by Blythe Baker
A waitress with chop sticks holding up a high bun on the back of her head brought us menus and water glasses. “Take a look at your menus, and I will be back in a few minutes to take your order.”
Tucker was perusing his menu, eyes squinted at the text as though it was blurry and he was trying to bring it into focus. I needed to get away from him. We’d only been in the restaurant for four minutes—a surprisingly short time to be seated and handed a menu—and time was running out.
“I don’t know what any of this means,” Tucker said. “Why don’t you just order for the both of us?”
“I can do that,” I said absently.
Tucker smiled and dropped his menu. “Okay, great. That’s a load off my shoulders.”
“But I have to go,” I added, standing up. “Just for a minute. I just remembered there’s something I have to do.”
“What?” Tucker asked, brow wrinkled. “You have to go somewhere?”
I nodded. “It’s close. I’ll be right back.”
“I can go with ya,” he said, scooting away from the table. “If it’s so important, we can take care of it and then come back and eat.”
I shook my head. “No, you stay. Hold our table. I’ll be right back.”
I could see the waitress moving across the restaurant towards us, and I didn’t want to get caught talking to her. I had seven minutes.
“But you were gonna order for us,” Tucker said. “Emma, wait.”
But I was already gone. As I slipped through the front door, I glanced back to see Tucker and the waitress both staring at me. I felt guilty for it, but I had to ignore them and jog off down the sidewalk.
Like most of New York, it was hard to turn your head without seeing several bright yellow taxis. They were a city staple. But in that moment, I hated them all. I needed one specific taxi. One specific driver. Julia had said Ernest would be at the corner of West 72nd and West End, so I jogged the length of the block and stood at the corner, swiveling and arching my neck to look in every direction.
Five minutes.
I stood at the corner and bounced up and down on the balls of my feet, waiting for the light to change and the walk signal to appear. Four minutes. Sweat was beginning to drip down my neck, even though the day was still cool. I’d been so confident when I hung up the phone with Julia, but now I had no idea what I was doing.
Even if I did find Ernest, what was I going to say to him? I could hope the words would come to me as they had with Julia—a fictional story spilling out of my mouth unprompted—but I had my doubts. Still, I searched for him. When the light finally changed, I practically sprinted across the street, finding comfort in the size of the crowd crossing the road. If a taxi wanted to run me over, it would have to take out twenty other pedestrians, as well.
I passed a small West End grocery store, a sub shop, and a pizza place. I walked by a hot dog stand and a small family of tourists on a motorized scooter tour of the city. As soon as I’d moved to New York after college, I felt right at home. I liked the constant sound and the way the city truly never slept. There were always people out on the streets, heading to shops or theater shows or museums. But now I just wanted everything to freeze. To stop. I needed a pause button for life.
Two minutes.
Even though I tried not to, I found myself counting off the seconds as they passed, knowing my window was closing. Fifty-five. Fifty-four. Fifty-three.
A woman walked out of a laundromat to my left with a white basket full of folded clothes under one arm and a curly-haired toddler clinging to her hand. I side-stepped and started walking faster to try and get around them, but the little girl pulled on the woman’s hand, stretching her arm out like a barrier while she reached for a bundle of balloons tied to the end of a newspaper cart.
“Mommy, please,” she begged, jumping up and down. “Can I have one?”
Over the little girl’s red hair and grinning face, I saw him.
Ernest Adrian was parked between two other taxis on the side of the road. Even with the sun glaring off the windshield, I could see enough of his dark beard to know it was him. Plus, I could easily double check his identity with the cab number Billy had sent me. It was him. He was right in front of me.
I jockeyed back and forth, trying to find a way around the now screaming toddler and the mother trying to balance her daughter and laundry, but they were taking up the whole sidewalk.
“Excuse me,” I said desperately, though my words were lost in the cries of the toddler.
“MOMMY PLEASE!” The little girl had surprisingly good lungs for being so small.
“Excuse me,” I said a bit louder, though I realized now it was useless.
