Back in New York
Sitting outside my apartment, I turn to Zack. “Want to come in?”
“Nah, I need to get back.”
I swallow hard. Letting him drive away is harder than I thought it would be. You can’t spend every day and night together for weeks and not have something special, even if it is only friendship.
I lean over and give him a heartfelt hug. “Thank you for everything.”
“Anytime.” He pulls out a card and hands it to me. “If you ever need me, just call.”
“What? No late-night chatting anymore?” I grin, but I know that will never be the same. The mystery is gone.
“Anytime you want to talk, I’m here. But I think you’ll be too busy.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You’re free. The man who was after you is dead. Frank’s behind bars.” He shrugs. “I talked to Tyler and they have everyone else in custody.”
I’m free. Free to tell people who I am, where I came from. The thought of being so open is scary and exciting. A huge grin spreads across my face. “Thanks, Zack.” I give him another hug before I open the passenger door and climb out, gently closing it behind me.
The red door of my apartment looms, making my heart race with excitement. It has always been my safe haven, but I never really knew how much I actually love it.
Down the steps, I take the keys Zack gave me, and with a shaky hand, I unlock the door.
It’s just the way I left it. Even my wine glass is sitting on the counter next to my computer, a little mold growing around the inside of the glass. My nose crinkles at the smell.
Hmm . . . my eyes narrow on the couch. Why is it still intact? I know Davie said the FBI was guarding my apartment, but I’m still surprised.
In the kitchen, I open a drawer and grab a pair of scissors. As much as I hate to destroy my couch, I need to see if the money is still there.
There are three cushions in all, so I grab the one on the left first, and slowly start cutting at the seams.
Instead of just stuffing the money inside, I had placed the money in the middle of the cushions then added foam for a little extra protection.
My heart pounds with excitement when I see the first hundred-dollar bill. It’s still there! I lean back on my knees, my hands resting on my thighs as I gasp for breath. Breathe, Ariel . . . in . . . out. Just breathe.
My eyes dart back to the money. No one is looking for it, and, right or wrong, it’s mine. After all the shit I’ve been through the last few years, and after almost getting killed, it’s money well earned.
I remove the stack of money from the cushion and then move onto the second cushion, then the third. It’s all neatly stacked on the floor. I don’t know how much is there, but it has to be at least $100,000. More, probably.
It’s so surreal. I’ve always had it, but I never considered it mine. There were so many things I wanted to do but never afforded myself the luxury. As I stare at the money, my mind churns with possibilities.
Then my stomach rumbles, reminding me that I still need food. Everything in the refrigerator has expired so I throw it away. With no cell phone, I walk to the corner market and buy a few groceries, enough to get by for a day or two.
After putting everything away, I grab a can of tuna and some crackers, head to the couch, and try to find something to watch on TV.
The next morning, I wake with a grin on my face after the best sleep I’ve had in a long time. I make a cup of tea and jump in the shower.
Just the familiarity of everything is comforting, but I’m ready to make a few changes.
I throw open the closet door and pull out my familiar clothes . . . my safe clothes. An extra purse hangs in the back of the closet so I snatch it while I’m there, then grab some cash and gently fold it before placing it in the purse right before I head out, locking the door behind me.
First stop, the Sprint store. I need a new cell phone. Once I explain what happened, they are more than willing to transfer my old number to the new phone, along with all five of my contacts.
Next stop, a hair salon. I need a new look for a brand-new beginning. Not really, but it feels like it.
“Do you have an appointment?” the hair stylist asks.
“I don’t. Is there any way to work me in?”
Her gaze roams my body from head to toe before saying with a grimace, “Normally I would say no, but if anyone needs something done with their hair, it’s you. Have a seat.”
Eagerly, I head over and plop down in the chair. The door chimes when someone walks in.
“Hi, Ginger. It’ll be about thirty minutes before I can get to you. Sorry, hon.”
“No problem. I don’t have any more errands today.”
Ginger must be the next appointment, and I took her place.
The stylist runs her hand through my hair. “What would you like?”
I stare at myself in the mirror. My blonde hair reaches halfway down my back. There’s nothing remarkable about it. “I don’t know.”
“Let’s start with something not too drastic and then we can go from there.”
I smile at the redheaded stylist in the mirror. “That sounds good.”
She cuts inches from the bottom and then blows it dry. When she finishes, I can’t believe my eyes. It’s shoulder length, maybe a little longer, and has long layers that make it bouncy when I turn my head.
“Do you like it?”
“I do.” I turn my head one way and then the other while looking in the mirror. “I really do. Thanks!”
“You’re welcome,” she says with a smile. I pay her the sixty bucks and head out.
Next stop, shopping. I’d never really enjoyed shopping before, but Zack helped me realize it can be fun, and somehow that started a change in me. And today I feel different on the inside and I want it to show on the outside.
Inside Macy’s department store, I browse the women’s clothes, not really knowing what to buy.
“May I help you?” asks an older woman with a warm smile.
“Maybe. I need all new clothes and I have no idea where to start.”
“I can help you.” With a wave of her hand she says, “First, let’s head to the young adult section. I think you’ll find more satisfying items there.”
“Okay.” I shoot her a smile of my own and follow her to a different section of the store.
“By the way, my name is Renee.”
I hesitate. Do I tell her my name is Ariel or Brylee? She’s looking at me expectantly and I don’t know what to do. My new life started in New York as Ariel, so I decide to keep it. “Ariel,” I say with my own smile. I am Ariel Hancock. I make a mental note to find out how to legally change it.
“That’s a beautiful name.”
“Thank you.”
Renee looks through racks, picking out shirts and holding them up to me. Some she keeps, some she discards. By the time she finishes, I’ve tried on half the store and now have shirts, jeans, dress clothes, dresses, and shoes to pay for.
I leave the store $2000 lighter, dressed in a new pair of slacks, a blue button-down shirt, and some loafer pumps. It’ll take time to get used to the heels. The rest of my things will be delivered tomorrow. It feels amazing to give out my address.
It’s almost five o’clock when I grab a sandwich from one of the street vendors. Turkey on rye is one of my favorites, so I take my time eating before tossing the plastic wrapper in the trash.
One more stop left to make. I’ve thought about it a lot, and it’s something I want to do. Now if they can get me in without an appointment . . .
It’s late when I arrive back home. At least I think so until I glance at my phone. It’s only nine. Damn Zack for changing my sleeping schedule. I smile anyway. I want to call Luca, but I also want to let my wound heal, and I want to spend a little time by myself. It’s funny, I don’t know who I am, and I need to take a little time and find out.