and seeing as though Adam now possesses my whole heart, Kevin would probably be cheering me on from the sidelines right about now. I close my eyes and whisper, “I miss you” allowing myself one brief moment of self-pity and then I hoist my battered suitcase off of the conveyor, forcing myself to put all negative thoughts aside and focus on the positive. Kevin is gone but Adam is alive and he is going to get the help that he needs. He is still Adam. He still loves me and I love him; that is all that matters. The rest we will deal with.
Doctor Sheldon notices me shivering.
“I’m so sorry, Paige,” he apologises, “I should have warned you about the temperature difference. California winters are much warmer. You must be freezing.” He glances down at my utterly inappropriate three-quarter pants and beaded sandals sympathetically.
“It’s not your fault,” I stammer, pulling a cardigan from my holdall, “I should have remembered.”
Christmas is only six weeks away and winter is almost upon us. New York is freezing and it is only going to get colder. I need to get myself a decent coat urgently. I set my watch forward three hours. It is 4 o’clock in the afternoon, New York time. Carl has asked if I would like to rest and go and see Adam in the morning, but I shake my head emphatically. I will see Adam today; I cannot wait a minute longer than is absolutely necessary.
We catch a cab to the Bed and Breakfast that Doctor Sheldon has booked me into. It is quaint and pretty with a beautiful green lawn, and the owners, Mr and Mrs Bass, are retired. He was a surgeon and she was a nursing aide. I smile at them both and then gratefully accept Mrs Bass’s offer to show me to my room. I dig in my suitcase for a change of clothes and take a quick, hot shower; the jets of heat stinging my freezing skin, waking me up and clearing my head. I pull on a pair of denims and a peach jersey top that Adam loves. Thankfully I brought my brown leather boots. I brush my teeth and tie my hair back in a ponytail. Pulling on two pairs of socks, I zip up my boots and I am ready to go in under 20 minutes. Carl, waiting downstairs, looks suitably impressed. He is old friends with the Bass family, having gone to the same college as Mr Bass. They politely end their conversation, but, as we prepare to leave, Mrs Bass gives a shriek of protest, rushes to the closet in the hall and bundles me into the warmest, cosiest sheepskin coat. I try to object, but she is insistent and so I thank her profusely and then, before I know it, we are standing back at the car. The doctor hands me the keys.
“This car will be for your use only for the duration of your stay,” he remarks, catching me off guard. Not wanting to show how nervous I am about driving around an unknown city and possibly losing the freedom of having a car, I settle confidently into the driver’s seat.
Five minutes later Carl is visibly wincing as I grind the gears noisily.
“I really appreciate it,” I say, smiling apologetically at him, surprised at his excellent taste. Manhattan is renowned for its lack of private car ownership and its excessive use of public transportation. The majority of Manhattan households do not own a car. The small, sporty silver Audi is gorgeous, far more expensive than my own little Chevy, one of the perks of being a medical professional, I suppose. The interior is so luxurious that I am nervous to touch anything for fear of leaving fingerprints all over the gorgeous stainless trim.
“I’m normally a really good driver, I just have to get used to the gearshift. Back home I drive an automatic,” I add, by way of explanation and he smiles.
“You don’t have to apologise to me, Paige, it’s not my car. It’s Adam’s, although he never drives it, it wouldn’t be safe, in light of his condition,” he informs me calmly and I nearly veer off the road in surprise.
“Sorry,” I mutter, trying to imagine Adam cruising around Manhattan in this
Doctor Sheldon notices me shivering.
“I’m so sorry, Paige,” he apologises, “I should have warned you about the temperature difference. California winters are much warmer. You must be freezing.” He glances down at my utterly inappropriate three-quarter pants and beaded sandals sympathetically.
“It’s not your fault,” I stammer, pulling a cardigan from my holdall, “I should have remembered.”
Christmas is only six weeks away and winter is almost upon us. New York is freezing and it is only going to get colder. I need to get myself a decent coat urgently. I set my watch forward three hours. It is 4 o’clock in the afternoon, New York time. Carl has asked if I would like to rest and go and see Adam in the morning, but I shake my head emphatically. I will see Adam today; I cannot wait a minute longer than is absolutely necessary.
We catch a cab to the Bed and Breakfast that Doctor Sheldon has booked me into. It is quaint and pretty with a beautiful green lawn, and the owners, Mr and Mrs Bass, are retired. He was a surgeon and she was a nursing aide. I smile at them both and then gratefully accept Mrs Bass’s offer to show me to my room. I dig in my suitcase for a change of clothes and take a quick, hot shower; the jets of heat stinging my freezing skin, waking me up and clearing my head. I pull on a pair of denims and a peach jersey top that Adam loves. Thankfully I brought my brown leather boots. I brush my teeth and tie my hair back in a ponytail. Pulling on two pairs of socks, I zip up my boots and I am ready to go in under 20 minutes. Carl, waiting downstairs, looks suitably impressed. He is old friends with the Bass family, having gone to the same college as Mr Bass. They politely end their conversation, but, as we prepare to leave, Mrs Bass gives a shriek of protest, rushes to the closet in the hall and bundles me into the warmest, cosiest sheepskin coat. I try to object, but she is insistent and so I thank her profusely and then, before I know it, we are standing back at the car. The doctor hands me the keys.
“This car will be for your use only for the duration of your stay,” he remarks, catching me off guard. Not wanting to show how nervous I am about driving around an unknown city and possibly losing the freedom of having a car, I settle confidently into the driver’s seat.
Five minutes later Carl is visibly wincing as I grind the gears noisily.
“I really appreciate it,” I say, smiling apologetically at him, surprised at his excellent taste. Manhattan is renowned for its lack of private car ownership and its excessive use of public transportation. The majority of Manhattan households do not own a car. The small, sporty silver Audi is gorgeous, far more expensive than my own little Chevy, one of the perks of being a medical professional, I suppose. The interior is so luxurious that I am nervous to touch anything for fear of leaving fingerprints all over the gorgeous stainless trim.
“I’m normally a really good driver, I just have to get used to the gearshift. Back home I drive an automatic,” I add, by way of explanation and he smiles.
“You don’t have to apologise to me, Paige, it’s not my car. It’s Adam’s, although he never drives it, it wouldn’t be safe, in light of his condition,” he informs me calmly and I nearly veer off the road in surprise.
“Sorry,” I mutter, trying to imagine Adam cruising around Manhattan in this
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