later. He asked about her heritage, talked about his own Irish roots, and mentioned that his grandparents’ best friends in Ireland were the Donovans. Abby’s own family had been in America for several generations, but she laughed and played along. He seemed nice.
Once at the station, Officer Reilly and his partner, Officer Trask, asked Abby to review what happened, which she did: the train mishap, the gang on the platform, finding Reggie’s, the woman, the drugs, the men, the mugging, the chase, and Ali’s kindness.
“So, you know Mr. Rashid?”
“Well, yes, he gave me a ride home and I just met with him yesterday, too.”
The officers looked at each other.
She knew what they were thinking. “He told me some officers came into the store and asked if he recognized my picture. I guess that was you?”
Reilly replied, “Yeah.”
Abby continued. “He was just nervous. He was afraid I had done something wrong and he would be in trouble for giving me a ride. But actually, we just met because I left my glasses in his car.” Abby thought it best not to mention the legal assistance.
The officers nodded and seemed to accept her story.
She looked through three binders of mug shots, but it was fruitless. The only man she really remembered was the big one with the scar on his face who chased her into Ali’s store. And other than the scar, she didn’t think she could describe him well. It had been so dark and he wore black. She didn’t know anything about the drugs or the woman.
There were no inconsistencies with her written statement and after about forty-five minutes, the officers thanked her for her help and Officer Reilly drove her back to work. Abby wished him luck on the case.
THE alarm went off at eight o’clock on Saturday. Abby smacked the snooze button. It happened again. She snoozed again. Three more times. Finally, she turned it off and pushed off the covers. But she couldn’t get out of bed. She stared at the ceiling for what seemed like an hour, replaying her week, thinking about that night, which already seemed like a bad dream, thinking about Ali, and the real problems he now faced, thinking about David marrying that woman. It seemed impossible to think about work. Fuck it. She grabbed the covers and rolled over.
At ten, Abby finally got up. She read every page of the paper but saw nothing about that dead woman at Reggie’s. She’d never seen anything in the paper about it all week. Too many crimes to report, she figured. Just another senseless death in that neighborhood. No one cared.
She spent the day in her pajamas, listening to music and cleaning out closets. She found some of David’s T-shirts, books, and CDs, and stared at the phone, wondering if she’d ever get the courage to call. She put his things in a bag and left them in the spare bedroom.
WHEN the alarm went off at eight again on Sunday, she only hit snooze twice. She really needed to get to the office. There was so much to do. The Amro deposition was Wednesday. She was so behind. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall, unable to get up. Where was her drive? That will and determination that had served her career so well? That dedication that had alienated David? She fell back onto the mattress as if she weighed too much to stand. She wasn’t sure if it was her near-death experience, her new friend, Ali, or David’s engagement, but that singular focus was failing her. She finally got up and showered, but when she went into the bedroom to get some clothes, she reached for her sweatpants.
ON Monday morning, inquisitive associates, the ones who were always at the office on weekends, popped in her doorway at what seemed like regular intervals, wondering what event had finally kept her away. They knew it had to be something big—a death or a wedding—and they each hoped for a good story, a distraction, a delay from their own start to the new week. Abby brushed them off and enjoyed the surprised reactions as she told
Once at the station, Officer Reilly and his partner, Officer Trask, asked Abby to review what happened, which she did: the train mishap, the gang on the platform, finding Reggie’s, the woman, the drugs, the men, the mugging, the chase, and Ali’s kindness.
“So, you know Mr. Rashid?”
“Well, yes, he gave me a ride home and I just met with him yesterday, too.”
The officers looked at each other.
She knew what they were thinking. “He told me some officers came into the store and asked if he recognized my picture. I guess that was you?”
Reilly replied, “Yeah.”
Abby continued. “He was just nervous. He was afraid I had done something wrong and he would be in trouble for giving me a ride. But actually, we just met because I left my glasses in his car.” Abby thought it best not to mention the legal assistance.
The officers nodded and seemed to accept her story.
She looked through three binders of mug shots, but it was fruitless. The only man she really remembered was the big one with the scar on his face who chased her into Ali’s store. And other than the scar, she didn’t think she could describe him well. It had been so dark and he wore black. She didn’t know anything about the drugs or the woman.
There were no inconsistencies with her written statement and after about forty-five minutes, the officers thanked her for her help and Officer Reilly drove her back to work. Abby wished him luck on the case.
THE alarm went off at eight o’clock on Saturday. Abby smacked the snooze button. It happened again. She snoozed again. Three more times. Finally, she turned it off and pushed off the covers. But she couldn’t get out of bed. She stared at the ceiling for what seemed like an hour, replaying her week, thinking about that night, which already seemed like a bad dream, thinking about Ali, and the real problems he now faced, thinking about David marrying that woman. It seemed impossible to think about work. Fuck it. She grabbed the covers and rolled over.
At ten, Abby finally got up. She read every page of the paper but saw nothing about that dead woman at Reggie’s. She’d never seen anything in the paper about it all week. Too many crimes to report, she figured. Just another senseless death in that neighborhood. No one cared.
She spent the day in her pajamas, listening to music and cleaning out closets. She found some of David’s T-shirts, books, and CDs, and stared at the phone, wondering if she’d ever get the courage to call. She put his things in a bag and left them in the spare bedroom.
WHEN the alarm went off at eight again on Sunday, she only hit snooze twice. She really needed to get to the office. There was so much to do. The Amro deposition was Wednesday. She was so behind. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall, unable to get up. Where was her drive? That will and determination that had served her career so well? That dedication that had alienated David? She fell back onto the mattress as if she weighed too much to stand. She wasn’t sure if it was her near-death experience, her new friend, Ali, or David’s engagement, but that singular focus was failing her. She finally got up and showered, but when she went into the bedroom to get some clothes, she reached for her sweatpants.
ON Monday morning, inquisitive associates, the ones who were always at the office on weekends, popped in her doorway at what seemed like regular intervals, wondering what event had finally kept her away. They knew it had to be something big—a death or a wedding—and they each hoped for a good story, a distraction, a delay from their own start to the new week. Abby brushed them off and enjoyed the surprised reactions as she told
Similar Books
