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I feel that like a kick to my gut.
But I can’t argue differently. I know I fucked up.
“I’m sorry. It was a difficult time.”
“Mm-hmm,” she says. “So, what can I do for you?”
“Uh, yes. I wondered … The number I had for her has been going to voice mail—”
“Well, I can help you with that,” she says brightly. “That girl’s so hard to pin down. She’s living in New York now, but she’s always off somewhere buying art,?
? she laughs fondly.
Apollo’s in New York.
She’s doing what she said she would.
That’s my girl.
“I can give you her number. To her apartment, anyway. That cell phone of hers is always dropping calls. I never call it anymore. Hold on.”
I pump my fist. I thought I was going to have to beg for Apollo’s information.
“I’m trying to find the paper with her number. One second. You should go look at her Instagram. She posts all of her fun pictures on there. Are you on there?” she asks and I can hear the rustling of paper.
“Yeah, I am,” I say, even though I hardly use it all anymore. Dean has put someone in charge of all my social media posting.
“Me, too. Follow me. Apollo’s at @Sunandherstar. It’s the name of her gallery, too.” I drop my phone.
Sun and her Star. That’s us. Hope springs to life in my chest.
I reach down to pick it up from the floor of my cab. I put her on speaker and open my note taking app. “Sorry, I dropped my phone. I’m ready for her number,” I say, anticipation bubbling in my gut. I can’t believe that in a few minutes, I’ll have Apollo’s number.
I can get to New York in a few hours. I grin up at the top of the car.
“Ah, here it is. She’s out of town until tomorrow. But if you call, Lucas will take the message.”
My smile falls. “Who’s Lucas?”
“Oh, he’s her boyfriend. Such a dear boy. He does something with banks or something. He’s always at Apollo’s place.” Her voice is cold and has lost all of its false civility.
My stomach drops, and my throat constricts.
“You see, Graham, when you cast aside a gift, someone else will pick it up. She would have walked over a pit of snakes for you. I see you, famous, driving a fancy car. I hope those things make you happy.”
Each word feels like the lash of my stepfather’s belt. Breaking something. Reordering my life. Casting a shadow so impenetrable over the small reservoir of hope that I’ve harbored, that I can’t feel it anymore.
“She’s happier than I’ve ever seen her. Settled, doing a job she loves. Don’t you dare ruin it. Do you hear me? She deserves to be happy. You need to let her have that!” she warns.
I hang up.
I open the Instagram app on my phone and search for Apollo’s handle. I scroll through the pictures and with each one, the sunlight that I’ve clung to recedes. Apollo looks beautiful. Nearly every picture is of her holding a piece of art. And then there’s one of her and a man. He’s standing behind her, grinning smugly at the camera. She’s looking at the ground, her hair hiding her face. But I can imagine she’s smiling, too.
I turn my phone off.
Isabel is right.
I threw Apollo away, and now she’s moved on.
