2: Falling

In that frozen second between when Mr. James’ weight had pulled her body over the window ledge and when her desperate fingers, cramped and grown numb from all the pressure on them, failed her, slipped and drew over the polished wood of the sill with scraping nails, it seemed Evelyn was aware suddenly, conscious of everything.

Hung suspended in that deathless second, she felt the icy cold wind billowing the full skirt of her dress and her gut wrenched, ashamed of her inadvertently lewd display to the helpless onlookers in other buildings and the foolish gawkers down below. Her long dark hair, cast into weightlessness and flung wildly in every direction, twisted into looping tangles and into her face unbecomingly. Every clang and honk and tiny ping from the jammed vehicles on the ground rang long and distinct and clear in her ears.

Now high enough to peek around the other buildings, filtered sunlight glittered silvery in the Trust’s windows on the tower of floors above hers and dappled the deep red of the brick façade with direct and reflected light like the frozen dancing flames of a painted fire. Looking up towards the Trust’s highest floors, it seemed it couldn’t be nearly so far to the ground as her panicked mind had told her it was.

Suspended in that still strange instant from the inexorable flow of change under the vast and gloomy gray sky, at once lifted and falling, at once frozen and fluid, Evelyn saw every part of the immortal moment, as surely God must. Just it, and Mr. James’ warm wrist still clutched tightly in her other hand and she, trapped together above the power of time, blindly staring into the eternal spaces of depthless existence.

As the world ground to a halt, she saw the building’s fine moldings—the grace of the craftsman’s art, lost and unappreciated except in this hung moment. She saw the dancing motes of dry crystalline snow, listless and still, no more flying but simply pinned, as she was, in random air. Her body breathless, stayed, her anguished scream evaporated into the vast and yawning silence. Why surely even light must be more alive than she, oddly escaped of life’s transiency and immortal in this strange instant, in her timeless end.

Hot—so hot!— was the hand that closed about her upper arm, just above the fine bones of her slim wrist. Dazed as time began to creep, then flow in a painful blur, Evelyn shrieked as the back of her hand and her knuckles grated sharply across the dark red bricks, at the raw slicing pain as her shoulder jerked. Violently yanked free of time’s immobilizing spell, she loosed another incoherent scream that echoed agonizingly off the unmoved and unmovable buildings, her eyes suddenly locked on the startled dark ones of Mr. James for a final protracted second. A resigned peace lay itself upon him then and his closed, cruelly separating her fate from his. Time flashed on, and the sound poured in broken fragments out of her throat as he plunged towards the pavement below without her following him.

The sharp stop of her own fall had been too much for her clammy grip upon him. It had broken them apart like shattered china, and left her to watch as beyond her reach, Death unfurled its black cloak and consumed the life light that had been Mr. James. A chorus of horror from the onlookers below mimicked Evelyn’s as the earth rushed up to catch Russell James with a dull thud she could hear, even dangling high above.

The sheer magnitude of her grief overwhelmed her, and Evelyn squeezed her eyes shut against it, every muscle in her body limp and unresisting of the vicious Fates. Abruptly seized, her body shuddered with hard silent sobs, tensed against the pain of her loss. From above, the confusing sounds of horrified office workers intruded on her mushrooming anguish and a soothing rumbling voice called to her.

“Miss.” The voice commanded her attention. “Look at me, miss. Right now. Look at me.”

She had no idea what she expected to see when she looked up, but it wasn’t the tear-streaked disheveled angel, waves of dark hair curling and blown about in the gelid air. Through the most magnificent blue portals, Evelyn pitched heart first into a deep well of darkness, his aching sorrow married in that instant to hers.

Above her, Andrew James drew a steadying breath, forcing their shared pain into a mental recess and leaving her bereft, clinging to the warmth of his hand closed around her slim wrist as her seeping blood oozed over him. “That’s good.” He smiled to reassure her. “Tell me your name.”

“What?” Still trapped in his gaze, Evelyn’s awareness clawed its way through her tormented fog. She had never noticed he looked remarkably like a younger Russell James and the reminder sent a new flood of tears wavering across her vision. This couldn’t be her Mr. James. His eyes were soft and gentle brown. Like everything else in Andrew James' demeanor, his eyes were icy blue. But against the ugly gray of the sky, they were a reliable uniform blue, consistent and calm. Just not her Mr. James’ eyes.

