CHAPTER 22
Curled on the bed crying, I remind myself this is what I wanted. This is part of the reason I returned to Chicago. To see if any part of my past might find me, sparking my memories to life, especially of that day. I believed knowing and understanding might allow me to move forward and heal. But how can I heal with only bits of my previous life trickling in? Will I be ninety and still suffering from nightmares?
My phone buzzes, rattling my nightstand. Needing an escape, I reach for it. I swipe through, finding a missed text.
EVAN: Can we meet up? Need 2 talk.
Why is he pushing this? I blow hot air and set it aside before turning my back on it. My hands are tucked under my head, resting on the pillow. I bite the dry skin on my lip, peeling a dead piece away with my teeth.
Nightmares haunt me every night for days. Though there’s nothing too telling or detailed, they’re a confusing mix of before and after images: young and old, elementary school and high school, a first job and summers spent building sand castles at the ocean, family trips to the Grand Canyon and Niagara Falls, holidays with families and barbeques with friends. Some faces I recognize from the after and some I can’t put a name to. It’s both frustrating and hopeful. I start a journal to catalog each memory and try to make sense of the puzzle.
As the week progresses, Evan’s messages pile up. I can’t understand his sudden urgency to talk. Yes, I’ll talk to him, but not right now. I need to center my bearings. I have too much on my plate and refuse to face him before I’m ready. We’ve already done things on his terms, now it’s my turn.
At work on Friday, when I step out of my office on my way to meet Linden, Evan strolls into the lobby. When I spot him, I swivel a new direction and shuffle on heels into the copy room for cover.
“What’s wrong with you?” Aggie asks from her nearby desk.
“Evan’s here,” I mouth and point down the hall.
She peers in his direction but snaps her attention back, spine ramrod. Her eyes grow wide. “He’s talking to Lou.”
I cringe. Great. Just what I needed, my hookup and fake-ex chatting it up and becoming friends.
“You aren’t talking now?” she whispers back.
I shake my head. It’s too long a story to explain. “Can you get my purse?” I point toward my office, which sits behind her.
As if on a covert mission, Aggie pushes away from her desk, stands, and struts into my office. She opens my desk drawer, tugs out my purse, and rushes to exit. As soon as she steps over the threshold, Evan plods in. They collide, all arms and awkwardness. My purse launches from Aggie’s grip, tumbling through the air and lands at her feet. The contents spill everywhere. I wince and press myself against the wall to hide.
“Sorry about that. Let me help you,” Evan says.
On tiptoes I creep to new vantage point. He’s squatting to help her collect the items: compact, sunglass case, tampons, and all.
“Aren’t you Aggie, Cait’s friend?” he asks.
“No. I mean, yes. Of course. Best friends... sometimes.” Aggie releases a manic giggle.
“Confusing, but I get it. So is she here?” He dumps the items he collected from the floor into my purse, and then he glances beyond her shoulder, scouring my office.
They stand. Aggie loops the bag over her shoulder like it belongs to her. She grips it tight and steps back. “No, she left, like, hours ago. She went home? A run? A meeting? She could be anywhere? Florida?” She frowns.
I roll my eyes. The longer she talks, the worse she babbles. This is how you know she’s lying. It’s her tell.
“Don’t these belong to her?” Evan dangles my keys.
“Nope, they’re mine.” She swipes at them, but he jerks them beyond her reach. She tries again to no avail. Evan is over a foot taller.
“You see this keychain?” He points. “It says Rush Street Apartments. And this key attached? It’s the one I gave to her when she moved in, which means she’s here, somewhere.”
Aggie’s gaze darts to mine and back to his. She adjusts her weight from one foot to the other and flaps her arms, slapping them at her side. “Okay, fine. You caught me. I lied. She’s avoiding you.”
Aggie grits her teeth. I shrink into my spot, praying she won’t rat me out further. I should have known she’d give in.
“Tell me something I don’t know.” Evan sounds exhausted.
A new voice mingles. “Becky from accounting said she took off like a bat out of hell when she saw you,” says Lou.
I glance around the doorframe to find Lou pointing to the other end of the office. “If you run, you may catch her on the fire stairs,” he continues.
Evan hurries in that direction, arms swinging with determination. After he clears a few coworkers, he jogs. From over his shoulder he calls, “Thanks, Lou.”
As soon as he’s out of sight, I emerge from the copy room, grab my handbag from Aggie, and sling it over my shoulder.
“That’s how you do it.” Lou peers at Aggie.
“You’re the king of deception,” I tell him. I hold out my cupped hand to Aggie. “My keys?”
She frowns. “Evan took them.”
My head falls back, and I stomp my foot.
