Close to Destiny (A Magical Love Story)

Chapter 33

May 1, later

I got off the subway at Columbus Circle, made my way through the mayhem of taxis, shopping bags and traffic lights, and wandered into Central Park. I took in a few great gulps of air as I walked through the grass and then stopped in front of the only somewhat available bench in sight. A man was diligently polishing a small copper square. In memory of the lovely Jean. The words appeared brilliantly under the soiled cloth.

He turned around suddenly and blushed.

"Sorry, I was finishing up here." His hands trembled as he gathered up a leather briefcase and a well-read copy of The New York Times. "You probably want to have a seat."

"She must have been pretty special," I said.

"Yes, she was." He smiled and then took a step back.

"I don't have to sit down, actually. Please stay. Continue..."

"No, no," he said. "I have to be on my way. Work to be done. It's your turn to enjoy Jean's bench."

"Thank you." But he didn't hear my words. His well-shined shoes were already traveling along the dusty path, leaving me alone on the cleanest seat in the park. I don't know how long I sat there, contemplating a bird's nest in a tree facing me, but somehow, by the time I was ready to leave, I was also ready to visit the address printed on the crumpled paper in my hand. I followed what remained of the man's footsteps and then turned northwest toward Broadway.

The gallery was nestled between an upscale card shop and an antique dealer specializing in the era of Louis XIV. My observations from afar. The breeze tickling my bare legs, I stood on the center island and gazed through the glass at the black and white prints that looked blurry in the distance. Then back to the card shop with its dainty pink lace envelopes in the window. Then a glance at the dark chest wobbling out the antique shop door ahead of a young man, who was pushing it with all of his might. An older man with an impatient air hurried ahead and seemed to drag him around the corner with just the look of an eye. A group of giggling girls emerged from the card shop followed by the sound of wind chimes.

I took a slow, deep breath and exhaled. I didn't come here to watch the comings and goings in the neighborhood. I came to see Will's gallery. A brave voice from within had been arguing with my own sense of reason. It urged me to march right into the shop, ask for Will and throw myself into his arms. I rolled my eyes at the thought. In reality, I could hardly take one step forward.

I squinted. Will wasn't there. I was convinced of it. The gallery wasn't any bigger than the little stationery place next door, so I would have seen him by this point. Bravery, or most likely curiosity, was gaining force. I inched ahead.

And then, before I could change my mind, I was standing in front of the window and admiring photos of Australian and African wildlife. It seemed that his specialty was wild cats. A photo of lion cubs rolling around in the brush held my attention for a long while, and then a feeling of panic seized me. What was I planning on doing if Will showed up? He could walk around the corner at any moment.

My eyes scanned the shop one last time. The panthers, cheetahs, deserts, greenery and burnt-out land. The young woman with dangling pearl earrings who was immersed in a phone conversation behind the register. The narrow wooden door that led to a back room filled with maybe even more of Will's photos. I swallowed hard and turned around. 

I couldn't stay here any longer. If I did, I would probably make a mistake. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I started to run. And I ran for many blocks down Broadway's winding path, dodging old couples wheeling home their groceries, school kids playing hopscotch, and a few homeless men who asked if I had spare change.

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