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Ethan
I workthrough the night Wednesday, all day Thursday, then again pull an all-nighter. Friday morning I look like a bum and my brain is roadkill but I’m caught up enough to wrangle a half-day.
I leave notes for my assistant and minutes later, I’m on my way to Honolulu International. I made sure to make arrangements for my little man this time. He’ll be picked up by Marta and if his mother doesn’t flake, he’ll spend the rest of the weekend with her. In either case, he accepted that I had a secret mission over the weekend. Especially when I said I’d be bringing a surprise back for him. Whatever happens, I have to make that part a reality.
I have only a small carry-on, so security and check-in go smoothly. By early afternoon the acceleration of the aircraft lifts me off the ground to where I need to be.
I’m breaking more rules than I care to count. If anything goes wrong, I’ll be facing serious repercussions, but I’ve decided to follow my heart. I cannot live the rest of my life thinking I let Rylie get away without a fight.
My flight has a short layover in San Francisco. I spend the time trying to find out where Rylie is living in Boston. I still don’t have her mother’s address and she’s refused to return any of my phone calls, emails, or texts. I decide that I’ll figure something out once I get there. Beantown only has three-quarters of a million people, so how hard can it be?
It’s Saturday afternoon when I descend into Logan.
Once in the city, I find a boutique coffee shop named, appropriately enough, the Thinking Cup and flip open my laptop. After an hour of searching, I can’t find an address for Charles and Mary Westfield. I do find numerous society page mentions in The Globe, and other newspapers, but nothing that would send me to their residence.
To Rylie.
I get to thinking I’ve made a huge mistake, acting irrationally without a plan is unlike me. Now I’ve got to face the fact that I’ve traveled for nearly three-quarters of a day looking like shit. I decide I’m desperate enough to call Frank on his non-work cell phone.
It’s a risky move.
“Ethan,” he says answering in a friendly voice. “Are you coming over for a beer tonight? I have a steak here with your name on it."
“I can’t Frank.”
“Yeah, okay. You got a hot date?”
“I’m, well, sort of hoping to have something going on. Frank, I gotta ask you a favor?”
“Sure,” he says confidently, not realizing the extent of what I’m about to ask him.
“I’m in Boston," I state calmly.
I've gone past the point-of-no-return. I have to trust our friendship to guide him now.
“Say again?” he says, confusion in his voice.
“I need Rylie’s address,” I tell him, exposing the risk I’ve taken.
“You’re bullshitting me, right?”
“No, I’m sitting in The Thinking Cup, at the end of my rope trying to find the Westfield residence on Google and not having any luck.”
“What the hell are you thinking? Are you fucking on drugs, man?”
“I’m in love with her. Can’t you understand that?”
“You can’t…I can’t…I can’t believe how irresponsible…” He trails off and remains silent.
“Frank, are you there?” I ask hoping he hasn’t ended the call. I realize I’ve placed him in an awkward situation. “I need your help.”
“This phone call didn’t happen, Ethan. Get back here, and we’ll talk.”
“Sir,” I say, “Yes, sir. But, I’m here now. Please, just give me an address.”
I wait for what seems like an eternity.
“This didn’t happen,” he says, and then he speaks a street name and number before ending the call.
