***
I can’t relive that day because I don’t remember it.
All I know is what Marti told me.
We all left the playground together. Bizzy had a ball she found at the park in her hands. I was still working on the lollipop my grandma had given me.
Marti stood at the corner talking to Bizzy’s brother, or maybe it was at him.
Whenever she tells me the story of that day, she says that he was quiet. In her eyes, he was embarrassed that he was taking care of someone he couldn’t talk to.
Bizzy was bouncing her ball, harder with each slap of it in the pavement on the sidewalk.
My grandma’s not sure of what happened next, but the ball flew into the street, and I took off after it to get it back for Bizzy.
“Isabella?”
I glance at Barrett before my eyes wander to a family that just arrived at the park. The parents are cradling large cups of coffee in their hands while their two little girls squeal in delight at the unoccupied play equipment.
“Will you come with me to my apartment so we can talk more?”
I study his face. “You have an apartment? Here in the city?”
I thought he was moving across the country. If he’s not, how did he rent a place in New York this quickly? He just moved out of the penthouse yesterday.
Holding a hand out, he nods. “I found the perfect place. I’d like to show you.”
I drop my hand in his, trusting that this is a journey I need to take with him.
Chapter 57
Barrett
A million questions are running through her head. I see it in her eyes.
We didn’t speak on the subway, and the words we’ve exchanged since have been mostly about the neighborhood that I’m now calling home.
Park Slope in Brooklyn.
I open the weathered white wooden door of my apartment with the key in my hand. Swinging it open, I motion for her to step inside.
She does so silently.
I stand behind her watching as she glances around the two-bedroom apartment. It’s slightly bigger than the place I had in Chicago.
The furniture is modest but functional.
A simple black leather sofa sits in the middle of the room. In front of it is a rectangular glass coffee table.
Near the window there’s a small circular table and two chairs.
The extra bedroom has a double bed and a dresser. In the master, there’s a queen-size bed and one nightstand.
I’ll donate all of it once my furniture from Chicago gets here.
“You live here?” she asks with a glance over her shoulder.
I nod in reply. “I moved in late last night.”