We'll Begin Again Page 2

  The twenty-story building shone brightly from a block away. The sun reflected off the shiny windows, and it stood like a beautiful beacon of hope. My heart thudded with excitement as my fresh start, my new beginning, my sequel stood tall before me.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught rustling movement upon a park bench under a handful of oak trees. A man, or at least, I thought it was a man, pulled a sleeping bag up toward his neck, covering his body. The burgundy bag caught my attention; my father owned the exact same one.

  Growing up, my father tried to teach me how to camp, “try” being the keyword. The outdoors never appealed to me like they did to my dad. He loved hunting season especially. On my twelfth birthday, my dad surprised me by taking me out to the mountains for a daylight hike followed by an overnight camping expedition. He bought me a matching burgundy sleeping bag, and we spent the entire night gazing at the stars and telling stories. After he passed, I couldn’t bring myself to throw away the sleeping bag, even though my father’s ghost lingered inside its cozy lining. The man on the bench slept inside the same exact one; I could spot that brand from a mile away.

  Back home, homeless people were not a rare occurrence, but there was something about this man that struck me; maybe it was the sleeping bag, or maybe it was the long dog tag necklace hanging from his neck. At a glance, I cringed for the man frozen to his bones. I shivered despite wearing a full-length down coat. I could only imagine how he felt. Had he been outside all night? How did he lose his home? Wasn't there anyone out in the world who could help him? Take him in? Dozens of questions swirled in my head as I walked past him. Winter had only just begun. This man would suffer many more abysmal nights before the weather broke.

  Here I was walking to my new cozy job while another human being woke up underneath a tree. Damn, life was cruel sometimes.

  Chapter Four

  Amelia

  I walked into the building, with the man outside still on my mind. For the time being, I tried to shake him out of my thoughts. I needed to focus on making an excellent first impression and start my first day with a bang.

  "Hi, I'm Amelia Montgomery. Today is my first day." I smiled at the young receptionist wearing Barbie pink lipstick at the front desk.

  "Amelia! We are so happy to have you! Let me call up to Ross and let him know you're here."

  Wow, she was friendly. If half the staff bore this much cheer, I might have found the best place to work in the world.

  I sat in a cozy leather chair beside the fireplace near reception. My first instinct was to bite my fingernails, but I silently scolded myself.

  Don't mess up your fresh manicure, dummy.

  I sat on my hands to remove the temptation and wondered what my new boss would be like. Sure, I spoke to Ross on the phone, but we never met face-to-face during the interviewing process. He said my resume spoke for itself. At first, I suspected it was all some big ruse to mess up my life. I mean, how many people willingly hire someone without meeting them at least once in person? I guess all my hard work paid off, though. This place seemed incredible, and I hadn't explored past the front desk. I admired the high ceilings and out-of-this-world architecture. It must have been built decades ago but continued to maintain its glamorous prestige.

  "Amelia! You're here!"

  "Hi, Ross. It's so wonderful to finally meet you," I said shyly and stood to shake his hand.

  "Follow me. I'll show you to your office then give you a tour of the building."

  For the next hour, Ross walked me all around the premises. He showed me my new office, which provided a spectacular view of the city's skyline. The skyscrapers and architecture painted the horizon and glittered under the sun. He walked me to the on-site cafeteria, bought me another coffee, and introduced me to a handful of new colleagues.

  Everyone was super friendly. At my last law firm, I was convinced the Grinch procreated and every one of his children worked there. Here, though, welcoming vibes danced in the air.

  After the introductions, Ross walked me back to my office. “I hope you’ll be happy here, Amelia.”

  “I can’t imagine not being happy here!”

  “Oh! One more thing,” Ross said. “Community involvement is very important to us here at the firm. We encourage all of our legal staff to volunteer at a local establishment in the city.”

  He laid down a couple of brochures on my desk. The top pamphlet caught my eye: a man not so dissimilar to the one with the burgundy sleeping bag adorned the front cover. “Home for the Homeless” was printed across the glossy paper.

  “That sounds wonderful,” I said. “Where do you volunteer?”

  “I spend my Sundays at the nursing home around the corner,” Ross said.

  “How generous of you! I’ll take some time to think about where I’d like to try and let you know as soon as I can.”

  “Wonderful. Happy to have you here, Amelia. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

  The morning flew by, and once I finally had the chance to catch my breath, I realized lunchtime had arrived. I thought back to the man I saw outside and wondered what he'd be doing for lunch. Would he eat lunch? Guilt launched itself into my subconscious as I ordered a gourmet chicken and avocado salad from the cafeteria on the first floor of the historic building. My Vera Bradley tote housed some snacks and a bottle of water.

  I sat by myself at a cozy corner table away from the hustling and bustling of the cash-out line. I brought my briefcase with me to peruse in while I ate my lunch. For as long as I could remember, all my lunches were work lunches. I didn't have it in me to put my work aside, not even for a half hour to eat.

  I closed my eyes and stifled a moan after I took the first bite of my salad. Surely cafeterias weren't supposed to provide such excellent cuisine, right? I could get used to this!

