hand. At the head of the queue, Estelle’s Frank leaned against the desk, holding his bill close to his face, squinting at it. Through the glass doors leading to the street, Edward Everett spotted Julie at the curb, beside a taxi, waiting while a tall man in a lime green leisure suit counted bills into the cabdriver’s hand. Edward Everett limped toward the doors, wincing with every step. He knew what he was doing might set his recovery back by weeks, but he was determined to catch her before the cab pulled away. Just as he reached the doors, the cabdriver took Julie’s luggage from her and laid it into the trunk as she got into the backseat.
“Julie,” he called, pushing against the revolving door, struggling to find the strength to move it. She glanced back at him, pulled the cab door closed and settled into the seat. He hobbled outside. Walking was even more difficult now, as he was able to do little more than take a step with his left foot and then drag his right, weighted by the cast, after it. “Julie,” he said again. Getting into the driver’s seat, the cabdriver glanced back at him. He saw himself through the man’s eyes: he must seem mad, unshaven, in jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt, barefoot, his hair as wild as if he hadn’t combed it in weeks. “Wait a minute,” he said to the driver. The man looked uncertain and glanced at Julie; she didn’t move but he could hear her say, quietly, “Just go.” The driver gave Edward Everett a shrug and ducked his head, climbing into the car. Edward Everett had reached the cab by then. He bent, knocking on the window beside Julie. “Please,” he said to her.
The driver shifted the cab into gear and began to edge away from the curb, but Julie said, “Wait,” and he stopped. She rolled down her window.
“I’m—” he said, trying to figure out how to explain the crazy woman he had encountered, her sad, sad story and how he had felt sorry for her. It was nearly true—or was a kernel in a much more complicated truth. But she cut him off.
“I am going to say this and then I want you to never call me again.” She raised her hands, palms up as if she were pushing something away from herself. “I have been through hell ever since I found out. I wasn’t going to call. I wasn’t going to call. Then I called. And called. And you never called back. Not fucking once. I was just going to decide on my own. End it? Keep it?
“My dad. I will never forget telling him. Waiting in our living room for him to come home, knowing what I had to tell him. I was his little girl and I was going to disappoint him.” She paused. Edward Everett realized the cab’s meter was running. Through the open window, he could hear it ticking off the fare. He glanced at it. Eighty-five cents, ninety-five. “He said you had a right to know before I—” She shrugged. “I was going to send you a letter but I thought, I had no idea when you would get it. My dad gave me plane fare. He—” She shook her head, fighting tears. “ ‘It’s okay,’ you were going to say. All the way here, that’s what I heard you say. ‘It will be okay.’ ” She shook her head. “I’m going to leave now and I don’t want you to call me or try to see me.”
“What are you—”
“Going to do?”
He nodded.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Can’t you at least tell me when—”
“No,” she said. “You don’t get to know. Not anymore.” She tapped the headrest of the seat in front of her and made a gesture to the driver: Go on.
“Wait,” Edward Everett said, but there was an opening in the flow of traffic and the cab pulled away from the curb.
He became aware that people had been watching: the family of seven, the woman with the lion’s-head cane, the attendant at the valet parking podium. He hobbled back toward the hotel, where a bellhop held the door for him, giving him a curt nod.
Upstairs, the door to his room was locked and he realized that he had left the key on the dresser. He knocked. “Estelle?” he called, but there was no answer. “Estelle,” he said louder, but she still didn’t answer. He hobbled to the hall where the elevators were.