Her Mr. James was dead. She’d seen him fall. She’d seen him strike the unforgiving ground. Seen the pool of hot blood spread across the cold sidewalk below. She couldn’t have imagined it—not even in her most tormented nightmares. Evelyn looked down again.

“Miss, look at me.” At the sound of his voice, her eyes returned to his. “Yes. Just like that, keep your eyes on me. Now listen. I need you to tell me your name.”

Beyond a doubt, this Mr. James' presence and command was undeniable. Blinking hard, Evelyn refocused on him. Dangling precariously from his grip, she shuddered, suddenly aware of the elevation's bitter cold. “It’s Evelyn—Evelyn Moore.” Having found her voice and coherent words, they flooded in painful rasps from her abused throat, a deluge like the tears streaking down her cheeks. “I tried to hold him! I called for help! No one came! And he—,” her body quaked with pained sobs, “he wouldn’t hold onto me! He wouldn’t help me!”

“Evelyn. Evelyn!” His call was insistent, still soothing. “I need you to help me now. Will you do that?”

The look on his face was earnest, pleading, and she felt his need channeling through their clasped hands. Evelyn nodded obediently, and again he smiled. Not her Mr. James’ smile, like it and yet a different one.

“Good. I want you to reach up. Hold onto me with both hands, the way I’m holding onto you.” As she watched, he braced himself against the inside wall as she’d tried to do against Mr. James’ weight “Have a good grip?”

Mute and attentive, she nodded, taking small solace in pleasing him. Feeling the pressure of his strong fingers around her wrist, Evelyn forced her cold and injured fingers to tighten around his wrists.

“I want you to hold on and hold as still as you can. I’m going to pull you back inside.”

Though she scraped and bumped a bit, Evelyn kept mostly still, and the man above lifted her smoothly, easily. Reassured by his sure strength and steady countenance, she dared hope her tragic nightmare was ending. But as her chest came level with the windowsill, so close to safety, her terror reared its head again, and floundering, she let go with one hand to grab onto it.

“No!” Mr. James commanded. “You hold onto me. I’ll pull you inside.” Bracing one elbow against the window frame, he released her with one hand, wrapping it around her chest quickly, clutching her tight against his broad torso.

His dependable solidity was more than she could resist. Evelyn wrapped her arms around his neck tightly, clinging to him like a tenacious vine as he pulled her inside, lifting her legs into his other arm and over the sill. He staggered backwards in a rush, the sole sign he’d given of his own internal panic, then collapsed with her to the floor in a heap, pressing her close against him.

Against her cheek, Evelyn felt the man’s neck relax, his head coming to rest against the floor as he heaved several relieved panting sighs. She blocked out the chatter and noise around them, blocked out everything but the living breathing warmth and weight of his strong arms wrapped reassuringly tight around her, his long legs tangled with hers.

Her cold palm pressed gently against the back of his warm neck, gratefully siphoning his heat into her and her fingers pushed into his hair, curling and straightening in the longish tousled waves. Refusing to admit anyone else to the bubble of safety that existed around them. Breathing. Living. Unlike Russell James. Unable to help herself, Evelyn began to sob.

His arms tightened incrementally around her, his chest rocking ever so slightly from side to side, and warm breath tickled her ear as he whispered in a cultured voice, “Hush now. Don’t cry. You’re safe, I promise you. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

The moment stretched soothingly with his slow rocking, back and forth, back and forth, and the soft shushing breaths that whispered warm past her ear. Abruptly, she felt prying fingers on her arms around his neck. With a new rising panic, she realized someone was pulling her away, and she hugged him tighter.

“You have to let me go, miss,” he whispered.

Against him, she tensed, terrified, trembling, her grip tightening, remembering Mr. James’ similar words.

“You’re alright now.” He lifted his head, his core muscles tensing beneath and against her as he continued whispering into her hair, “Please, Evelyn. I need to see about my brother.”

“Evelyn!? Evelyn!?”

