Chapter 45

Chapter Forty-Five

Caroline

S am and I keep a brisk pace down Fifth Avenue, heading in the direction of Tiffany's. The street is crowded with tourists and holiday shoppers. Three days till Christmas. The iconic blue sign makes me think of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's . I love that film. George Peppard was hottie. Come to think of it, Calvin bears a strong resemblance to the actor.

Calvin.

I think of him, a lot.

I also think about Sugarbush Falls, the festive decorations, twinkling lights of the gazebo, the friendly people I met, Aunt Pearl.

I'm nearing the store, wondering if I should be more cost conscious with my holiday shopping.

"How'd the meeting go with your lawyer?" Sam asks.

"I'm taking it," I say.

Sam stops short, her brow hitting the cloudless sky. "You're accepting the settlement offer?"

I nod. "I won't get a moment's peace, even if I win. They'll appeal, make my life miserable."

"But there are millions on the line?—"

"I know I'm crazy but I've had an epiphany—of a quieter, less materialistic life."

People are pushing past us. Stopping mid-block is a Manhattan no-no. We keep walking, past Tiffany's. It's like going by a Krispy Kreme when on a strict diet.

"That was one week, Caroline. Living like that forever is something different."

"I'm fifty. Forever isn't quite as long as it used to be."

I rarely speak my age aloud but it feels pretty okay. Sam, on the other hand, is blinking rapidly, like she can't compute my decision.

"I will keep the car, apartment and its contents. If I want, I can sell the place for a bundle and live elsewhere like a queen for far less."

Sam's expression is stuck on disbelief. "Maybe a princess."

I shrug. "You'll teach me how to budget, be my advisor."

She shakes her head. "You're something else."

We turn north towards The Plaza.

Sam asks, "Whatever happened to Doctor Handsome?"

My shoulders slump. "We went our separate ways."

Sam ponders that. "I'm sorry." We walk for a bit. "Tell me more about Vermont."

I tell her about Calvin's small house, the old kitchen, dated furniture. "It was wonderful."

"Really?" She seems incredulous which makes sense. I have built a certain reputation.

"I fell in love with the place."

She searches my face, her eyes widening slightly. "And him."

I sigh. "Is it that obvious?"

Sam's phone buzzes. While she gets caught up in a flurry of texting, the ache deep in my stomach grows larger. Speaking about Calvin out loud is bringing back the pain that began the moment he left.

I wonder what he is up to. Does he think of me? Is he angry? Did all go well with his son's arrival?

A son. It's beyond my imagination.

The curiosity is killing me.

What's Chacha like? Did Calvin fall right into parenthood like a fish to water? I'm guessing so. He is a professional caregiver, after all.

Sam and I turn the corner. In front of us is a small shop called Needle and Groove. Retro vinyl records are displayed in the window. I come to a halt.

"What's the matter? Sam asks, pausing her texts.

"How much time have you got left of your lunch break?"

Sam glances at her phone. "Fifteen minutes."

"Come on, then. There's something I need to do."

Larry is manning the security desk when I return home, weighed down with bags. None from Fifth Avenue.

I told Paul to go home. I've given up discouraging him from driving me around town but there's no way I'd let him carry the bags upstairs. He has a bad back.

Larry hurries over to help and I notice his eyes shift to the corner of the ornate lobby.

Mrs. Reinhold is sitting on the velvet sofa, wearing a garish green crotched hat. A glittering pink ribbon sits in her lap.

As I pass, I hear a sob, shocking me. I've never seen her show an ounce of emotion other than agitation.

I'm cautious but I can't simply walk past an elderly woman who's sobbing even if she is the Wicked Witch of the West Side.

I ask Larry to take my bags upstairs and approach Mrs. Reinhold with caution, ready to make a hasty retreat if warranted. "Are you okay?"

"I lost Daphne this morning."

For a moment I think she's talking about a family member I know nothing about. But she's gripping tight to the ribbon. Then it hits me. I recognize it as belonging to her teacup Shih Tzu. And there's no sign of the pup.

"Oh no," I say, horrified. Without thinking, I sit beside Witch Reinhold and put my arm around her.

The floodgates open and she bawls, a gut-deep cry. We sit like that for several minutes until her chest stops heaving. I picture Rezy gone, knowing I would fall apart.

I'm not sure if it's the right thing to say but it comes out. "I have a dog."

Her eyes widen. "You?"

I want to ask why that's so hard to believe but I don't.

Mrs. Reinhold says, "You don't come across as an animal lover."

It takes all my restraint not to get into it with her but something tells me that Mrs. Reinhold doesn't have a lot of friends. She's alone. And her only friend just crossed the rainbow bridge.

I see Larry is back at his desk, his attention on me.

"I found a sweet puppy in a snowstorm in Vermont. We couldn't locate his owners."

She blinks away her tears. "No chip?"

I shake my head.

She looks past me. "Where is he now?"

"Upstairs. His name is Rezy."

I wait for her to make a snide comment. Instead, she says to herself, "Fine name."

For some odd reason, I'm pleased by her approval. "Would you like to meet him?"

She pauses. "Well, if it wouldn't be too much trouble."

I take in her expectant demeanor. She looks different, vulnerable. Like a lonely old woman.

"I'll be happy to bring him by."

The corners of her mouth lift upward. It's the first smile I've ever seen from this woman. Turns out, she does have a full set of teeth.

"I'm in 8D," she says.

"Yes I know. You're on my floor."

"Didn't think you noticed."

Once again, I hold my tongue.

She stands. "Okay, then. Come by at seven. Punctually."

"I—"

"I better go up and make some of my famous sweet potato puree. Rezy will never want to eat your food again."

Without a word goodbye, eyes dry as a bone, she shuffles to the elevator, leaving me behind.

Larry approaches me. "You're a kind soul, Mrs. Page."

I offer a flat smile. I'm not so sure everyone would agree. Apparently, I'm satisfactory when it comes to grieving old ladies and stray dogs, but not with a friend, looking to me for support. A friend who did nothing but support me when I needed it.

Here in the lobby of the Dakota, Larry praising me, I feel sick. Like a load of bricks falling off a high-rise onto my thick head, I'm hit with an overwhelming sense of shame.

I need to apologize to Calvin. Not by text or voicemail. I excuse myself and hurry outside. There's no time to waste.

Paul is still there when I emerge, waiting in the car as if knowing I would still need him. I hop into the backseat and tell Paul where to go. I have an important and terrifying stop to make.