I knelt down beside her and extended the coat in her direction. “Here, it isn’t much, but it’s truly all I have on me. Please take this.”
Her eyes lit up in astonishment, and she gratefully took the jacket from my hands. “God bless you” was all she could manage through her tears.
“And you. Merry Christmas,” I said, pulling the hood of Adam’s Princeton sweatshirt up onto my head to cover my numb ears. I stood back up to search the street again for a subway entrance nearby. Coming up empty, I quickly made a U-turn and strode back in the direction of the jail.
Shivering myself now, the hoodie doing very little to shield me from the falling temperatures as the sun lowered between the skyscrapers of the city, I hurried back to the gate to see an older woman reading the newspaper inside the security booth. As I lifted my hand to knock on the window, she flipped to another page and muttered, “Boy oh boy, what has this world come to? So much for honoring Christmas in your heart.” With brittle fingers balled into a fist, I rapped on the glass, clearly interrupting her thought. She lifted her eyebrows in my direction, put down the paper, and shook her head.
“So sorry to bother you, but I was just released from here a few minutes ago, and my lawyer said she arranged a ride for me, but it doesn’t seem to be here, and I can’t manage to hail a cab. Even if I could, I don’t have money on me to pay for it. Would you be able to call one for me and explain the situation? I can get them the money as soon as I get home, I promise.” I wrapped my arms around myself as the wind picked up, the bitter cold cutting straight through me like an ice pick.
The woman’s expression remained as blank and cold as the gray expanse of the horizon, the thin line of her mouth tight as if she heard this same request a hundred times a day. “No, sorry, hon. Against the rules.”
“Against the rules? Against the rules?! Lady, do you know what kind of roller coaster I’ve been riding for the past twenty-four hours?”
She shrugged like she couldn’t care less, but I continued anyway. “Just yesterday, Sutton-freakin’-Foster proposed to me, well, she didn’t propose, she sang a song while my fiancé proposed, but still, she was there, the Sutton Foster. And there were confetti cannons and jazz hands, and my whole damn life right . . . right in front of me.” My voice constricted as I fought hard against the tears threatening in the base of my throat, knowing now it could all be one big lie.
Rightfully assuming this would not be a short rant, the guard abandoned her newspaper and feigned interest by absentmindedly nodding along with my story.
“Then, smack in the middle of Rockefeller Center in front of tourists and commuters and I don’t know . . . God himself . . . herself? Whatever, Adam got down on one knee and pulled out the big, iconic blue Tiffany box. You know the one, right?” I asked.
At the mention of “the box,” her eyes grew wide, and now fully invested in my story, she enthusiastically nodded as an invitation for me to go on.
“Exactly.” I continued, “And I’m sure you can guess what happened next?”
“He asked you to marry him?” she said, leaning closer in anticipation of my answer.
I echoed her words, only louder and with exuberant hand-waving, “He asked me to marry him as a full-scale Broadway chorus sang ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You.’”
“Damn, that’s beautiful,” the guard gushed, her fist rigid in front of her mouth like she was holding back a little whimper.
“Right? And I felt like the luckiest girl in the world, that is, until the FBI and Homeland Security practically kicked my door down this morning with an arrest warrant for an Adam McDaniels, which was pretty surprising considering the man I’ve been living with this whole time has been going by the name Adam Daulton!”
“Here, honey, you have a bat in the cave,” the guard said. She shoved a box of Kleenex toward me, allowing the thin paper to peep through the small window. I snagged a few tissues from the package, pulling one aside for the current bat situation and shoving the rest into my pocket either for finger warmth or a future runny nose. The guard retracted the box after I’d taken a handful, and noticing her shirt had ridden up as she maneuvered to give me the tissues, she quickly yanked down the bottom hem and proudly straightened out the shiny silver-bell broach pinned to her lapel.
“Oh, thank you,” I said, pausing for only a moment to blow my nose, barely missing a beat before continuing. “Then I got arrested for assaulting an officer when really all I did was wave a towel in his face.”
The guard pursed her lips at me disapprovingly and tsked, tsked like a disappointed parent chiding a toddler.
“I know, I know . . . not my finest hour. But then I was brought here and booked,” I said, holding up my ink-stained fingers.
“Phew, that’s some story,” she said, shaking her head in amazement.
“The thing that kills me is that I truly can’t make sense of any of it. I mean, this is Adam we’re talking about . . . my Adam. How in the span of only a few hours did my whole world completely and epically implode?”
My chest constricted as I struggled to hold my hurt and confusion at bay, worried that once I opened the emotional floodgates, I wouldn’t know how to close them up again.
The guard, with her chin resting firmly in her palm, sparkly ornament earrings dangling from her lobes, asked, “Honey, did you ever stop to think that when things seem to be falling apart, they may actually be falling into place?”
The guard’s fortune-cookie wisdom was doing little to assuage my desperation, and instead, my devastating thoughts continued to compete with one another for top billing. A flush of heat flooded up my neck until I nearly burst. “What . . . am I going . . . to do?” The sobs were now coming fast and furious.
“I can’t help you with any of”—she waved her finger around in the air—“that, but, here. I can give you this.” The woman shifted in her seat, the wheels squeaking under her weight, and she pulled an off-white business card from her shirt’s breast pocket and slid it under the tempered glass. “Walk up three and a half blocks toward the river, then turn right. There’s a phone booth on that corner. Right next to a bodega. Actually, they say it’s the very last phone booth in New York City. Lucky you.”
I patted my wet eyes with my sweatshirt sleeve and said, “Yeah, lucky me.”
The guard continued, “Call that number on the card. You won’t need any change. It’s toll-free.” She tapped the counter with her index finger to emphasize her point. “It’ll get you where you need to go.”