  After a few more bites, I slowed my pace and searched around for a specific case file I wanted to examine. Last year, I served as lead attorney on another bombshell case involving the CEO of a well-known environmental company. The CEO, a wealthy, cocky sonofabitch, skimmed off the company's profits despite his already growing six-figure salary. It wasn't often that I veered into criminal law, but the board hired my firm, and specifically me, to sue the CEO and retrieve the stolen funds. I won.

  I needed to study my notes, though, because Ross brought up the case this morning during my tour of the office. He mentioned they might have a similar case in the works, and if the firm landed the proposal, he'd make me point person for the legal team.

  I needed to refresh my memory and be ready for my meeting with Ross and a few other attorneys tomorrow morning. I assumed we'd be meeting about this potential case. If so, I had no time to waste. Throughout my career, I learned it's always better to be prepared and not need to be, than to be underprepared and embarrass yourself.

  I glanced outside to see fluttering snowflakes fall from the sky. I thought about the homeless man again and shivered. Was he still outside? How did he avoid hypothermia being out there for so long? I wondered what I could do to help him. I tapped my nails against the table and furrowed my brows.

  The clock struck two in the afternoon, and I realized the cafeteria workers packed up the salad bar and wrapped up the leftover hot entrees. Without hesitation, I jumped up and called out, "Wait!"

  The kitchen staff whipped around to see where the spontaneous shouting came from. I waved my arm, and one man with a pristine chef's hat waved and smiled.

  "Need something else, ma'am?"

  I winced at the greeting but ignored it. "Can I have a turkey sandwich, please?"

  "You didn't like the salad?" He appeared crestfallen.

  "Oh, no! I loved it. I just, uh, wanted something to bring home for dinner," I lied.

  His eyes lit up. "Ah, I see. Not a problem. What would you like on it?"

  I never enjoyed ordering for another person. For example, I loved onions, but I know some people who would rather throw away something tainted with them than pick them off. How was I supposed to know
what the man on the bench liked or disliked? I had to take the best guess, though.

  "Lettuce, tomato, and light onion, please. Oh, and some mayo and oil on the side." I reminded myself to grab plastic silverware before leaving the cafeteria. How rude would it be to give the man condiments without something to use to spread them on the sandwich?

  "All set. Enjoy!"

  I thanked the chef and climbed the stairs from the cafeteria to the door that led outside. My heart pounded with weariness with every step I took. What would I say to him? Would he accept my offering? What if he was mean and scary? Oh, hell. I sounded like a little girl afraid to ring the doorbell of a neighbor as I tried to hit my quota of Girl Scout cookie sales.

  I opened the door to the street and peeked my head outside. I peered to the left and the right as my hands shook. To the right, I saw the bench and craned my neck to see if my friend sat there or not. The bench appeared vacated, and my heart plummeted. Of course, why did I expect him to sit there all day? Undoubtedly, he left and did something with his free time during the day.

  Well, now what?

  I wasn't going to eat the sandwich, but I also didn't want to throw it away. Then, I saw it: a man across the street digging through the dumpster of a sports bar whose neon sign appeared turned off.

  Fuck.

  The poor guy had to scavenge for food, of course. What could I do now? I glanced at the man, to his bench and back again. I scurried down the street toward the bench, hoping he wouldn't catch me encroaching on his domain. I reached his spot and found a foul odor hung in the air. I brushed the accumulated snow off the bench with the elbow of my Michael Kors winter coat and left the sandwich on the wooden planks. Hopefully, he'd see it sitting here. And, by the looks of him, I don't think he'd hesitate to have a fresh meal.

  In the next moment, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I struggled to pull off my leather gloves and reach for my iPhone, but I grabbed it just in time. The caller ID read, "Reception."

  "Hello?" I answered breathlessly.

  "Hi, Amelia. Your 2:30 is here to see you."

  "Oh, right. I just stepped outside for a few minutes, but I'll be back in my office soon. Send them up in about ten minutes?"

  "Sounds good!"

  I couldn't stay to find out if the man found my offering. I had to run to my office and prepare to meet with my first client. Hopefully, he'd find it okay and enjoy every last crumb. Fingers crossed.

  Chapter Five

  William

  The stench of garbage and spoiled food permeated the air and clung to my shabby clothing. Sometimes, the sports bar across the street from my bench tossed out their leftover chips and salsa from the previous night. It took several attempts at digging through their dumpster to come up empty-handed.

  My stomach growled as I ambled across the street with my head down. Some pedestrians stared, but I tried my best to avoid their eyes. As I reached my bench, I noticed a white package on the wooden planks. I gazed around to see if the messenger lingered, but found no one in the vicinity who may have left it.

  I brought the wrapping to my nose, and instantly the scent of garlic and fresh bread sauntered into the air. My stomach grumbled a second time, and I unwrapped the gift ferociously. Inside the package was a fresh sandwich. Again, I looked around to see if anyone ran toward me, looking to retrieve their forgotten lunch. No one came. A moment later I shoved the sandwich into my mouth, barely allowing myself to breathe in between bites. I finished eating in record time and belched loudly.

  A sneering mother with three young children scurried past my bench with a look of horror plastered across her done-up face.

  “What? You’ve never seen a homeless guy eat before?” I called after her.