“But I have a copy,” she sings. My attention rubber bands back. Aggie drags a long yarn necklace from her sweater. At the end a silver key pops out, swinging.
“At least there’s hope for one of you.” Lou drops an arm around Aggie’s neck, claiming her.
She lifts the necklace over her head and drops the key into my palm. On a mission to escape, I’m already marching away.
“But don’t you want to know what Evan and I talked about?” Lou calls to me, but I wave him off. I don’t even want to think about it, much less know. Turning the corner, I dash across the lobby.
“Cait, I need to talk to you.” Linden appears, his arms raised.
“Can’t talk. Late for a meeting.” My feet scurry toward the opening doors of the elevator. I dodge someone stepping out and leap inside. I press the close door key five times before it slides shut, just as Linden calls my name on the other side.
I sink into the wall, drag my purse off my shoulder, and let it swing low near the floor. Moments later, I’m melting into the chaos of the city: pedestrians, cars, horns honking, and buses beeping. It’s when I’m several blocks away I remember I actually do have an appointment with James. I glance at the clock on my phone. Fifteen minutes, barely enough time to meet him.
Before I step inside the lobby of the Kinzie Street building, I take several deep breaths. In the reflection of the front windows, I tug at my black jacket and smooth out my hair. Today it’s back in a tight, manageable bun.
Inside, James stands beside the security desk, scrolling through his cell. I assume a pleasant facade and approach.
“You’re always early.” I smile.
“You’re always right on time.” We shake hands. His grip lingers longer than it should, but I drag mine away politely.
It’s clear I’ll have to remind him I’m not interested in anything beyond a friendship or business. I should have been more adamant from the beginning, but I’ve enjoyed his flirtatious attention. Though it was wrong, I know why I did. I was wishing it were from another source. Now I see the oversight for what it was, a useless fantasy I should have never provoked.
“I think you’ll really enjoy this property. It has everything on your checklist.”
I stride past him, forgoing any pleasantries. He holds the elevator door open. In the cab, I’m relaying information about the building: there’s a Starbucks on the first floor, a parking garage with fifty designated spots, and a private bike rack room. The elevator dings and the doors spread, leading into the space. As soon as we enter, I know he’s impressed by his general look of awe.
I continue, “With the exposed natural beams, the high ceilings, and the southern exposure, this space will lease quickly. It’s rumored that Mock and Cohan are considering it.”
“Mentioning a rival firm to close a sale?” he asks.
“I have it on good authority. Though I know something they don’t.”
“What’s that?”
“Rockford Company, the tenant who occupies the space next door, is vacating soon. Their five-thousand-square-foot rooftop deck will be available, and it could be Lakeman’s if they move fast.”
“That’s something to consider.” He paces the long length of the space. “I can already see it. The reception desk here; the offices can line the perimeter windows.
“That’s what I was thinking too. And this area over here for the research library.” I traverse the space, pointing out the features.
He joins my side at the windows. The view looks out at the Chicago River.
“The paralegals will never get anything done with this view.”
“I know a great blackout shade company. They specialize in commercial properties.”
“You have all the answers, don’t you?”
“I try.” I rock back on my heels.
“And humble. The more I get to know you, the more I like you,” he admits and faces me.
With his words, the pressure of his interest returns. Though this is a good opening to discuss us, I don’t take it. He’ll be disappointed with my rejection, and I don’t want it to affect the deal.
I clear my throat and step away. “Let’s check out the roof deck. I’m the only agent in town with access.”
On the roof, James leans over a railing gazing out at the view. “This is pretty spectacular, and you’re right. The partners will love it.”
“Should we set a time to bring them over?” I clench my papers to my chest. A surge of relief rushes over me as Ozzy’s house on Astor Street flashes behind my eyes.
“I’d like to get this in motion. In case Mock and Cohan are serious.” He grins, like he doesn’t believe me.
“How about Monday morning?”
“Not soon enough.” He removes his cell, dials, and presses it to his ear. His hair curls around his fingers. “How about right now?”
He speaks into the phone. “Hey, Jess. Pass me through to Walter.”
James meanders to the other side of the deck for privacy. While he’s occupied I remove my cell. It’s been buzzing nonstop since I left the office. I’m relieved when I see it’s only Aggie.
AGGIE: Evan must really want 2 talk 2 u. He’s still here.
I text her, my fingers racing over the buttons.
ME: Let him. I’ll b here 4ever. They like this property.
AGGIE: Really? YAY! But do U want me 2 say anything 2 Evan?
ME: If he bugs u, tell him I’ll talk 2 him 2night.
When James approaches, I slip my phone into my purse and give him my full attention.
“They’re on their way,” he says.