2:23.
Amie did a double take as she stared at her phone. She’d become so engrossed in her thoughts that she hadn’t seen 2:22 come and go.
“Oh,” she said out loud. Her body suddenly felt very heavy as she came down from the sudden adrenaline rush of the past few minutes. Her mind reached for emotions that collided with one another as she tried them all on at once: disappointment, relief, vexation, confusion. Her throat began to tighten, and hot tears stung her eyes. She was back where she’d been before—having absolutely no idea what she was supposed to do next.
THUMP.
Amie looked up, startled by the loud noise above her. She was used to hearing heavy footsteps and the occasional vacuuming from the Harlows’ apartment, but this sounded like someone had fallen.
She thought of Andrew Harlow alone in his apartment as she listened for any other sounds that might indicate movement above. All was silent.
Amie rubbed her fists over her eyes to clear away any excess moisture, then climbed out of bed and donned her robe. She stepped into a pair of flip-flops, grabbed her keys, and exited her apartment.
As she padded down the hall, it began to sink in that this was the first instance in a very long time (in her own timeline, at least)that Amie was awake after 2:22AM. After entering the stairwell and reaching the first landing, she paused to look out the window, as if the world might look vastly different during this time she’d become so unfamiliar with.
To her mild disappointment, everything looked pretty much the same. This seemed to Amie like it should have been a moment of great import, but try as she might, she was having trouble mustering up strong feelings while wearing flip-flops and a robe.
Resuming her quest, she made her way up to the third floor and down the hall to apartment 3B. Amie knocked gently, pressing her ear to the door to listen for a response.
To her relief, there was a shuffling sound inside. At least she knew Andrew hadn’t been knocked unconscious.
There was a muffled rattling of a chain lock, and then the door opened a crack.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Mr. Harlow.” Amie spoke in a low voice so as not to wake any neighbors. “I’m Amie Teller. I live in the apartment below you? I heard a loud noise, so—”
“Sorry for waking you.” Andrew still hadn’t opened the door any wider. “It won’t happen again.”
“Oh, it’s okay,” Amie assured him. “I wasn’t asleep. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. It sounded like someone fell.”
There was a pause, and then the door opened wider. Andrew’s white hair was mussed, and the corners of his eyes drooped as he scrutinized Amie. He too was wearing a robe, dark red with white vertical stripes.
“That’s kind of you to check on me,” he said. Amie hadn’t even noticed the edge of caution that had been present in his tone until it disappeared. “I did fall, but I’m fine.” He hesitated. “Were you having trouble sleeping as well? Or are you one of those young people who stays up through the night?”
Amie smiled. “Trouble sleeping,” she said. “Just thinking too much.”
Andrew nodded. “Me too.” He pulled the door open even wider. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
In all honesty, Amie really wasn’t interested in a third cup of tea. But something in her couldn’t say no to the recent widower who seemed like he wanted some company. She stepped inside.
The apartment was dark, but Andrew flipped on the hallway light as the door shut.
“Watch out for that trip wire,” he warned at the end of the hall. He pointed to a nearly invisible wire close to the floor. “Just step over it.”
Amie silently followed his instructions. She gave the wire an inquisitive backward look as she trailed behind the older man as he made his way to the kitchen. The electric kettle on the countertop was already making noises as Andrew turned on another light.
Before Amie could question Andrew’s archaic security system, he spoke:
“I saw you at the bookshop today.” He gestured for Amie to take a seat. “I knew you looked familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Oh, sorry for the mess.”
The man began tidying a pile of papers and other miscellaneous items that were spread on the table, putting them in a cardboard box that sat on one of the chairs. “I got some of my wife’s things from the store. Started to go through them, then … needed a break.”
Amie handed him a business card that had fluttered off the top of the pile. “I’m so sorry about your wife.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “She was …”
Why did I start that sentence?she wondered, panicking slightly.
“Thank you,” Andrew said, rescuing Amie from having to come up with a nice thing to say about his dead wife. “It was very nice of you to come.”
