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Epilogue
I watched cars go by with my eyes closed. It was a way to keep preoccupied on the bus
ride home and practice at the same time, a suggestion from my newest instructor at the
university. I sat by the window, set my backpack between my feet and turned my music up to
block out distracting noise, then closed my eyes and concentrated. The city busses were
incredibly slow, and no one liked to get stuck behind them. Cars and trucks sped around us
at every opportunity, and I focused on seeing them do it.
Green four door sedan. A few seconds later I opened my eyes and watched as a shiny
green hybrid zipped around us. I smiled to myself. A few seconds. I was up to seconds,
plural. I touched my left hand to my chest, lightly fingering the zippered pocket inside my
jacket. The amulet was there, resting close to my heart. I really shouldn t have carried
something so precious around with me where it might get damaged, but I couldn t bring
myself to leave it at home either. I compromised and placed it, carefully wrapped, into a
secure pocket on the inside of my jacket. I could feel the weight of it without exposing it to
the elements or prying eyes, and it was close enough to work its charm on me and remind me
of Reese all at once. Not that I was in danger of forgetting him any time soon.
Three months had passed since the museum robbery. I d been cleared of all charges.
Professor Hauer had vanished, and the police were no closer to solving the crime now than
they were when it was first committed, although Reese was still a decided person of interest.
Constance apologized for doubting me, my job was secure, my thesis was on track, and I was
enjoying the few classes I taught in addition to the ones I was taking. Things were fine.
Things were rosy. Things were practically perfect, yet I was more unhappy now than I had
been since my sophomore year of high school. I knew my inexplicable melancholy was
annoying for my coworkers and friends, and after a few fruitless tries they d stopped asking
about it, which was fine with me. I couldn t explain missing Reese to them anyway. As far as
Constance was concerned, he was bad news, and I found it easier not to talk about him after
her first few diatribes.
She was probably right about Reese, but that didn t keep me from wanting to see him
again. He d said he d come back, and I believed him. And he d been in touch, kind of. Every
couple of weeks I got a postcard in the mail. The first one was from New York, the next from
Bangkok, then Osaka& they came from all over the world. They were unsigned, but there was
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a short note with each of them. I liked the one from Togo the best. It had a picture of a huge
concrete dove in the middle of a traffic circle, and on the back Reese had written Why am I
here? Fucked if I know, pet. The cards had a space to themselves on the mess that was my
coffee table, tucked between my reference books and my laptop. It had been a few weeks
since my last one, and I was looking forward to checking the mail.
The bus stopped a few blocks away from my apartment building. I shouldered my
backpack and got off, grateful for my jacket now that fall was well underway. It rarely got so
cold it would snow here, but the rains were chilly enough to be uncomfortable. I hurried
down the sidewalk to my place, entering the front door gratefully and combing my fingers
through my damp hair before heading towards my mailbox. Electric bill, an ad for a
housekeeping service, and yes! Postcard! I grabbed it eagerly and scanned the picture,
taking in the gondola and the elegant white bridge. It had to be Venice. I turned it over and
frowned. There was nothing there. No message, no address, not even my name. How the
hell had it gotten here? Maybe it wasn t from Reese after all, maybe& well. Weird. I clamped
down on my sudden sharp feeling of disappointment and tucked the card in with the junk
mail, then headed for the elevator.
My hall smelled really good. Someone had ordered out; no one here cooked that well. I
inhaled and sighed, knowing a fabulous broth and noodle dinner awaited me, and opened my
door.
The smell of eggs and bacon, waffles and syrup, bagels and cream cheese was
overwhelming. I gaped at my kitchen countertop. It was covered with Styrofoam containers,
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