Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
A s I walk away from the building and down the sidewalk, I realize I have the whole day ahead of me and nothing to do. I’d planned to be in the client meeting for most of the morning, then debriefing with the team, then spending the rest of the day tracking down public records, calling up witnesses to schedule interviews, organizing our research and notes into something coherent that we could use on trial day, and doing whatever other grunt work Jay assigned to me. (As in actual grunt work, not a dirty euphemism. Honestly, I’d be happy to do some dirty-euphemism grunt work with Jay if he ever requested it of me, but that bridge has never been crossed, or even approached.)
The plan was that maybe, if I was very lucky, I’d get off work in time to pick up cheap sushi, watch a few episodes of Full House , and eat the birthday pastry I’d been planning to get from Sugar Moon during any spare fifteen minutes I could find. Then, and only then, I’d allow myself to check my personal phone for messages.
Now? The hours loom ahead of me, and I envision a day full of me anxiously checking my phone, mindlessly wandering in circles. I am not someone who does well with a lot of free time. I have no shows to catch up on. I’m too impatient for hobbies that require more than a few minutes’ worth of attention. The gym is my usual go-to, but even I can’t fill up an entire day working out.
And I really need today to be busy, for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is the fact that my student loans have been paid off. Paid off! Thousands of dollars of debt just—poof! Gone! Who does something like that? I can’t wrap my head around it. I haven’t taken any handouts in life, and truthfully, they’ve never even been offered. I’ve survived off hand-me-downs and thrift store purchases and just-expired food for so long that it’s like my mind can’t fully process what’s happened. Even as I contemplate splurging for some nice sushi tonight, I’m calculating what corners I’ll have to cut to make up for it, just in case I get a follow-up email saying it was all a mistake, I still have to pay.
I need something to do. Now.
I could always drop by the library branch where Helen works. It’s only a short walk, after all. The thought buoys my spirit. Most likely I could convince Helen to come out to lunch with me, maybe even take off the rest of the day to go to the movies or get pedicures or whatever else it is that people with a lot of free time during the day do—especially if I play the whole it’s-my-birthday card. I can almost perfectly picture Helen’s barely contained joy at learning such a long-coveted piece of information, one that I’ve been hoarding like a dragon with its gold. Maybe she’ll be excited enough to use her magnetic Helen charm to persuade Nina’s uncle to spare her for a few hours from...whatever it is he has her doing at that creepy church of his, and the three of us can spend the rest of the day together. Just the three of us.
As the thought passes through my mind, I spot the library, now just a block ahead of me. I’m held up at the traffic light, waiting to cross, when I see a familiar ginger lurking outside the library doors.
The Bounty Hunter.
He’s leaned up against the wall, waiting. I watch as Helen comes out the doors to meet him. Correction: I watch him as Helen comes out the doors to meet him, hoping to read some sign on his face, to find some proof that I’ve been right this whole time. That he’s just using her. That he’s not who he says he is. That he’s just going to hurt her again.
What I see, instead, is a full-grown, tough-guy bounty hunter, with big muscles and scary tattoos, completely soften as he sees my best friend and pulls her into his embrace. I see him hold on to her like he’s somehow managed to catch the moon and doesn’t want to let it go.
I turn and walk in the other direction.
I should feel happy about this development. Helen was right. The Bounty Hunter—I guess I can use his real name now— Thad really loves her. He isn’t going to disappear again. He isn’t going to break her heart.
If I were a better person, I would be ecstatic at this realization, relieved that I can finally let my guard down. Instead I feel devastated, and if I’m being honest, a little betrayed. It’s not that I’m secretly harboring romantic feelings for Helen, or any nonsense like that. It’s just that when you’ve been single for a long time—in my case, for all time—your platonic friendships are more intense than usual. A friend like that not only fills the role of being your buddy, but also covers a lot of the significant-other stuff. They become the person who picks you up from the airport, goes out to dinner with you to celebrate a win at work, takes care of you when you’re sick, helps you move heavy furniture out of your apartment, fights about what to watch on TV or order off the menu.
They become the most important person in the world to you, almost like a fill-in boyfriend or girlfriend. So when they find someone else, even if you are happy for them, it can’t help but feel like you’re losing something, too. It’s like you’ve been at war together for years, deep in the trenches, relying on each other to survive, and suddenly your friend gets this wonderful reprieve, but you’re still stuck on the battlefield, fighting for your life.
Hey, I’m Russian by birth. I’m allowed to be a little dramatic from time to time.
Walking aimlessly away from the library now, I feel adrift, lonelier than I’ve let myself feel in a very long time. There is literally no one I can turn to, no one who I’m confident would pick up the phone if I called. I am all by myself, with no one to lean on.
As the thought crosses my mind, I hear a church bell toll and look up to see a cathedral ahead of me that appears to have just opened its doors for mass.
I let out a sharp, barking laugh, rolling my eyes heavenward. “Fat chance,” I mutter under my breath, then shoulder my way through the pedestrian traffic to put as much space between myself and the church as possible.
