Devon looks at me with a crooked smile. “How did you not know he founded the school?”
My mouth falls open. Is he accusing me of knowing Asher was here? Does he think I’m a gold-digging whore like Asher does? Is he insinuating—
“What I mean is, it’s not a coincidence neither of you knew each other was here.”
I sit back and take in his words. It is at this moment I am realizing that while I thought I had control over my life these last few months I was actually being played like a pawn in a game of chess. Lord knows who Devon thinks he’s playing this game against. “I don’t understand. And, why are you telling me this, anyway?”
“What do you mean? I didn’t tell you anything,” Devon says, pushing the unlock button on the car, letting me know my time is up. He reaches into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out an envelope. It’s the familiar rectangular white envelope you get at the bank. This one has a Chase symbol on it. “I’ve been instructed to give this to you.”
I bang my head one more time against the headrest and unbuckle my seat belt, turning my back on Devon and the obnoxious white envelope. As I’m getting out of the car I hear his voice in the background.
“Didn’t think so.”
I slam the car door and watch the SUV drive away. This time, it’s my turn to buzz Mattie for entrance into our building.
When you’re trying to pick up the pieces of your broken life, it’s hard to sweep up the mess when someone keeps throwing shards of glass at your feet. That’s how I feel knowing Asher is back in my life.
A year ago, I would have locked myself in my room and poured my feelings into my music. Now I have to find a new healthy outlet for my feelings. In my new Manhattan life that includes walking to Washington Square Park.
Every Sunday since I moved here, it has become my haven. As I walk into the park, I brush my hand along the marble of the Washington Arch, a thirty-foot–tall monument in honor of our first president. It is one of the most recognized landmarks in the city, as it resembles the Arc de Triomphe in Paris. If I were to pick a song for this place it would be “La Vie en Rose.”
While the park has lush grass areas, I prefer to sit with my iPod on a bench in the grand stone circle at the foot of the park and watch the spray shoot out from the large fountain in the center.
From the men who play chess on the stone table, or a gentleman who does charcoal sketches from his spot under a shaded tree, the park is always filled. Parents come with their children to play in the playground or dip their feet in the fountain in the warmer months. Today, it is chilly but not freezing. I lean back and let the autumn sun warm me. I scroll through my music and select Edith Piaf.
When I lived in Pittsburgh, I had a favorite park I loved to visit. Same in Cedar Ridge. Growing up, Luke used to be my weekend park buddy. He’d play on the jungle gym while I listened to my music and wrote in my journal. As he got older, he started bringing his bike and then his skateboard. He was my tagalong, and I loved it. I wasn’t the type of older sister who complained about her little brother following her around. Leah did enough of that for the both of us.
By the time I was fourteen, I was responsible enough that my parents would let me take my violin to the park to practice. I’m pretty sure it was more because they couldn’t stand the sound of it being played loudly in the confines of our small house. Luke would skate around while I worked on my bowing technique. A couple times I caught Luke putting a hat at my feet as if asking for tips for my playing. I’d just kick the hat out of the way and laugh.
It is a memory I am reminded of every weekend when I sit on this bench. Around now, a young girl, about early twenties will show up with her violin, stand by the fountain and play her instrument in exchange for tips.
On cue, she arrives.