While she waited, prayed and crossed her fingers that Deacon would reply, she studied Max’s pictures. He obviously loved Central Park, and she wondered if he lived in one of the nearby neighborhoods. That could be a place to start her search.
Central Park was three miles around, so searching for him would still be looking for a needle, but in a much smaller haystack. She had no idea what she’d do if she actually found the building. That would be a whole new pile of hay, but she’d cross that farmyard when she came to it.
She started by narrowing down neighborhoods surrounding the park to the ones he most likely lived in. Park Avenue was unlikely, although not impossible, and so she started there. Why not assume her dream guy lived on the priciest street in Manhattan?
Google Maps and satellite imaging helped her zero in on the buildings within a three-block radius of Park Avenue. Her eye for detail had made her one of the most requested wedding photographers in Charleston, and that same eye helped her eliminate the buildings in the first block of the grid she’d created to keep track of all the streets to check. She scanned streets for two hours and crossed off Park, Madison and 5th Avenues. All streets she had been ninety percent sure Max couldn’t afford to live on anyway.
She decided to be smarter about her search after that and skipped zooming in on the pricey apartments on the Upper East Side. Even with an entire neighborhood out of the running, she still had a Herculean task ahead of her searching a city of six million for one Max. But she’d promised Hadley she’d find him, and the pictures he’d left for them convinced Sutton she needed to keep that promise. For herself as much as for her daughter.
The problem was, she didn’t have the two extra hours a day required to search through ten blocks out of thousands. More galleries were asking for her work which kept her busy during the hours Hadley was at school. The hours with Hadley at home were filled with art lessons, homework, and playdates. Sutton barely had time to warm up frozen dinners, let alone search the whole city for a man who’d probably forgotten her in the six months since they’d met.
Still, Sutton kept searching. She recruited Seth to help her. He agreed only after she’d shown him the pictures and he’d stared at each one for at least ten minutes before deciding Max probably wasn’t a perv. But Seth had even less time for the Max search than she did, so neither one of them made very much progress.
As the weather turned and flowers started blooming in Central Park, she and Hadley spent so much time there that even Hadley started asking if they had to go again when Sutton suggested it. But she couldn’t stop going and looking, hoping to see Max in one of the spots from his photos.
In the end, she should have asked Fate to do its job since a twisted version of it—or was it Irony?—was what ultimately helped Sutton find Max. On a night when her thoughts were focused on something besides her search for him, she saw him standing on a subway car going the opposite direction from her train, his arm wrapped around a tiny blonde with a lot of curls.
Fate would have been kinder than Irony. They were less than ten feet apart but moving away from each other, one of them obviously with someone else.
Chapter Eight
The compound fracture in Max’s left leg and his broken pelvis took three months to heal. The doctors kept telling him he was lucky to be alive. He didn’t feel so lucky stuck in bed with screws, plates and rods inside and outside of his body. He knew more about internal and external fixation than he’d ever, ever wanted to know.
The view of the skyline from his hospital bed helped for the first few days before the sky changed from a crisp autumn blue to dreary winter gray. As the holidays approached and he returned to his apartment, depression set in.
He couldn’t travel back to North Carolina for Christmas, so he’d spent the holiday alone, skyping with his family, drinking too much egg nog, and watching really terrible Hallmark Christmas movies. He’d never tell anyone, but he may have cried during the one with that chick from Full House. Actually, she may have been in more than one. They all kind of ran together after a while.
His phone had been destroyed when the taxi hit him, and a month passed before he got a new one—being sedated eighteen hours out of the day made the easiest tasks seem overwhelming. Along with the new phone, he’d finally traded in his North Carolina number for a New York one. He’d meant to do it months before he gave Sutton his number but waiting for her to call had given him an excuse to put off the chore.
Then the taxi had forced his hand.
Letting go of his last hope of finding Sutton only made the skies grayer and his life drearier. His twice a week physical therapy appointments didn’t help either. They left his whole body aching and his spirit yearning to be well enough to do all the things he used to do. He usually biked everywhere, even in winter, if the bike paths were clear of snow. Being inert was not in his DNA.
The only thing that made physical therapy bearable was his therapist, Monica. She was cute and bubbly with crazy blonde curls that made her round face look rounder. He hadn’t asked, but if he had to guess he’d bet she’d been a cheerleader in high school. She never lost confidence in him, but she also didn’t let him off easy. When he wanted to give up, she made him do one more rep.
By April, Max’s body was almost back to his pre-accident condition. By that time, he and Monica had become friends. They might have been more if Max could forget about the spark he’d felt with Sutton or if Monica had been at all interested in him—or men in general. What she was interested in was the story of him and Sutton. Once she heard it, she was convinced Max and Sutton were meant to be together and determined not to let him give up his quest to find her.
“Your story would be the perfect Hallmark movie!” she’d exclaimed more than once. She was a big fan of everything Hallmark. Which also meant she was the perfect friend to keep Max’s biggest secret: his Christmas binge had led to an addiction. He couldn’t stop watching them. He’d even ordered the Hallmark app for his Roku. He wouldn’t admit that to anyone but Monica.
