I’m about to say yes, but then I say, “No. I have somewhere else I’d like to go.” And then I spit out the address before I can stop myself or change my mind.
* * * * * * *
MARCO STOPS IN front of the tall apartment building. Leaning down in his seat, he glances out the driver’s side window. “This place isn’t in the best of neighborhoods, Miss Ciccone. Let me find somewhere to park, and I’ll escort you inside.”
I shake my head at him when he glances at me in the rearview mirror. “I’ll be fine. I’m just going to visit a friend. Ten minutes tops. Circle around the block a few times, and I’ll meet you back out front.”
Marco rubs a meaty paw along the back of his thick neck. “Boss wouldn’t like this…”
“My father won’t find out. And besides, I have your number,” I tell him, holding up my cell phone. “If anything goes south, I have you on speed dial.”
That seems to satisfy the brute, so he nods and says firmly, “Ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes,” I agree before stepping out the back of the car and onto the sidewalk.
I slowly walk into the lobby of the building. There isn’t a twenty-four-hour concierge or doorman like in my own apartment building. The lobby is empty except for an old man wearing a red and black flannel shirt and matching wool cap checking his mail in the corner of the room.
He pays no attention to me as I make my way to the elevator. Pressing number five, I wait for the doors to close before I’m whisked up to my desired floor.
Memories assault me as I walk down the hallway to Damon’s apartment. And I find myself hesitating before knocking on the door. I haven’t even considered what I will do or say if he’s actually here.
But before I can even figure any of that out, a voice from behind me asks, “You here to see the apartment for rent?”
Turning, I see an older gentleman with a potbelly hanging out over his blue jeans and a small pin on his stained navy-blue shirt that states he’s the superintendent of the building.
I hook my thumb back towards the door. “This is the apartment for rent?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says. Stepping closer to me, he reaches towards his thick, brown belt holding up his belly and pulls off a keyring that would put a dungeon master to shame. Squinting, he flips through about fifty keys before settling on the one he needs.
Unlocking the door, he pushes it open and motions for me to go inside.
I enter the familiar apartment and look around. My stomach drops when I realize Damon really is gone.
Tears fill my eyes as I go from room to room. Each room is cleared out. He left without a trace, without a single clue as to where he could have gone.
I check the spare bedroom, the one that was always locked. I never questioned Damon about his secrecy. It was his apartment, after all.
So, when I stick my head in the room and see a computer desk with cables sticking every which way like he just unplugged the computer and equipment and ran…a sinking feeling hits me at that moment.
He was so quick to ruin my life and leave.
He didn’t even stick around to see if I was okay…to see if I wasalive.
“I’ll need a security deposit plus the first month’s rent up front,” the super informs me.
I nod and clear my throat before saying, “Uh…I’m going to need to think about it.”
The man grumbles, clearly frustrated that I wasted his time, and mutters, “Yeah, sure. Just call the number on the sign in the front window when you decide.”
“Sure. Thank you,” I tell him sincerely as I walk out of the apartment.
A coldness settles over me as I get on the elevator and ride it down to the lobby. The realization of never seeing Damon ever again hits me hard.
When I was a little girl, I used to pray so hard that Arlo would come back to life. Come back for me.
“Arlo is dead,” I say out loud as I near the curb where Marco waits.
“What was that?” he asks, thinking I was talking to him.
