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Story’s mouth is hanging open when the door shuts. Two bolts and what sounds like a chain are slid into place. “I’m thinking she means it,” I say.
Stomping down the steps, she says, “She definitely means it.” When she reaches the sidewalk, Story turns to look back up at me. “Well? You heard the lady. We don’t have to go home, but we can’t stay here. Are you coming, Dr. Haywood?”
I jog down the steps. “Abso-fucking-lutely.” Stopping next to her, I ask, “Where are we going?”
Story wouldn’t let me enter her duplex, conveniently located around the corner from Lila, but she left the door open for me to peek in. The space feels big with the height of the ceilings and the walls painted white. Shelves of colorful books are tucked between two large windows. On the opposite side is a wall of eclectically framed photos I imagine she took, breaking up the gallery feel. Toys litter one side of the living room, and cups left on the table bring the most human element to the space.
For every inch of white, there’s an equal section of color. She runs down the stairs, her lips glossed and the wild strands tamed by the elastic. She didn’t change clothes, but I catch a whiff of her floral scent when she dashes out and turns to lock the door. “Snoop,” she says with a smile she’s struggling to restrain.
Leaning against the railing, I chuckle. “I don’t know what you’re hiding in there. You have great taste.”
“Thanks, but I’m hiding the mess.” The street is quiet. Other than the occasional car passing by, I’ve only seen a family going for a stroll. It makes me happy that Reed lives somewhere he can see blue skies instead of only skyscrapers. That patches of grass exist nearby, even if they’re small, rather than needing to head five blocks or more to a park.
Still embarrassed, she goes on, “Between my schedule and Reed’s, I’m not as neat as I used to be. I would have cleaned up if I were expecting guests.”
I don’t like the sound of that. Does she have guests over? I’ll have to revisit this. “I liked the way it looked. Mine is . . . lifeless in comparison.” Ready for that visit, I say, “Maybe I can come over sometime and help put together the puzzle on the floor?”
Tucking her key into her bag, she nods. “Reed would love that. Just let me know your schedule. I’m sure you work crazy hours.”
“Yeah, it’s busy, but we’ve just set our new schedules for the next six months and hired two new doctors, so I won’t be working eighty hours a week anymore.”
“Don’t burn yourself out,” she says, her voice dipping in concern. It’s not just the worry I hear. I detect it in her eyes when she passes me.
“I could come by when I’m on call. It would be just as easy being here as at my place to take calls.”
We start down the steps, and she asks, “I just realized I have no idea where you live. I bet you live in a fancy tower in Manhattan.” I do, but I’m having flashes of college come back—a conversation of the building I lived in then versus how cozy her little studio walkup was. Glancing back at her front door, I find not much has changed in our styles. We’ve just grown up.
“It’s a nice building.”
She only takes a few steps down the sidewalk before stopping. “Doorman?”
“Yes. His name is Frank.”
“That’s a good solid name. Is Frank a solid guy?”
Chuckling, I reply, “Yes, Frank is good people.” That makes her smile for some reason. It doesn’t matter what either of us achieves or earns or our successes. She’s always making sure others are treated right. She should be protected at all costs.
Rolling her hand on an outstretched arm, she sing-songs, “We’re here.”
I look behind her at the empty sidewalk and the row of homes and back to her front door. “Where?”
She nods her head to the left and then clicks a button. We both stand on the edge of the single-car driveway watching the garage door roll up. It only takes a few feet to expose the contents inside. “Holy shit!” I run my hands into my hair and squat down before it. “You kept my car!”
“Shh.” She laughs. “You’re going to disturb the neighbors.” Pulling the key from her back pocket, she dangles it off the tip of her finger. “As for keeping it, I really had no choice. It was either sell it on the illegal market, return it to your parents, which I just decided that was not going to happen, or keep it since I didn’t have the title or any documentation. Want to take it for a spin?”
I snatch the key from her. “Shit yeah. Get in.”
