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“I’m alive.Obviously.I was asleep.”
“I’ve been trying to call you for the last two hours, Holly. I had Bray booking flights to New York, so I could come and hunt down your murderer and avenge your death.” I know she’s joking. At least, I hope she is… I don’t laugh though; the wholeavenging deathisn’t a laughing matter in our family. That’s exactly how my dad ended up behind bars. “Shit, sorry, Hol. I was kidding. Mostly,” Reilly says. “So, how’s The Big Apple? Huh, I just got it.”
“Got what?” My brain is still too far in sleep land for her riddles.
“The Big Apple. You moving to a city called The Big Apple. It’s ironic, because you’re a teacher and teachers eat apples and all that.”
“I haven’t had nearly enough sleep or coffee to even summon up a response to that one, Rye.”
“You should have called. I was worried. I don’t do worried very well. I think I actually got a few gray hairs, which I’m sure if you look in the mirror, you’ll have them too.”
“Rye, you’re a redhead. You’ll be safe from gray hairs for a while yet.”
“Well, I need you to call me—every day.Let’s set a time, and if you don’t check in at that time every day, then I’ll book a flight to come hunt down your murderer.”
“Or here’s a thought. Let’s not,” I suggest. I have no intention of playing into her neurotic control freak of a mind.
“Okay, I’m thinking four p.m. New York time. Call me, text, send photo evidence—like the day’s newspaper with your face in the picture, so I know it’s you.”
“Rye, I gotta go. I need to find food and coffee. I came straight from the airport and crashed. I’ll call you later.”
“Okay, but promise me you’ll really call. Please, Holly.” Reilly’s tone is more serious; she’s on the verge of tears. I can hear how hard this is for her. I have to get off the phone before I start crying, or spontaneously tell her that I’m coming home.
“I promise. I’m okay, Rye. And I promise I’ll be careful, and I’ll call you later.”
“I just really love you, Holly, like as much as I love myself, and that’s a freaking lot.”
“I love you too, Rye. What’s not to love? You’re a carbon copy of me.” I laugh.
“Okay, call me back later.”
“I will.” I hang up the phone and look around the eerily quiet room. I should make the bed—all the bedding is in a pile at the foot of it. I’ll get to it after coffee. I pull my phone out and do a Google search to see if there’s any place to get some caffeine and food, preferably nearby and open at two a.m.
I guess it’s true what they say:New York really is the city that never sleeps.The list of restaurants, cafés, and bars within walking distance is endless. I throw on my coat, slip my feet back into my boots, and grab my purse. Locking up, I don’t consider that it’s literally the middle of the night, and I’m about to walk the streets of New York.By myself.Until my feet hit the pavement…
There are a few people brushing past.I can do this.The sidewalks are lit up with heaps of streetlights. Looking down at my phone, I see that I just need to walk a few blocks until I get to a business district. There’s a twenty-four-hour café that came up on my search, so that’s where I’m headed.
There’s a slight chill in the air, but it’s not too cold. It’s just colder than how I’m used to September being. This is when it starts warming up in Sydney, easing you into the scorching summer months. But this year, I’ll get that white Christmas I’ve always dreamed of having. I can’t wait to see the snow, to experience a New York winter.
The song “Empire State of Mind” by Alicia Keys plays on repeat in my head as I walk down the street. This is where I’ll discover the new me. I’m confident that exciting things are going to happen here. I’m going to love this city. I can blend into the crowd, get lost with the herd, and not be noticed.
I can be anything—and anyone—I want to be here. Nobody knows me. Nobody knows my family’s history.
They don’t know my brother died.
They don’t know that my dad murdered his killer and ended up behind bars.
They don’t know that I’m the twin sister of Reilly Williamson, who is the wife of Bray Williamson.
They don’t know me.
With this knowledge, I hold my head high. I try to smile at people as I pass by, but I get weary looks in return as they step farther aside to give me a wider berth. Okay, note to self:tone down the smiling. I probably look like a crazy person.
After ten minutes, I find the twenty-four-hour café. I made it here in one piece.See? I can do this.Pushing on the heavy door, I’m engulfed by the warmth of the fire that’s blazing off to the side. It feels homey, with big soft-looking brown leather couches surrounding the mantelpiece. Surprisingly, no one is sitting there, although the booths are plenty full of patrons.
It’s odd that this many people are out at two a.m. on a Tuesday night. I look around, thinking I’ll just find a booth, but those couches… that fire… They’re calling to me. Smiling at the waitress, who happened to peek up as I entered the store, I walk over and drop into one of the single sofas next to the hearth.
And all the commotion suddenly stops. I glance over and everyone seems to be purposely looking away from me. Everyone except the waitress—she’s now staring my way with wide eyes.
