2

2

Sam

I swirl in my leather chair to face the floor-to-ceiling windows of my plush downtown office. From this spot, on the seventeenth floor of the Old Century Building, I can observe the comings and goings of the busy city below.

The streets are filled with taxi cabs as they pick up and drop off their passengers. My favorite hot dog vendor is in his usual spot on the corner of East Tenth Avenue.

I could go for a hot dog today.

There’s a tap on my office door and I whirl around to face my desk. Candace, my administrative assistant enters with a small stack of folders pressed against her chest.

Her blonde hair is in a messy bun and she’s wearing her usual dark-colored pencil skirt. “I have accounting working on those numbers you asked for. Do you want me to email those to you?”

“The Brighton accounts?”

She nods and sets the folders on the edge of my desk.

Candace has worked for me for the past several years. In her mid-twenties, she has been my saving grace. Efficient, punctual, and a hard worker. When I hired her, she was fresh out of college and eager to make her way here—in one of the largest investment companies in New York.

“That’d be great, Candace.”

“Well, don’t worry about things here while you’re gone. I’ll handle everything.”

I smile. “I have no doubts about that.”

She grins. “What time’s your flight?”

“Bright and early tomorrow. Seven.” I straighten some papers on my desk.

“I hope you have a safe trip home and a quick sale on the house.”

I haven’t been back to Cedar Springs since Dad’s funeral a year ago. My older brother Steve has been sorting through Dad’s things and preparing the house to put on the market.

“Thanks. Hopefully, it’ll be a quick trip.”

“No worries here. I’ve got everything under control.”

The elevator climbsto the top floor and reaches the penthouse. My home. When I step inside, my eyes automatically drift to the space once occupied by her desk. She enjoyed the massive window overlooking Central Park.

When am I going to stop seeing Ruby every time I come in here?

Ruby Sullivan and I parted ways a year ago. When I’d first laid eyes on her at a fundraiser for the Children’s Hospital, I couldn’t stop myself from staring. Beautiful black hair, dark eyes, and legs that went on for miles, I was captivated. Dinner dates and a long weekend in the mountains and Ruby and I were inseparable. In love.

Ruby’s father, Paul Sullivan, was a real estate tycoon in Los Angeles. He and Ruby had recently moved to New York to open a new office. Or so she said.

Although Ruby’s father had legitimate sales, he also had a side gig with small real estate investors for shopping centers, movie theaters, and apartment buildings. He misappropriated millions of dollars from these small investors and his case is currently pending trial.

Ruby’s interest in me was all about the money. If she could get her sticky fingers into my bank account, she could help her father continue his charade.

I shake my head at my carelessness. I’ve always taken care of the business— made sound investments and going only on knowledge and a tiny bit of luck. Never endangering the company, the investors, or my personal —and well-respected— business reputation.

Ruby fooled me— brought me down to a level that I haven’t quite recovered from.

“We’ve spentthe last three days doing nothing but going through boxes.” My brother Steve puts packing tape on the cardboard box that holds my father’s books. “I’m ready for a little fun.”

My brother shoots me one of his goofy grins that reminds me of our years growing up together in this modest house at 315 Elm Street. “How ‘bout going out for some pizza and beer?”

“That sounds great actually.” I wipe the sweat from my forehead.

“The Valentine Masquerade Ball is this weekend. I better make sure my suit still fits.” My brother chuckles as he pats his firm stomach. “I haven’t been spending enough time in the gym.”

“I think we could count all this work on the house as our gym time.” I stack the last box on the pile to be loaded in the pickup.

“You’ve got that right.”

I plop down on the couch and take a long drink from my water bottle. “I’m not sure how much I’m in the mood for the Valentine Masquerade Ball, but it’s a tradition and I don’t want to miss it.”

“The ball is about the only thing that brings you home.” My brother tosses a dust rag at my head, and I duck.

“I feel like if I don’t go, somehow the folks will be disappointed, you know?” I shrug.

