FiFty Fifty

Chapter Fifteen

EDDIE
Harry took Harper's arm as we stood on the sidewalk outside the hotel bar, waiting on a cab. Harry's place was just a few blocks away, but he wouldn't leave until he saw us both into a cab. Harper's place was on my way home.
I stepped onto the street, looking straight down 2nd Avenue. While Harry and Harper talked, a dog made its way towards them. A small, mixed-breed mutt with sandy fur darkened in patches by mud and the grime of Manhattan traffic. The dog sat at Harry's feet, facing the street. Harry glanced down, patted the dog and stroked its head.
There were no cabs in sight.
Five minutes later a yellow cab pulled up at the curb. By this time, Harry and the stray were firm friends. Harper kissed Harry goodnight, said her goodbyes to Harry's new canine friend, and got into the cab. I got in the back beside her and as we pulled away we both watched Harry set off for home, the little dog beside him.
'He loves strays,' said Harper, looking right at me.
I suppose she was right. I had been a stray, probably in worse shape than that dog, when Harry took me out for lunch and changed my life from conman to lawyer.
We rode the rest of the way in silence, sitting close to one another, our shoulders touching. When the cab pulled up at Harper's place I looked out the window at the house. Her parents had left her money in their will some years ago, and now that her business was flourishing she had made the jump from an apartment to a townhouse. It was small, by comparison to some brownstones, but it was neat and well kept.
She leaned over and I lost myself in her eyes. My senses were filled with her. 'I had a great night,' she said.
'I did too. We should ...' But I couldn't say anything more. I didn't trust what
would come out of my mouth.
We were friends. I cared for her more than I'd cared for any woman since
Christine. My marriage had failed both because of me and the job. My daughter was growing up in a house with her mom and another man. I was happy for Christine because I couldn't make her happy – but God, I missed my daughter.
 
Amy was growing up fast. A teenager with a part-time father.
The crux of the matter was fear. I was scared to get into a relationship with
Harper – I couldn't mess up someone else's life again and I loved our friendship. I didn't want to ruin that. It wasn't right. We were working together. If I made her uncomfortable or jeopardized our friendship in any way, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself. Her perfect, oval face was close to mine. She looked into my eyes. The tip of her tongue touched her upper lip. For a moment, I thought she was thinking the same thing as me. I didn't want this to go wrong. It meant too much. Harper had had half a dozen glasses of Scotch – she wasn't drunk but she wasn't sober, either. I couldn't make the first move. Not then. It just wasn't the right moment.
She kissed me on the cheek, said goodnight and got out of the cab. I shuffled over to her side so I could watch her make it to the front door. I wanted to make sure she got inside safely. She did, looking back and waving before closing the door behind her.
The cab didn't move. I looked at the driver and he was still gazing at the spot where Harper had last stood. He must've sensed me staring at him.
'Buddy, that lady has the hots for you. Poor bastard, you've got a lot to learn about women,' said the cab driver.
I couldn't argue with him.
A half-hour later, and after several pieces of advice on picking-up female signals, the cab driver dropped me at West 46th Street. I gave him a bigger tip than usual and thanked him for his advice. I walked the short distance to the steps leading up to my building when I stopped dead.
There was someone sitting on the steps. Dressed all in black.
Street lights weren't good, and it was around one a.m. I couldn't see who it was. It sure didn't look like a homeless person looking for a place to bed down for the night. The shape was darker, smaller.
As I reached the base of the steps I saw a face, framed beneath a black ballcap.
Sofia.
She was dressed in a black Lycra jogging suit, and a black hoodie.
'Hi, Mr. Flynn. I tried calling. I looked you up in the phonebook and this is
your only listed address. I didn't know it was your office. I thought it was your house. I was just sitting here trying to figure out how to reach you as I couldn't wait 'til tomorrow to speak to you.'
'What's wrong, did something happen?'
'It's just all getting too much for me,' she said, and pulled up the sleeve of her top. Below it I saw a dark slash on her forearm – she'd cut herself.