More runners were out now, and he kept his breathing even as he hit the far end of the park, glancing north along the park’s edge to spot the beautiful exterior of the Metropolitan Museum, another place he and Taylor were going to visit this week. They’d been there together at least two dozen times, and he was convinced she was getting bored of it. He sure was, even though he saw something new each time.
It was like a game of chicken with them, though, and he hoped it went on forever. Paul turned around, and by the time he was home, Stevie was up watching cartoons, and Terri was in the kitchen, the smell of a freshly-cooked omelette wafting over to him. He was always ravenous after a run, and today was no exception.
“Stevie, go get dressed!” Paul called to his son. “And comb your hair. You look like a scarecrow in a windstorm.”
Stevie glanced at him from the couch and laughed, trying to flatten his cowlick. “Mom said I could watch one.”
“Well, your mom’s only the boss Mondays to Fridays, and on alternating weekends. Today is my day. Go get ready,” Paul said, rolling his eyes at Terri when the kid was running toward his bedroom.
“He sure is your son,” Paul said, getting an oven mitt thrown at him for the comment.
“And Taylor is your daughter,” Terri said, as if it was his fault she was staying at the school for spring break.
“It’ll be nice to leave the city for a couple of nights. You’re always trying to get me to leave and do things, so here you go. Now’s your chance.” Paul poured a cup of coffee and took it to the bedroom, where his clothes for the day were laid out on a chair. A few minutes later, he was showered, dressed, and sitting at the kitchen island beside Stevie, who’d managed to get his hair semi-flat against his head.
They ate in relative silence. When the dishes were cleaned up, Paul hauled their bags into the elevator to the underground parking. He was alone. His wife and son would meet him at the front of the building.
The parkade was only half full. It appeared a lot of their building had the same thoughts as Paul and Terri this weekend. Most of the residents of the area who owned cars rarely took them out for the inconvenience of driving around Manhattan. Paul found it faster to take the subway, more often than not.
He headed for the new Range Rover, as their old car had been traded in a few years ago. He missed his old BMW but was happy downsizing to one car. They hardly used it as it was. Taylor had her own car, and he was glad to be able to buy her some freedom like that. Paul hadn’t had anyone buying him a vehicle when he was in college.
His first car had been a Festiva with no radio, with hand cranks for the windows, and the only air-conditioning was rolling the windows down all the way and driving faster. Still, Paul had fond memories of the hatchback. Maybe he was coddling Taylor too much. She was a great kid, always kind and grateful for everything, but she hadn’t worked a day in her life, and he worried that might hold her back when it was time to get to the real world.
His daydreaming had taken over, and Paul found himself standing in front of the SUV, staring at it blankly. A parkade light flickered behind him, and his shadow flashed on the hood of the vehicle repeatedly. He watched it with interest as it seemed to move of its own volition. He stayed still, but the arms of the shadow lifted, like they were going to strike him.
Paul was about to defend himself when the light came on fully again, the flickers stopping. This wasn’t the first time since the orchard fiasco had ended that he’d seen something like this, and he doubted it would be the last. He thought it might be related to his anti-psychotic medication as a child or the trauma his family had been through. Each time he let himself think it might be real, he pushed the idea away.
His heart continued beating too fast. Paul got into the driver’s seat, turned on the lights, and pulled away from the driveway, up the ramp, and out onto the street. The sun blinded him, and he pulled a pair of sunglasses from their resting place on the center console when he parked at the entrance to the building.
The new doorman gave him a nod, and Paul smiled in return, not able to put a name to the face quite yet. He rolled the passenger window open as the uniformed man walked over to him.
“Nice day for a drive, isn’t it, Mr. Alenn? Going away for the day?” the doorman asked.
“Weekend. Seeing the daughter upstate.”
“Need anything while you’re gone? Expecting any packages?” the man asked. He was younger than most doormen at the building.
“Nope. We’re all good.”
Stevie was running for the door, and he stopped at the doorman. “Hello, Robbie. Have a good day,” Paul’s son said to the man, and Paul grinned at how sociable his boy was at this age. He was everyone’s friend.
“You too, kid. Mrs. Alenn,” Robbie said, nodding to Terri, who smiled as the doorman held the car door for her.
Robbie walked away into the building as Terri whispered to Paul, “He’s an odd one. Have you ever seen a doorman in their early twenties before?”
“Hah. I was just thinking the same thing,” Paul said.
Stevie piped up from the backseat. “I like him. We talked about comic books the other day. He’s cool.”
Paul gave Terri a glance and pulled away, heading up the narrow Upper West Side street. “Stevie, you have to watch who you
