Chapter 12
“How does Carlie live now?”, John asks, closing the book
“You’re such a tease”, I reply, echoing his words
The hint of an evanescent smile appears on John’s lips.
“Is the story real? What happened to Carlie isn’t in any official record”, he says
John’s eyes pierce me, their intensity effacing his smile.
“Wait a moment longer, John. You’ll have the whole story, I promise”, I say, pressing his hand before returning to my position
My touch is unexpected. John opens his mouth as if to compose a sentence, but he doesn’t.
I observe him for a moment and notice, for the first time, that he is handsome.
The realization is unanticipated. It prolongs my silence, but I speak a split second before John does.
“Let me tell you when I met Carlie again, after her life had become intertwined with Steven’s in ways she couldn’t have known”, I start
“Tell me”, John says
“I was travelling to attend a conference, and the conference happened to be in the city where Steven, and now Carlie, worked. It was my last night there. I had been landscaping a number of streets to find a restaurant, when my eye caught a place that seemed unpretentiously classy. The waitress showed me to a table in a corner and I was just about to open the menu when I noticed, hunched over a newspaper and a drink, a man dressed in a black trench coat. I had seen this man too many times to believe this was a coincidence”, I start
John asks the obvious question.
“You thought he was stalking you?”
“No. I simply knew something was going to happen”, I reply
John’s next question comes in the form of a frown.
“Something was there, undeniably, but there was no need to rush its discovery”, is my answer
John sighs and I smile, continuing.
“I opened the menu, and my attention was rapidly absorbed by the options. When I made my choice I closed the menu and raised my eyes. The eyes of the man in black crossed mine. He raised two fingers in a gest of farewell so brief I could have imagined the fleeting moment. And when the moment passed I saw them. Steven and Carlie were sitting two tables away from mine, the food turning cold on their heated conversation”
“Did they see you?”, John asks
“Not immediately. When I did I opened a book, alternating between the pages and the real object of my attention. Steven was sitting back, shaking his head no every now and then. Carlie was begging him not to do something. She was trying to keep her composure with little success”
John drinks my words, his body slightly protruding towards me, the storyteller.
“Could you hear what she was saying?”, he wants to know
“Not everything, only what peaked in panicked notes. Please don’t, too risky, can’t go, why?, flashed in repeated echoes of escalating anxiousness”, I say
“And how did the conversation end?”, John asks
“It didn’t, at least not in that restaurant. Carlie paid the bill and grabbed her forehead in a gest of despair, before leaving the table”
“And?”, John prods me
“And it was then that Carlie saw me. She had to walk past my table to reach the exit. When she was passing next to me I looked up, and Carlie looked back at me. Was this part of the plan?, I could almost hear her ask me. But she didn’t, and walked away instead”
I pause, and this time John waits for me to continue.
“That night I wrote a story. It was about Steven wanting to leave the company and Carlie begging him not to, and the next day I sent it to the New Yorker for publication. I couldn’t stop what I had started, but I was unaware of what it entailed. My story was meant to be make-believe, till one week later something happened”