At her request Woodson placed her backpack on the seat beside her, and while he continued to talk, she pulled out her navy blue windbreaker. The thin-as-air nylon jacket had a hood and zippered pockets. She put her wallet in one pocket and her cell phone in the other. Continuing to nod every now and then so Woodson would know she was paying attention to what he was telling her, she stuffed her purse and her baseball cap in the bag and zipped it closed.
Traffic was a snarled mess. There must have been an accident on I-90, she thought, until she checked the time and realized they were in the middle of rush hour. The plane trip had seemed interminable, and now the ride to the hotel was taking forever. She had been sitting so long she was surprised she didn’t have bed sores.
Woodson’s voice cracked. He sounded as though he was about to cry, which she was sure would embarrass him, and so she tried to help him think about something other than his girlfriend.
“How long have you worked for the Hamilton?” she blurted.
He paused for a few seconds and then answered, “Oh, I don’t work for the hotel. I’m employed by a service the Hamilton sometimes uses when their limos are busy.” He added, “The more good reviews I get, the better my chances are to move up in the company I work for now.”
She took the hint and promised to give him a rave review.
“The thing with my girlfriend . . .” And he was off again, pouring his heart out. He finished unloading all his worries just as they were pulling up to the hotel’s circular drive. He opened her door, took her hand, told her how much better he felt, and thanked her profusely. Since she hadn’t said a word during his heartfelt soliloquy, she simply smiled and said she was happy she could help.
Woodson went inside with her luggage and her bag and gave them to the bell captain while she explained that she had a room reserved and that she would check in after she went for a brisk walk.
The bell captain pulled up the reservation on his computer and confirmed that the rooms were already paid for and one was in her name. She asked him to put the suitcase she was taking to Scotland in storage. Since she and Kate were scheduled to leave early Monday morning, they would be staying at the Hamilton Sunday night so they wouldn’t have such a long drive from Nathan’s Bay to the airport. Assuring her that her bags would be taken care of, he handed her a card for room 1612.
“You should walk along the Freedom Trail,” he said, deciding for her. “It’s real scenic and chock-full of history.”
Might as well, she thought. Thanking him, she tucked the room card he’d given her in her back pocket and headed outside. She stopped on the sidewalk and was immediately asked by a valet if he might be of assistance.
“No, I’m going for a walk . . .”
“Freedom Trail, miss. Walk the Freedom Trail. Everyone does.”
Getting directions to the trail turned out to be quite a challenge. The valet was a rather violent hand-waver, and she had to keep dodging his arm while he pointed every which way. Because of his thick accent the only words she understood were “Washington Street.”
Just as soon as he paused to take a breath, she asked, “You want me to turn on Washington. Is that correct?” And before he could answer, she asked, “Which way on Washington?”
He pointed to the sky. She had no idea what that was supposed to mean.
Before she could leave, he launched into directions again, and she swore he wasn’t making any sense. It was as though he were suddenly speaking a foreign language she wasn’t familiar with, and he was talking so fast she didn’t have any idea where he was sending her. She didn’t want to ask him to slow down or start over because she didn’t think it would matter. She still wouldn’t understand him.
She thanked him for his help and hurried down the drive while he continued to give directions.
Starting out in a pretty area with redbrick sidewalks and beautiful old buildings mixed in with modern apartments, she walked down one street after another. It felt good to be outside. She hated being cooped up on a plane. As she walked, she hummed a tune. Before long the music took over and she began to create a new song in her head. She wished she had her notebook with her so she could write it down. She knew she would remember the tune, but she wanted to record the lyrics so she wouldn’t forget them.
After a while the humidity started to get to her. Her T-shirt felt as though it was stuck to her skin.
The air was thick. She looked up at the sky and dark clouds were hanging low. She imagined that, if she reached up on tiptoes, she could puncture one, and like a heavy water balloon, rain would pour out. She stopped and checked her watch. No wonder she was hot. She had been walking at a fast clip for over an hour. She was also good and lost. Looking around, she saw that she had wandered into an area that was being renovated. Some of the old apartment buildings had already been restored, and others were still under construction. Gone for the day, the crews had left behind scaffolding, piles of bricks, and other signs of their trades. When she scanned the buildings that had already been completed, she couldn’t help but appreciate the effort that had gone into restoring their original beauty. Instead of being torn down, they had been repaired and scrubbed and still retained their history and charm.
She kept walking, trying to get her bearings so she could return to the hotel. She thought she heard someone behind her and eagerly turned to ask directions, but there wasn’t anyone there. A couple of blocks farther, she walked past a soon-to-open coffee shop, according to the sign in the window. No one was inside. Where in God’s name was she? Admittedly, she hadn’t been paying attention to street signs. Her head had been in the clouds, as her mother would often say. Isabel was lost because she
had gotten distracted. Lyrics had been flying through her mind, and it wasn’t until she had a melody locked in her brain that she noticed her surroundings.
At the corner she turned around and headed back. Once again she thought she heard someone behind her and turned to ask directions, but no one was there. Three blocks later she stopped and looked around. She didn’t recognize anything. Had she walked past this street?
Lightning lit up the sky and was quickly followed by a loud crack of thunder. She put her jacket on and was unzipping all four pockets looking for her cell phone so she could get accurate directions back to the hotel when she heard a loud pop, the sound very like a firecracker exploding. Then another pop and another and another. She looked to the sky, half expecting to see a dazzling fireworks display.
No . . . no. Those were gunshots, and they were coming from right around the corner.
It all happened so fast. There wasn’t even time to run. Isabel was the only one on the street now.