All Grown Up(55)

I didn’t bother to walk him out. He’d helped himself in. He could figure out the way back all on his own. Once I heard his car start and pull out of the driveway, I breathed a bit easier. Though only one problem was solved.

I still hadn’t heard from Ford. I’d sent a text earlier, which showed as read, but he’d never responded. I checked my phone for the tenth time, even though it hadn’t vibrated. The last text was the one I’d sent him.

Valentina: I had a great time last night, and I’m sorry about what happened this morning. Let me know what train I should pick you up on later.

I sighed. He had gone into the city for a meeting, so that could be the reason he hadn’t responded yet. Though, deep down, I knew that wasn’t it.

Hours later, it became harder to make up an excuse and tell myself everything was fine. So I decided to send another text.

Valentina: Hey. Just checking in. Do you know what train you’ll be on yet?

A few minutes later my phone buzzed.

Ford: Change of plans. Not coming back tonight.

Valentina: Oh. Okay. Everything go okay with your meeting?

Ford: Fine.

Valentina: See you Sunday, then?

Ford: Sure.

I knew we needed to talk in person, but I had to at least attempt to apologize again.

Valentina: I’m really sorry about this morning. Ryan showing up threw me for a loop.

Ford: No problem. No reason to tell your ex about your casual fucks.

He was hurt and lashing out. Taking the bait and arguing over text would only make things worse. So I tried not to.

Valentina: Dinner tomorrow night? I’ll cook something for us.

Ford: Don’t go to any trouble. Dinner isn’t necessary. Maybe you could pencil me in to come over about eight to fuck you?

I deserve that.

Valentina: Eight sounds good. See you Sunday. I can’t wait.

Not surprisingly, my sentiment wasn’t returned.





Chapter 20




* * *





Ford



“Remember that dream I had about all the purple flowers at a funeral last week?”

Mrs. Peabody didn’t even say hello. She just started talking when I answered the phone.

“Hey, Mrs. P.” I tossed my pen on my desk and leaned back into my chair. “Yeah, of course I remember. You had a strong premonition during the day that someone was going to die, and then you dreamed of a funeral with tons of purple flowers.”

“I threw up twice that day. But that might’ve been because of the tuna casserole this hellhole serves for lunch on Tuesdays. I despise Tuesdays. Who the heck thought it was a good idea to put mayonnaise in the oven anyway?”

I laughed for the first time today. “So what about the funeral? Did someone actually die?”

“Yep. The woman in the room next to me. Didn’t wake up on Sunday. They drop like flies around here in the summer. They say more people die in the two weeks following Christmas than any other time, but not at this place. It’s summer, for sure.”

“Were there purple flowers at her funeral?”

“Nope. Didn’t have a funeral. Just went straight to the crematory. Kids didn’t want to waste any of their inheritance, I’m sure. I prepaid for mine so I wouldn’t get cheated. Anyway, just wanted to tell you I was right again.”

“Not for nothing, Mrs. P, but you live in an assisted living facility with senior citizens who have health problems. I’m not sure you can call this one a premonition.” I reached for the coffee on my desk.

“That may be true. I suppose someone probably dies every week in this place. But the woman who kicked the bucket? Her name was Violet.”

I was mid coffee swallow and coughed it down the wrong pipe. “The woman’s name was Violet?”

“Mmmm-hmmm. So quit your doubting me, boy.”

We talked for fifteen minutes. Mrs. P told me her daughter had called and was planning to come visit, though I’d heard that a few times, and she still hadn’t shown up in all the years I’d been talking to her. She also complained about the physical therapist and the dentist—both of whom she swore were bilking her insurance because there was nothing really wrong with her.

“So how are things with the future Mrs. Donovan?” she finally asked.

I frowned. “Not sure you got that one right. Things aren’t going like I thought they would.”

“Welp. I call ’em like I see ’em. I can’t control if you go and screw things up. You met the woman destined to be your wife. Lord knows it wouldn’t be the first time a man threw a wrench into his own future.”

“What makes you so sure it’s me who’s screwing things up?”

“Because you just said things aren’t going like I thought they would.”

“So?”

“You don’t sit around expecting things to happen the way you’d like. You make them happen, dumbass.”

***

My afternoon meeting had been uptown.

I could’ve hopped in a cab afterward or even jumped on the subway located right in front of the building. But instead I decided to walk the thirty-something blocks back to my apartment. It was a nice summer evening. Going a few blocks out of my way to walk along the park wasn’t that unusual.