by John Gray
As Chase placed her hand on the door of the BMW to get herself home for a romantic dinner with her sweet Gavin, she heard the guard announce to the noisy tourists, “Welcome to St. Patrick’s Cathedral.”
CHAPTER 2
A Quarter to Spare
It was a short drive from Rockefeller Center to the Lenox Hill area of Manhattan, and Chase refused to sit in the back seat, even though she was paying Matthew to drive her. It felt as if she’d be saying to the world, Look at me, the fancy girl with the fancy driver. She preferred instead to sit up front and chat, although today she was uncharacteristically quiet, her tongue still, her mind wandering, and her gaze out the car windows fixing on nothing at all.
Chase adjusted herself in the seat and felt a jab in her right hip, revealing something in her pocket, poking her. She wiggled around a bit to gain leverage, pushed her small fingers inside the tiny pocket and fished out a single shiny quarter. Chase rubbed the coin between her thumb and fingers, and it worked like a time machine, transporting her to a memory and place far away.
As the car eased its way through the Upper East Side, Chase looked down at the coin and said quietly, “Some kids don’t have a quarter, so I’d leave them one.”
Matthew, not taking his dark brown eyes off the road said, “I’m sorry, what about quarters?”
Chase liked and trusted Matthew, but in the year he’d been her driver she had never let him into her real life. She couldn’t tell you why. After all, he came across as one of the most stand-up men she’d ever met, as solid and trustworthy as he was handsome for his age. Yet today, there was something about the way he asked her that last question, a kindness in his voice, that caused Chase to let her guard down.
“Back where I used to live in Manchester, Vermont,” she began, “They had a store called Orvis; it was an L.L. Bean-type place.” Matthew nodded, “Okay.”
“Outside this store was a big pond filled with trout of all shapes and sizes. I mean these things were HUGE.”
She saw he was listening, so she continued, “By the back of the store, near the door that led to the pond, they had a gumball machine with fish food inside, and you could fill up a little paper cup with the food if you put a quarter in. You know what I mean?”
Matthew, following along, said, “So instead of getting candy like a regular gumball machine, you got fish food.”
“That’s right,” Chase replied, “and when you threw the food into the water the fish went crazy trying to gobble it up.”
Matthew could imagine the feeding frenzy in his own mind right now.
She continued as she looked down at the coin, “I was just thinking about that place and saying to myself that some kids didn’t have a quarter for the fish food. Some kids are broke, ya know?”
Matthew smiled, “I do. I used to be one of them.”
“Me too,” Chase said, smiling back. “Anyway, once a month I’d stop at Bennington Bank and buy a roll of quarters for ten bucks, then I’d leave it with Liana Bonavita, the nice lady who ran the Orvis store.”
Chase hadn’t thought of Liana since she left Vermont, prompting her to smile again and say, “Isn’t that a great name, Liana Bonavita. It’s almost lyrical.”
Matthew chuckled and said, “It is. It sounds like an exotic place you’d go on vacation. ‘Sorry, can’t talk, I’m catching a flight for Bonavita.’”
They were both smiling now at Matthew’s silliness.
“Anyway,” Chase continued, “I’d leave the quarters with Liana, and she’d keep them separate from the register, and when some kid was looking for fish food and didn’t have any money, she’d say, ‘Hold up, I have a quarter to spare,’ and hand them out, making a child happy.”
Matthew considered the kind gesture and in a thoughtful voice said, “Well, that was nice of you, Chase.”
She smiled and said, “I didn’t have a lot growing up, so things like that, not even having a quarter sometimes—I don’t know, I guess when I see a kid like that I want to help.”
Chase looked out of the car’s windshield at the busy traffic, but then her grin fell away as she remembered standing on a small wooden bridge that crossed the pond full of fish in Vermont. She and Gavin stood there more than once, talking, but the last time was an unhappy memory. It involved a very difficult conversation with Gavin, one where, in the end, she knew she had to leave Vermont, a place she adored.
Telling the man, you love, “I can’t stay here,” causes an ache that never quite leaves you.
Matthew saw the sadness in her face and said, “I know you are a private person, Chase, but I also know you are hiding from something here in Manhattan, and the thing is, I can’t protect you properly if I don’t know what it is.”
There was a long silent pause, then Mathew added, “Why are you here, Chase?”
Chase liked Matthew. He looked like a fluffy Antonio Banderas, the silver in his hair growing whiter by the day and the creases around his eyes telling you this was a man who had seen some things in his years as a cop. Even though he had retired from the force he still dressed like a police detective, with a neatly pressed dress shirt, slacks, and shoes. Appearance was important to Matthew.
Chase had ducked his polite inquiries for months, but seeing those kind eyes searching for a way to help her, perhaps it was time, she thought, to take the trust he had earned and put it to use.