Lily’s frenzied calling penetrated the fog of her mind and drawn to the familiar comfort of her lifelong friend, Evelyn’s grip on her rescuer relaxed incrementally, then released as she was pulled into Lily’s tight hug. She could feel the man stand, glanced up through her best friend’s silvery gold curls and her eyes collided briefly with his again, the impact of it striking deeper than before.

Then a swarm of concerned people separated them, and the last she heard was his refined request, “Excuse me, please. I must get downstairs.”

Clinging to her, Lily issued orders to the milling murmuring crowd. “It’s freezing in here. Someone, close the window. Get something to cover her, please.” Turning her face into Evelyn’s neck, she gasped, “Holy God, Evie, what happened?”

**

With a mixed sigh of exhaustion and relief, Evelyn emerged from the hospital door into the grimy sunlight of the late afternoon. She could barely remember everything that had happened after—after—she couldn’t force herself to give thought or word to her unprocessed warring emotions about Mr. James’ suicide and her inability to stop him.

The sling the doctor had insisted on chaffed at her neck and Evelyn adjusted it to the outside of her coat, then fiddled with the bandages covering the abrasions on the back of her opposite hand.

“Miss Moore! Miss Moore!”

At the unfamiliar voice, she glanced left and right along the crowded sidewalk, then across the busy street outside the hospital for its source, finally landing on the liveried driver hanging half out of a gleaming Rolls Royce parked at the curb and waving at her.

Mickey Smith.

Evelyn recognized him from the Trust—one of the executive’s drivers—she’d forgotten which one. Primarily because the adorable but opportunistic Mickey had an unsavory reputation as an unrepentant philanderer among the Trust’s secretary pool, and recently, his attention had had fallen on Lily.

Checking behind him for oncoming traffic, Mickey jumped out of the expensive car, hurrying around its polished front. Taking the wide hospital steps two at a time, he came alongside her, gently placed a steadying hand at her elbow. “Mr. Melton insisted, Miss Moore. I’m to take you home. You remember, right?”

Evelyn could only stare, her eyes welling with tears.

“Oh no.” Mickey looked slightly alarmed. “Please, don’t cry, Miss. I’d be obligated to comfort you and it wouldn’t be seemly.”

The absurdity of his sentiment cut through Evelyn’s sadness. Unable to help herself, she huffed a slight laugh. At what point had Mickey Smith ever concerned himself about such decorum? If she ever deigned to give more than passing attention to the Trust gossip, perhaps she ought to investigate the source of his reputation for credibility. In any case, he appeared entirely incapable of handling tears. “I—do remember, Mr. Smith.”

"Oh, no need to waste good manners on the likes of me, Miss Moore. Mickey'll do just fine." Urging her gently, Mickey helped her down the stairs, shielding her with his body across the sidewalk against obliviously rushing people. He opened the car’s rear door, helping her inside the lavish back seat.

“Miss Lily told me to tell you she’d bring your other belongings home.” Closing the door behind her, he jogged to the driver’s side, then slid in behind the wheel. “If you don’t mind, Miss, I’ll need your address.”

“Greenwich Village. The apartment building at the corner of Tenth and Waverly.”

Evelyn slumped weakly against the leather seat, lulled into exhausted drowsiness by the car’s elegant smoothness, the low droning hum of the quiet and powerful engine as Mickey navigated the city streets. Adrift and relieved of responsibility for herself, she let the elegant Rolls transport her in soft quiet comfort like a magic carpet, focusing instead on the low intensity vaguely familiar fragrance that permeated the rear seat.

In her waking dreams the masculine scent evoked the stately comfort and steady safety of oak lined country boulevards, floating with sweet cherry florals, the dark rich loam of the woods and warm caramel tobacco. It wrapped her, cuddled her close in its sheltering embrace, promising a sweeter time ahead, assuring her a respite from life’s petty worries with its constant presence .

By surface roads, the drive to her apartment took much longer than her morning and evening commutes from work, despite that she wasn’t much further from home at the hospital than she would be at the Trust. But they still arrived sooner than she was ready, and with a heavy exhausted sigh, Evelyn let Mickey help her out of the car, then up the building stairs and held the door as she went inside.