On a typical Friday night, she’d come over and they’d choose the one with the cheesiest trailer—no easy choice—then try to guess what lines the characters where going to say. Every time they got one right they’d take a drink, but only of Dr. Pepper because Monica didn’t drink anything stronger than that. When they called a plot hole they got a Red Vine.
Watching cheeseball movies and eating junk food wasn’t a bad way to spend a weekend, but it wasn’t doing much for either of their love lives. Monica had pointed that out on a number of Friday nights before finally insisting one night that Max get out his laptop.
“We’re going to find that girl,” she said with the same determination she’d used to get him walking again without a limp.
“Good luck. I’ve tried,” Max said.
In a much deeper voice he said, “I did it for you,” at the same time Dean Cain said the phrase to the “spicy Latina” onscreen. Monica was too enthralled in her research to notice, but he took a drink of his Dr. Pepper anyway.
“I’ve emailed and given her my number. I think if she wanted to see me again she would have found me.” His ego had taken a pretty hard hit over the last few months. He’d expected to hear from Sutton and hadn’t and he’d lost his mobility. And his six pack. He looked down at his gut and set the Dr. Pepper back on the coffee table.
“Tell me her name again,” Monica demanded, ignoring his whining just like she had in physical therapy.
“Sutton Bradley.”
Monica found the same website Max had found months before and clicked through Sutton’s photo gallery. “She’s really good.”
He leaned over and looked at the pictures even though he’d seen them before. “Yeah, she is.”
“Oh, and pretty!” Monica turned the screen to him, so he could better see the picture of Sutton he’d looked at more times than he’d ever, ever admit. He couldn’t find her through the seemingly-abandoned website, but he could remember what she looked like. He could re
member her dark hair and the eyes that almost matched it until the light hit them to reveal a Blue Ridge Mountains shade of blue.
“You said you think she’s divorced?” Monica asked, and Max nodded. “Is Bradley her maiden name?”
He had no idea because he had no idea how long she’d been divorced, assuming she was divorced. Deacon hadn’t been a lot of help in that department, and he hadn’t wanted to ask him again. In fact, with the accident, he really hadn’t been in touch with Deacon at all. Very few people knew Max had been in the hospital. He hated the thought of people feeling sorry for him or feeling obligated to check in on him.
“I think so. I really don’t know anything about her except that she’s a photographer and she has a daughter named Hadley.” Max kept his attention on the movie, not wanting to get his hopes up that Monica would actually be able to find something he couldn’t.
“That’s the key!” Her fingers flew over the keys as she typed something. “If we can find a record of her birth, it will have Sutton’s name on it too, including her maiden name.”
Max shifted in his seat, working hard to keep his eyes from wandering to the computer screen as Monica continued tapping away. Her idea was a good one, but she’d definitely crossed the line between curiosity and flat out stalking. He didn’t stop her, but he couldn’t have any part of her cyber stalking without feeling like a creeper.
“This could take a while, but I’m going to find her.” Her eyebrows creased as she ran her finger over the screen, scrolling through whatever she’d found. Max forced himself not to ask.
“Honestly, don’t put too much time into it. With my luck, you’ll find her, we’ll actually connect, and she’ll turn out to be a total nightmare.” He flinched using the word to describe Sutton.
“She won’t.” She went back to typing. “That’s not how this works. Have you learned nothing from these stories?” She waved her hand toward the TV where Dean Cain and the painfully stereotyped Spicy Latina were staring deeply into each other’s eyes.
“Maybe not, but I know enough to know what she’s going to say next,” he answered.
“None of that matters now,” Monica said along with him. “Nothing matters but you.”
“And now the kiss.” He bowed his head in deference to the traditional final scene of every Hallmark movie he’d ever watched: the fade out shot of the kiss with the sun setting in the background of whatever old inn/summer camp/rehabbed house the happy couple had spent the first hour-and-a-half fighting over.
“And scene,” Monica said as the scene ended, and the credits rolled. “Which is my cue to get out of here before my train quits running for the night.”
“I’ll walk you to the station.” Max stood and held out a hand to help her stand.
“Yes, you will. You need to get that leg moving after sitting for so long.” She was right, as usual. He could already feel his knee stiffening where he now had three screws holding the bones together.
The station was only a couple blocks away, and Monica talked about the finer plot holes of their movie while they walked. Max listened and laughed, but his mind was on Sutton. What if Monica really could find her? Six months had passed since he’d met her. Would she remember him? As much as he still wanted to see Sutton again, enough time had gone by that he wasn’t sure he’d have the courage to call her if Monica did find her.
He could have left Monica at the entrance to the station, but it was after midnight and he wanted to make sure she got on the train safely, so he walked her all the way to the turnstile. When he saw the three guys on the other side and the way they looked at her, Max knew he’d made the right decision by not leaving her at the top of the stairs. He also wasn’t letting her ride the train by herself.
“I think I could use a little more exercise. I’ll ride with you.” He pulled out his subway card and slid it through the scanner before she could argue.
“You don’t have to,” she said, but then glanced at the three guys. Each one had a face tattoo that looked more prison than parlor done. “But thank you.”
