Page 12 of The Text

“Sorry to bother you on a Sunday.”

“That’s all right. What do you need?”

“I’d like to go to Al Fornos for supper tonight.” That’s a tall ask, I know. There’s a waiting list.

Judy is slow to respond. Probably tapping a #2 pencil against her chin. She does that when she’s deep in thought. “Just you?”

“Two people.”

More silence. More pencil tapping. “Call you back in five minutes.”

“All right.”

We hang up, and I wait in front of my window overlooking Central Park. It’s a beautiful day, and people seem to enjoy it. I let my imagination wander. Visualize Amber and me strolling through the park, hand in hand. Looking at birds and listening to children laugh, watching them play. My phone rings and the fantasy dies.

“Yes.”

“You’re in. Six-thirty.”

I don’t ask Judy how she does it. I never do. She’s the best. “Thank you, Judy.”

“You’re welcome. Would you like to tell me who you’re having dinner with?”

“Not really.”

“Okay, then. Need anything else?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you, Judy.”

She hangs up, and I gaze out the window some more. Think of Amber some more. My mouth goes dry. Feeling queasy. What is this girl doing to me?

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