First of all, big thanks to the few of you who have favorited and followed this story I thought no one would read– it means so much!
And special thanks to my reviewers: NurfHurdur and I. D. Gr, you guys have been so kind and supportive and I can't thank you enough.
Amy was not in her bed when I woke up the next morning. Alice and I spent a quiet weekend before I went back to school, and I saw very little of Amy. In the brief moments we saw each other, we avoided eye contact. Christmas was a similar dismal affair. On December 25, Alice gave me a check to spend on next semester's textbooks.
"Half of it's from Amy," she told me with a forced smile.
I looked under the plastic Christmas tree at the jewelry box I had gotten for Amy, wrapping untouched.
"I'm sure she'll be by sometime…" Alice said.
I looked at my hands. Amy had not picked up the phone once when I called between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Alice told me she was barely in the apartment. Cornell, Alice, and I ate Christmas dinner in silence, staring at the empty place setting. Amy never felt so distant. And I was never so afraid for her.
Soon after returning to school, I got a call from Alice.
"Amy's moving out," she said woodenly.
"Do you know where she went?" I already knew Alice's answer.
"No, she didn't say."
Of course not. God knew where Angelo lived.
"That's not it," Alice said after a pause.
"What is it?"
"My mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer's," Alice said quietly. "And I can't afford this apartment without Amy. I'm moving back to New Jersey in a few weeks. I'm really sorry, Rachel."
I took a deep breath, trying to contain my emotions.
"Cornell got a raise and will take the apartment. I just have to go home, Rachel. Do you understand?"
"I understand," I said. But I still hated to see her go.
"I don't know how to contact Amy," Alice continued. "But please let me know if you hear from her. I'll leave my new number with Cornell."
I nodded. "Yes, of course. I'll hear from her." But I knew I couldn't hope for that.
After remaining at school during spring break to do research with a sociology professor, I wearily returned to the apartment in late May, hoping for a quiet summer to be spent bussing tables and not worrying about Amy. But worry and anxiety seemed to permeate the walls of the apartment anyway. Cornell worked long hours at the bank, and even when he was home, was nervous and quiet. Every evening, he checked the answering machine, asked if anyone had called, and practically ran to the phone every time it rang. I became increasingly anxious too, and I hoped it was for the same reason. I heard nothing from or about Amy. No calls, no letters. I didn't know where she had gone or what she was doing or with whom, if she was still working and where. I even visited the coffee shop where she used to work, only to be disappointed to find out she had quit before the New Year.
"Where could she have gone! Why won't she tell us," I cried to Cornell that evening. I had not seen or spoken to Amy in six months, since Christmas. I knew absolutely nothing about her life, and she was uninterested in mine.
Cornell said nothing, his face wooden. He had not mentioned Angelo to me since Thanksgiving, but I recognized the fear in his eyes.
"She's so selfish! She never thinks of anyone but herself! She didn't think about my feelings, my friends, or my education when she brought me here, she had to get away, she was unsatisfied with her life. She thought she was taking care of me, but I was just dragged along in her quest to find some sort of 'meaning' for herself, and once she found it–or thought she found it–she just… left." My voice was about to crack and my throat felt tight. I curled up on the couch and squeezed my burning eyes shut.
I felt Cornell's hand on my shoulder.
"How could she leave us?" I whispered. "How could she leave me?" I heard Cornell pick up a tissue box, and I remembered that first night in New York, when Amy had broken down in front of Cornell back in his old apartment, facing the reality of her decision for the first time. The memory was so vivid I began sobbing, and found myself unable to stop.
When I finally regained control, I looked up at Cornell's serious face with red eyes and murmured, "I'm scared for her, Cornell."
Cornell just hugged me tighter, squeezing me into his chest. And even though his body was warm against mine, my blood was cold in my veins.
By July, I had almost given up on ever hearing from Amy again when I finally received a letter from her. There was no return address, but her handwriting on the heavy envelope was unmistakable. Two minutes of frantic tearing later, I slapped its contents on the dining room table in front of a startled Cornell. He stared at the thick white card without saying anything.
"A wedding invitation," I said irritably, my anxiety for her temporarily overridden by anger. "The nerve of her! She doesn't contact us for months and then this!"
"When?" was Cornell's only response the rest of him seemed frozen.
"4 weeks from now! They're registered at some fancy place on the east side." I glared out the window, arms crossed. Amy, could you think of someone besides yourself for just one second?
In two minutes, my anger burned itself out and I slumped into a chair, sighing in defeat. Of course she couldn't. When had she ever done anything different?
My disappointment in Amy again turned into fear that night, when Cornell appeared in my bedroom doorway, staring at the wall in thought. I looked at him for a long time in nervous apprehension, waiting for him to speak. He finally moved and sat on the cold sheets of Amy's bed, elbows on his knees and head in his hands.
"Rachel, I have a confession to make," he finally said. "A little over three years ago, when I had just started working at the bank, I started noticing some inconsistencies and suspicious transactions in some of accounts. I froze the accounts and investigated, but before I could do anything…someone approached me." He hesitated. "Rachel, do you remember that man you and Amy saw when you brought me my lunch, all those years ago?"
I nodded, unable to speak.
Cornell took a shaky breath. "His name is Alessandro Verrano."
Verrano. The writing in Amy's diary flashed in my memory. I clenched my hands into fists, sure my fingers would be shaking if I opened them.
"He was laundering money through the bank," Cornell said. "A lot of it."
"How did he make it?" I almost didn't want to know.
"Heroin. And cocaine," Cornell said in a low voice. "It's kind of his…family business."
Amy's words about Angelo rang again in my ears, His father is preparing him to run the family business. My throat felt very tight and my breath was shallow.
"Anyway, he…bribed me to…let the suspicious transactions slide…to let him continue laundering money. And…I took it, Rachel. He told me he could have me fired, that he could make me unemployable in the banking industry." Cornell was standing now, wringing his hands and shifting uncomfortably. "And I was scared, so I just did it! And suddenly, he needed another favor, needed me to cover something up, and then another thing and another and suddenly I was like one of their employees! I was lying to my bosses, to my coworkers–I'm still lying to them–and…oh it's just a big awful mess!" Cornell collapsed onto the bed, lying onto his back and running his hands over his face. "And it used to be that Alessandro himself came here when they wanted something–you met him that one time–he came while I was out," Cornell said, his voice cracking. "But recently it's been his son."
Angelo. My mind went blank for a few minutes as all the pieces fell into place. Then my mind began racing, desperately searching for solutions. But in the end, there was only one answer to this problem. "Go to the police," I said. I had to remind myself to blink. I gave my head a quick shake and stood up. I pulled Cornell upright and looked into his eyes. "Cornell, you have to go to the police!"
"What! No, they said…they said…"
"Well of course they would say that! Because they don't want you to go to the police. But they can't know everything. They just can't. Tell the police what you know about this…'family business.' I'm sure they're investigating the family, I'm sure they want to know." I wondered if he believed me. I didn't believe me.
Cornell looked down and took several deep breaths and then, to my disbelief, nodded. "Yeah. Yes, you're right. I will go to the police. I have…evidence. Printouts. Account names. Records. I. Can go to the police."
He raised his head again to meet my eyes. But we each stared into uncertainty.