She followed him through the turnstile, then put her arm through his as they walked to the platform. “Don’t flatter yourself into thinking this means anything besides making me feel safer,” she whispered.
He nodded but kept his eye on the men who didn’t have any problem checking Monica out even with her attached to his arm. They spent a long ten minutes waiting for the train. No other passengers showed up, and the men got ruder and more obnoxious the longer they had the platform to themselves. Monica moved closer to him, and Max positioned himself, so he could keep an eye on the men.
Their train pulled in at the same time a train coming from the other direction screeched to a stop. Max waited a few seconds to see where the men would get on, but when they didn’t make a move, he put an arm around Monica and stepped on the empty car. The ex-cons followed. Max didn’t know how he’d take on all three of them if he had to, but he had a much better chance than Monica would have had alone.
Probably. She was tough. With his weak leg, if anything went down she might have to protect him.
Rather than sitting down, she grabbed the pole in the middle of the aisle. Max held it too and put a hand on her shoulder as the doors closed behind him. He looked out the windows into the train across from them but kept his senses alert to the men sitting at the other end of the car.
A woman in a dark blue dress only a few shades lighter than her black hair stepped into the opposite train. Something about her caught his attention as she took hold of a handle. When she looked through the windows directly at him, he knew what that something was. He knew those eyes. He knew that face. He’d thought about the woman they belonged to every day for the last six months.
Their eyes locked and, he could see that she remembered him. The train jerked forward, and Max stumbled with the motion. The other train moved in the opposite direction and in a matter of seconds she was gone.
Monica looked over her shoulder at him, but his eyes were still pointed forward, trying to make the face he’d just seen reappear.
“Do you know that woman?” Monica asked.
“That was Sutton,” he answered, and for the first time in months, the possibility of finding her became real again.
Chapter Nine
Sutton slid out of the dress she’d bought especially for the opening she’d been at, leaving it crumpled on the closet floor. She put on her comfiest pajamas and curled up in her bed next to Hadley.
The little girl stirred awake and stretched her arm across Sutton’s neck. “I was waiting for you, Mama,” she murmured before falling back asleep.
Sutton kissed her forehead, then closed her eyes to keep tears from spilling. She was grateful she hadn’t told Hadley about her search for Max. Hadley still talked about him, but not nearly as much as she used to. She knew Hadley would keep growing and little by little the memory of Max would be replaced by other memories. The thought made her sad but also relieved. She hoped she’d be able to do the same. Seeing Max on the train with another woman had convinced her she had to forget him.
That was easier said than done.
By July, Sutton still hadn’t completely forgotten him, but she’d also stopped looking for him on sidewalks and in subway stations. Definitely not in subway cars. That hadn’t worked out at all the first time around. The muggy weather gave her the perfect excuse to avoid Central Park, even though Hadley had started begging to go again.
But of course, Dahlia, being Dahlia, decided to reappear at exactly the wrong time with the info Sutton had asked for months before. She even called instead of emailing, now that she was back in the States. Sutton hadn’t even known she’d returned from Bali.
“Hey, girlfriend, I’ve got good news for you,” she said, as soon as Sutton answered the call, not bothering to ask how she’d been or if anything new had happened in the nine months since she’d been gone.
Sutton was fine, and nothing exciting had happened—other than a fruitless
search for a potentially perfect man. Still, Dahlia could have asked.
“I’ve found Jacob—I mean Max—”
“—It’s okay, Dahlia. I’m not—”
“—He does live in New York. I don’t have his number, but you could totally find him.” She was so pleased with herself, Sutton didn’t even bother interrupting again.
“That’s great, Dolly. I’ll try.”
“Now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t know why I never set you two up. You’d be perfect for each other—”
“—How was Bali?” Sutton interrupted. If Dahlia said anything else about how she should have done the thing Sutton had asked her to do and act like it was an original idea, Sutton would lose her mind.
Dahlia took a deep breath, and Sutton could almost picture her in lotus position, meditating. “Sooo incredible. Bali changed me, Sutton. I’m not your same Dolly. I’m a new woman. An enlightened woman. I’ve worked hard to become more aware of my surroundings and the people in them.”
“That’s great. I’m really happy for you.” She wasn’t lying. Sutton loved Dahlia, even when she was self-centered and clueless. There had always been a part of Dahlia willing to do anything for anybody.
“That’s actually why I’m calling you. I need a huge favor—”
Of course, she did. She hadn’t completely changed.
“Do I even want to ask what it is?” Sutton doubted it. The last favor she’d done for Dahlia took a month of work. Deacon had sent her a thank you note for the photo book, but he hadn’t given her Max’s number.
“You’ll like it, and I pay well.”
Sutton stayed silent, waiting for Dahlia to explain.
“Deacon and Lily are getting married—”
“—What? How did that happen?” As soon as Sutton asked the question, the pictures of Deacon and Lily flashed in her mind. It made total sense they were getting married. More sense than Deacon and Dahlia walking down the aisle. “How do you feel about that?”
Wedding Belles: A Novel in Four Parts Page 25