The vagrant spoke to her, a few words, nothing more; William presumed a thank you. Without a second glance, she then turned and retraced her steps across the intersection. William swung about so his back was to her and stared into the window of the secondhand store he now faced. The interior was a hodgepodge of people’s unwanted trash; old typewriters, odd assortments of bowls and glassware, electrical drills, ugly plastic dolls and more. Just the kind of shop he enjoyed browsing because it gave him ideas for stories. Right now, he didn’t have time, as he watched Orelia’s reflection as she walked in the direction she had traveled only five minutes prior.

Now he had a choice.

He could follow her and see if she went somewhere else, or cross over the intersection to the man and question him on his recent benefactor. For a few dollars he might discover the reason behind Orelia’s trip to fabulous North Park. Once she’d passed by, his head swung from her as she moved along the street, to looking back to the beggar. He ran the argument in his mind, and as the seconds ticked away, he made a quick decision.

The vagrant didn’t appear to be going anywhere soon. So, Orelia-hunting it would be.

41

Where life would lead her next, Nem didn’t know. Greg was her true love; she knew this because two people finding each other who fit like puzzle pieces, came down to serendipity. And serendipity, she understood better than most.

When she refused to see him again, it hurt; nearly killed her. Hurt almost as much as the day her mom died. Every time he called, texted or knocked at the door, her heart crumpled. Once when he called out to her, she stood there waiting on the other side with her hand so close to turning the lock.

To answer questions, give him reasons and argue their differences, was a slippery slope that could lead easily into reconciliation. Her decision would make no sense to him. Here, it’s not you, it’s me was the truest of clichés. Although her reasons were no cliché, but hid a dark twist.

How could she tell him that in leaving, she’d saved his life?

Greg stopped trying after six weeks and three days, but who was counting? Time drifted on and the grief of her loss faded, as do most scars. Her troubled nightmares of her ex-husband discovering her secret, or dying, or taking from her their child, who had never been born, lessened.

During waking hours, she grew adept at leading her mind to other things to avoid traveling down the river of life’s regrets. She’d never become a mom; the only person she’d grow old with, would be the girl in the mirror. Big deal! A destiny with anybody was a fool’s wish for her and, according to divorce statistics, most people. All she need do was to imagine her mom and what came from her death, to convince her she was right.