I had one-minute left, if any time at all, and Ernest was still half a block away. Setting aside all decorum, I placed a hand on the shoulder of the already over-burdened mother and moved her to the right slightly, so I could squeeze between her and the buildings on the left. She spun around and gave me a dirty look as I passed, but I kept moving.
Ernest wiped his beard with his hands, and I watched him check his sideview mirrors, making sure no oncoming traffic was coming. I began to run, but I knew it was useless before I even started. The light of his taxi flicked on, and in one fluid motion, Ernest pulled away from the curb and merged in with the traffic.
I began waving my arm, thinking I could hail him, but he didn’t stop. He drove to the end of the block and took a right back towards the sushi restaurant where Tucker was waiting for me. I’d missed him.
15
When I got back to the restaurant, Tucker was sitting at the table with his hands folded in front of him, a disappointed look on his usually good-natured face.
“Sorry about that,” I said quietly, dropping down into the chair across from him. The walk back had been a slow and dejected one, so it had been twenty-five minutes since I’d first left the restaurant.
“Sorry about what?” Tucker asked. “What happened? You’ve been gone forever. The waitress brought me two flavored lemonades ‘cause she thought I’d been stood up.”
“Well, that’s a bonus,” I said, trying to smile.
Tucker shook his head. “You’ve been so strange this whole trip. We’re always splittin’ up and goin’ our separate ways. I thought you were gonna be my tour guide, but I’ve been fendin’ for myself. I just ordered us both sushi, even though I have no idea what most of it even is.”
I wanted to tell Tucker that I had never offered to be his tour guide. He had invited himself on this trip and assumed I didn’t mind. I’d wanted to do this alone. But I knew it wouldn’t make any difference now. It would only serve to ruin whatever tenuous kind of friendship we had between us.
“I’m sorry, Tucker. I just—”
His phone rang. He pulled it out and then held up a finger to me as he answered it. I could tell immediately it was a business call of some kind. He had on his deep, work voice. The one that always made Suzy giggle like a high schooler. I missed Suzy. And Billy. I was beginning to regret having come to New York at all.
“Are ya sure?” Tucker asked. He glanced at me and then away quickly, looking suspicious. “Okay. Yes, of course. I won’t tell anyone. Thanks a lot.”
He hung up the phone and then folded his hands in his lap.
We sat in silence for a few seconds before I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Who was that?”
“A police officer,” he said.
“From Hillbilly Hollow? Is everything okay?”
“From here,” he said. “From New York.”
“Oh.” I wrinkled my forehead. “I didn’t realize you knew anyone from here.”
“I didn’t,” he said, taking a deep breath as though he was about to unburden himself. “While you were off doin’ your own things these past couple days, I was doin’ my own thing, too. I contacted a few local officers, especially the ones who responded to the dead body inside your apartment building.”
“You mean Blanche?”
He nodded. “I just w
anted to be kept updated on their findings. I explained that I was a fellow officer and I had a good friend livin’ in the building, so if there was any sign of foul play, I’d like to know.”
“Okay,” I said, eyes wide and urging, begging him to continue. “What was the call about?”
Tucker looked around and then leaned forward, his voice low. “None of this information can get out ‘cause it could deter the investigation, but the medical examiner just finished Blanche’s autopsy, and she discovered Blanche was poisoned.”
I gasped. “Poison?”
He held a finger to his lips. “Yeah. Lots of it, too. Well beyond the lethal amount. Whoever did it really wanted her dead.”
I quickly cycled back through the suspects I’d gathered since being in the city. Jay Wilkins had some very serious mommy issues, and enough anti-social tendencies to make him seem capable of something so heartless. Stephen Becket had motive, considering Blanche had been blackmailing him. And based on the vague threat he’d issued me as I’d left his apartment, he also had the temperament. And then there was Mable Abernathy. The fact that she was always giving away her baked treats made her pop into my head right away. But her only possible motive for the poisoning would be that Blanche had discussed trying to have her evicted, and I had no proof that had ever been made known to Mable, so it was a pretty tenuous thread.
