Chapter 9 - The Apartment
Elena's apartment had two rooms, radiators that clanged like loose pipes on a ship, and a kitchen table small enough that Adrien's knees hit the underside when he sat down.
He loved it immediately and resented himself for loving it.
There was no marble. No guards. No cameras. No quiet men pretending not to watch the street.
There were diapers stacked beside a secondhand sofa, a basil plant in the window, and three mismatched mugs on a shelf.
Ordinary life.
Elena had built it without him.
He carried Sofia's car seat upstairs while Elena moved slowly behind him. Marco brought two bags to the landing and stopped.
"That's it," Elena told him.
Marco looked at Adrien.
Adrien nodded.
Marco seemed almost disappointed.
"Call if you need anything," he said.
"I won't," Elena replied.
"I was talking to him."
Elena smiled despite herself.
Marco left.
Adrien stood awkwardly in the living room.
"Where do you want this?" he asked, holding a bag of baby clothes.
"Bedroom."
He carried it in.
A bassinet stood beside Elena's bed. On the dresser was a framed ultrasound photo.
Adrien stopped.
He had missed all of it.
The appointments. The first kick. The decision between names. The late-night fear. The shopping for tiny socks.
Some of that had been taken from him.
Some of it he had created the conditions to lose.
He set down the bag.
When he returned to the living room, Elena was lowering herself carefully onto the sofa.
"You can stay for dinner," she said.
He looked at her.
"Dinner?"
"You look like I offered you a country."
"What are we eating?"
"Whatever's in the freezer."
It was baked ziti from a foil tray her cousin Marisol had left.
Adrien heated it while Elena fed Sofia.
He burned the garlic bread.
Elena laughed so hard she had to stop because it hurt.
"You're enjoying this too much," he said.
"I've watched you intimidate grown men by adjusting your cufflinks. You just lost a fight with a toaster oven. Let me have this."
He did.
After dinner, Sofia would not settle.
Adrien walked her in slow circles around the living room while Elena sat with an ice pack and gave instructions.
"Not so stiff. She can feel it."
"She's six pounds. She cannot assess posture."
"She absolutely can."
At nine thirty, Sofia finally slept.
Adrien placed her in the bassinet with the precision of a bomb technician.
Elena watched from the doorway.
"You can go now."
The words hurt less than he expected.
Maybe because they were honest.
He put on his coat.
"Police found Dorsey yet?" she asked.
"Not yet."
"And Nico?"
"He turned himself in for questioning."
Elena stared at him.
"You let that happen?"
"I didn't stop it."
"That's different for you."
"I'm discovering many things are."
He reached the door.
Elena touched his sleeve.
He looked down at her hand.
"Adrien."
"Yeah?"
"The father's name on the birth certificate."
He waited.
"I didn't leave it blank because I wanted to punish you."
"I know."
"No, you don't."
She let go of his sleeve.
"I left it blank because I didn't know whether putting your name there would protect her or mark her."
Adrien felt that in his chest.
"What do you think now?"
"I think I need more than three days to decide what kind of father you're going to be."
He nodded.
"Fair."
She looked surprised.
He opened the door.
A brown paper envelope lay on the mat.
Both of them froze.
Adrien held out one arm, keeping Elena behind him.
Then he stopped himself.
"Stay inside," he said. "Please."
The please mattered.
Elena stepped back.
Adrien crouched and looked at the envelope without touching it.
No name. No stamp.
He took a photograph and called Detective Brooks.
Twenty minutes later, two officers arrived.
The envelope contained no weapon, no powder, no photograph of Sofia.
Just a note.
BROOKLYN PIER 18. MIDNIGHT. COME ALONE IF YOU WANT TO KNOW WHO TOLD US SHE WAS PREGNANT.
Detective Brooks read it twice.
"You're not going," she said.
Adrien looked at her.
"That wasn't a question," Brooks added.
Old Adrien would already have been halfway to the car.
Elena stood behind the officer holding Sofia.
Adrien looked at his daughter.
Then at the note.
"Fine," he said.
Brooks blinked.
"Fine?"
"You heard me."
Elena watched him closely.
Adrien turned to her.
"I'm going home."
"Your house?"
"My mother's."
He looked at the envelope again.
"I need to ask her one more question."
Because the handwriting on the note was not Nico's.
But Adrien had seen it before.
Every Christmas of his childhood.
On gift tags signed in thick blue ink.
Love, Uncle Vittorio.
After the officers left with the envelope, Elena closed the door and turned all three locks.
Adrien remained in the hallway.
"You can come back inside for five minutes," she said.
He stepped in. Elena sat with Sofia and stared at the blank television.
"I hate that I'm scared in my own apartment."
"I know."
"No, you don't. You get scared and the whole city rearranges itself around you. I get scared and I start wondering whether I'm being dramatic."
Adrien leaned against the wall.
"Then don't wonder. The note is real. The threat is real. Your fear gets to be real too."
Elena looked at him.
"You're getting annoyingly better at this."
"At what?"
"Not fixing me."
He nodded toward the door.
"Five minutes are up."
She hesitated.
May you like
"Stay until she falls asleep."
Adrien sat on the floor beside the sofa. Neither of them spoke. For nearly an hour, the only sound in the apartment was Sofia breathing.
