Page 64 of The Love Dose
She shakes her head. “You’re something else.”
We turn north towards The Plaza.
Sam asks, “Whatever happened to Doctor Handsome?”
My shoulders slump. “We went our separate ways.”
Sam ponders that. “I’m sorry.” We walk for a bit. “Tell me more about Vermont.”
I tell her about Calvin’s small house, the old kitchen, dated furniture. “It was wonderful.”
“Really?” She seems incredulous which makes sense. I have built a certain reputation.
“I fell in love with the place.”
She searches my face, her eyes widening slightly. “And him.”
I sigh. “Is it that obvious?”
Sam’s phone buzzes. While she gets caught up in a flurry of texting, the ache deep in my stomach grows larger. Speaking about Calvin out loud is bringing back the pain that began the moment he left.
I wonder what he is up to. Does he think of me? Is he angry? Did all go well with his son’s arrival?
A son. It’s beyond my imagination.
The curiosity is killing me.
What’s Chacha like? Did Calvin fall right into parenthood like a fish to water? I’m guessing so. He is a professional caregiver, after all.
Sam and I turn the corner. In front of us is a small shop called Needle and Groove. Retro vinyl records are displayed in the window. I come to a halt.
“What’s the matter? Sam asks, pausing her texts.
“How much time have you got left of your lunch break?”
Sam glances at her phone. “Fifteen minutes.”
“Come on, then. There’s something I need to do.”
Larry is manningthe security desk when I return home, weighed down with bags. None from Fifth Avenue.
I told Paul to go home. I’ve given up discouraging him from driving me around town but there's no way I’d let him carry the bags upstairs. He has a bad back.
Larry hurries over to help and I notice his eyes shift to the corner of the ornate lobby.
Mrs. Reinhold is sitting on the velvet sofa, wearing a garish green crotched hat. A glittering pink ribbon sits in her lap.
As I pass, I hear a sob, shocking me. I’ve never seen her show an ounce of emotion other than agitation.
I’m cautious but I can’t simply walk past an elderly woman who’s sobbing even if she is the Wicked Witch of the West Side.
I ask Larry to take my bags upstairs and approach Mrs. Reinhold with caution, ready to make a hasty retreat if warranted. “Are you okay?”
“I lost Daphne this morning.”
For a moment I think she’s talking about a family member I know nothing about. But she’s gripping tight to the ribbon. Then it hits me. I recognize it as belonging to her teacup Shih Tzu. And there’s no sign of the pup.
“Oh no,” I say, horrified. Without thinking, I sit beside Witch Reinhold and put my arm around her.
