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She had always loved shoppingfor new shoes. She loved their curves, the way they gleamed like works of art on their little Plexiglas pedestals, and when she stepped into the shop on Newbury Street she inhaled deeply, smiling at the scent of polished leather. It had been months since she last visited a shoe store—or any store, for that matter. This was the first week she’d finally set aside her cane and even though she wasn’t ready to wear high heels again, what was the harm in simply admiring the new arrivals?
Slowly she circled the displays, pausing every so often to pick up a spike-heeled masterpiece, admire its silhouette, and fondle the curves. Because this was Newbury Street, of course the prices were ridiculous, extravagant enough to make her mother whisperput it back,if she were here. But this evening Amy was on her own, no longer the invalid and happy to be out of the house. She held one jewel-toned shoe up to the light andimagined how nice it would be to slip her foot into that narrow cradle. How it would accentuate her calf and lengthen her leg and add a fetching curve to her lower back, as high heels did. Both of the saleswomen were helping other customers, which left Amy free to wander the shop without anyone hovering over her. She was just looking anyway, with no plans to buy. Not at these prices.
She wandered over to the display in the window, where her eye went straight to a silver evening shoe with a four-inch heel. It was a shoe fit for a ballroom or the opera and she certainly didn’t need it, but she picked it up anyway and considered the narrow toe box. Such a pretty shoe, but would the pain of wearing it be worth it? Maybe. But not today.
She was about to put the shoe back on the pedestal when she noticed through the window a man in a raincoat standing across the street. He was looking straight at her. She froze, still clutching the shoe, her gaze fixed on his face, a face she’d seen before. She remembered a stormy morning, the air charged with the static of an impending thunderstorm. A cardinal singing in a tree. And a man smiling at her, a man with drooping shoulders and gray eyes in a gray face.
“Would you like to try that shoe on?”
Amy flinched and turned to the saleswoman, who had chosen just that moment to finally offer her assistance.
“I’m—I’m just looking…” She turned back to the window and looked across the street. She saw people strolling past, a couple holding hands. The man. Where was he?
“A different evening shoe, maybe? Some new Manolos have just come in, and they’rereallycute.”
“No. Thank you.” Amy was so rattled that when she tried to set the shoe down, it missed the pedestal and clattered to the floor. “Oh. Sorry.”
“No problem,” the saleswoman said, picking up the shoe. “If there’s anything I can help you find, just let me know.”
But Amy was already heading out the door.
Standing outside on the busy sidewalk, she looked up and down the street but she didn’t spot the man in the evening crowd. Had he rounded the corner? Stepped into one of the shops?
Maybe he was never there at all and she’d imagined him. Or he was someone else, someone who merelylookedlike the man at the cemetery. Yes, that had to be it, because how could he know that onthisparticular evening she would step intothatparticular shoe store? No, it had to be a mistake. She’d been under so much stress these past two months. The accident. Her time in the hospital. The weeks of pain and rehab as her pinned femur healed and she learned to walk again. Plus all the worry about how she’d catch up at school after missing the final weeks of class. She still hadn’t finished her senior thesis on Artemisia Gentileschi, something she’d been putting off because it seemed unimportant in light of everything else that had happened to her. Instead of shoe shopping, she should be at home right now, working on those revisions.
She took a deep breath. Calmer now, she started walking along Newbury Street, toward the garage where she’d parked her car. Today was the first time she’d driven in months, the first time she’d felt comfortable walking without the cane, but her pace was still slow and her leg ached from this unaccustomed exertion. Everyone else walked at a far brisker pace, streaming past her like swifter fish in a river, no doubt wondering why someone so young and apparently healthy had the pace of an old woman.
A few more blocks to go.
Then she saw him. A block ahead, almost lost among the crowd. Even on this warm night, he was wearing the raincoathe’d worn at the cemetery. She halted, not sure how to avoid him. Hoping he hadn’t seen her.
Too late. He turned and their gazes met. Held. That’s when all her doubts vanished. This was no random encounter; he had followed her here.
And now he was heading straight toward her.
