Page 80 of The New Couple in 5B

She shifts in her seat, glances over at Charles, who is snoring softly.

“Have you seen him?” she says quietly.

“Who?”

“In the basement. Have you seen the little boy?”

I hesitate. I don’t want to tell her. But finally, I nod.

“His name is Miles,” says Miranda softly. “He was Charles and Ella’s son. The elevator was broken. He fell down the shaft. This was back in the sixties.”

I put my hand to my mouth. I had no idea they’d lost a child, that the little boy who died here was their son. How had I missed that detail? “That’s...horrible.”

Had I never come across a name for the boy? This tragic detail adds another layer to Charles and Ella. That they could still be so lovely and caring after such a tragic loss is remarkable to me.

“What about Willa Winter?” she asks. I startle a little at the name, but shake my head.

Miranda leans in close. “I’ve seen her here. In the kitchen usually.”

I think about how the schematics I found show that the kitchen is where our apartments were split.

“Such a tragedy,” she says. “I feel her energy. So sad, such longing.”

“Tell me what you know about the Winters.” I only know the broadest strokes of their story. I’m eager for more details but they’ve been elusive. Even the smattering of news articles I’ve unearthed, including the one in Ivan’s box, are vague and unsatisfying.

She’s about to say more but then Charles stirs awake.

“Oh, my goodness,” he says. “Did I doze off? It’s hell getting old. Let’s eat, ladies. The stars will still be there when our stomachs are full.”

“Can I interview you?” I ask Miranda. Then I look to Charles. “And you, too, about the building.”

“Of course, of course,” says Charles, looking pleased. “I’ve been here as long as our gargoyles. Do you know I named them when I was a boy—Fred and Ethel? You’re both probably too young to get the reference.”

“Well, I haven’t been here quite as long, but I know a thing or two. Just pop down to 303 any midmorning,” says Miranda. I thank them both, and Miranda holds me back as Charles goes on ahead.

“He wasn’t a nice boy from what I understand,” says Miranda in a whisper. “Miles. And whatever piece of him lingers at the Windermere is not very nice, either. When you see him—or anything—be careful.”

She says it so easily, so practically, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it is. My grandmother says that the dead and the living dwell side by side. Dr. Black might call it delusion or psychosis, the manifestation of trauma. Regardless, I saw something in the basement, in my elevator lobby. Ghost or imagination, I’m not sure, maybe some combination of both. But whatever it was, Miranda’s warning rings true. It wasn’t nice at all.

“I saw a post on the forum that was deleted about the ghosts of the Windermere,” I say. “Was it yours?”

She nods. “The administrator deleted it.” She rolls her eyes. “Said it was bad for resale to imply that the building was haunted.”

“Who’s the administrator?”

“Charles, of course. You’ll find him running most things at the Windermere.” The way she says it, there’s a note of warning.

Before we separate in the kitchen, she whispers, “Come see me. We’ll talk more. But don’t worry. You—and your family—you’re perfectly safe here.”

I flash on the boy in the basement, in my foyer. I hope she’s right.

Astrology night is surprisingly enjoyable. Xavier, it seems, is going to find love; Oga will reconnect with old friends; Charles and Ella will travel; and Anna is about to enter the most creative time of her life. Miranda is a force of positivity, spinning the negative and accentuating the positive.While Charles is struggling with some health challenges, there is grand travel abroad for you both.

The food is excellent, and the wine is flowing. It’s a strange feeling to be so new here and yet to feel ensconced, welcomed.

Miranda reminds me of my mother, and the urge to call home, broken and toxic as it is, is strong again. As the party thins out, I ask Charles what he knows about Marc LeClerc.

“Ah, yes,” he says. “I remember him from when I was boy. An unhappy man. He always frowned, looked hunched by the weight of the world. My grandfather was one of the original investors in the Windermere. I might have his old archives in my storage unit. Shall I look for you?”