designed the Plaza Hotel, my love of the building was solidified. Just as Eloise belonged in the Plaza, I decided I belonged at the Dakota. That Sandy had brought me to this very building as a bride had seemed prophetic.
Einstein stood in the gallery much as I had the first time, absorbing the silence, the thick walls blocking out the city noise.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
Einstein jumped as if he had forgotten I was there.
“Sandy loves this place.”
The little dog seemed to sigh.
My throat tightened at the memory of my husband, tears threatening to squeeze over, but I shook them away. I hadn’t cried since the accident. That was how I saw it, an accident, something that could be fixed, undone, made right, like chiseling away broken bathroom tile and replacing it with perfect squares that matched the old. Which was crazy. But I ignored that too.
I headed down the main hall with the things the clinic had given me. “You’ll sleep in here,” I called back. “It’s the kitchen, but it’s a whole lot nicer than the clinic.”
He didn’t follow me. Instead he stayed in the gallery, glancing up the stairway that led to a separate suite of rooms on the floor above. The suite had always been Sandy’s private space, especially in the last few months. I hadn’t ventured up there since the accident.
“What is it, E?”
He raised his muzzle and continued past the stairs, marching down the hall toward the master bedroom.
“Hey!” I called after him. “No way, Einstein. It’s too late for me to figure out how you know so much about this place, but if my mother-in-law shows up and finds you on her precious son’s duvet there will be no mercy. I need that like I need a hole in my head.”
I didn’t add that I had been avoiding Sandy’s mother and estate lawyer since the funeral, holding on to some gauzy-brained idea that maybe they would forget the apartment and go away.
Einstein stood at the foot of the huge bed Sandy loved, seeming to debate. With a huff, he turned back and retraced his footsteps down the hall.
When I got over the strangeness, I grabbed three of the fluffiest beach blankets I could find and dashed after him. My new dog had found the kitchen on his own and waited for me with impatience.
After I piled the blankets in the corner, Einstein strode past without so much as a nod, circled twice, and flopped down with an exhausted groan. I put out a bowl of water for him, waiting a second to make sure he was settled. When he didn’t move a muscle, I turned off the light. “Good night, Einstein,” I said. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Strangely, I was.
* * *
I had taken up residence in the yellow guest room where I had painted the
I think he shrugged.
Once I opened the door, he trotted through the vestibule and stopped in the gallery with its intricately laid floor and massive light fixture of frosted glass and ornate metalwork hanging from the fourteen-foot-high ceiling. The gallery led directly into the library with its high, wide windows and rich draperies. To the left of the library, through a massive set of double doors with glass transoms, stood the master bedroom, which in turn circled back through a long hallway to the gallery.
I was seven years old when I first saw the glossy magazine photograph of the Dakota. From the beginning, I loved the building. I suspect it had something to do with the way it looked like the building where Eloise lived. The tale of a little girl with no discernable family who had the run of the Plaza Hotel had been my favorite book when I was growing up.
At eight, when my mother took me with her to the Dakota to visit some man, I was left to my own devices for the bulk of an afternoon. I climbed stairwells and rode elevators, sitting on the elevator’s bench seat like a princess. When the concierge told me that the building had been designed by the same man who designed the Plaza Hotel, my love of the building was solidified. Just as Eloise belonged in the Plaza, I decided I belonged at the Dakota. That Sandy had brought me to this very building as a bride had seemed prophetic.
Einstein stood in the gallery much as I had the first time, absorbing the silence, the thick walls blocking out the city noise.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
Einstein jumped as if he had forgotten I was there.
“Sandy loves this place.”
The little dog seemed to sigh.
My throat tightened at the memory of my husband, tears threatening to squeeze over, but I shook them away. I hadn’t cried since the accident. That was how I saw it, an accident, something that could be fixed, undone, made right, like chiseling away broken bathroom tile and replacing it with perfect squares that matched the old. Which was crazy. But I ignored that too.
I headed down the main hall with the things the clinic had given me. “You’ll sleep in here,” I called back. “It’s the kitchen, but it’s a whole lot nicer than the clinic.”
He didn’t follow me. Instead he stayed in the gallery, glancing up the stairway that led to a separate suite of rooms on the floor above. The suite had always been Sandy’s private space, especially in the last few months. I hadn’t ventured up there since the accident.
“What is it, E?”
He raised his muzzle and continued past the stairs, marching down the hall toward the master bedroom.
“Hey!” I called after him. “No way, Einstein. It’s too late for me to figure out how you know so much about this place, but if my mother-in-law shows up and finds you on her precious son’s duvet there will be no mercy. I need that like I need a hole in my head.”
I didn’t add that I had been avoiding Sandy’s mother and estate lawyer since the funeral, holding on to some gauzy-brained idea that maybe they would forget the apartment and go away.
Einstein stood at the foot of the huge bed Sandy loved, seeming to debate. With a huff, he turned back and retraced his footsteps down the hall.
When I got over the strangeness, I grabbed three of the fluffiest beach blankets I could find and dashed after him. My new dog had found the kitchen on his own and waited for me with impatience.
After I piled the blankets in the corner, Einstein strode past without so much as a nod, circled twice, and flopped down with an exhausted groan. I put out a bowl of water for him, waiting a second to make sure he was settled. When he didn’t move a muscle, I turned off the light. “Good night, Einstein,” I said. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Strangely, I was.
* * *
I had taken up residence in the yellow guest room where I had painted the
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