As Noah walked he had to smile wryly as he remembered this portion of the meeting. At the time, he’d considered reminding Dr. Cantor that he had not been the super chief when the Bruce Vincent case had occurred. It had been Dr. Claire Thomas. Luckily, he hadn’t done it, as it might have pushed the already upset man over the top.
Suddenly, Noah stopped. He was close to a flight of stairs that led up to Beacon Street that ran along the north side of the park. He had just by chance glanced behind him to take one more quick look around the pleasant summer evening scene in the Common. What had caught his attention was a man in a dark suit and tie. There weren’t many men in suits at that time of the evening. In fact, as he glanced around again, he didn’t see another.
What had caught Noah’s attention was more than just the suit. It was that he had the impression he’d seen the same man earlier, with his impressively trim physique and short, light hair. Noah had noticed the man, who had been standing alone at the side of the circular drive at the hospital’s main entrance. It was the suit at that time of night that made the man stand out, but Noah quickly forgot the incident until by chance he had taken this one last glance around the Common. Was it the same man? Noah didn’t know. But if it were, was it just a coincidence, or could the man be following him?
“Good grief,” Noah said out loud, mocking himself. “Now you’re having paranoid delusions. What a pathetic lame-brain.” Without giving the man in the suit another thought, Noah went up the stairs, taking them in twos and threes. At the top, he had to stop for the traffic on busy Beacon Street, joining a group of people waiting for the light to change. Most were dog walkers with their pets.
When the walk sign came on, the group surged forward. As Noah allowed himself to be carried along, he managed a quick glance behind him down the flight of stairs. At the bottom, he caught a fleeting look at the man in the suit. He was bent over, seemingly tying a shoe.
Noah paused on the other side of Beacon Street where it met Joy Street. His normal route took him up Joy Street to Pinckney, where he took a left. But at this time of night, Pinckney Street was quiet, with few pedestrians. Noah decided to continue on Joy Street and make a left on Myrtle, which was busier, with multifamily buildings and a playground. If he was being followed, as crazy as that sounded, he preferred people around.
A moment later the man in the suit appeared across the street. He was now waiting for the walk signal just as Noah had done. Noah turned and ascended Joy Street at a rapid walk. Since there was plenty of pedestrian traffic, he felt reasonably relaxed. He still thought that he was being paranoid in thinking that this man, whoever he was, was following him. It all had to be a coincidence. Why would someone be following him, a surgical resident? It made no sense.
But then a few minutes later when Noah ventured a look behind him, the same man was there, walking in the same direction as Noah and seemingly at the same pace.
At Myrtle Street Noah turned left. As he had expected, there were lots of pedestrians. There were even a few families still in the playground using the swings. As Noah crested Beacon Hill and started down on the other side, he looked behind him. The man was still there. Could it be a coincidence? Noah didn’t know, but he felt the chances were getting progressively slimmer. Revere Street, his street, ran parallel with Myrtle one short block to the north. There were several streets Noah could have taken, but he waited until Anderson Street because there was a convenience store on the corner, meaning more people.
Once on Revere Street, Noah had only a short way to go. Remembering hearing stories in the past about people being mugged when they paused at their front doors, searching for their keys, Noah made sure he had his in his hand. As he turned to his front door, he looked back. The man was still there, coming toward him, walking quickly.
In a rapid fashion, Noah keyed his front door, pushed it open, entered, and slammed it closed. He heard the reassuring click of the lock and breathed a sigh of relief. He’d not been aware he had been holding his breath. Then, going up on his tiptoes, he was able to see out one of two small glass panes in the upper panels of the building’s front door. In a moment the man in the suit appeared, but as Noah watched, he didn’t pause or even look in Noah’s direction. Instead, he passed by in a flash, heading down Revere Street, which meant the whole episode had been a product of his emotionally overwrought state.
Noah laughed at himself. He felt like a fool as he climbed his utilitarian staircase, heading for his lonely apartment. At that moment, he really missed Leslie Brooks and wished he’d made more effort in their relationship. If he had, maybe she would still be here. He keyed his apartment door and pushed it open. Inside he turned on the harsh overhead light, which was a cheap fixture with two hundred-watt bulbs.
After taking off his white coat, hanging it up, and kicking off his shoes, he went into the small kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. There wasn’t much in there, and what was didn’t appeal to him. It was to be another night without dinner. Instead of eating, he sat down at the folding table, booted up the old HP laptop, and went on Facebook. Although he knew it probably wasn’t an emotionally healthy thing for him to do, he had in mind to look over the many photos of Gail Shafter, including a couple baby pictures. But what he found was more interesting. It was a brand-new selfie of Ava pouting at the camera with the caption: Relaxing after a hard day’s work. She was clad in a luxurious terry-cloth robe. There was a logo on the breast pocket, but Noah couldn’t make it out. Checking the background, he thought it looked like an upscale hotel room. He wished there were some indication where it was. As he looked at it, it seemed awfully cruel to him that she had taken the time and effort to post a photo on Facebook for her myriad Facebook friends but didn’t have the time or inclination to send him a single text.
Looking down at the likes and comments, he was surprised at the number of people who reacted to the post. Most of the comments were short, like “hot” or “aesthetically flawless” or just a thumbs-up emoji, as if they were from teenagers. Noah shook his head at the inanity of it all. Knowing what he knew of Ava’s intelligence, education, and training, he couldn’t explain her attraction to such a superficial activity. Why did she bother? Did she get enjoyment from the responses she got, in particular the three comments saying her photo was hot?