Thirty-four

Henley

2017

I help Tess clean up the broken glass and scattered pizza before giving her my phone number. “You owe me,” she says, tipping her chin at the random garbage can we jammed everything into. “For the food.”

“Oh...” I pull my purse open and take out my wallet. “I can give you—”

“I’m kidding… Jesus, are you sure you’re Henley O’Connell?” she says, eyes narrowed on the stack of cash I have in my hand, a funny expression on her face. When I go red in the face and start to stammer, she sighs. “I’ll text you later—we can go for a drink. Catch up.” She angles her gaze up a bit to catch mine. “Okay?” She says it gently, and I realize she’s just as thrown by this whole thing as I am. It’s going to take us time to get back to where we were.

Time I don’t have.

“I’d like that.” I nod, shoving my wallet back into my purse and grin at her, forcing myself to act normal. Feel normal. “My treat.”

“You bet your ass, Orphan Annie,” Tess says, shoving her cell phone into her back pocket while returning my smile. “See you later.”

And then she’s gone, up the steps of my old apartment building, empty-handed. I stand there for a few moments, staring after her. I want to follow her. Ask her what she knows about my dad. What happened to Conner after I left. What happened to her.

Instead, I stay on course.

I walk the rest of the way to the library, and the only thing that’s changed is the fact that Margo, my favorite librarian is a little older. Stepping through the doors, I see the same tables. The same books. The teen reading center is still in the corner of the first floor. I can see the faded tie-dyed bean bag chairs from here.

“Henley O’Connell?” she says when she sees me. Same as everyone else, she looks shell-shocked. Like she can’t quite put it together. Seeing the stunned expression on everyone’s face when they see me makes me uncomfortable. I hadn’t realized how much I’d changed until now.

She recovers quickly, giving me a hug before taking on a tour of the library, even though everything looks the same. She gives me my keys and my swipe card to get into the suite of offices in the back of the building. “This one is yours,” she shows me into an office barely big enough to hold a desk and chair. “I’m putting you in charge of the teen reading program—that won’t be your only duty of course, but—”

I throw my arms around her. Hold her tight. “Thank you,” I tell her. “I won’t let you down.”

“Of course, you won’t.” She laughs, hugging me back. “And just you wait, these next ten weeks are going to fly by. You’ll be ready for your own library in no time at all.”

Ten weeks.

That’s all I have.

Seventy days to fix everything I broke by leaving.

I just pray it’s enough time to make things right.

 

I take an Uber back to Boylston, listening as my driver points out shops and restaurants. Landmarks and monuments. He thinks I’m a tourist.

I guess I kind of am.

In the lobby of the apartment building, I wave to the concierge assigned to my floor, and he gives me a thin-lipped smile in return. 14C has sat vacant for over almost a decade and now, all of a sudden, up pops a new tenant out of thin air. I’m sure Spencer had someone call ahead and tell them I was coming. Who I am.

That won’t stop the speculation though. Smile planted on my face, I reach out and press the button to call the elevator car, keeping my back turned to the concierge desk, pretending not to hear them whisper about me.

Ladies don’t acknowledge idle gossip.

As soon as the elevator doors slide open, I step in, turning to punch my floor number, thinking about everything I still have to do. Unpack. See about securing a more permanent mode of transportation. Find a grocery store nearby—

A hand appears, and the elevator doors bump into it before sliding open again. I look up, automatically moving back to the back of the empty car. As soon as the doors open a couple tumbles on the car, barely able to keep their hand to themselves.

As soon as the woman sees me, she straightens herself, pushing the man’s hands off her waist, putting a respectable amount of distance between them. I catch the flash of an engagement ring on her hand and have to beat back the smirk that’s threatening to take over my face. Whoever this guy is, I’d bet everything I have in my purse that he’s not the guy who gave it to her.

“Twelve, please,” she says, in a haughty tone, like I’m beneath her.

I’d recognize it anywhere. Hearing it freezes me in place, but only for a moment. “Of course.” I smile, reaching out to push the button for her floor before looking up and aiming a smile directly into Jessica Renfro’s face.

I also recognize the man she’s with. He’s starting shortstop for the Sox. “We’re getting down to the wire, Ephraim,” I say, shifting my gaze to meet his. “If we don’t win this next series against the Cubbies, we can kiss our pennant goodbye.” As soon as I say it his eyes widen in surprise while Jessica’s narrow. Engagement ring or not, I catch her reaching out and to slip her arm around his waist, staking her claim.

“You’re a Sox fan?” he says, his lips tipped up in an amused smile. I can tell that a lot of other women have used this move on him before—rattling off a few stats or something they heard on Sports Center in hopes of sounding like they gave a shit about baseball. I’d even bet the move was in Jessica’s playbook.

But I didn’t have to pretend.

“Since I was a girl—” I shrug, letting my gaze drift over Jessica for a moment. She’s looking right at me. Like everyone else, she has no idea who I am. “My stepfather used to sneak me into his study after dinner so I could catch the game.” I focus on my memories of Spencer. Sitting in his comfy chair in front of the television while he worked at his desk behind me. I kept a book in my lap, and he kept the remote close-by, just in case my mom popped her head in.

Those are good memories. Happy memories. Memories of watching the game with my dad were something else. Angry and bitter over a life riddled with wasted talent and squandered opportunity.

“I know you can’t do it alone, so you better tell Steiger to lay off his fastball tomorrow night—he relies on it too heavily. Chicago’s gonna light him up like a pinball machine if he doesn’t learn some new tricks.”

“The pitching coach was just saying that this morning.” He’s still grinning at me, but he no longer looks amused. He looks impressed. “He’s been working on his curveba—”

The elevator lets out a soft ding, and the doors slide open. Before he can finish his sentence, Jessica hauls him off the elevator.

Unable to help myself, I go in for the kill. “Tell Steiger if he needs any help, to give me a call—Henley O’Connell, 14C.”

I have the absolute satisfaction of watching Jessica’s mouth fall open, and her expression go blank, right before the door shut in her face.