Read Online The Other Life by Ellen Meister - Free Book Online Page B

consciousness of this life was as clear to her as her life with Lewis and Isaac. This was her bathroom, the one she shared with Eugene in the Manhattan high-rise they had moved into three years before. Eugene was on the other side of the door, dressing to go out. He was being interviewed about the award he had just been nominated for. Minutes earlier she hadn’t known any of this. But now it was as if she had lived this life all along. She closed her eyes and pictured Isaac and Lewis. Yes, it was all still there. She was as present in one life as she was in the other. Quinn was straddling both worlds.
    There was a sharp rap on the door.
    “Are you going to be in there all day?” Eugene asked.
    “I’ll be right out,” she heard herself say.
    Quinn stepped out of the tub and put her hand on her stomach. No baby. No pregnancy. It was just her and Eugene. She looked back at the tub, her lifeline home.
    “Did you call Isabel?” he yelled through the door.
    “Not yet,” she said. This too was clear to her. Isabel was their travel agent. They were going to Fiji next month on vacation, and Eugene had a list of requirements about the accommodations. Quinn was supposed to go over this checklist with Isabel.
    She wrapped herself in the plush green robe that hung on a brass hook, then opened the bathroom door and stared at her bedroom and the man standing in the middle of it. It was Eugene, looking older than he had when they lived together, but the same in all other ways. His nervousness surrounded him like an impenetrable aura.
    “Is this okay for the Plaza?” he asked, showing Quinn his outfit. He wore jeans and a blazer over a checked shirt. He was meeting a reporter from People for lunch. In this life, he had taken the cable television job and his star was rising.
    The attraction she had once felt for him was still there, like muscle memory. His lower lip, red and just a little plump, protruded a tiny, sexy bit. She tied her robe tighter and tried to assess his appearance objectively.
    “You look a little rumpled,” she said.
    “The shirt?”
    She nodded.
    Quinn studied him as he took off the blazer and threw it on the bed. His thin hair was thinner now, and more salt than pepper. But his posture was good and he moved well—his gym membership was paying off.
    “The black?” he asked, opening his closet.
    She shook her head. “The tan cotton sweater.”
    As he took it from the shelf in his closet and changed into it, Quinn glanced around the room. The landscape her mother had been working on when she died was hanging on the wall over the king-size bed. It looked bigger in this room, richer. Even the tiny figure seemed more distinct.
    Eugene put his sport jacket back on and presented himself to Quinn. “Better?” he asked.
    “Better,” she said.
    “I have to run.” He kissed her on the mouth. His lips were dry and cool. “You won’t forget to call Isabel?”
    She followed him out of the bedroom into the living room. “I won’t forget.”
    He opened the door to leave. “And the bed? You’ll make sure it’s firm? I couldn’t sleep last time on that mush.”
    “Yes, I’ll make sure. But don’t worry. It’s a luxury hotel.”
    “Right. I won’t worry. Because, you know, I can always turn that off when you say so.”
    “It’ll be fine.”
    He paused at the door and turned back to her, opening his palms to indicate he wanted one last assessment of his clothing.
    “You look good,” she said. “Hot. Susan Dennis won’t be able to keep her hands off you. You’ll wind up running off with her and leaving me all alone.”
    “You wish.”
    “See you later,” she said.
    “Bye, babe.” He grabbed his keys from the table by the door, stuffed them into his pocket, and turned to leave. “I forgot to tell you,” he said, turning back around. “Your mother called.” Then he shut the door behind him.
    Her mother?
    Quinn sat on the couch. Her mother was alive? She looked down at the phone on the side