to go, and to lessen the chance that I might back out. It would be easy to do on account of the fact that I haven’t slept at all. I tossed and turned in the dark, listening for every noise, every bump in the night. Every car engine that turned onto our street, I felt deep in my bones. To make matters worse, the squirrels are back. Two years ago we found a nest in the attic and had exterminators out. It was not an easy process. The extraction and removal ended up costing us a small fortune. Not to mention the damage they caused. The company was supposed to have sealed everything up, but even in the daytime I often hear groups of them bounding across our roof. I write out a note and place it on the refrigerator, a reminder for Greg to call the exterminator on Monday.
I chug two cups of coffee and search for my jacket and keys. Greg is still using the spare set, and mine aren’t on the hook, which means he’s taken possession of those too. Eventually, right when I decided I’m destined to either be late or skip the whole thing altogether, I locate them in the downstairs bathroom.
Bummer. Today will be the first time I’ve seen Dana, or anyone from work, since the barbecue. I am antsy, and a little nervous. I’m not sure what to expect. They’re aware I heard what was said about me behind my back. It’s not going to be the same, no matter which way you swing it. But it’s not like I can avoid the situation forever. I still have to work with them.
We’re meeting to take part in the annual neighborhood Turkey Trot, same as we have every Thanksgiving morning for the past five years. That part was not the lie. I told Greg we were meeting up before the race for coffee and, for some, mimosas.
It’s what I did not tell him that is the problem. I am not meeting Dana and the other agents from the office. I am meeting a part of my past that probably should not be dragged into the future. It’s a mistake, I tell myself as I head out the door.
After I’ve set the alarm and double-checked twice that I’ve locked up behind me, I jog to the entrance of the race, where I realize two things. One, I am terribly out of shape, and two, I really should have stretched. A few hundred yards in, a cramp in my side doubles me over. By the time I’ve hobbled to the park, the sun is nearly up. Not that you’d know it. It’s overcast, with a record-breaking low. As I search the playground, it starts to drizzle. The park is teeming with people, which is both a comfort and a concern. If Mooney were following me, not only would it be difficult for him to get me alone, it would be impossible for him to try anything without dozens of witnesses.
I scan the crowd, searching faces, noting attire. He told me via text what to look for. He told me what he’d be wearing.
How will I know how to find you, I’d asked.
Look for the sad man in all black with the yellow ski cap, he texted back immediately. And then he added, You always know how to find me. With a heart emoji.
I knew then the gravity of what I was about to do. Toying with people is not my forte. As Greg says, just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should.
Finally, I spot him in the cap, wearing a smile and flashing a wave. By the swings, just as he’d promised.
“Amy Sellers.”
“It’s Amy Stone now,” I say, correcting him, knowing that he knows. Not only does he have my business card, he’s aware of Greg’s last name.
“Pity,” he replies. He gives me the once-over. “Sellers—could’ve really helped your real estate career.”
“Ha. Ha.”
“How is Greg, by the way?”
“Greg is really good.” I smile. “He’s—”
“I haven’t seen him around.” He cuts me off. “Not since college I don’t think. Though, I don’t suppose he’d care that much about seeing me anyhow.”
“Greg harbors no hard feelings. You know how he is—”
“I know, all right.” He grips the back of his neck and squeezes. “Speaking of—you must do really well.”
My head cocks to one side and then the other as I expect him to say more. He doesn’t elaborate. “What do you mean?”
“Seeing how long it’s taken