Broken Wings (A Romantic Suspense)(12)

The bags are already in the bedroom. Place is furnished, not much for me to do but settle in. There’s a desk in front of the big floor-to-ceiling windows out by the couch and dining table. It’s all one big room, the kitchen marked off only by a bar and sink.

Frank looks around and nods. “Nice digs.”

“Yeah, whatever,” I sigh. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, go on.”

“Do you think it was my fault? The accident.”

Frank walks to the window and stares out. He folds his hands behind his back and suddenly I realize how old he looks. His paunch is bigger, his face more ragged, his eyes almost glazed over, like he’s through with this shit.

“No.”

“Then—”

“Stop.” He cuts me off sharply. “Everything I got is because of your father, and it can all be taken away. You know what happens to somebody that defies him. He says a word to the right people and I’m in a ditch in the morning, and no one cares. I got a wife and a kid in college.”

I walk to his side and stare out. “If somebody said you could never see your wife again, ever, if she thought you hurt her and she was wrong…”

“If they told me to stay away from my wife, I’d throw a party.”

We both stand there for half a minute before he chuckles, but his laugh is heavy with sadness.

“I know what you mean, Jack. I like you. Always did, but you know how it is.”

The rain slides down the windows, sending long, rippling shadows across the bright hardwood floors.

“If you didn’t do this, what would you do?”

“I’d run a bed and breakfast,” he says without missing a beat. “Carla always wanted to run a bed and breakfast. She hates the city. I still think we might pull it off when I retire. My boy just started his freshman year.”

“A bed and breakfast. Why?”

“I dunno. It’s something to do. Meet people, you know? I like people.”

“You were always a people person.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. You know I’m not going to give up.”

“I know,” he sighs. “You should, though. People change. It’s not like it was. Things fall apart, man.”

I glance at him.

“I read a book,” he shrugs. “Alright, I’m leaving. That laptop they left has what you need to know, it’s all set up with an itinerary and that. Stay here and be a good boy.”

I nod. Frank leaves, looking yet more tired than before, like he’s dragging a cement block behind him as he walks.

I give it ten minutes before I leave here to be a bad boy.

I tilt when I should withdraw. That’s me.

They backed the Camaro into a space in the private garage below the lofts. I walk up to her, twirling my keys around my finger, unlock the door, and slip inside. She wakes up with a snarl and a throaty rumble and I pat the dashboard.

“Morning, baby. Daddy has work to do.”

I take it slow. The cops will be watching for me, I imagine. Ellie still lives in the Old City, far as I know. The closer I get, the more the memories build. We were young here, once.

As I pull up to a red light I recognize the spot where I first held Ellie’s hand, and down the street is the steakhouse where I took her for a Real Date, wearing a tie and everything.

That brings a smile to my face.

The place is still there. It’s called Louie Culver’s.

I picked Ellie up at four o’clock, for a reservation I made for five. We walked up Market Street to the restaurant. It was December, and snowing lightly. The roads were salted and they don’t pick up much snow unless there’s a blizzard anyway, so the world around us was just wet, but the snowflakes landed in her hair and clung there until they melted, slowly disappearing into the auburn waves until her hair was damp.

I can see her clearly in high boots and a skirt, a wool pea coat and a scarf wrapped around her neck. Pink on her cheeks and nose. She shivered constantly and her voice wavered when she talked.

I was too high on life to feel the cold. I wore the suit my dad gave me for my birthday that summer. Frank took care of it personally, and brought it to me cleaned and pressed. If I close my eyes I can feel the freezing-cold handle as I pull the heavy door open.

We walked up to the podium and the host looked at us like we were nuts.

“I have a reservation,” I said, stunned that I pulled it off without my voice cracking.

“Young man—”

I sighed and showed him my student identification card. He took it and looked at me quizzically until he read it, and his whole expression changed as he handed it back to me.

“Yes, I understand. Good evening, Mr. Marshall. You’re a little early but we’re all set up for you. Right this way.”

Ellie looked at me with a funny expression on her face, but I grinned and grabbed her hand. The main dining room was packed with people already, and it was loud. The host led us through and up a spiral staircase to another floor, a loft overlooking the main room.

It was quieter up there.

I barely remembered to pull out her chair. We sort of bumped into each other; she didn’t know what I was doing or why. Then her girl instincts or something clicked and she lowered herself into the seat and thanked me.

I had no idea where to sit. Next to her? Across from her?