Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
I know a thing or two about self-punishment.
I hold up the keychain. “How did you get this?”
“Found it hooked to my coat pocket the day we crashed into each other near the alley. You must’ve dropped it when you fell, and my coat caught it.”
“Did you know who I was that day?”
“I knew you looked familiar. Probably wouldn’t have made the connection if that keychain didn’t have number seventeen on it. But once I saw that, I placed the face. You were at the hospital the night…”
I take a deep breath and nod.
“Any more questions?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Take care of yourself, Gabriel.”
“You, too, Doc.”
I watch him walk down the block, and I keep staring long after he turns the corner. Then I look down at the keychain in my hand.
“It’s just me and you again,” I whisper. “The last little bit of you I have left.”
CHAPTER 44 Gabriel—One year later
Hi. What can I get you?” A bubbly blonde with glossy lips tilts her head with a smile. She’s cute—my type. My old type, anyway. Probably no older than twenty-three, wide-eyed, and eager. There’s a familiarity to her. I briefly consider whether she might be a student of mine, but it doesn’t really matter.
“I’ll take a small coffee and…” I lean down and look in the glass case. “One of those nice-looking crumb cakes, please.”
“Coming right up.”
I swipe my credit card. Shuffle down the line. Stand with four strangers all staring down at their phones as they wait for their orders.
“Gabriel? Order pickup,” a voice rings out a few minutes later.
I take my coffee and the paper bag. Out of habit, my eyes slide back to the cute blonde. She smiles, waits for me to break our gaze. Or maybe she’s waiting for me to walk back over, flirt a little. Ask for her number, perhaps. But the new me isn’t interested. My tastes have changed. Grown and matured.
I take my usual spot, sitting in a tufted leather chair toward the front of the shop. It gives me the perfect view of the house across the street, the one with the cheery flower boxes and the seasonal wreath that hangs on the front door. Brooklyn has grown on me the last few months, especially this neighborhood in Carroll Gardens with all the inviting brownstones. Who knows, maybe I’ll move here. Maybe I’ll leave Columbia and teach at Brooklyn College, like a certain new adjunct professor I know.
Speaking of which, the door opens across the street. The new puppy runs out first, pulling its owner with it. I smile as Meredith barrels down the stairs, yanking the leash and trying to stop the beast. But the animal probably weighs almost as much as she does already. It’s all gangly and leggy, with drool hanging from its wrinkly face. Neapolitan mastiff, not exactly the ideal breed for New York City, but somehow it suits Meredith.
She gets control of the dog at the bottom of the stairs, makes him sit for a treat. Then she starts her daily walk. Sometimes her friend joins her, the one married to the hockey player I pretended not to recognize that night at Sunny’s. But today she’s alone. I’m glad. I don’t like too many distractions during the limited time I get to spend with her each day. I wait until they’re almost at the corner before I exit the coffee shop and follow. Brooklyn doesn’t have the same shield of people to hide behind as Manhattan. I need to be careful.
I follow for six blocks. At the corner of Third and Smith, she stops and digs her phone out of her pocket. A gust of wind blows, almost taking my baseball cap with it. There’s a storm coming later tonight. I stand behind a tree on the opposite side of the street, pull the brim of my hat down, and watch her side-eyed. Her hair flies around in the breeze, and it makes me smile.
Meredith looks good, great even. She’s gained a few pounds, which she needed. And put some highlights in her dirty-blond locks, let them grow past her shoulders. But it’s her smile that rocks me. I wait for it each day, my own version of the sunrise to remind me there’s hope—a new start, a new promise, a new life. She’s halfway through her morning dog walk, so I begin to grow concerned that maybe today I won’t see it. But then it happens. Meredith says something into the phone and her head bends back in laughter. Warmth blooms inside my chest.
She’s happy.
Really happy.
I wonder if whoever is on the phone makes her feel that way.
I wonder if it’s a man.
I wonder if maybe someday I could make her smile.
She teaches now. I looked her up on the college’s website while I waited for her to come out the other day. Adjunct professor of psychology. We have a lot in common. Our jobs, our history, our curiosity about people and what makes them tick.