* * *
I head over to Sugar Moon and buy myself a lonely birthday sweet brioche with cream cheese frosting and strawberries on top. This is the kind of decadent snack I hoard my calories for. It’s so delicious I could weep. It’s so delicious that I almost forget I’ll be spending my twenty-ninth birthday alone.
Well, maybe not entirely alone. Sitting down on a bench at Kosciuszko Park, I decide to splurge on that other treat I’ve been hoarding and pull out my personal phone. My heart catches a little in my throat as I log in and see there are no new messages.
It’s still early in the day , I reason with myself. Nevertheless, I close and reopen the messages app, just to make sure I haven’t accidentally missed something, only to confirm that nothing new has come through.
As I’m staring down at my phone, it begins to vibrate in my hand with an incoming call. Stephanie reads the name of my contact, flashing across the screen.
Unexpectedly, tears prick my eyes. I steady myself before taking the call. “Alina?”
“Hey, sis!” Unlike me, at age twenty-six, Alina no longer has any trace of her Russian accent. She was only seven when we came to the States, and aside from her dramatic dark hair and bright blue eyes, you’d never guess that she’s anything but a corn-fed, all-American girl.
It takes me a moment to respond. Honestly, a part of me thought she was just butt-dialing me. I didn’t want to hope that she was calling me on purpose, only to be disappointed a moment later. Recovering, I sit up straighter. “Is everything okay?” My voice comes out a bit too sharp, like I’m accusing her of something. I wince, trying to dial down my tone. “You don’t usually call.”
“I had to find out if that email I got about the student loans was for real. Are they actually paid off?”
Of course. I cosigned on Alina’s loan, which was also paid off, so she would have been notified this morning, too, just like I was. I relax a little, relieved Alina isn’t in any trouble. I know she’s technically an adult now, but it’s hard not to still think of her as the little kid who needed me to do everything for her, once upon a time. “It’s real, all right.”
“Did you win the lottery or something? If you did, I’d love some help with my car payments, haha.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. “Don’t be ridiculous. I would never play the lottery. What a waste of money. But if I did win, I’d buy you a new car. And a tree house by the lake.”
I wait to see if she’ll remember. We checked out Swiss Family Robinson once from the library and watched it three times in a row before we had to return it. Alina used to be obsessed with living in a tree house, and when we were split up into different foster homes, I used to draw her pictures of the one I’d buy for us someday when we could all be together again. Alina, Sasha, and I.
If Alina remembers, she doesn’t let on. “Yeah. So how’d you pay it off? You got a new sugar daddy, or something?”
I wince at the joke, which lands too close to home, thanks to my mother’s history. “That isn’t funny,” I snap.
Alina goes quiet for a minute, and I instantly regret my harsh tone. “Sorry,” I say quickly.
“No, it was a dumb joke.”
I’m eager to change the subject. “Anyway, it wasn’t anything like that. I didn’t strike oil or sue Amazon. It was sort of...an anonymous benefactor situation.” A not-so-anonymous benefactor, actually, but that feels too complicated to explain, since I’m not even totally sure why Kimo would do such a thing.
“Well, whatever it was, that’s awesome. Man, I don’t even know what I’m gonna do with an extra hundred dollars a month.”
Alina’s payments were actually $250 a month, but I’ll never let her know that. She had so much on her plate with finishing school and trying to get into a good dental program, then trying to keep up with her training; it didn’t seem fair that she should also have to take on more part-time work to cover the bills.
“I know, right?” I answer instead. “Crazy.” I pause as I wait to see if she might have anything else to add. When she doesn’t, I clear my throat. “So, what else is new?”
Her voice is muffled for a second, and I hear another voice speaking up. A moment later she comes back on the line. “Actually, I have to go, sis. We’ll catch up soon, okay? Love ya!”
“Okay, bye!” I barely manage before I hear the click on the other end.
I swallow back the lump in my throat, telling myself I have no right to feel hurt. I was hoping she and/or Sasha would remember to send a birthday text, and instead I got a call. What did it matter if the call was only a few minutes long and wasn’t even about my birthday?
I seek consolation in the last few bites of my sweet brioche, but I barely taste it now. I ball up my trash and throw it away, not sure where I’m going next, but determined to at least get in some steps while I decide.
I’ve made it only a few blocks away from the park when I see a familiar figure: Kimo. He’s on the other side of the street, walking in the opposite direction. He doesn’t spot me, but I sure see him. He’s kind of hard to miss, with his big, sturdy frame. Plus he’s wearing neon green headphones and jamming out to whatever music he’s listening to, either not noticing or not caring that he’s getting double takes from everyone on the street.
“I can’t believe I almost slept with that guy,” I mutter under my breath.
An older man sitting out on his stoop overhears this and raises an eyebrow at me. I scowl back at him, waving away his judgment. “Oh, relax, you’re fine.”
I watch Kimo for a moment longer, frowning at his wild hair bobbing around as he dances in place at the streetlight. Then, without making the conscious decision to do so, I turn and follow after him.