As expected, Gabriel has worked late every day this week. He is dead set on making partner. If he does, he’ll work even longer hours and then he’ll be trapped for the rest of his life in a job he doesn’t like.
Each night, after Carmen leaves, I take Jackson for a walk in the park. The early summer weather makes for warm evening strolls. As we wander, I point out everything I see… trees, cars, kids, people. Jackson sits up in his stroller, facing me, taking it all in.
And each night, it’s the same routine: bath, bottle, and bed. While I can sit and talk to this little man for hours, it melts my heart to watch him sleep. He is so peaceful and full of hope, my hope for a beautiful future for this little boy.
As I lie in bed, about to close my eyes, the downstairs door opens. Gabriel is home. I hear him walk up and, like every night, he heads straight for Jackson’s room. I roll over and look at the baby monitor. I see Gabriel lean over the crib and caress Jackson’s face with his hand, gentle and soothing, not to wake him. He heads over the rail and gives Jackson a soft kiss on the forehead before exiting the room, silently closing the door.
Gabriel opens our bedroom door and heads straight into the walk-in closet. I hear him changing, kicking off his shoes and hanging his suit up. He finishes, closing the closet door, wearing only basketball shorts and sneakers.
Glancing at the clock, I see it’s after ten. Gabriel grabs his iPod off the dresser and places earbuds in his ears before walking out the bedroom door. I lay my head back down on the pillow and wait in the darkness.
The train glides along the tracks as my first week at my new job comes to a close. I put my headphones on and listen to the sweet sounds of Ed Sheeran. His soft English accent plays in my ears, singing about a girl who messed with his heart. I look down at the paper and read the day’s gossip. I’m a Page Six junky. I never read the society pages since I don’t know who anyone is. It’s the celebrity dish I’m into. Looks like another Hollywood actor is sleeping with another Hollywood costar.
I planned on getting to the office early to prepare for my meeting with the new boss, but my train was delayed. Not a surprise for the Long Island Railroad. It can turn a standard forty-minute commute into a two-hour expedition. If Gabriel and I had more than one car, I’d have taken it. Instead, he drove to Connecticut for a meeting and I’m running late.
And to round it all out, after days of blue skies and sunshine, dark, nimbus clouds have rolled in and as soon as I step foot on to the train, the heavens decide to open up. This isn’t just rain; it’s a torrential downpour. Raindrops pound on the roof of the train car. I can hear it through my headphones regardless of the music streaming in my ears. Hopefully it will let up by the time I get off, because I have forgotten my umbrella.
When the train reaches Penn Station, I exit and walk up the concrete steps that lead to the central arena where thousands of people exit and enter every day, traveling in and out of the city.
Working my way past a sea of people walking in various directions, I finally navigate over to the underground maze that is the New York City subway. I transfer to the crosstown E train, hoping to avoid having to walk outside as much as possible. The subway’s doors are about to close as I approach, so I rush and squeeze my body into the sardine-packed car, hoping all limbs and belongings made it through.
There is a man singing gospel music on the other end of the car, panhandling for a cup of coffee. If I were closer, I’d give him a dollar.
The subway ride is the fastest part of my commute. Almost the entire car gets off at my stop, and I struggle not to get trampled. I reach the turnstile and pray the rain has finally subdued. Instead, I am staring at a rush of water pouring down the stairwell.
Most of the people have started walking toward another exit, but I’m running late. If I wasn’t meeting with my boss’ boss, then I’d turn around and head out the other exit. Today, I have somewhere to be. I take off my shoes and dash up the stairs two at a time. Disgusting, I know, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Once at the top, I slide my shoes back on, heading north and trying desperately to shield myself with the hood of my raincoat. Every other rainy day in New York, there is a vendor selling cheap umbrellas on the sidewalk, but not today.
UGH! Of all days!
Better anyway since they always fall apart as soon as you use them.
I stand at the corner of Lexington Avenue and wait for the light to change. The rain is coming down and despite the warm air, my toes are getting cold from being wet.
I stand and wait, counting the seconds until the little hand of the DO NOT WALK sign tells me to cross. The skies open up even more and the rain falls so loud you can’t even hear yourself think. People take cover, and I prepare to run across the street.
That’s when it hits me like a tidal wave filled with soot. I am covered from head to toe. A car has slammed into a pothole filled with water, creating my own private waterfall.
“Ahhh!” My arms fly up as I scream in surprise. Pedestrians on the corner look at me in shock, thankful it wasn‘t them.
The car quickly pulls over and comes to a stop. A man jumps out of the backseat; another man follows him, carrying an umbrella. The first man takes the umbrella and signals for the other to wait in the car.
“Are you okay?”
Do I look okay?
“My driver didn‘t mean to get you. I couldn‘t believe it. It was like it was happening in slow motion.”
My body curves in at the feel of water soaking through my coat. “You couldn‘t believe it was happening? I can’t even…” I try to compose myself as the urge to cry takes over me. “I have a really important meeting this morning and…” I don’t even know what to say.
The rain is relentless. My hair is soaked, I’m covered in backstreet muck, and this stranger is kindly trying to cover me with his umbrella.
“Let me take you to where you have to go,” he shouts over the rain. “You can dry off on the way.”
I look at him, weary. Get in the car with him? Is he kidding?
He can sense my resistance.
“I’m not a psycho. I promise.” He holds out his hand, the umbrella temporarily covering neither of us. He pulls it back in place and gestures to himself with his free hand. “Look, I have a nice suit, a personal driver. I’ll even give you my cell phone to hold in case you feel the urge to call the cops.” His lip curls up to the side like he’s sneering at me, mocking me.
“I’m not usually this nice of a guy, so either get in now or stand here in the rain.”
I weigh my options. I can try to run the few blocks in the rain or get in the car. He looks harmless, and there is a driver to act as a buffer.
The rain continues to pour down on me and I can’t even see the other side of the street. I must be out of my mind. I shuffle my feet and head into the car.
Inside the black SUV and out of the rain, I realize just how wet I am. I pull out my compact and glance at myself in the mirror. I look like a wet dog.
Mystery man has climbed in beside me. I am immediately overcome with the most delicious smell of tobacco and vanilla. It’s intoxicating and divine.
“Where are we going?” He asks. For the first time, I get a good look at him. He’s… gorgeous. Beyond gorgeous. At least he doesn’t look like an ax murderer.
“Forty-eighth and Third. The Asher Building,” I reply.
He looks at me, puzzled, and motions toward the driver. His eyes never leave mine. “Devon, I believe we can honor this woman’s request.”
The car starts to move.
My body jerks as the car pulls away from the curb and I am suddenly nervous. “Oh, this is silly.” I concede. “It’s going to take longer navigating around the street than it takes for me to walk five blocks.”