Ruthless

by John Rector

  Teddy smiled. “You’re getting better.”

  I nodded, took a drink, and then stared out at the road and the slow drip of people walking by.

  “It’s getting late,” Teddy said. “Maybe she’s not coming today.”

  “She’s coming,” I said. “It’s Friday. She always comes by on Friday.”

  “You know her schedule but you don’t know her name.”

  “Not yet,” I said. “But someday.”

  Teddy laughed. “The eternal optimist.”

  I turned back to the road, silent.

  We stayed there for a while longer, finishing our drinks and talking about Teddy’s trip south. He told me about his friends in Costa Rica and all about the resort where he was going to live.

  I tried to listen, but my mind kept drifting. All I could think about was the girl who walked by every Friday, the girl who smiled at me as she passed, the girl I couldn’t bring myself to talk to.

  I was about to give up and head home when I saw her.

  She came around the corner, same as always. There was an old woman with her, and the girl held her arm in hers as they crossed the road to the post office.

  Toward me.

  The girl had soft, dark eyes and black hair that ran straight and stopped just past her shoulders. She had a thick hardbound book in her arm that she cradled against her chest as she walked, and when she got close to our table I smiled at her.

  She smiled back.

  The old woman noticed and pulled her along.

  “Ven, Olivia.”

  They walked by, disappearing through the door leading into the post office.

  Olivia.

  Once they were gone, Teddy leaned forward, said, “A little advice, Nick?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Tread lightly. The women down here aren’t like American women.”

  “That’s a bad thing?”

  Teddy shrugged. “Depends on your expectations. Down here, if you touch, you better be planning to stay.”

  I looked back at the door.

  Her name is Olivia.

  I thought about that for a moment, then pushed back from the table and stood up. I took a few bills from my pocket and handed them to Teddy.

  “What’s this?”

  “A bonus,” I said. “For your trip south.”

  Teddy stared at the money, then up at me. “You’re going to talk to her, aren’t you?”

  I smiled.

  Teddy laughed and took the money. He held it for a moment, then got up. “It’s your life, my friend.”

  We shook, and I watched him walk away.

  I knew it was the last time I’d see him, and for a moment I was struck by the loneliness of it all.

  Then I thought of her.

  Olivia.

  I wasn’t sure if she’d talk to me, or if I stood any chance of knowing her, but right then it didn’t matter. It was enough to know that there was still a part of me willing to try, still a part of me willing to hope.

  I turned away from the road and walked through the door and into the post office, my heart beating strong in my chest, the universe whispering poetry in my ear.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I’d like to thank Alan Guthrie, Alison Dasho, and Jacque Ben-Zekry for editing this book. Thank you to Gracie Doyle, Alan Turkus, Daphne Durham, Mikyla Bruder, Jeff Belle, and the rest of the Thomas & Mercer team for bringing it to the world. And thank you to Kurt Dinan, Christina Frans, Ron Earl Phillips, and Mike McCrary for their time and input during the early drafts. Most of all, I want to thank my wife, Amy, for making all of this possible . . . Words, words, words.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  John Rector is the bestselling author of The Grove, The Cold Kiss, Already Gone, and Out of the Black. His short fiction has appeared in numerous magazines and has won several awards, including the International Thriller Award for his novella, Lost Things.

  He lives in Omaha, Nebraska.