When her father had first shown symptoms of dementia, Trixie had been in the middle of planning her first trip to New York City. She’d quietly canceled it and never contemplated anything of the sort again.
And now, here she was. Gazing out the fifty-second-floor windows of the Rockefeller Center at the iconic skyline of high-rises and soaring brick apartment buildings. Funny how life worked.
“We’re ready for you,” said the production assistant who’d been shepherding her around.
Trixie nodded, her gaze lingering on the cityscape below. Maybe after she was through blowing up her life, she could live here in peaceful anonymity. So many people lived here…millions and millions. They had busy lives, you could tell. Cars zipping down the streets, pedestrians hurrying this way and that. Even in