And those were only the people I’d talked to since being back. All three had a potential motive. Based on those odds, every person living within the apartment building had a reason to kill Blanche. After all, she had never been the nicest woman.
“Is there any possibility of suicide?” I asked.
Tucker shrugged. “Sure, there always is. But I doubt it.”
I doubted it, too. If Blanche had committed suicide, why would she be following me all over the country? The ghosts who visited me always wanted justice, but there was no need to solve Blanche’s murder if she wasn’t murdered.
We ate quietly, both of us deep in thought. Or, on Tucker’s part, he may have been deep in frustration. Even though it wasn’t entirely my fault, he was right when he said I’d been treating him a bit badly on the trip.
He had ordered a sushi platter while I’d been gone, allowing him to sample the main staples of the restaurant. After his first California roll, his face puckered in disgust. By the time he made it to the ahi tuna nigiri, he looked green.
“Are you doing okay?” I asked, sliding his water closer to him.
He took a deep drink and shook his head. “I’m not so sure this sushi stuff is for me.”
“Let’s get the check, then,” I said, waving down the waitress. “I saw a hotdog vendor a few blocks back. A dog with everything on it will have you feeling better in no time.”
He looked uncertain but agreed anyway. I paid the check, despite Tucker’s feeble attempts to take it away from me, and then led him outside to the curb. As soon as the Autumn air hit him, he seemed to get some of his color back.
“I know you meant it as kind of a bad thing earlier, but I’ll eat the fish at the Hillbilly Hollow Catfish Fry everyday for the rest of my life before I eat another sushi roll.”
I laughed. “I love the yearly catfish fry! It’s definitely not a bad thing.”
Tucker watched with rapt attention as the vendor prepared his hotdog, complete with a spicy brown mustard and sauerkraut. He handed it to Tucker, who took a large bite almost immediately. I was moments away from ordering the same thing for myself when I looked to the curb and had to blink twice.
It was Ernest Adrian. He was parked just outside of a small theater, probably waiting for people to come pouring out after a show. I turned away quickly, hiding my face. If he saw me, he’d drive away the same way he had at the airport. He’d run. If I wanted to make the most of this opportunity fate had provided, it would have to be fast.
“Did you want anything?” Tucker asked, his brows pulled together in a question.
“No, I’m fine,” I said, waving him away. I glanced back over my shoulder to be sure Ernest was still there. A few people walked out of the theater, and I knew I didn’t have much time. Pretty soon, someone else would jump in his car and he’d be gone. It had to be now.
“Let’s get a cab,” I said, grabbing Tucker’s arm.
“Or we could walk around a bit,” he said, looking up to see the buildings and admire the architecture.
“I’m tired.” Before he could protest anymore, I grabbed his arm, causing him to lose some of his sauerkraut to the concrete, and dragged him towards the curb. Halfway there, he stopped fighting and gave in.
Ernest looked up and saw us walking towards his cab, but since he didn’t drive away I knew he didn’t recognize me. I pulled open the back door, pushed Tucker in before me, and then slid in after him.
“Where to?” the cabbie asked, pulling away from the curb.
I almost gave my address but stopped short and instead told him to go to Matteo’s.
Tucker took another bite of his hotdog. “You want pizza?”
I hummed an assent and stared down at the floor, not sure how I wanted to handle this.
“Are you okay, Emma?” Tucker asked. “Are you gonna be sick?”
“There’s a cleaning fee if you get sick,” Ernest said. “I can pull over.”
“I’m fine,” I said, still staring at the floor.
“I’m pulling over,” Ernest said.
“No, don’t!” The words came out as a command and both men looked at me. I could see Ernest’s thick dark eyebrows in the rearview mirror. They were raised in surprise, and the longer he looked at me, the more they began to furrow. Finally, I saw his entire face go slack in shock.
“You,” he whispered.
