One You Can’t Forget

“Why,” she said, shaking, “hasn't this thing gone away?”

They were walking toward the parking lot on a cold, gray April day.

“The speeding and reckless endangerment charges didn’t help, and your boyfriend refuses to drop the charges.” Justin checked his phone and glanced at Emily, giving her a sympathetic smile.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

They reached Justin’s car, and he unlocked it with the key fob. As they got in he shook his head. “Yeah, he’s a real piece of work.” Justin started the engine. “He left a message with my office this morning saying that if you didn’t pay this month’s car payment, he’s going to sue you.”

“But he has the car!”

“I know. That’s why he’s not getting a single penny from you. He wanted the car, he has it. He can pay for it now.”

Justin paid for parking at the gate, then swung onto Court Street and then onto Main.

Emily rubbed her forehead. This was the worst nightmare ever. “Well, I need to do something for transportation. I can’t keep using Angela’s car. Between paying Angela back for the bond she put up and you for your retainer, my savings are shot. I’m so screwed.” She sighed.

“You should talk to your father.”

“No! The last thing I want is for my father to know about this mess. Thank goodness he and Mom are still in Florida.”

“That isn’t going to last, Emily,” Justin said. “You know they’re going to be home this weekend.”

“I know, I know,” muttered Emily. Between worrying about the charges, and dodging the questions at work about her absences, she was a nervous wreck. Plus, though Evan hadn’t made an appearance since the police ran him off the night after she was arrested, she worried what he would do next.

As if he was reading her mind, Justin said, “I still think you should reconsider moving back to your parents’ house, at least for a little while.”

“No, damn it, Justin! Evan’s screwed up my life enough! I’m not going to run.”

“Okay, okay.” He held up his hands. “Just giving you advice like a good attorney should.”

Now she felt bad for being a jerk to him. “You’ve been great, you really have. I was just hoping all of this would have gone away by now.”

He shrugged. “The wheels of justice turn slowly. Don’t worry. The partner I work with at the law firm is reviewing your case, and he knows the prosecutors here. He’ll get things sorted out for you.”

Emily sighed. They travelled past the nineteenth century buildings owned by Wesleyan University and made their way towards Westfield. She couldn’t help but feel as old as those two hundred-year-old mansions.

Justin dropped her off at her apartment. Emily collected the mail from her and Mrs. Diggerty’s boxes before going inside. The poor lady had been having difficulty getting up and down the stairs, and Emily worried about her. She wondered if maybe Mrs. Diggerty should be living with family somewhere else, but when Emily brought it up, Mrs. Diggerty was adamant.

“This is where I raised my family.” The stubborn woman refused to budge. “My poor husband’s fingerprints are on every inch of this house. I can’t leave it, not while I’m living.”

“But the second floor is getting tough for you.”

“I know, but I need the rent from the first floor to make expenses. I don’t need all that space anymore. I’ll be fine, Emily. With you helping me with the little things, I’m getting on well enough.”

Emily hadn’t tried to convince her to move anymore after that.

She jogged up the stairs and knocked on Mrs. Diggerty’s door.

“Mail,” Emily called through the door.

“Just slip it under,” Mrs. Diggerty said from inside her room. “I’m resting with my feet up.”

“Sure.” Emily shuffled through the mail once more, almost putting a postcard in with Mrs. Diggerty’s batch, when she stopped and looked at it again. “Central Valley Bike Repairs” was the name on the window of the building. That was odd. She turned it over to see it was addressed to her. The message stopped her short.

I still think about you.

She gasped. It couldn’t be.

No.

Hastily she stuffed Mrs. Diggerty’s mail under her door and unlocked the door to her own apartment. She stared at the card, unsure of what to do. Was it from Luke? Or was this Evan playing a sick joke on her? Who else could it be? Quickly she pulled out her laptop and fidgeted nervously as the machine booted up. She googled Central Valley Bike Repair and got an address, and a phone number, but little else.

Her hands shaking, she called the phone number the Internet gave her.

“Central Valley Bike Repair,” a voice said. “Gibs here.”

Emily didn’t know what to do. Should she ask for Luke and see if he was there? What if this Gibs guy was one of Evan’s friends?

She hung up.

Staring at the address again, she tried to picture it. It was in Walkerville, the next town over. Should she drive over? If she was, it should be today, because tomorrow she had to be back in work. Emily decided she had to know. With a quick cuddle to Reger, she set off down the stairs to find the source of the mystery postcard.