Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Her smile is friendly. “Oh, that’s right. You live close by. I’ll just grab a cab myself.”
I step forward, spotting a taxi in the distance heading this way with its light on. I raise my arm, and it pulls up to the curb. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Rachel.” And it was. There weren’t fireworks, just a few minor sparks.
“I enjoyed this very much.” She smiles. “I was wondering if you’d like to go out for dinner this week. Maybe Tuesday?”
Fate chose Rachel, I remind myself. “I’d like that, but I can’t on Tuesday.” My agent texted and made me promise to focus on my goals. I don’t like lying and told him I would start this week. Monday, I can let slide, but Tuesday will make me feel guilty. “I’m free on Monday.”
“Oh. Um, well, I’ll make Monday work. If I can’t, I’ll call you.”
“All right.” We exchange numbers.
She shakes my hand and leans in, giving me a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll call you. Thank you for dinner. I had a great time.” She gets in the cab, and it screeches as it takes off down the dark street, with no regard for the late hour.
I shove my hands in my jacket and walk home, thinking about my aunt’s passing. My chest tightens at the loss, so I switch my thoughts to tonight, the guys at the pool hall, and Rachel from the club. I don’t dwell and hurry home. By the time I get to my apartment, it’s almost two o’clock in the morning. I climb into bed, and although I know I have to deal with my agent tomorrow, I let my mind settle on my redhead. Charlie. Her name makes me smile in the dark of my room. She makes me smile.
Chapter 3
Charlie A
My alarm sounds at six like it does every morning. In my sleepy state last night, I must have reset the clock instead of turning it off. Saturday morning is no time for overthinking my past mistakes, or should I say, my now-typical blunders. I turn the alarm off and go back to sleep.
By seven o’clock, the inevitable has happened—I can’t sleep any longer. I mosey into the kitchen, starting my coffeepot that holds my Ethiopian dark bean brew. It’s this month’s selection from the travel-the-world-coffee-of-the-month club my dad gave me last Christmas.
I wander into my cozy living room past the bar separating the two rooms and see the funeral announcement still untouched. I sit on the couch, waiting for the coffee to brew before dealing with reality. When it’s done, I fill my mug and add the perfect amount of cream and sugar to cut the acidic aftertaste. I don’t like this coffee, but I hate being wasteful even more, so I sip the hot liquid on the way out of the kitchen.
Grabbing the white envelope, I settle into my chair by the window—my special book nook—and pull the cardstock out to read:
You are respectfully invited to attend the funeral of
James E. Bennett Jr.
Saint Thomas Church
New York, New York
April 23rd
3:30 p.m.
The wording is plainer than I would have expected for Cherry Bennett. It’s very direct and to the point, not like Jim’s mother at all. She’s passive-aggressive and quite the show-woman. I think the announcement is tasteful, basic, and appropriate. She didn’t go overboard as she usually would. I think Jim would have approved, too. I run my finger slowly over his name, and my sweetest memory overcomes me. I try to stop the images, but they flood like a migraine, taking over.
Jim is down on one knee, the ring in hand. He’s all smiles and happy tears. But all of my good memories of him are tainted now, absorbed into the pain he caused just months later. Tears of anguish cover his face as I glance over my shoulder. He doesn’t chase me. He can’t.
I return my mind to the present. Coffee, letter, morning. Yes, the here and now. After looking at the date on the announcement, I glance across the room to the calendar that hangs in the kitchen. Wednesday. The funeral is this coming Wednesday.
I recall off the top of my head what I have going on with work this week. There is a large auction featuring the East Hampton estate of two prominent Manhattan lawyers on the verge of bankruptcy on that same afternoon. Although I don’t want to miss it, the funeral is more important. I know I can get out of the auction. I did assist our department head on landing the property, but Rachel could cover my tasks. She’s familiar with the client.
I start my usual weekend routine of reading in the park, buying groceries for the upcoming week, and scrolling through the list of new movies for download later in the evening. It may be uneventful to some, but it keeps me well within the comfort zone I’ve created. Today is a little different, though. Sitting in the park and feeling the warmth this afternoon has started to crack the hard shell, revealing a small piece of my old self. I can feel change coming, sense it. I feel it in my soul, and I welcome it.