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Lincoln
Beau was right.
I was avoiding her interrogation by accepting the invitation for ice cream.
But she was wrong too.
Because I didn’t want to disappoint Eric. And this was an opportunity to make Lexie even more uncomfortable. Something I found I liked doing.
She circled the same block six times before she found a parking spot and maneuvered the van into it.
I’d lived in New York my entire life and had never been in this neighborhood. It was rundown, littered with trash and people hanging out on the street.
We passed an occasional BMW or Mercedes, but Lexie’s VW stuck out as the nicest vehicle in the area. A beacon to be stolen or vandalized.
Lexie and Eric didn’t seem to notice the less than optimal surroundings. I catalogued every building, wondering why I’d never looked at property here and what the potential was for revitalizing the area. Though a lot of times that meant making housing that was once affordable out of reach for the current residents.
I shoved my hands in my pockets.
I never wanted to take away anyone’s home. Ultimately, I wanted to make it better, although I wasn’t sure I had succeeded in that endeavor. Years ago, I’d driven by a building we'd purchased and seen a woman carrying an overflowing box out. Her child had been right behind her with a little blue suitcase in tow. Once we'd renovated, I never remembered seeing them again. At odd times, I wondered what had become of them.
What had I accomplished? Besides making an exorbitant amount of money?
Lexie and Eric waved at a couple of the young people hanging out in front of a building.
“Let me help you, Mrs. Brooks.” Eric rushed to grab a shopping bag from an elderly woman’s hands.
“Thank you, dear,” she said shakily as she ambled toward a dimly lit doorway.
Lexie hurried to unlock the door and held it for Mrs. Brooks and Eric to pass. I followed, dismayed at the state of disrepair.
Did Beau know they lived here?
They stopped at a first-floor apartment, and Eric followed Mrs. Brooks inside before quickly emerging. The two of them tromped up three more flights of stairs. The wood was worn, probably here before any of us were born.
They didn’t seem to notice the stained walls or the missing stair rails. In fact, they happily chatted as if this were perfectly normal and fine.
I thought about the private elevator to my penthouse. How it was cleaned multiple times a day. Spotless. Shiny. In tip-top condition.
I had a basketball court, for goodness’ sake. And yet, I often found reasons to complain about my apartment building, block, and other tenants. But had I ever stopped to help a neighbor? Noticed someone in need?
For the first time in my life I was embarrassed by my wealth. My ignorance.
The feeling was foreign.
I didn’t flaunt what I had. Far from it. Because none of it mattered. I had the court because I enjoyed the game and had the ability to have one. It wasn’t to impress others or make me feel like I was someone. There were only a handful of people who knew I had it.
And even if I had wanted it to show off, wasn’t that my prerogative? I’d earned it.
There were scrapes around the doorknob where Lexie’s keys had knocked the wood. The letter D was missing a nail and hung crooked.
They didn’t invite me inside, simply expecting me to follow, which I did.
I froze just inside the doorway.
The sofa had cookbooks and magazines scattered around two open spots where Lexie and Eric probably sat. There was a TV that looked to be at least fifteen years old. Rabbit ears sat on top of the VCR.
The coffee table had two half-full glasses of water on it along with some mail and an apron.
