“And only one year of incarceration at the Bower Correctional Facility. Really, Dad. You should go stay at the SoHo apartment. No point in us suffering together.”
“How can I be a human shield if I’m in SoHo?” When I didn’t laugh, he sighed. “I didn’t stay married to her all these years just to abandon you in your hour of need. If you’re here, I’m here, and that’s that.”
I groaned.
“Besides. We have a host of dinners and appearances we have to pretend we’re happily married for. It’s convenient, staying here.” The look I gave him must have been effective because he amended, “Okay, but it could be worse.”
“How?” I scoffed.
“I could have to sleep with her.”
I winced, and he laughed.
“I tell you what, kid—when you’re free, I’m free. When you’re released from all this, I’ll go too, whenever that may be.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Then I’ll pay my dues and earn us both a pardon. It seems a small price to pay. I’d pay more, all told.”
His smile was warmer than a summer sun. “I don’t doubt that. Not for one second. And if she doesn’t hold up her end of the deal, she’ll have both of us to answer to.”
We laughed, but by the time I tucked into my sandwich, I was left wondering if she would dare change her mind.
But I swallowed that thought with my lunch and hoped that if she honored nothing else, she’d honor this.
The legacy.
5
Hello/Goodbye
MARCUS
The minute I stepped into the coffee shop, I scanned it for Maisie, same as I had every day for the last week.
I came here daily, sometimes twice, armed with a myriad of reasons to justify it. It was convenient, for instance, situated near Longbourne on Bleecker. I had a punch card and was working for a free coffee. It was cold out, and I wanted something to warm me up. My mother would appreciate a cup of tea.
But under all those excuses was the truth—each morning, I passed the threshold looking for her.
It was ludicrous. I found myself thankful I’d thrown her number away because had I still possessed it, I couldn’t have promised I wouldn’t use it. I didn’t know exactly where she lived—not that I could show up at the Bower doorstep even if I did—nor did I know if this particular coffee shop was near her. But this was the only tether between us that didn’t involve a lawsuit. And as such, I couldn’t seem to stop myself from coming here to relive the moment we’d met in the hopes that I would find some lingering magic among the murmuring chatter and heady scent of coffee beans.
But every day, I was disappointed.
Sometimes twice.
Today was no different. Disappointment sank in my chest like a stone in a river as I headed for the line with heavy feet. Somehow, the sensation still surprised me. Somehow, I didn’t expect to be disappointed, floating here every day on the hope that maybe, just maybe, I’d catch a glimpse of her again in a place where we could just be us.
I’d thought a lot about what I might say, both what I wanted to and what I should, which were two very different things. But instead, I would buy a cup of coffee I wouldn’t drink and tell myself that maybe tomorrow would be different.
I wanted to see her again as desperately as I hoped it’d never happen.
It was strange, this feeling, an invasion of my very self. She crept into my thoughts in mundane moments and times when I should have been thinking about anything but her. And I didn’t know why. Perhaps that was part of my obsession with seeing her again, that noisy, unshakable quest for answers. I was not a man who lost control, but when it came to her, I was a runaway train. And the desire to know why was almost as deep as my desire to know her.
These were my thoughts as I stood in line, scanning the crowd once more with a destructive affliction—the guileless certainty that I’d find her if I looked one more time.
My gaze snagged the back of a small girl with short blonde hair who had materialized at the end of the counter. Everything around me ground to a screeching halt. My heart thundered in my ears as my disbelieving feet pointed in her direction. Here she was, as if I’d summoned her, standing there like I’d imagined a hundred times. All that was left of the things I’d thought to say turned to static.
I reached out. Touched her arm. She turned to me.
And I realized with no small amount of shock that she was not Maisie.
The stranger’s brows furrowed. “Can I help you?”
Now my disappointment was coupled with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
She gave me a suspicious look. “Sorry to disappoint.”
I was about to excuse myself when someone tapped my shoulder.
The stranger looked around me, smiling as she cocked her head. “I think you were looking for her.”
This time when I turned, I was rewarded.
Maisie stood before me with a timid smile on her lips, her cheeks smudged with color and her dark eyes soft as velvet.
“Hello,” she said nervously, hopefully.
“Hello.”
For a moment, we were silent, and when we finally spoke, it was at the same time.
“Do you want a coffee?” I said as she said, “Could we sit?”
To which we both answered simultaneously, “Yes.”
With a laugh, we moved to a table, sitting first. Well, she sat. I asked her what she wanted before getting back in line. And all the while, my mind ran a rut in my skull.
There were so many things I wanted to say, and I couldn’t seem to recall a single one as I stood there in what felt like an endless line, trying not to watch her. But I couldn’t seem to help myself, too thirsty for the sight of her to abstain. My comfort was that she couldn’t seem to either.
I took that as both a good and dangerous sign.
Once coffees were in hand, I took the seat across from her.
Her hands circled the paper cup, and her eyes struck me in the heart. “Would you think me strange if I told you I’d been coming here hoping I’d find you?”
“How could I when I’ve been doing the same?”
Warmth sparked between us, lit by her smile. “Really? I thought after … well, after the last time I saw you, I got the impression that you’d prefer never to see me again.”
“My preference has nothing to do with it. What I’d prefer and what I’m allowed aren’t in alignment.”
“No. I don’t suppose they are.”
A heavy silence settled between us.
“I’m so sorry, Marcus, for all of this,” she said. “I don’t agree with her. My mother.”
Judging by the sudden relief I felt at the admission, I realized I hadn’t known.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what she’s doing to Longbourne—to you—wondering why. It’s inexplicable and small, but she’s decided to dig in her heels, and when she decides”—Maisie sighed—“well, that’s that. Nothing will stop her other than victory or death, metaphorical or otherwise.”
A minuscule laugh through my nose accompanied the thought.