  Bitch.

  It’s bad enough that sandwich may be my only fresh meal for the next week, then I gotta deal with judgmental yuppies? Bitterness boiled within me, and the taste in my mouth turned sour. If only she knew what I dealt with day in and day out. And, yeah, I get it. Some people see a homeless guy on the street and think he’s just a bum who’s too lazy to find a job. I wish laziness were my problem. Life would be so much easier if that were the case.

  I stood from my bench and stretched my arms over my head. The frigid air shocked me. I knew it was time to take my daily walk around the city. What else did I have to do? I rolled my sleeping bag into a tight bunch like a frightened potato bug and hoisted it on my back.

  If my calculations were correct, in another few days, it would be my turn to spend a few nights at the local homeless shelter. See, myself and the other guys on the streets had to take turns; the shelter only had so many beds. We rotated nights, and soon, I’d have a cot and a clean sheet to call my own, for a few days at least. During the day though, no matter what, I was on my own. The shelter only opened around meal times and for the select few at night. During the day, the building served as a center for AA meetings.

  Once, I pretended to be an alcoholic so I could crash a meeting and have a complimentary donut and coffee. After a few meetings, the leader suspected I wasn’t an addict at all. He politely asked me to leave after he caught me stuffing my jacket with angel cream pastries.

  Was I lonely? Sure. Did I want the company? Not really. Relationships require communication, and the last thing I ever wanted to do was tell someone about my past. Sometimes, it’s better to let sleeping dogs lie. Or, in my case, leave the bum alone.

  Chapter Six

  Amelia

  After lunch, I met with a potential client and spent the rest of the day pouring over my matters I brought with me from my last firm. Once I told a few of my corporate clients about my new job, they asked to remain clients of mine despite me switching to a new law office. Most of their work didn’t require in-person meetings, and so I could work on their cases from any office I wanted.

  While I highlighted a few sheets with a neon yellow highlighter, my phone rang and pulled me out of my concentration.

  “Hello?” I answered.

  “Mrs. Montgomery?”

  “It’s Ms., but yes, this is she.”

  “This is the principal over at Pinewood Elementary. The after school program ended a half hour ago, but no one has come to pick up Charlie. When can we expect you to arrive?”

  Oh, fuck.

  “Sorry, there must have been a miscommunication with our babysitter. I’ll be there right away.”

  My heart plunged and guilt sucker-punched me in the gut. All the excitement of starting a new job distracted me from the most important job: being a mother. I locked my computer, grabbed my coat and flew down the stairs where the cleaning crew was vacuuming and wiping down the surfaces in our lobby. I thrust open the building doors and sprinted to my car, my coat still unzipped.

  The school was a ghost town when I pulled in toward the cafeteria in the back of the brick building. Only three other cars remained in the lot. I jogged the few yards from my car to the back doors, my heels clacking the entire time.

  I reached for the handle to open the door, only to find it was securely locked. An audible groan erupted from my throat, and I pounded on the doors. Charlie strutted toward the door with his winter jacket tied around his petite waste and his Iron Man backpack bouncing along with him.

  "Hey, kiddo!"

  "Mom, it's a push door, not a pull," he said, his voice muffled.

  I gawked at him incredulously, then tried to push the door. This time, it opened with ease.

  "Oh, yeah, I knew that. I was just testing you," I jested.

  "Sure," he said and rolled his eyes.

  Again, with the damn eye rolling!

  "Ready to go home?"

  The principal emerged from behind Charlie with his arms crossed against his chest and pursed lips.

  "Sorry again,” I said to the principal.

  He nodded, but his gaze never wavered. Shame washed over me. Today, I was a stellar lawyer, but a shitty mom. I’d have to make it up to Charlie somehow.

  My son galloped to the car and jum
ped into the back seat once I unlocked it with my fob. I started the engine and turned the heat on full blast. "What do you think you want for dinner?"

  "Pizza."

  "How about something a little healthier?"

  "White pizza." He turned on his iPad, which I kept in the pouch attached to the back of the passenger seat, and tuned out our conversation. I had to hand it to him, though. He was clever.

  "Good one. What about a tasty chicken Caesar salad?"

  "Nah," he answered.

  "Fine, you win." I wasn't in the mood to cook, anyway, and a pizza sounded delicious. My mouth watered.

  The problem? I still had no idea which places had quality food around here.

  "Siri? Call the closest pizza shop."

  "Calling Josie's Pizza, Wings and More," Siri said stoically.

  I ordered a small white pizza and a large order of garlic bread. It had to be better than scraping up a last minute meal with the little ingredients I had at home.

  A half hour later, Charlie and I sat at the table devouring our dinner. It would have been sooner, but I had to wrestle the iPad from his hands. Consequently, I grounded him for the rest of the night from the damn thing. Kids these days!

  I rubbed my belly while Charlie burped obnoxiously loud. "Excuse me," he tittered.

  I narrowed my eyes and tried to stifle my laugh. Sometimes I had the hardest time reprimanding my son when he acted out, especially when bodily functions were involved. I may be a lawyer, but I have a sense of humor too.

  "How was school?" I questioned as I cleared the table.