Page 40 of Rebound

“You’re doing your not-blinking thing, Amber. Are you hypnotizing me?”

“I don’t know—am I?”

“Well, I am feeling sleepy, but that might be the beer. Come on, then. Let’s walk this off. I warn you, though, the entire house is roughly the size of your closet.”

“That’s okay. I’m downsizing on that front as well.”

After Drake pays the bill, we stroll the few blocks to the street where Amelia grew up. She gives me a running commentary as we go, showing me Wanda’s bakery, the deli, and the dive bar that has live music on weekends. It’s very endearing, and Drake doesn’t let go of her hand once.

The earlier rain has stopped now, but there’s still a chill in the air, and I’m glad when Amelia finally tells us we’re here. It’s a quiet street, lined with neat houses. Small front yards are well-kept, a few feature swing sets, and the cars are all at least ten years old. There’s a yellow cab and a plumber’s van, signs of people who have real jobs in the real world. A front door opens and the red tip of a cigarette glows in the dark.

“Hi, Mrs. Katzberg,” Amelia shouts, giving her a wave.

“Hi, Amelia. I watered the plants for you, honey. You doing okay?”

A face comes into view behind the cigarette, and it belongs to an elderly woman with a tight gray perm. She looks wiry and strong and reminds me of Sophia from the Golden Girls. I give her a big smile in case she ends up being my neighbor. She looks unimpressed, but I like a challenge.

Amelia chats with her for a few moments, then leads us into the house. She must have the heating system on a timer, because it’s warm and cozy. It is, as Drake said, very small by my standards. It would take Vicky a half hour to clean from top to bottom, and Dionne would be horrified by the kitchen. Or maybe not—it’s small but spotless and perfectly ordinary.

A framed picture of Amelia and her mom hangs on the living room wall. It was obviously taken at a party, as they’re both holding wine glasses and wearing paper hats. It immediately makes me smile. “You look so similar,” I say. “And you look like you’re having a lot of fun.”

“We always did.” Amelia comes to stand beside me. “She was a terrific lady, and I miss her every day. Are you close to your mom?”

“Ah, no. Not at all, sadly. But I am to my Granny. She lives in Charleston.”

Amelia kisses her fingertips and presses them against the picture of her mother. “So, this is it.” She gestures around herself, slightly flustered. “It’s not much, I don’t suppose, compared to what someone like you is used to.”

Now that we’re here, it seems she’s regretting her suggestion. “It’s gorgeous,” I quickly reassure her. “It’s cute and cozy, and it has a great energy. It feels like a home, not only a house. If the offer is still open, I would love to live here.”

Her face lights up. “That’s amazing. I’m so happy.” She claps her hands together. “Most of Mom’s stuff has been cleared out—my friends Kimmy and Emily helped me. You know Emily, don’t you? Emily Gregor?”

I nod, surprised. Emily is old money—Manhattan nobility—and it’s hard to picture her in this little house with trash bags and a broom. Looks like I’m as guilty of judging a book by its cover as anyone.

“I made a start on the painting,” she continues, gesturing toward a wall full of brush strokes in different shades of yellow. “But I couldn’t quite make up my mind. I love painting. Do you enjoy it? Maybe you could carry on for me.”

I reach out and touch the wall, needing to feel it under my fingers for some reason. “I don’t know,” I reply, gazing at it in wonder. “I’ve never actually painted a wall.”

“Well, this will be a whole new experience for you.” Her bubbly laugh fills the homey space.

I try to imagine myself living here. She’s right, it’s not what I’m used to—I think it might be better. I can picture myself curled up on the couch, eating takeout pizza—or exploding donut balls. I could watch TV alone like I do now, but I wouldn’t feel anywhere near as lonely in a place like this. Maybe I’ll take up smoking and join Mrs. Katzberg on her stoop at night. And I could paint walls, damn it.

It would get me out of my current prison, set me free from the empty shell of my Manhattan world. This would be the total fresh start I need.

Drake shakes his head. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just…” He smiles. “I don’t remember the last time I saw you look so hopeful. But I can only imagine how Elijah is going to react when he finds out.”

Ah. Elijah. I try to picture him here, curled up on the couch with me. Painting those walls. Strolling through the lively streets of this pleasant working-class neighborhood. I can picture it, but I quickly chase the images away. Whether he is Mr. Smith or Mr. James, I can’t let him influence my decisions anymore.

For the first time in my life, I need to make choices with only my own thoughts and feelings in mind.

ChapterNineteen

AMBER

When I arrive at the Greenwich Village hotel a few nights later, I follow Mr. Smith’s instructions and head straight upstairs. We’re in a different room than usual, and nerves skitter up my spine as I walk along the corridor, looking at the numbers on the doors.

I haven’t seen him since the meeting with Mason, but we’ve spoken on the phone. I told him about my plans to move to Brooklyn straight away. Drake is stuck in the middle enough as it is, and I didn’t want him to feel like he had to have that conversation with his brother.

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