I dressed in my “uniform”: black slacks, a turtleneck, and boots. I checked my cameras, which I’d charged yesterday before the party, and double-checked my bags for extra battery packs, tripods, and all the bells and whistles.

Grabbing my purse and keys, I stepped into the hallway and pulled the door shut. As I turned to go down the stairs, I spotted the growing pile of empty boxes gathered by the other apartment door. For several months, I’d had this floor all to myself, and I liked climbing the stairs knowing it was all mine.

As if my thoughts had set off an alarm bell, the door opened, and a tall man backed out of the apartment, dragging a big box filled with trash. When he turned, I stopped short, recognizing the outdoorsman / office-work guy from J.J.’s Pub last night. Alan.

Alan’s smile telegraphed that he also remembered me. “Two tequilas.”

“Guinness beer. You’re the new guy on the floor?”

“I am. You live here?”

“For the last three years. I was beginning to think the landlord was never going to rent the space. Well, welcome to the neighborhood, Alan.” Name recall was a must in wedding work. “If you need anything, I’m steps away.”

“How about you show me where the dumpster is?”

“Sure. Walk out with me.”

He lifted the boxes. “Lead the way.”

I moved steadily down the stairs, holding the railing with one hand and my bag strap in the other. Alan’s steady steps followed close behind me as I reached the door out to the first-floor lobby. Holding it open, I let him pass before opening the front door. I walked around the side of the brick building and down the alley, now littered with an old mattress, beer cans, and weeds that reached up between the cracks in asphalt still glistening from last night’s rain.

“There’s an alcove up ahead on the right. The dumpster is there.”

Alan’s gaze followed my outstretched hand. “I should’ve walked a little farther when I was looking for it.”

A cold morning breeze blew down the alley, ruffling the folds of my jacket and traveling up my spine. “It’s an easy mistake to make. Must go. Work.”

“On a Saturday?”

“Wedding photographer.”

That prompted a smile. “Be careful out there.”

8 HIM

8

HIM

NOW

Saturday, March 12, 2022

10:15 a.m.

I followed you from your apartment to the courthouse. You were still taking an Uber. Made sense at first after the accident. Gun-shy. Head injury. But it’d been two months, and you still hadn’t bought a car or driven. That was not like you. You were an independent soul. That was one of the things that drew me to you.