At 6:05 a.m. the day after throwing all things Stewart into the Dumpster, Rebecca sat in the unpopulated lab, composing a list of all the tasks she had postponed since the death of her sister. When finished, the list had seventeen items that needed her immediate attention. She had three of them accomplished before the majority of her co-workers arrived. By noon, she’d completed twelve. At 3:15 p.m., she drew a line across cross-hatchings, the last item on her list.
Sitting at her desk, Rebecca spun clockwise in her chair. She released a large, satisfied sigh, and then heard the rustling of paper behind her. She stopped, turned and discovered David Sharpen, a new phlebotomist working on the seventh floor, standing nearby. He had a blood sample in his left hand and the paperwork in his right. She was surprised that he’d run the sample down himself, and she had no idea how long he’d been standing there.
“How long have you been standing there?” she asked.
“You certainly are focused today.”
“I am.”
“Can we get this out by the end of the day?”
“What do you need?”
“They want a basic metabolic panel, but especially the glucose.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Rebecca said. She took the test tube and the paperwork. She began preparing the sample, then looked up to find David Sharpen still standing in her tiny corner of the lab, his elbow bumping into the microwave.
“Do you want to get a drink after work?” he asked.
Rebecca set down the sample. She was very surprised, although not so much by David Sharpen’s invitation as by her realization that she could, indeed, go with this man, after work, for a drink. The thought that there was nothing stopping her made her conclude that at one point there must have been. Searching her mind, Rebecca quickly understood that this something was Stewart. Not missing him was accompanied by not thinking about him. She no longer needed to keep him in mind as she made each and every decision of her day. Her sudden awareness that she’d unknowingly been doing this for years was unexpected and tinged with sorrow—but discovering that she didn’t have to do it anymore was exceedingly joyful.
This sequence of thoughts came to Rebecca quickly, one right after the other, while she stared at the short grey carpet. At the edge of her sightline was David Sharpen’s right shoe. It was black leather, a fashionable shape and highly polished. Rebecca raised her gaze upwards until she looked him in the eyes. “Yes,” she said. “I’d quite like that.”
David Sharpen felt Rebecca’s conflicted emotions and then he felt them suddenly resolve. He concluded that she must be on the rebound and this made him smile broadly.
Opening her eyes, Rebecca saw that the ceiling was the wrong colour. It was cream; the one she’d woken up under for the preceding twenty-seven months was whiter. She sat up quickly, but it was only after she looked to her right and saw the bleeding heart tattoo on his left shoulder that the events of the evening returned to her. She felt happy. She pulled up the covers, tucked the sheet under her chin and waited for the good feeling to pass.
To her surprise, it remained. Confident that guilt and regret were on their way, and in an effort to hasten their arrival, she turned onto her side. She gently traced her fingers down David Sharpen’s back. But her feeling of well-being remained. She let her fingers continue to travel, and her happiness proved to be surprisingly resilient.
The large digital alarm clock on his bedside table told Rebecca she had ninety minutes to get to work, but since she couldn’t remember exactly what part of town she was in, it was impossible to estimate how long her commute would be. Climbing from his bed, Rebecca silently collected her clothing. In the bathroom, she turned the hot water tap until it was just a trickle, then washed. She dressed and wrote a warm, friendly note, which she left on the kitchen table. With a great effort to make no sound, Rebecca walked to the apartment door, unlocked it and left.
Even on the other side of David Sharpen’s door, Rebecca still felt good about herself. This positive sense of self remained as she got into her car and drove away. It was still there when she got to work. It even remained when she made a special trip up to the seventh floor just to walk past David Sharpen’s station, broadly returning his smile.
When she got home from work, Rebecca sat at her kitchen table, feeling better than she’d felt in years. She dialled Stewart’s number and was surprised that, even as it began to ring, she still felt no guilt, shame or remorse.
“Hello?” Stewart said.
“Are you working on the boat?”
“I’m manning the front desk. We have guests! Two of them. They’re a bit strange. They’re supposed to be rainmakers. Are you feeling any better?”
“Actually, I’m feeling really good.”
“You sound good.”
“I might even be fantastic.”
“You sound a bit weird, though.”
“Maybe it’s just because I’m so good.”
“Maybe.”
“It’s been awhile since I’ve felt this good.”
“True.”
“Listen—I’ve got something I want to ask you,” Rebecca said. Her tone was exceedingly casual.
“What?” he asked, warily.
“What do you think of fresh starts?”
“What do you mean?”
“Fresh starts. Are you for them?”
“That question’s too big. I mean, everyone’s for them in principle.”
“Okay. Let me rephrase. Do you think it’s cowardly, or courageous, to get rid of your past and start all over again?”
“Why are you asking me this?”
“Don’t get defensive.”
“Well, obviously I think it’s courageous. What do you think I’m doing here?”
Rebecca was silent. She knew he believed he was telling the truth. “Stewart,” she said, “this really helped.”
“Rebecca? Don’t do this again. Tell me what’s going on!”
“Hey, Stewart,” Rebecca said. “Goodbye.”
Closing her phone, she set it on the kitchen table. She walked to her car and drove directly to E.Z. Self Storage.