by Blythe Baker
“I’m hungry. Are you ready for lunch?” he asked.
“Almost,” I said.
He raised an eyebrow. “Almost?”
“Would you be too put out if I stopped to buy a matching pair of shoes before we leave?” I asked, wincing.
I could see the disappointment cross his face, but always the gentleman, Tucker smiled. “Course not. You can’t very well be a bridesmaid without a pair of shoes.”
I ducked into a shop two doors down that looked like it would be my best shot at finding the strappy pair of nude heels I had in mind. I browsed the displays as quickly as possible, trying not to let myself get distracted by the seemingly endless pairs of beautiful shoes. So beautiful I wanted to stop and admire each pair for the piece of artwork it was. But I resisted. That was, until Shonda, the sales associate caught me.
“You look like a woman who knows her way around a shoe,” she said, pouting her purple lips at me.
“I have a good-sized collection,” I admitted. Though, I had almost no occasion to wear most of them now that I was back on the farm. There weren’t very many places in Hillbilly Hollow where my black and red stilettos would be appropriate. I’d seriously contemplated wearing them to church with an overly-conservative black wrap dress, but it was a lost cause. The women in grandma’s quilting circle would have been whispering behind my back for a month.
“Then you have got to see the new pair of boots we got in just last night. They’re going to be the perfect wedge boot to get you from Fall to Winter. You can dress them up or down. Honestly, my favorite thing in the shop right now.”
Nothing got my heart racing like a good wedge boot, but I could practically feel Tucker glaring at Shonda over my shoulder, willing her to go back behind the counter and leave us alone.
“I’m actually looking for a nude heel,” I said. “It’s for a bridesmaid dress. So, nothing too flashy.”
She clapped her hands together. “I have the exact right thing in the back. I can also grab you that boot if you’d like?”
I wavered between a yes and a no for a few seconds, a war between my head and my heart, and like any good predator, Shonda saw my weakness.
“I’ll grab it just in case.” She looked down at my shoes. “What are you, a seven-and-a-half?”
I nodded. “Good eye.”
She winked at me and then whisked to the back of the store.
“The sales people here are aggressive,” Tucker said. “I buy my shoes at the same place I buy my groceries, though, so I reckon I don’t have a lot of experience in this area.”
A laugh burst out of me before I could stop it. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. It’s just funny how different things are here than back home.”
Tucker nodded slowly like he was thinking. “I see why people like New York. It’s big. Lots of fancy shops and places and people. Always somethin’ to do. But now that I’m here, I don’t know if I understand why you like it.”
I sat down on a try-on bench and slipped out of my sneakers. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you don’t seem to know very many of your neighbors, and we’ve stayed pretty close to your apartment for food and stuff. It doesn’t seem like you like going out very much.” He held up both hands, palms out. “I could be wrong, that’s just what I’ve seen so far.”
Part of me wanted to be offended, but Tucker was right. My old job at the ad agency had been mostly solitary work, and I hadn’t been close with many co-workers. Even though I was desperate for more friends the entire time I lived in the city, I only became close with a few girls from a spin class I went to twice a week and Shelby, who used to be a barista at my favorite coffee shop. I got together with each of them once or twice a month, but otherwise I spent my time alone. Even my one-time roommate hadn’t lasted long. New York City—Brooklyn, especially—was supposed to be this mecca for young professionals to meet and mingle, but I’d spend most of my time reading books and watching television.
“No apology necessary,” I said. “You’re right. I guess I never did make the most of my time here.”
“Ya seem at home in Missouri, though,” he said. “It suits you. Plus, I like runnin’ into you around town. It feels like the good old days.”
I didn’t quite understand which good old days Tucker was referring to considering he and I had never hung out in high school, but I ignored this.
“I like being back, too. But you know, I’ve thought quite a few times that you seem very at home here.”
“In New York?” he asked, both eyebrows raised. “Really?”
