Page 23 of Ghostlighted
Ricky pointed to the stairs. “Pass me the boxes and I’ll stack them in the room below.”
Once we’d done that, we carted them out with a hand truck Ricky had produced from somewhere. As we wheeled out of the condo on the third and last trip, Greg closed the door behind me for the final time.
“Twenty minutes on the nose.” Ricky poked the elevator button. “You called it.”
When the doors slid open and we stepped inside, I could have sworn that I floated an inch off the floor like Avi often did. I’d been buried under the shambles of this relationship for so long, had gotten so used to living in its ruins, that I hadn’t realized how much it had been weighing me down.
My steps as we walked to Ricky’s truck and loaded the boxes in the back were lighter than they’d been in over a year.
Ricky closed the tailgate and locked the shell hatch. “Ready to head home?”
“Not yet.” I grinned at him. “I promised you lunch, remember? And I know just the place.”
Chapter Eight
“That was fantastic.” Ricky dropped his crumpled napkin into the plastic basket that had held his sandwich and grinned at me across the table. “I’ve never had falafel before.”
I took the last swig of my water. “It was one of my dad’s favorite foods.”
“Did he cook it often?”
“Almost never, and when he did, it was just cooking frozen patties he bought at the local Middle Eastern market because he could never get a texture that he liked when he made it from scratch.” I stood and stacked our baskets while Ricky collected our empty water bottles. “He was always on the lookout for restaurants that served it, looking for the best option.”
We deposited our trash and recyclables in the bins by the door and waited while a group of women in workout gear entered before stepping outside.
“He ever find any?” Ricky asked.
“Occasionally, yes, but he had very high standards.” I backed up to the middle of the sidewalk, the better to see the sign above the restaurant’s window. “He loved this place. My grandmotherlived here when I was a kid and we used to come here whenever we visited her.”
“You miss them.” Ricky moved closer, also gazing upward as though he didn’t want to invade my privacy by forcing eye contact.
My throat was tight enough that I couldn’t answer, so I just nodded.
“Do you miss this?” He gestured to the street. “The city, things like this restaurant?” The streetcar dinged behind us as it whirred smoothly along its tracks, and he smiled crookedly. “Public transportation as an alternative to your patético car?”
“My car is not pathetic.” However, my knee-jerk retort was, because my voice broke like a thirteen-year-old’s.
Someone passed us and walked into the restaurant, sending the bell over its door tinkling, and I was hit by a sudden longing for Isaksen’s. For my front porch. For the rolling expanse of the Manor grounds across my quiet street.
For Ghost.
“You know something? I don’t think I do.” I took a deep, steadying breath, the old chains of grief losing another link or two. “As much as I love Portland, I’ve found something I love even more.”
I turned my head to smile at him and caught my breath because his warm brown cheek wasthis closeto my lips. Then Ricky turned his head slightly sohislips werethis closeto mine…
And then the door to a glassed-in vestibule next to the restaurant flew open, and a young guy with averybig dog on averyflimsy leash bounded out onto the sidewalk. The guy flashed us a smile before he turned toward the corner, but the dog dropped his hindquarters and skidded to a stop, his toenails scraping the concrete. He skittered in a circle and lungedstraight at me, and yep, that leash was just as flimsy as I’d thought, because it didn’t restrain him in the least.
Suddenly, the dog’s square white muzzle was inches from my belly, and I was staring into a pair of practically glowing yellow eyes.
“Good doggie,” I croaked.
The dog’s nose quivered, and he began lowering his head when the guy barked, “Doop! No butt sniffing!”
The dog backed off, his red ears flattening, as the guy strode over and grabbed his collar. “I’m so sorry. He’s usually better behaved on the street, but some lessons are harder to teach, you know?”
“No worries.” I brushed at my jeans. “He probably just smelled my cat.”
“Oh.” The guy’s sunny smile grew. “I never thought of that. Maybe he wasn’t backsliding after all.” He gazed down at the dog with clear affection, the leash once more in evidence. “Sorry if I misjudged you, boy.” He lifted a hand to us. “Have a nice day. C’mon, Doop.”
