Devon shrugged. She’d had to shut it down, at least temporarily. If she were to check in, it could show her location, and she didn’t want to accidentally make a mistake. It wasn’t like she could rig Facebook into saying she was in both Paris and St. Louis at the same time. She was no genius with computers, and even if she were, she was pretty sure it was illegal.
“I’m living in the present,” she told Garrett, which was true. She didn’t even want to think about the past.
“It’s the best place to live.” Garrett just stared at her with the same curious expression on his face.
The whole conversation had triggered something within her. She felt like if she didn’t get her feelings out right then and there, she would lose it. Digging into her purse, Devon pulled out her notebook. She grabbed her favorite pen, stalked over to a park bench, and immediately started writing down bits and pieces of whatever came to her mind.
Garrett followed and sat down next to her, peering over her shoulder. “What are you writing?”
Moving the notebook out of his view, she murmured, “Nothing.”
“Looks like something. I don’t know many people who carry notebooks around with them.”
“Me neither.” She continued to jot down ideas as they flowed through her.
“Is it like a journal?” he asked, trying to read what she was writing.
She scooted down the bench. “Just give me a second.”
She wrote one last line and then shut the notebook. Garrett was staring at her intently, and she made a point of not looking at him.
“So, not to pry or anything,” he said, obviously prying, “but who just whips out a book in public and starts writing?”
He laughed at her, and she couldn’t hold it in as she laughed softly with him. He had a point.
“I can’t help it sometimes. The words are just there.” She stuffed the notebook back into her bag and stood.
“Are you going to tell me what you wrote?”
“Nope,” Devon said, turning away from The Bean.
“Is it like a journal or a diary? Is that why I can’t read it?”
“No. I don’t talk about my writing. Sorry,” she said. “Is that a garden? Can we walk through?”
“Sure,” Garrett said, “but don’t think you can change the subject so easily.”
“It’s not a big deal. Just forget about it.” She walked briskly in the direction of the garden.
She hated when people asked questions about her writing. It was deeply personal. She kind of hated herself for the compulsive habit, but she had been doing it since she was a kid. She was good at it, but she didn’t share well with others.
“It’s kind of a big deal to you, isn’t it?” Garrett asked as they walked into the garden.
“Not really,” she said, biting her lip.
“Then, you can tell me about it,” he said smoothly.
Devon stopped and shook her head. She knew he was just being nice, but he was meddling into things she didn’t want him near. She needed to change the course of the conversation. Any question he asked about her was going to be one question too many.
Bending down, she took a series of photos of a purple flower in bloom. It was better than answering Garrett’s questions. He might be trying to get to know her, but she wasn’t ready to open up to anyone anytime soon.
“Hey, sorry,” he muttered.
She glanced up at him as his hand brushed through his dark brown hair. He actually looked sheepish.
“I didn’t mean to get in your business. I didn’t know it would be so private.”
Devon slowly stood. “It’s alright. Don’t worry about it.”
“Afraid your writing sucks? I know that’s why I don’t show anyone anything I’ve ever written,” he told her.
“No, it’s not that,” she said. Writing came very natural to her. “I just don’t like to show people.”
“I hope you’re not an English major or anything. It would be pretty bad if you never showed your professors your work,” Garrett said with a smile.
“Oh god, no! I’m a social work major.” Devon walked next to him as they left the gardens and headed toward the lakefront.
“Social work?” he asked, wrinkling his nose. “What do you want to do work with inner-city kids in gangs or handle abuse cases? Either sounds awful.”
Devon swallowed hard and bit down on her lip until it hurt. “No,” she answered sharply.
Everyone always looked down on social work as if it wasn’t a legitimate degree, but Wash U had the number one program in the country. Social work majors dealt with all sorts of issues, and were very prominent in the lobbying world. A friend of hers was currently working on protection of women’s rights in D.C., and she didn’t have any complaints about her social work background.
“Social work benefits a normal productive life span. Just because you were raised with a well-to-do family does not mean that the rest of society is so fortunate. People should receive the same care and help,” Devon answered vehemently. “Besides, social work can be used everywhere—government, counseling, nursing homes, community planning. I could go on and on.”
“I do believe you could,” Garrett said with a smile. “Didn’t mean to come off as condescending.”
“We can’t all be business majors,” Devon said curtly.
“Sounds like you really want to be, too.”
“Is that sarcasm?” she asked.
“I would never be sarcastic.”