I nodded. “Is that hard to believe?”
“Well, maybe not hard to believe. Just surprisin’. If I see one more man bun or hookah lounge, I think I’ll go crazy.” He laughed. “It’s a fun place to visit, but I wouldn’t wanna live here.”
Shonda returned with four boxes of shoes balanced in her arms, an apologetic smile on her face. “I may have gotten carried away back there, but I really think you’re going to love what I pulled for you.”
Tucker let out a small groan and settled his back against the wall. Clearly, he had realized there was no sense in fighting a losing battle.
I tried on the nude heels first and immediately knew they were exactly what I wanted. The straps were thick and covered most of my foot, making them conservative, but they still had a very Spring vibe that would work well with the dress.
Then, I slipped on the wedge boots. Until that moment, I had never been the kind of person to believe in destiny, but as soon as that shoe settled upon my foot, I knew it was meant to be. They were black with a bright silver zipper running diagonally up the side. I could see them pairing well with my jeans or a wrap dress and jean jacket—the perfect shoe for casual or formal, Winter or Spring.
“Did I tell you or did I tell you?” Shonda asked, eyes wide and knowing.
“Are those even going to fit in your luggage?” Tucker asked.
“I’ll throw everything else away,” I said, turning my leg one way and then the other, admiring my new favorite inanimate object.
“Should I go ahead and wrap both of these up?” Shonda asked, holding up the boxes for the heels and the wedges.
I was just about to tell her to wait so I could try on the other pair of knee-high brown boots she’d brought me when I felt my phone vibrate once, twice, a third time, and a fourth. All at once, I remembered what I’d asked Billy to do and realized what the texts likely were. Disregarding everyone around me, I yanked my phone out of my pocket and quickly read the messages.
BILLY: A few of the Ernests on the list are no longer working as cabbies and another didn’t start driving a cab until after your accident if his social media is 2 be believed. So, that leaves 3 guys who roughly fit the description U gave. I’m sending their pictures now.
[OPEN IMAGE]
[OPEN IMAGE]
[OPEN IMAGE]
I vaguely heard someone talking in the background, but I was too busy opening the pictures Billy had sent to pay attention. The first was a pale white man hidden behind a lot of dark brown hair. He looked like a man wearing a costume of a caveman. His hair was parted down the center and the beard stuck out in a mess of untamed fly-aways. Definitely not the Ernest I’d seen the day of my accident.
The second photo popped up, and this one made me pause. My immediate reaction was that the man was not the same one driving the cab that hit me or the man at the airport. However, how good of a look had I really gotten in both situations? Just glimpses. Couldn’t this man just as easily be the right Ernest as the wrong one? I wanted to just skip to the third photo, but I didn’t want to pollute my already muddled mind. If I added another face, I would only become less certain. I needed to make a definitive yes or no determination before moving onto the next photo.
It was like when I had the dream in high school that Billy took me to the high school dance. The dream started out normally enough, but the longer it went on, the more Billy started to look like my grandpa. And the bizarr
e thing was that my dream self didn’t seem to mind. I just continued to slow dance with the horror movie mash up of the boy next door and my grandpa. I didn’t want this same confusing mix-up to happen with the photos Billy had found and the picture I had in my head. I needed to try and keep them as separate as possible.
The man had a deep tan and lines around his eyes and mouth that signified a lot of sun damage or a lot of laughter, I couldn’t be sure which. His hair was the right color—black like a suit button—but the texture seemed wrong. It looked more woolly than I remembered, but what if the photo was taken during a particularly humid season or when he’d run out of his favorite styling product?
I squinted at the image, trying to imagine seeing the face through the dirty windshield of a New York City cab, and I made my decision. It wasn’t him. The decision was based more on instinct than any hard facts, but I felt confident. I’d know the man if I saw him again.
“Emma? What’s wrong?” Tucker was standing in front of me now, bending down to look me in the eyes.