Our parents met at the Valentine’s Masquerade Ball over thirty years ago. They fell in love and, as the saying goes, the rest is history.

Being invited out for pizza and beer by my brother is a nice change of pace for me. I get tired of the stuffy dinners and boring meetings with clients. As a matter of fact, I can’t remember the last time I grabbed pizza and beer.

Steve takes me on a tour of the hometown— past our elementary school, through the park we used to play in, and by the improved community swimming pool on Howe Street.

I let out a whistle. “Wow. They did a nice job on the swimming pool. When did they add on to the concessions?”

Steve slows down, practically coming to a stop as we admire the improvements.

“The work on the pool itself was two years ago. This past summer, they removed the old concession area and replaced it with that,” he says as he points to the new structure.

I crane my neck. “Remember the summers we practically lived at this place?”

“Yeah,” Steve says with a smile. “Mom said we were going to turn into fish.”

“Those were great times.”

Steve speeds up a bit and we take in the old neighborhood.

“Remember your old crush, Amelia Abbott?”

My heart pounds at the memory of my secret crush. Back in the day, my brother knew I had a thing for her, but he never knew about the secret notes. I never confessed that to anyone.

“Yeah.” I keep my voice casual. I don’t need my brother busting my chops again, like he did in middle school. “You ever hear anything about what happened to her?”

“No. She graduated and went to college out of state. Wasn’t it South Carolina? I don’t remember.”

“Something like that,” I mutter.

After the pizza,beers, and our drive down memory lane, we sit on the patio at the home place.

“Have you ever looked up Amelia on social media or anything?”

I turn to my brother as I pop off the cap on my beer bottle. “No.” I take a pull of the refreshing ale. “But I do have a small confession about her.”

Why am I sharing this with my brother?

“Small confession.” My brother chuckles. “Oh, color me intrigued.”

“I used to write her notes.”

“What notes?”

I shrug and take a pull from my beer bottle. “Just secret admirer kinda notes.”

“She ever figure it out? You tell her?”

I shake my head and peel the corner of the bottle’s label.

“Why the hell not?” he asks.

“Wasn’t sure she felt the same. Didn’t want her to break my tender heart.” I pat my chest.

“Oh, your poor, tender, young heart.”

I shrug. “Too late now. I’m sure she’s moved on.” I take another pull. “She’s probably married with kids.”

“Maybe.”

That night, as I lay in bed in my old room, I look around at the bright areas of paint on the walls where my posters once hung.

Could definitely use a coat or two of paint.

My brother and I will get to some of this work while I’m here. He’s done a lot of work already but wants my help with the sale.

I’ll make some phone calls, hire a reputable real estate agent, and get the house on the market as soon as possible. Even though I trust Candace to handle everything back in New York, I don’t want to be away for long.

Driving through the old neighborhood and past the school brought back a lot of memories tonight. One of those memories is that little beauty, Amelia Abbott. Before I even hit puberty, I had her on my radar. She was popular in our school and involved in a lot of activities. I won’t go as far as to say that she didn’t know I even existed, but I was sort of a nerd. I liked Business Club and I read a lot. I wasn’t into sports but excelled in academics.

I grin as I think back about all the notes I used to write to her. It might’ve been kind of cute back then, but by today’s standards, it’d most likely be considered stalking.

Not sure if she ever figured it out. If she did, she never said a word which isn’t surprising because she rarely talked to me. Our conversations were based only on algebra homework.

I started writing the notes in fifth grade. It was a Valentine and said how much I liked her, but I didn’t sign my name. I only signed it, “XOXO.” I watched her from across the room as she opened my card, read it, and looked around the room, most likely wondering who sent it.

Every year it was a Valentine’s card and in seventh grade, I started sending her other notes— about once a month. I told her how neat I thought it was that she volunteered at the animal shelter. I wrote about what I was doing, but my writings were generic enough not to reveal my identity. That’s kind of the way I am now— not wanting to reveal my identity.

I’m sure Amelia’s long gone from Cedar Springs. I hope she’s somewhere living her best life.