7. Chapter Seven
Chapter seven
Nash
The Dancing Bean has got to be the most ridiculous name for a café, but this is New York, and I’m not surprised by it.
It’s not the first strange name I’ve seen.
They’re basically on every corner. Almost like it’s some kind of game to see who can come up with the weirdest. I’m already making a mental list. The Caffeinated Pigeon.
Holy Ravioli. The Urban Turnip. Somewhere out there, I'm sure there’s a place called Fork It, and honestly, at this point, I wouldn’t even blink.
Though, if there isn’t, maybe I’ll trademark it and open a restaurant when I retire—even if I don’t know how to cook.
Baristas bustle behind the counter making craft coffees and work on refilling the pastry cases. A young man who looks not old enough to drink alcohol yet takes orders while there is a self-order kiosk to the side with an even longer line.
I’m old-school, so I get into the shorter line and look over the menu as I make my way toward Stuart, who greets me with a practiced smile.
“What can I get for you today?” he asks, hand hovering near the screen, prepared to tap in my order.
“I’ll take a large house brew with a splash of milk.”
“Of course, sir. Would you like a muffin to go with that?”
I glance at the case, eyeing my options. I haven’t eaten since lunch and it could be a while until I eat again.
“Sure. Surprise me.”
“Oh, okay. Yeah.” He taps something into the screen, tells me my total, and grabs my muffin while I press my card to the machine to tap to pay.
“Your order will be ready down at the end.”
I stuff a few dollars into the already overflowing tip jar, grab my muffin, and walk to the end and wait with the few other people standing around to get their orders.
Mine comes first, which earns me a dirty look from a woman with sunglasses on, even though we’re inside and it’s February. I take my coffee and find an empty seat that gives me a view of the door so I can see when Carter steps in.
He does so at 6:13, looking slightly disheveled. I lift my arm to get his attention. He pauses just briefly, like he’s changed his mind, before heading over.
“What can I get you?” I ask, getting to my feet.
“Oh, I’m good.”
“I’d feel better if you got something.”
“Why?” he asks with a frown, his hand on the back of the chair, ready to pull it out and sit.
“So I’m not eating alone.”
“Well, this isn’t a date—”
He looks like he regrets saying that, but then plops into the chair.
“Hot caramel latte. Glazed donut.”
I head over to put his order in and wait to get it, all the while keeping my eyes on him. He seems stressed, and I can’t be sure he won’t run. Not that I have any reason to chase after him, but I would.
I bring his things back to the table, setting them in front of him before taking my seat. We’re toward the back, in a corner. There are plenty of people taking up other seats, but they’re all too busy to pay attention to us.
He practically moans when he sips his latte, and then he notices me eyeing him.
“Sorry,” he says, pushing it away. “I usually get black coffee.”
“Why indulge today?” I ask.
Mostly because I’m struggling to read him. I think I know how he’ll react, then he throws a curve ball.
“Just feels like that kind of day.”
He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t ask him to.
I take the lid off my coffee; the steam rising up. I let it cool for a bit and pull the top from my muffin to bite into it. Banana chocolate chip. I hate bananas, and I probably should have told the kid that, but I didn’t. So I’ll suck it up and eat it.
“So, how do we do this?” he asks, staring at the bag the donut is in. Something in his eyes tells me he wants it, but he won’t take it. And it’s not embarrassment or anything like that—it’s something else.
A punishment.
“Before we start, I need you to know something,” I begin.
He blinks, and then his eyes are on me. He leans back, reaching for his coffee and wrapping his hand around it, but nothing more.
“What’s that?”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“Strange thing to say when you’re here to ask me questions that need answering.”
“I want to explain what’s going on. Next steps. Make sure you understand what the process is.”
“And then you’re going to ask me a million questions and make me relive the worst night of my life.” He smiles, but it isn’t a happy one. It’s forced. Bitter.
“Eventually? Yes. But not today. Maybe not the next time we meet either. That’s not how I work. I’m not here for numbers.”
He huffs a defeated sound, shaking his head. He finally takes the coffee to his lips and sips.
“Re-opening the case will give me more time to put into it. Resources too. Maybe other people, if I can prove that I need them. For now, it’s just me going over everything. Making notes. Building a case.”
He scoffs. “Shouldn’t take long.”
“Part of what I need to do is talk to the people who are part of the case.”
“Just me.”
“Yes, just you,” I say. “That’s what makes this difficult, but difficult doesn’t scare me, Carter. Never has, never will. You’re the only listed witness on this case, other than the businesses that handed over surveillance video.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“I know this is difficult for you. I want to make this as easy as I can. I don’t want to bring up old wounds for nothing; I hope you know that. Truly, I just want to give you and Ryan some closure.”
He flinches at the mention of Ryan’s name, sniffles, then wipes his eyes.
Carter shifts in his seat, sitting up straighter and finally reaching for his donut. He pulls it from the bag and takes a big bite.
Maybe it wasn’t a punishment. Maybe it was restraint because he knew he’d need it for a moment like this. When words are too hard.
“Tell me about him,” I say.
Carter’s eyes go wide, and he swallows, then reaches for his drink.
“About Ryan?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because all I know about him is how he died. I’d like to know more.”
Carter grits his teeth and looks away, his eyes glossing over. Sighing, he puts the donut on the bag and sucks on the tips of his fingers to get the glaze off.
“Ryan was amazing,” he says. “The kindest, most generous person I ever met. There aren’t many people like him out there. I am so lucky to have had him in my life, even if it wasn’t for very long.”
“How long?”
“Two years.” He laughs bitterly. “Felt like an eternity—the best eternity. Yet not nearly long enough.”
I nod, understanding what he means. That’s how I feel about my mother. I didn’t have enough time with her.
“Ryan was so smart. He loved reading. No matter what it was, he’d read it.
And he took that information everywhere he went.
He was the person who was full of useless information, but it was always so easy to start a conversation with a stranger.
And he loved talking. Always talking. Always making friends.
Always helping people.” His voice cracks.
He clears his throat. “That’s what got him killed. ”
“What got him killed was not his kindness. It was a man who deserves to be in prison.”
He blinks again, looking away and grabbing his donut again. Only this time, he’s looking at it like it’s crawling with bugs. He drops it again.
“I’m sorry, this is just really hard.”
“I know it is.”
His gaze flicks up to me. “You said you lost someone?”
“My mother.”
“Recently?”
“No.”
“Does it ever get easier?”
The word tastes like ash in my mouth.
“No.”