**

“When did the police finally let you go?” Lily asked, shrugging out of her coat as Evelyn let her into her cold-water flat after work. Setting her belongings beside Evelyn’s on the kitchen table, she shooed her away from the door, closing and locking it herself.

Still exhausted and aching, Evelyn rubbed one eye. “Not until after lunch. And even then, at the company’s behest, they took me over to the hospital where I spent the afternoon being pulled and prodded like a cow.”

“At least the Trust paid for it. “

At Evelyn’s look Lily’s face melted into one of empathy and tears hovered at the corners of her bright blue eyes. “I’m so sorry, Evie.” The two women stared at one another, unverbalized emotions hovering between them like a heavy blanket before Lily’s natural ebullience and tendency to distraction surged in. “It might entertain you to know Mrs. Stiles is furious they sent you home on paid leave for the week.”

“Only for the moment, Lily. Without a financer to work for, I’ll be back in the typing pool downstairs.” Evelyn wandered into her tiny living room, Lily trailing behind her. “She’s hated me since the moment she came on. Once she has me in the pool, she’ll strip both my wages and seniority.”

“Only until she can find a way to fire you,” Lily quipped and plopped onto the sofa, unintentionally callous with her words.

Evelyn stopped her pacing and eyed Lily pointedly. The two had been friends since childhood and she loved her dearly, but sometimes Lily could be far too blunt. “Thank you. I’d forgotten that little piece of sunshine on this already oh-so charming day.”

“Evie, I know this has been a hell of a day for you, but do think about it, please.” Lily sat up on the sofa, leaned forward on her knees. “Mr. James was responsible for accounts—many years of accounts. The Trust won’t be waiting for those accounts to get behind. Someone will have to take over that position and quickly. Someone who will need a secretary, and who better than the one already familiar? I’m certain by the end of the week, they’ll know who they’re going to replace Mr. James with. And Mrs. Stiles can’t do anything about that. It’s well above her authority.”

Easing her sore body into the chair, Evie slumped against its back, a line between her brows. “Perhaps you’re right. I just have a terrible feeling about it.”

Lily stood abruptly. “Let’s get you a warm bath. That’ll make you feel better.” She hurried into the kitchen. Amid the pots banging and water running as she started warming water, she called into the living room, “How did you ever get on her bad side?”

“I’ve no idea. Perhaps I look like the woman her husband left her for,” Evelyn sighed. “She’s the only person with whom I’ve ever been at odds in my entire life.”

“Hmmm. I guess we're like as not to ever know." For a long time, she was quiet. As she slid the pocket door into the bathroom open, Lily tipped the first pan of boiling water sloshing into the porcelain tub on the other side.

"By the way, the James family is holding a graveside funeral at their estate on Saturday. Everyone is welcome.” Returning, Lily turned the small radio on, filling the room with music and seeking a different distraction for her dear friend. “I’ve borrowed dresses for us already. We’ll go together of course—I’d never let you go to such a thing alone. You can pay your respects. Then you have to let it go and move forward, Evie. You can’t wallow in sadness, berating yourself for something you couldn't change. Alright?”

Sighing, Evelyn nodded. “I have a bad feeling about returning to work though, Lily.”

“I think you should stop thinking about it.  There'll be nothing to do about that for another five whole days.” Slumping into the sofa, Lily flopped her arms along the back. “I saw Mickey out front of the Trust this evening.”

“Oh, no.” Evelyn rolled her eyes. “What did he want? Please tell me it wasn’t to give you more stolen groceries.”

“No,” Lily laughed. “He invited me to the park this weekend. Of course I had to tell him no.”

“Thank goodness for small mercies.” Evelyn sighed with relief. Lily was frightfully excitable, and Mickey Smith’s interest had captured her recent fancy.

“Only seems to have spurred his adoration. What is it they say about rejection being an aphrodisiac?”

Evelyn covered her face with one hand in frustration and groaned. “Oh, Lily! Why can’t you find a better object for your attention?”

Lily flashed a wicked grin. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s his persistence.”

“Rumor has it he persists in a lot of unsavory things, Lily,” Evelyn counseled. “You don’t want to be one of those.”