Aphelion
Cara glanced at the clock hanging above the elevators. Only three long minutes had passed since she last checked the time, but it felt more like three hours. She groaned and rubbed her hands over her face. The day was dragging. Maybe it was because it was a Wednesday, or maybe it was the fact that she knew what was waiting for her at the end of her shift. She pushed her chair away from the desk and walked from her cubicle to the window. Even though she was six stories up, she could just make out the tiny figure pacing back and forth by the entrance below. David was down there waiting for her. Again. It was the third day in a row he’d come by her office. He’d caught her by surprise in the elevator the first day. The ride down was painful enough, his long-winded speech asking her to forgive him had made it worse. Yesterday, he was waiting in the lobby with a bouquet of flowers that he shoved in her face before asking her to dinner. Today, she was expecting him and her plan was to avoid him altogether. “That him again?” Denise peered out the window. David stopped by the huge topiaries to check his phone, anxiously awaiting a response to the last text he sent her. He sat on a bench by the revolving doors, then stood a second later and resumed pacing. “Yup.” She was tired of his games. David put his phone in his pocket and looked up. Even though she knew there was no way he could see her at this distance, Cara stepped back from the window. Denise tisked and shook her head, her black curls bouncing. “Shame. That boy needs to seek professional help.” “He means well. I just—” “No.” Denise waved her finger in Cara’s face. “Don’t you do that. Don’t make excuses for his behavior. This isn’t on you. This is all on him, you hear me?” Cara’s lips twitched, unable to stop a small smile from curling up the corners. “I hear you.” Ever since she had started working as an administrative assistant, Denise had become more like a friend than a mentor. Denise had hired her on the spot, not caring about her mysterious disappearance or lack of a degree. “I know potential when I see it,” she’d said to Cara. Even though she was only the office manager and not technically in charge of hiring, Denise told Cara not to worry about the details with Human Resources, she would handle all of that. Denise turned back to the window and looked down again. Her nose crinkled and lips pursed in disdain. “Your shift ends in fifteen minutes. Why don’t you leave now? Take the stairs and go out the rear service entrance. If you follow the alley down two blocks, you can cut across Washington to get to your bus stop and you won’t have to run into lover boy down there.” “Thanks, Denise.” “No need to thank me at all. It’s not a problem. Now, you best get going before he decides to come up here and find you.” Cara grabbed her purse and walked to the stairwell. It was cool and blissfully empty. Her footsteps echoed off the concrete. She enjoyed the alone time. Ever since police officers found her crawling out of an alleyway near Times Square, she’d had very little alone time. Her mother had stayed with her for nearly a month, helping her get settled back into a routine and fending off reporters that swarmed like vultures wanting the inside scoop. Inside her purse, her phone vibrated. She already knew who it was, but she dug it out anyway and looked at the screen. Olivia would have to wait until later. Cara shoved the phone into a side pocket. She’d been dodging her best friend’s calls all week. When her mother had finally gone home, Olivia immediately stepped in as surrogate parent. It felt more like having a babysitter. Olivia came over every day to cook and clean under the thinly veiled guise of wanting to hang out and catch up. She even did all the grocery shopping until Cara put her foot down and told her she had to stop. She hated sounding unappreciative, but she was sick and tired of everyone in her life treating her as if she was an invalid, incapable of taking care of herself. All she wanted was for things to be normal, and her friends and family were doing exactly the opposite. Not that Cara wasn’t grateful for their help and care, she was, but there was a fine line between helping her and treating her like she was incompetent. She didn’t blame them for questioning her mental capacity. She still didn’t remember anything from her time missing, even after all these months. It was a big blank space, an empty void in her memory. It was as frustrating to her as it was to her friends and family. She had as many questions about what happened as they did. Eventually, she made peace with the fact that those questions would likely never be answered. Cara pushed out the door to the back alley behind the building. A few people from the offices next door were loitering out there chatting and laughing, puffing on cigarettes. She hurried through the clouds of smoke, holding her breath as she tried not to cough. She came to the end of the alley and paused before stepping into the thick crowds on the sidewalk. She didn’t like crowds much anymore. Olivia said she didn’t like much of anything anymore. Maybe that was true. She found herself holed up in her room reading until she fell asleep more nights than she cared to admit. The well-worn copy of ‘Romeo and Juliet’ on her nightstand could attest to that. She was heading into dangerous territory, the