“What?” I asked, clicking my screen to black so he wouldn’t see the photo still there.
Tucker narrowed his eyes. “Shonda asked if you wanted her to wrap up your shoes.”
“Just the nude heels,” I said. “Thanks.”
Shonda pouted. “I thought the wedges were a win.”
“Just the heels,” I repeated more firmly this time. “Thanks.”
Shonda left and I thought I saw her roll her eyes as she walked away, but I couldn’t be bothered to care. I still had one more picture to look at.
“Are you okay?” Tucker asked.
I smiled. “Just low blood sugar, I think. Too many shoes, not enough protein. Do you want to go get us a car while I pay?”
Tucker had shown clear discomfort at having to hail cabs since being in New York, but I must have looked shaken enough that he decided not to argue. He just nodded and disappeared through the front doors of the shop.
Now alone again, I pulled out my phone. The wrong Ernest’s face filled my screen for a second before I flicked it away. I clicked on the third photo, and just as I’d suspected, I recognized him instantly. He was the one. The man who hit me and drove away, leaving me in the street. The man who recognized me at the airport and fled in fear. He was the right Ernest, and there was no mistaking it. Billy had found him.
ME: Third one. Definitely.
During the few minutes it took for me to pay for the shoes and make awkward chit chat with a much less friendly Shonda, Billy messaged me back with Ernest Adrian’s information. He was thirty-two, had been driving a cab for five years, and had several prior vehicular incidents, involving speeding and reckless driving. Billy also sent his cab number and the number to his cab company.
BILLY: Like I said, U owe me.
BILLY: Be careful.
BILLY: Please.
ME: Thanks. I will.
I looked through the glass window of the shop and saw Tucker standing awkwardly by the curb. A whole host of other people were hopping in and out of cabs, but he stood back politely, letting them move ahead of him. I only had a minute or two, but it had to be enough time.
I ducked behind one of the shoe displays, punched in the number for the cab company that Billy had sent me, and let it ring a few times.
“Big Apple Cab. This is Julia.”
“Hi Julia,” I said, my voice so sickly sweet I could have given myself a cavity. “My name is…Margene Huffler.” I didn’t know what made me grab Margene’s name out of nowhere, but for some reason I felt uncomfortable giving up my real identity.
“Hello Margene,” Julia said, judgment clear in her voice. I didn’t love the name, either, but I was still surprised by her open disapproval. “How can I help you?”
“I was the world’s biggest idiot and lost an earring in the back of one of your cabs.”
“Give me the name of your driver and your address. I’ll pass along the information and if the driver finds your item, it will be mailed back to you within the week.” It was clear Julia spent a large portion of her day repeating this same sentence over and over again, and she wasn’t going to take kindly to me pushing back against the process.
“I’m sorry to be trouble,” I said. “But I don’t have a week. In fact, I don’t even have a day. I need that earring tonight. I’m desperate.”
“I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to find another pair that match your outfit, because this is our protocol for lost items,” she said.
I inhaled and began to launch into a long-winded and not at all planned rant. “The earring is a family heirloom—my great grandmother’s on my mom’s side—and it was loaned to me by my mom a few months ago. We have a rehearsal dinner for my sister’s wedding tonight, and I told my mom I would be wearing the earrings. Now, I could just tell her I changed my mind and decided to wear a different pair, but then I’ll spend the entire evening hearing about how much better the heirloom earrings would have looked than the ones I chose. And all of this will lead to the inevitable line: ‘Your sister really wanted those earrings, but because you’re the eldest, I gave them to you. If you aren’t going to wear them, then you should do the right thing and give them to Marcy.”
“Margene and Marcy?” Julia asked.
“We’re twins,” I said. “I’m older by ten minutes.”
Julia groaned in a surprising show of sympathy before letting me continue.
