Ruin: Part Two (Ruin 2)

"Maybe he's at his apartment."

The fact that Ben told me he keeps an apartment in Boston completely slipped my mind. I'm certain that I can track him down there at some point today. "I should call him and tell him I'm here."

"I've got the address if you want it."

"Of course I want it."

***

I feel like I'm chasing a phantom around the streets of Boston. After listening to the desk clerk back at the hotel tell me that he couldn’t find any details about a medical conference in the city, I'd left with the address Noah gave me for Ben's place.

It was an upscale condo complex with a doorman who didn't know where to draw the line. The man was a flirt, and given his age, I'd guess that he had perfected the art of seduction during his very long tenure as the doorman of that building. It took more than forty-five minutes for me to get through a simple series of questions about whether Ben was actually in the building. The overly attentive doorman had spent more time asking me about my past boyfriends than he had telling me where Ben was. At the end of what felt like an awkward date in the lobby of the building, he confessed that Ben hadn't been to the apartment in weeks. He even showed me the stack of mail that he'd been collecting for him.

I'm beginning to question whether I heard him correctly when he said he was coming to Boston. I pull my smartphone out of my purse and call his number. I mutter a curse word under my breath when it goes straight to voicemail. At this point, the excitement of surprising Ben has been replaced with frustration. I leave a short, curt message telling him it's important.

I walk out onto the street, waving for a taxi. I debate sending Ben a text message. I'm not even sure what I'd say.

Instead I slide into the backseat of the first taxi that stops, give the driver the address of where I used to live and stare at my phone, willing Ben to call me back.

Chapter 20

"You owe me that money." I tap my hand against the doorjamb of what my old landlord calls his office. It's actually a small linen closet he has a wooden chair sitting in that faces an old television set.

"I'm not giving you back that money." His eyes don't leave the screen. From the sounds emanating from it, he's watching an old western.

I try to take a step closer to him but there's literally no room to move. "I moved out a long time ago. You actually owe me the full damage deposit plus interest."

He actually spits the tobacco he's been chewing onto the floor at my feet. "You still live there."

The man is living in a different universe than the rest of us. "I live in New York City. I told you I was moving there."

"Your husband still lives there then." Again, with the tobacco. This time he clears my left shoe by no more than a quarter of an inch.

"I don't have a husband." Christ. He must have rented the place to another couple and forgot.

He finally turns to look at me. A grin pulls over his mouth to reveal yellowed, chipped teeth. "Parker. His shit is still up there so move it out. If you do that, I'll give you your cash."

"Why didn't you move it out yourself?" I search aimlessly through my cluttered purse hoping I still have the keys to this apartment. I planned to mail them back after I raced out of Boston in a hurry. I had texted Parker the day I left to tell him to come back to get the few things he'd left behind.

"He's still renting the place." His attention is back on the television. "Your husband gave me checks for a year when you moved in. I cash one a month."

I feel a surge of pleasure knowing that Parker is still paying for the apartment even though he left right before I did. Our deal was simple. I paid the damage deposit, Parker paid the rent and I covered food and incidentals. It seems like I'm at least coming out on top over this.

"I'll be right back with his stuff." I wave the apartment keys in my hand. "Then you'll give me my money?"

"You bet, toots."

I turn on my heel and head straight for the elevator. Maybe this trip to Boston isn't a complete waste of my time.

***

I run my hands along the arm of the suit jacket he wore when he met me at the airport the day I came running back into his arms. He'd planned an entire celebratory day for me. He picked me up after my flight arrived wearing the one and only suit he owned. He drove me to a building we always talked about living in and as we rode up to the roof in the elevator, he'd leaned over and kissed me. All of the hope and promise that I wanted to see in my future was in Parker's kiss that day. I'd held tight to him as we stood on the roof, staring at the sun setting on the city we both loved. We'd made love in the small apartment he was renting and then the next day we found this place. It wasn't much bigger but it was our home. We moved in immediately, charted the course of our live together and then weeks later he stopped loving me.

I move away from the closet and look at the dresser. The apartment had come furnished and we each only had two drawers to store our things in. I open mine and they still sit empty and bare just as they were when I packed up my things and fled the city.

I open Parker's expecting to see the same, but there are black socks and several pairs of boxer briefs neatly folded in the corner. I close the drawer slowly grabbing the pull for the next and sliding it open. T-shirts are sitting there, all folded to the perfection, an outward sign of Parker's incessant need to be organized. I reach to touch one and my hand stops as it grazes over a lump beneath the fabric.

I know I should close it. It's obvious that the landlord was right and Parker is back living here. I'm intruding on his personal space. The right thing to do is to leave my key by the door and walk out before he walks in. I can't stop myself though as images of the life I could have had wash over me in a heated rush. I feel my