slippery slope into hermitage. She used to be an adventurer. A dreamer. She used to lie awake at night and think about all the far-flung places she was going to visit. Now, she was desperate to get home to the safety of her room every day. What had happened to her while she was gone? Her short stint in therapy hadn’t helped her uncover any repressed memory despite the psychologist insisting she was dealing with some form of trauma. She’d bit back a sarcastic response. No shit, she was dealing with trauma. She’d vanished into thin air for months and no one had a clue as to where she was or what happened to her. Every time she thought about it her mind went to dark places, kidnapping, assault. It was just better if she tried to pretend it never happened. Some things were best left forgotten. Cara stepped into the crowd and the sea of people swept her along. It was a short wait at the bus stop until it pulled up, screeching to a halt. Clouds of exhaust wafted forward, enveloping the cluster of people waiting. Cara quickly climbed on board and swiped her pass. The machine beeped and she slid into a seat near the front. She rested her forehead against the cool glass and stared out the window at Central Park. One of its large, gated entrances slipped by in a blur. She couldn’t bring herself to take the subway anymore. Taking a taxi every day was too expensive, so the only option left was riding the public bus. It took much longer to get to work, but she could not force herself to go down those steps. Every time she walked by a subway entrance, her pace quickened, as if she was subconsciously afraid that she would get sucked down into the dark depths that loomed below the streets. She barely remembered the crash, but she had endured massive injuries from it. Some, though, were still unexplainable. Her hand unconsciously reached up and rubbed the swirling scar on her chest as if it still ached, even though it hadn’t hurt in months. She was self-conscious of it. She only wore shirts that covered it up, to avoid the curious stares and questions. She was sick of answering the same questions over and over. No, it wasn’t a tattoo. No, she didn’t get it done on purpose. No, she didn’t know where it came from or what it meant. Not thinking, she had worn a low-cut dress to meet Olivia at a bar one night after work just before New Year’s and a drunk girl had poked at it. Cara wanted to vomit. She was being treated like she was a sideshow freak. She was sick of it being a spectacle for people to gawk at. After that night, she started hiding it. After that night, she’d stopped going out altogether. It was an unusually cool afternoon for the end of June. She had been home for over six months, and she was finally feeling normal again, or at least as normal as one could after vanishing without a trace for three months. She tried not to think about it but would sometimes find herself caught up in her own thoughts, wracking her brain to see if she could uncover any shred of evidence to explain what had happened to her. It was a process that would only end in frustration, so she worked hard to live her life as if it never happened. She tried to convince herself she was better off not knowing because if she did find out what had happened to her, she might not like what she discovered. Maybe some memories were best left buried. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She didn’t bother to look at who it was. David had figured out she’d given him the slip back at the office. After she broke up with him, he begged her for a second chance. She’d told him she needed space. He had made himself scarce until two weeks ago. He thought six months was enough time for her to get her life in order and reconsider their relationship. Instead of telling him no at the get go, she’d been avoiding him. She had forgiven him for lying to her a long time ago, but that didn’t mean she had to take him back. Her feelings for him had never been strong to begin with, which was the biggest sign she needed to remind her she’d made the right choice. The fact that he’d lied to her face for months about their engagement being a complete farce was beside the point. Love was supposed to be overwhelming, like an all consuming fire in your blood, yet he never sparked that flame inside her. Denise had told her time and time again that she needed to make a clean break. Denise was a no-nonsense kind of woman. A single mother of three daughters, she wasn’t the kind of woman to take crap from anyone and she didn’t believe Cara should either. David must have been warned by Olivia or Greg about her because he never tried to come up into the office. If he tried, Denise would probably take him by his ear and drag him right back down and throw him out onto the street all while chewing his ass out just like any good city momma would. Denise had a point. Cara shouldn’t put up with it, but even Olivia was pushing her to get back together with David. She couldn’t. She understood why he had lied to her, but it wasn’t really the lying that was the problem. The truth of the matter was that her feelings for him were gone, if there had really even been any there to begin with. The buzzing stopped and Cara realized her fists were clenched. She flexed her fingers. Her nails had dug into her palms, leaving tiny crescent moons pressed into her skin. She had to