“So, if I don’t get this earring back immediately, my sister’s wedding will shift from being a terrible night where everyone in my family tries to hide that she’s really their favorite to a downright horrible night where everyone in my family openly admits that I’m their least favorite, and the earrings will be listed as the main reason. So, please, can you help me out?”
There was a long pause where I wondered if Julia had heard enough of my rant and decided to hang up, but then she chuckled. “Families, am I right? Nothing makes you crazier.”
“You got that right,” I said.
“Okay, I don’t usually do this,” she said. “But all our drivers have GPS in their cars, so if you give me the name of your driver then I can tell you the general location he’s working right now. How is that?”
“Better than nothing,” I said. I gave her the information and waited. A few minutes later, Julia came back on the line.
“Ernest is on lunch right now. He usually parks for the full hour, so if you can get to West 72nd and West End in the next forty minutes then you should be able to find him.”
“Julia, you’re a life saver,” I said as I committed the address to memory.
“Make out with one of the groomsmen if you can,” she said with a snicker. “That’ll give them something to talk about.”
If I’d had a few more minutes to spare, maybe I would have tried to chat with Julia a bit more. But, as it was, I had just enough time to get across town if I wanted to catch Ernest. I thanked her again, shoved the phone in my pocket, and stepped out onto the street with a renewed sense of purpose.
Tucker had already mentioned how closely we’d stuck to the area around my apartment, so even though I knew he was starving, it didn’t take much prodding to convince him we should head to the West Village. I hailed a cab and directed the driver to a sushi restaurant I knew was close to where Julia had said Ernest would be.
“Sushi?” Tucker asked, looking nervous.
I nodded. “Have you ever had it before?”
He shook his head, eyes wide.
“Well, then you have to try it,” I said. “Plus, if you’re ever going to give it a try, it would be better to eat it here than back home. No offense to Hillbilly Hollow, but they don’t know much about fish unless it’s fried catfish.”
“Do they have fried sushi?” Tucker asked.
“Actually, they do. Deep fried sushi rolls.”
He hummed, unconvinced. “Maybe I’ll try one of those.”
After that, Tucker picked up the conversation, commenting on people and bus
inesses and buildings as we passed, making observations and chuckling to himself. If he noticed that I wasn’t paying much attention to the conversation, he didn’t seem to mind, which was nice. I couldn’t focus on anything other than the thrum of my own heart, the flip of my stomach. I’d been just as hungry as Tucker half an hour before, but now I felt hollow in a sick way—the way I always felt before I came down with the flu or a stomach bug. I felt like I could heave any second.
Was I ready to see Ernest again? I wanted closure, but was this the way to get it?
I knew my accident could have been so much worse. I could have been paralyzed or suffered brain damage—though, seeing ghosts did feel like a form of brain damage, if you asked me. But as it was, I still suffered nightmares about the accident. Barring the one incident with Tucker when I’d seen Blanche’s ghost across the street, I was always nervous to step into traffic or cross the road when a car was within a block of me. Getting hit by Ernest’s taxi had changed my life forever, and it didn’t feel right that he could just walk away.
Twenty-three minutes later, our driver pulled up in front of NY Sushi. If Julia was to be believed, I had thirteen minutes before Ernest would flip his cab light back on and pull away from the curb. The sushi restaurant was in the middle of West 72nd, one block back from West End Avenue. One block away from Ernest.
The restaurant was at two-thirds capacity, and we were seated immediately at a table in the direct center of the room. The place looked like something out of a science fiction movie. Pink neon rope lights ran around the edge of the floor and the ceiling, black walls and floors added to the contrast and unrealistic feeling, and mirrors set into the wall behind the bar reflected the space back, making it seem endless.
“This is definitely somethin’,” Tucker said, looking around. His usually tan skin looked pale in the wash of neon lights. In fact, he had taken on a blue pallor, much like many of the spirits I’d seen since my accident.
“There’s a restaurant for everything in New York,” I said. “Every cuisine, every mood, every atmosphere.”