She glanced down at her watch. "Jack?"

It was only six-fifteen. He should be home in the next thirty minutes.

She set her purse down on the floor and looked around. The apartment was as elegantly impersonal as an expensive hotel room. A narrow hallway led past a tiny kitchen and into a moderate-size living room. There wasnt a personal touch anywhere. The floors were tiled in a creamy, brown-veined marble; the sofa was a sleek contemporary design, covered in taupe damask. Against either arm were glass end tables that held crystal column lamps. The coffee table was so cluttered with magazines and beer cans that she could barely see it. There were no pictures on the wall and no knickknacks on any surface.

In the corner by the window, a big black velour Barcalounger looked incredibly out of place. When she saw it, she remembered Jacks phone call last week: I got a great piece of furniture last week from Warren. Youll love it. Shed asked for a description and been told that it was a surprise. But Im sitting in it, hed added with a laugh.

"Nice choice, Jack," she muttered, walking toward the chair.

It had a drink-holder built into the puffy, quilted arm.

Built in.

She sat down in the chair. A footrest immediately jerked upward and tossed her into a fully reclined position. When she clutched the armrest for support, the upholstered side flipped open to reveal a built-in minifridge. A few beer cans lined the narrow shelves.

She crawled out of the recliner seat and continued her inspection of the apartment.

The small dining room held a nice glass and stone table with four taupe-upholstered chairs. A matching sideboard stood against one wall, unadorned.

There was only one bedroom, of course. This apartment was meant to be transitional; still, it meant there was nowhere for the girls to sleep. What a lovely message to give your children: Sorry, no room at the inn. She wondered if Jack had even considered that.

The bed was big and plain, with ash-gray and taupe bedding. No doubt Jack had added the Fox Sports purple mohair blanket. She was surprised he hadnt chosen pillowcases with tiny footballs on them.

She went to the kitchen (such as it was). A quick look in the fridge told her that Jack hadnt been cooking for himself. There were three six-packs of Corona beer, an industrial-size tub of mayonnaise, and a bottle of Gatorade. A half-eaten sandwich was disintegrating into a moldy pile. In the weeks hed been here, Jack obviously hadnt eaten home much.

In the corner of the kitchen, by a small window, stood a big cardboard box. The side of it read: memories. Elizabeth had written that herself. The things in that box were the mementos she couldnt live without.

He hadnt even bothered to unpack them.

As usual, the details of their life were hers. He got to throw the game-winning passes. She got to take tickets and clean the stadium.

She poured herself a glass of water and opened the cardboard box. The top layer, sheathed in Bubble Wrap, was a collection of beloved family photos. She unwrapped them one by one, and placed them on the windowsills and countertops. Anywhere she could find.

Shed hoped it would give the apartment a homey feel, but when she finished, she stepped back and surveyed the results.

It didnt help. The pictures only reminded Elizabeth of what a home should be.

The phone rang. She answered it. "Hello?"

"Birdie? Welcome to New York. Isnt the place great?"

"Oh, yeah. Great. "

"I cant wait to see you. " A pause crackled through the lines. "But Ive got a meeting in fifteen minutes. I should be home in an hour and a half. Not more than two hours. Youll be okay there, right?"

It took a conscious effort to simply say, "Of course. "

"Thats my girl. I love you, Birdie. "

"Do you?" She hadnt meant to ask it. The question just popped out.

"Of course. Gotta run. See you soon. "

"Okay. " She hung up. It was a moment before she realized that she hadnt said, "I love you," in return. That was a first. In the past, shed always been able to find the words, even when the emotion felt faraway. She wondered if he even noticed.

She walked over to the window. Outside, the world was a glittering combination of black sky and neon lights and streaking yellow cabs.

With a sigh, she went back to the cardboard box and unwrapped a photo album.

Tags: Kristin Hannah Fiction
Source: readsnovelonline.net