stop letting this bother her so much. It was causing her anxiety to flare and making her tense. She already had enough on her plate to deal with. Being nice was getting her nowhere. She needed to take a firmer stance. She understood his heartbreak and she hated that she was the cause of it, but it didn’t change how she felt. The bus eventually stopped at the end of her street, and she got off. She leisurely walked down the sidewalk gazing at the flower boxes overflowing with colorful blooms in the huge brownstone windows. People were outside enjoying the beautiful evening. Kids drew with chalk on the sidewalks while parents sipped beer on the front steps. A few people waved to her as she passed, and she waved politely in return. She walked up to the old brownstone that was her new home. When she had been released from the hospital she had gone back to her apartment. David had paid her rent for her while she was missing. She tried staying there, but it didn’t feel like home. She couldn’t pinpoint why but it just felt wrong. She had trouble sleeping and upset her mother more than once by rearranging everything at three a.m. hoping to make it feel right. Eventually, she was forced to admit it had nothing to do with the furniture. She didn’t belong there anymore. As soon as her lease was up, she moved into a room in a beautiful brownstone home owned by Miriam Levy and her wife Gloria Sanchez. They were wonderful landlords and even nicer people. The house had been in Miriam’s family for generations. Miriam was a sixty-year-old, divorced, mother of one. She had married young. Her daughter, Ruth, was about Cara’s age and lived in California with her fiancé. When Ruth left for college, Miriam decided it was time to end her marriage and live the life she truly wanted. She met Gloria at an art class, and they fell madly in love. Both were free spirits. Olivia adored them both and spent more time with them than Cara did. Miriam cooked huge feasts every Sunday, to which Olivia and Greg were always invited, along with half the neighborhood. Barefoot, with her brown curls tied up in a colorful head scarf, she would sway in front of the stove to Gladys Knight’s soulful croon, her kaftan and palazzo pants swishing back and forth while she rolled up rugelach. A whole bottle of red wine went into the brisket, and she kept another one open on the counter just for her. Stacks of gold bangles around her wrist jingled when she poured herself another glass. She never made Cara feel like she was obligated to come. If Cara didn’t make it, Miriam always wrapped up enough for two people and left it for her to eat later. Cara’s small room was on the first floor in the front. Situated so close to the entrance, Cara could come and go as she pleased without disturbing anyone. Her tiny bathroom was a converted closet, causing a distinct lack of storage, but Cara didn’t mind since she had her privacy. The shower was a narrow, tube-like cylinder, barely big enough for her to put both elbows out to the side, but it was her own and that was enough. Cara walked inside and kicked off her shoes as Gloria was coming in from the backyard. She held a beautiful, crimson amaryllis in a terracotta pot, her hands covered in dirt. Where Miriam had the kitchen skills, Gloria had the green thumb and had transformed the small backyard into a lush garden. “You’re home early.” Gloria placed the pot on the kitchen island and scrubbed her hands clean before moving the flower to the center of the large dining table. “My boss said I could go.” She hung up her keys and purse in the large white hall tree. “Had to avoid a little problem.” “A little problem or a David-sized problem?” She glanced up at Cara, pushing gray-streaked black hair off her face with the back of her hand. “The latter.” “That boy needs to learn to listen when someone tells him no.” “Could you come to my office tomorrow at the end of my shift and tell him for me? He’ll probably be there. Again.” Gloria tutted and shook her head. “You aren’t doing yourself any favors by avoiding the inevitable.” She fiddled with the pot on the table, getting it perfectly in the center. “Did you know that a red amaryllis means love and passion?” “No, I didn’t.” “Neither does Miriam.” Gloria hooted with laughter. Cara could help but smile at Gloria’s quirky sense of humor. “Cara, you do what you feel is right in your heart. Listen to it. It won’t steer you wrong. As long as you do that, you can’t make the wrong choice.” Gloria reached out and gave her shoulder a squeeze and walked back toward the garden. Cara went to her room, Gloria’s words filling her with a sense of renewed confidence. She flopped onto her bed and grabbed her book off the nightstand. She had put it down last night right at one of her favorite parts. ‘Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-browed night. Give me my Romeo. And when I shall die. Take him and cut him out in little stars. And he will make the face of heaven so fine. That all the world will be in love with night. And pay no worship to the garish sun.’ There was a soft rapping on the door. Cara put the book down. “Come in.” Gloria poked her head in. “I know you’re probably tired, but Miriam is making lamb kebabs for dinner and,” she grinned conspiratorially, “she told me to tell you that there is babka for dessert.” “I’ll be there.” Cara laughed. Miriam knew Cara couldn’t resist her babka. “And you tell her that’s cheating!” she called to Gloria as the door closed behind her. Cara couldn’t deny it was nice having a place where there was no fuss and no drama. The winter holidays had been particularly difficult for her. At Christmas, she had been grilled by her family about her disappearance to the point where she got up and left halfway through dinner. She also spent New Year’s alone while Olivia, Greg, and David went out. She had recently started taking weekend overtime at work, saving up money to move. It was time she left New York. With a push from Denise, she’d begun scouting apartments in Denver and even sent in a few applications for receptionist jobs out there. Ever since she had come home, she had felt like she needed to leave – more like escape. She hadn’t told Olivia about her plans to move away. She knew Olivia would take it hard and she didn’t want to upset her until she knew the plans were finalized. Olivia would just try to convince her to stay. Cara knew that there was a chance she’d cave to Olivia’s persuasive ways. She just didn’t know how to tell her how she felt. She didn’t have the words to explain that she wasn’t the same person she used to be. Sometimes she would wake up in the middle of the night crying. Faceless people called her name as they floated through the stars. Cara wasn’t sure what it meant. Maybe she was losing her mind. She considered calling a psychologist and had even written down the number to one but had talked herself out of it and crumpled up the sticky note and thrown it in the trash at work. She’d talked to dozens of doctors and therapists and psychiatrists during her stay at the hospital. They had poked and prodded and hooked her up to machines. They did brain scans and blood tests and questioned her for countless hours. The general consensus was that she was completely fine. There were no signs of brain damage, and her amnesia was likely due to the emotional trauma of the subway crash. Her missing person case was quickly closed since she was found unharmed; due to her lack of memory there were no charges to be filed against anyone, so the police wrapped everything up within weeks of her being found safe. However, a very persistent Detective Pierce was adamant that there was more to her story than she was letting on. Long after her case was considered closed, he was following up on what he believed to be leads. Although, a few of them didn’t make much sense. Like the one about her being held captive by a Colombia professor at the Goddard Institute for Space Studies because of some strange space dust that was found on her clothes. The police chief told him to stop harassing her or risk suspension and she hadn’t seen Pierce since but, she didn’t believe for one second that it meant he had forgotten about her and moved on. Pierce didn’t seem like the kind of man who just walked away from an unsolved mystery. “Dinner!” Miriam called from the kitchen. Cara looked over at her clock. How long had she been laying there thinking? She changed into jeans and pulled on a sweatshirt despite it being a summer evening. Miriam liked to keep the house cold. She padded barefoot into the kitchen. “It smells delicious.” “And you have an empty hand.” Miriam handed her a glass of red wine. Cara took a sip. Not her favorite, she preferred a sweet white, but you didn’t turn down a drink or food from Miriam. “Grab a plate and go sit.” She shooed her away to the table as she opened the oven door. “Bravo!” Gloria clapped when Miriam placed the roasting pan in the center of the table. “Que bien.” “Lamb kebabs à la Miriam.” Miriam tossed the oven mitts onto the island and used a pair of tongs to serve everyone. “Bon appetite.” Miriam raised her glass. “Enjoy the—” “You’re not French.” Gloria frowned, not raising her glass. “So? Just clink the glass. The food’s getting cold.” “You’re Jewish.” Gloria held her glass still. “Do it right.” “You’re joking right? You’re not joking. Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Miriam raised her glass again. “L’chaim,” she said, her tone flat and dry. “L’chaim!” Gloria shouted enthusiastically. She raised a fist in the air and clinked her glass against Cara and Miriam’s. “You’d think that after nearly twelve years of marriage that bit would get old.” Gloria winked at Cara. “It never gets old.” Cara grinned. This was what she needed, what she craved. They respected her space and her privacy, giving her the right to choose and refuse when to join them. They weren’t hovering over her like she was going to have a mental breakdown at any moment. Keeping track of her every move and forcing themselves to be a part of her life or her to be part of theirs. If she got up and took her plate to her room right now, they wouldn’t question her and they wouldn’t be upset in the least. Not that she would want to leave them. There was such joy and warmth here. Or maybe it was just the wine. Miriam’s lips twisted and she couldn’t hold back her smile. “You’re a crazy old lady, you know that?” Miriam lightly smacked Gloria’s arm with her napkin. “I do. And you’re a crazy old lady with me!” Gloria laughed and so did Cara and Miriam until their sides hurt. By the time they got around to eating the food wasn’t hot anymore, but it didn’t matter. It was delicious and it tasted even better eating it with friends.