“Hi.” I felt stupid for offering a greeting to the man who had changed my life, perhaps forever, with his reckless driving, but I didn’t know what else to say.
“You two know each other?” Tucker asked, looking back and forth from me to Ernest and back again.
I nodded. “In a way.”
“What are you doing here?” Ernest asked. “Why are you here? How did you find me?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. I didn’t want Julia to get in trouble for giving away Ernest’s location, and I also didn’t want to burn that particular bridge in case I needed to use it again.
“It matters to me,” he roared. “What is this? Some kind of sting operation?”
Tucker had forgotten all about the last few bites of his hotdog now, and was sitting straight up, on high alert. “Sting operation? What’s he talking about, Emma?”
I took a deep, steadying breath. “I was in an accident a few months back. A cab hit me in an intersection and then fled the scene. They never found him.”
Tucker nodded, waiting for me to continue.
I flicked my eyes towards Ernest in the front seat, and Tucker’s mouth fell open. “You hit her and drove away? Do you realize that’s against the law?”
“I’m sure he realizes, Tucker,” I said.
“We need to call the local police.” Tucker pulled out his phone. I noticed Ernest stiffen and the car swerved slightly. I grabbed the phone and shoved it under my leg.
“I don’t want to call the police.”
“Emma—” Tucker began.
I shook my head. “No. I just want to talk to him.” I shifted my focus to Ernest. “I just want to talk to you.”
“About what?” he asked. “I have nothing to say.”
“Well, I do,” I said, realizing how true it was. I hadn’t talked much about the accident since it had happened, and suddenly I felt prepared to rehash everything. “The accident may have ended for you when you drove away, but it has changed my entire life. I suffered a major head injury. I’ve been going to therapy to deal with visions and hallucinations”—I decided not to mention that I now believed the visions to be actual ghosts, because I didn’t want Ernest or Tucker to think I was crazy—“and I had to move out of the city to be with family while I recove
red.”
“That’s why you came back?” Tucker asked.
Ernest’s head lowered so I could no longer see his eyes in the rearview mirror. I had no idea what he was thinking, but the fact that he was still driving and not pulling over had to be a good thing.
“I’m afraid of walking through the city now. I have nightmares of the accident. I don’t blame you for hitting me, but I blame you for driving away. You should have stayed.”
“I would lose my job,” he said finally, his voice breaking around the words. “I had official warnings on record. I could have gone to jail.”
“You should go to jail,” Tucker said, making Ernest jump.
“Did you ever think about it, at least?” I asked. “Did you wonder what happened to me?”
He nodded. “Yes. I wondered, but I was too afraid to check the papers or public record. I was afraid I’d hear that you were dead, and I’d never be able to live with myself. I’ve barely been able to live with myself as it is. I see you everywhere. I just keep waiting for the police to figure out it was me and come looking. It’s been torture.”
In that moment, I realized I’d made the right decision. For months, the driver in the cab had been a monster to me. A man with no feelings or remorse who had run me down in the street and then peeled away from the scene laughing. It was nice to know that hadn’t been the case. He had simply panicked, and he’d made a terrible decision.
“I’m sorry the past few months have been tough on you,” I said.
Tucker snapped his head towards me. “You’re apologizing to him? He hit you, Emma.”
“Please don’t apologize to me,” Ernest said. “I don’t deserve it. I’m sorry I ran away. I’m sorry I didn’t stop to make sure you were okay.” There was a long pause, and then his voice came out soft and uncertain. “Will you have any permanent damage from the head injury?”
“My doctor doesn’t know yet,” I said. “It’s likely.”
Ernest shook his head and let out a shaky sigh. “I’m so sorry. I will never forgive myself.”
I’d dreamt about this moment for months—meeting the man who had hit me and making him feel the pain and torment I’d experienced. But now, watching him suffer, I realized how little joy I was getting from it. In fact, instead of joy, there was sympathy and frustration. I didn’t want to be part of a chain of unhappiness.