Page 29 of Rebound

I say nothing in response to that one. What Elijah would and wouldn’t like is irrelevant, but those are muddy waters I don’t want to dive into.

Vicky obviously thinks her world would be too tough for me. She probably thinks I’m soft and weak, and that her community would eat me alive. Like most people, though, she doesn’t really understand how tough I actually am. There are many different types of strength, and I’m not even remotely put off.

“But do you think I could be any use?” I ask her. “Not just… donate? I mean, it sounds great, and I will do that as well. Really, though, I’d like to find something more active.”

She raises her eyebrows and looks surprised. “Yeah, they could use you. The kids love dancing, and their teacher just left. Maybe you could you do that.”

“I don’t know. I’m not a teacher. I haven’t danced for years.”

“Well, there’s no harm in giving it a shot. There’s other stuff too. Hey, you could always do the cleaning.” She raises her feather duster in the air, and we both laugh at the idea.

Except, I wouldn’t mind. I might not have Vicky’s skills, but I’m guessing I could swing a mop if I needed to. “Speaking of which,” she says, “I really better be getting on. You want me to call the center, tell ’em you might be in touch?”

“Yes, please. And Vicky? Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“No worries, Amber. Us girls have to stick together, right?”

I feel oddly uplifted by our conversation. She didn’t dismiss me or write me off as deluded, and her suggestion energized me. I should try this asking-for-help thing more often.

I have no idea if this LOJ Community Center idea will work. I’m not sure I’ve ever even been in Queens. I’ve certainly driven through it, but shamefully, my world has been mostly limited to Manhattan. Perhaps this is all part of my life rehab—expanding my horizons.

I listen to Vicky singing away in the background—“Bad Romance” by Lady Gaga—and glance at my phone. It is still only midafternoon. I’d go for a walk, but the weather is dreadful. November is behaving badly, with lower-than-normal temperatures and lots of violent wind and rain. I wonder how the squirrels are coping and spend a few moments of worrying for them. Should I take them some food, try to set up some kind of shelter? I remind myself that the squirrels have survived for many years without my interference, and they’ll undoubtedly be fine.

I wonder what Elijah’s doing right now. Is he as sad as I am about the breakup statement? Probably not. He doesn’t have the time to sit around being self-indulgent. He might have meetings, even though it’s the weekend. He could be with his family, playing with little Luke while Dalton hosts them all for a day-long brunch. I suspect he hasn’t even given it a second thought.

I hear a beeping noise, and at first I don’t recognize it.

When I remember where I’ve heard that sound before, I dig the burner phone from the pocket where I keep it hidden in my purse. Only one person has the number, and it’s as though I was thinking about him so hard I manifested him.

My heart rate speeds up, and I look at the screen.

I’m free tonight. Are you?

ChapterSixteen

AMBER

We arrange to meet in Greenwich Village. The village is perfectly pleasant, but not a place we usually socialize. That’s the whole point—if we were really having a top-secret affair, there’s no way we’d risk being seen together in our usual haunts. He messages me the address, and it all feels so exciting and mysterious.

Normally, if we were meeting up at night, he’d send Gretchen to collect me. He’s always been very protective like that, from the very first day we met. He walked me home after every date and made sure I was safe on campus. A complete gentleman in so many ways, just as his mama raised him. Even in more recent times, when we’ve been at our coldest toward each other, he maintained that level of concern for my physical safety. Tonight, he doesn’t send Gretchen, but when I leave the house and go to find a cab, I discover one already idling outside with its engine running. The driver’s window winds down, and a familiar face gazes up at me.

“Mrs. Smith? Hey, is that you, Amber? You’re Mrs. Smith?” he asks, grinning. It’s Sanjay, the chivalrous cabbie who so bravely defended me on the night of Elodie’s wedding. One of the few positive memories from that brutal evening. This is obviously Elijah’s work, and the Mrs. Smith thing is a nice touch. I suppose we are having an affair, after all.

“Sanjay!” I exclaim. “How lovely to see you. Is this a lucky coincidence?” I clamber inside the car, grateful to be out of the wind. My hair has already been whipped into a frenzy after thirty seconds outside. It’s usually styled and sprayed, but tonight it’s a whirling dervish. I’m wearing a pair of black skinny jeans paired with spike-heeled ankle boots and a plain black button-down shirt. I’ve added a long necklace with a silver fabric tassel on the end to glam it up a little. It’s a nice outfit, but it’s not by any means sophisticated.

“I don’t think so, Mrs. Smith. I was booked specifically for this address at this time. You are looking very lovely tonight, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“I don’t mind at all, Sanjay, thank you. How have things been with you?”

As he drives, he tells me about his daughter who recently gave birth to triplets. “Three babies,” he says, the glee obvious in his voice. “All healthy. Such a blessing.”

“And how is your daughter doing, coping with her blessings?”

“Oh, well, of course, she does not always see it as such a blessing. Her whole life is diapers. But we are helping, and she is very happy, really. Our son, also Sanjay, has three children too, but he did it the old-fashioned way, one at a time.”

He continues to talk, so proud and delighted with his family, and it warms my heart to hear his tales. I wonder how long it took Elijah to find him. Did he call every cab company in New York trying to find the right Sanjay? Or did he get one of his many minions to do that? Probably the latter, but knowing Elijah, he would have double-checked the information himself to make sure he had the right man. He has enough money to simply buy a new car and hire a new driver, but I can see that this would appeal to him more. Sanjay has already proven he can be trusted to look after me.

We make our way along the windswept city streets, surrounded by people battling with umbrellas and scurrying between cars and buildings, and into Greenwich. The place we pull up in front of is a pretty townhouse, glowing with light behind shuttered windows. I’m not quite sure what it is—bar, restaurant, hotel? It’s so discreet it doesn’t even have a sign, and so quaint it could simply be somebody’s home.

---