Devon rolled her eyes as the traffic light changed. They walked across the street and down a set of stairs to the lake. The water was choppy from the wind and the boats out in the harbor. Off in the distance, the Navy Pier looked crowded, and the Ferris wheel turned slowly, stopping every few feet to let passengers on and off. Runners crisscrossed the path, and a couple was rollerblading hand-in-hand. It was a rather picturesque day.
“Stay here a minute,” Garrett said before rushing away.
Devon sighed and pulled out her notebook again. Now that he was gone, she reread what she had written by The Bean. She studied the words and the tone that they had taken. Everything seemed to drift back to the moment that had pushed her over the edge.
Thumbing back to the day after it had happened, she saw the faint bumps in the paper that signified where her teardrops had fallen onto the page. They marred half the page, and as she skimmed the words, she felt a lump form in her throat. The memories and emotions were as all too much. Why was she actively reliving it? She couldn’t seem to get away, and half the time, she didn’t think she wanted to.
She took a few minutes to compose herself before Garrett returned.
Carrying two Popsicles, he smiled brightly at her. “Hope you like strawberry because I’m taking the blueberry-lime,” he said, offering her the red Popsicle.
“My favorite,” Devon told him with a big smile. He got us popsicles? Cute. “What’s this for?”
“I thought it would be easy on your stomach,” he said, shrugging. “One of my favorite pastimes. I used to come here a lot when I was younger with my parents. We’d eat Popsicles and sit on the edge of the water. So…sit.”
Devon smiled even bigger. She was glad that Garrett was talking about himself and not her for a change. She sat next to him on the ledge and dangled her feet toward the water, enjoying the beginning of summer.
The beginning of a new life.
Chapter Four - Square
GARRETT DROPPED DEVON at Jenn’s Restaurant to wait for Hadley to get off work. He was working the night shift and needed to get ready, but he felt bad about leaving Devon alone in the apartment on such a nice day. He had given her his spare key in case she decided to go to the apartment. She didn’t intend to though. Devon figured she would wait until Hadley got off work, and then they could head back together. She didn’t feel comfortable being at their apartment all by herself. She was just a guest.
Her stomach grumbled, reminding her that she had only eaten a piece of toast and a Popsicle all day. She and Garrett had walked for hours. He was a great tour guide, giving her more information about buildings and events than she likely ever needed to know. Garrett had lived in Chicago nearly his whole life, and he had only left for the four years of college. Devon hadn’t been surprised to find out he had gone to George Washington in D.C. Although he had money written all over him, surprisingly, he seemed down-to-earth. She wished that combination happened more often.
Jenn’s wasn’t as busy as it had been the last time Devon had walked inside. Everyone must have still been working at this early hour. She suspected it would start to get crowded closer to five o’clock.
Hadley had a pretty sweet set-up at her job. She always got off work early on Fridays. Plus, she didn’t have to go in at all on the weekends. Hadley had said she would be happy to show Devon around the parts of the city that Garrett had missed during the morning shift. Devon hadn’t decided what she wanted to do, but she knew she would think of something in the meantime.
Sitting down in the same stool as she had the day before, Devon leaned her elbows heavily on the countertop and waited for someone to materialize. She noticed a waitress helping a customer in a booth against the wall. The woman looked like she had been working there since the place had opened forty years earlier. Yet, she still wore the same uniform as the younger waitresses—a short black skirt, a white top unbuttoned to reveal cl**vage, white tube socks, and tennis shoes. She couldn’t be the only one working, right?
The woman scooped up the menus from the other customers and then walked toward the back door. Looking over at Devon, she smiled with a sincerity she likely didn’t feel. “Someone will be right with you, hon.”
She walked through the swinging door into the kitchen. Devon wondered if she was now yelling at someone to do his job. It was what she probably would have done when she had worked at a restaurant. At least, she would have grumbled to herself about how she was the only one working.
During the previous summers, Devon had worked part-time as a waitress to earn a little extra cash. She always had something she wanted to spend her money on, and she felt bad asking her parents for anything more than they had given her. They were already paying for her education and room and board, so she didn’t feel like she could ask for more.
A minute later, a disgruntled man walked out of the back room, yelling something at the waitress behind him. Devon had been right. When he turned around, Devon smiled, realizing it was Brennan. She was happy to see a familiar face in a sea of the unfamiliar. Chicago was a huge step for her, and she had a lot of adjusting to do.
“You been helped?” Brennan moved bottles around, barely glancing up at her.
“No, I haven’t,” Devon told him, waiting for him to recognize her.
“What’ll you have?” He ran a towel under the faucet and then mopped under the drip mat.
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen a menu.” She pulled out her pen from her back pocket and absentmindedly flipped it between her fingers.