She decided to just say it. “I’m a writer, Matthew, and a couple of years ago when I went to visit a small town in Vermont something happened to me that led me to write a book.”
Matthew considered her words and replied, “Something happened. Was it something good or bad?”
Chase put both feet on the front seat and pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping them with her arms the way a child would who was about to tell a secret.
She went on: “No, not bad. Just strange. I lived in an old church building and started seeing things in the windows that ended up coming true.”
Matthew then, “You mean—literally seeing?”
“Yes, I mean I’d see something in the stained glass that wasn’t there before, and it turned out to be a clue to help someone in town,” she replied.
Matthew sat in silence as she added, “And before you ask, no, I’m not psychic. It hasn’t happened before or since.”
Matthew immediately thought about all the times she had finished her daily jog by taking a quick walk through St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and then his mind shifted back to what she just said about the church in Vermont. “Hang on, let me park first.”
After pulling the car into an empty spot in front of the dry cleaners Chase used often, Matthew turned facing her now and said patiently, “Go on.”
Chase locked eyes with his and said, “When I looked at the church windows, I saw people in town who were in trouble, and so I helped them. That’s all. I’m a writer, so I wrote a book about the experience, and when word got out, things got weird for me.”
Matthew was thinking hard now, trying to make sense of it, then asked, “What do you mean when word got out? You mean when people read the book?”
Chase nodded, “Sort of. Here’s what happened. I write and publish the book and it does all right, in sales, ya know.”
Matthew just nodded as he followed along.
“Then a TV station in Boston hears about it and sends a reporter from four hours away to Manchester to interview me. I do it, thinking I’m just talking to people in Boston.”
Matthew was confused now. “You weren’t?”
“No,” Chase began, “they do the story and put it up on the satellite and give it to CNN. Next thing I know my story and book have gone viral.”
“Well, that must have been good for sales, right?” Matthew said.
“Right, it was. I was on the bestsellers list two weeks later. But then people from all over who had troubles in their lives started making this pilgrimage to Manchester, asking me to look at the church windows and tell them if their mom was in heaven or where their lost c
at was.”
Matthew thought for a moment then said, “And you had no clue.”
“No, I didn’t, and most of them just stared at me with these lost, sad eyes like …” Chase let out a deep sigh and didn’t finish the thought.
“Hey, hey, It’s okay. I get it now. So, you needed to get out of there for a while?”
Chase reigned in her emotions and said, “Yes, that’s why I’m here in a big city where nobody knows me.”
The two sat in silence another moment when Matthew finally asked, “Is that why you keep going to St. Patrick’s? Are you looking up at all those windows for something?”
Chase felt relief rush over her. It was good that someone understood and knew she wasn’t crazy.
“Yes,” she answered, “I literally do a quick loop inside, looking up at all that stained glass, and it always looks exactly the same. Whatever happened in Vermont, stayed in Vermont, and is apparently finished with me.”
Matthew touched her hand like a father trying to comfort a child, “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
Chase threw her hands in the air, shrugged her shoulders, “Beats me. I have a book everyone read, a bank account full of money, and here I am running around churches like some fool.”
Matthew didn’t say a word, just listening now.
Chase added, “And you wanna hear the funny part?”
Matthew nodded silently.
“Before Vermont, I’m not sure I even believed in God. I rarely went to church, so I keep asking myself the same question …” Her voice trailed off.
“Why you?” Matthew said firmly.
“Exactly!” Chase replied, “Why me?”
After another slight pause Matthew asked, “So how many more times am I picking you up at East Fiftieth?”
Chase responded, “You mean how many more times am I running through the church there?”
She pushed away a tear from her left eye, embarrassed she was getting this emotional about it. “Oh, I think we’re done. I think today was the last time.”
She looked at her watch, signaling that she really had to go.
Picking up on the signal, Matthew said, “Hey, before you duck out, did I ever tell you why my name is Matthew?”
Chase liked the fact that he was changing the subject. “Nope, I don’t think you did.”
Her thoughtful driver continued, “My mom was super-religious, and of all the stories in the Bible she loved the fact that Jesus chose Matthew as one of his special twelve.”
Chase wasn’t following. “I don’t read the Bible, so I don’t get the significance.”
He continued, “Matthew was a tax collector and only cared about money. He’s the last person you’d think Jesus would want for an apostle. He even told Jesus when they met, listen dude, I’m NOT the guy you want.”
Chase giggled. “He called Jesus ‘dude’?”
Matthew laughed. “Probably not, but you get my point.”
Chase thought a moment and said, “Maybe my mind is foggy today. What’s your point?”
He finished saying, “My mom always said even if you don’t believe in God, he believes in you, and he sometimes uses the least likely among us to do good things.”
Chase was on the verge of tears again, thinking about what Matthew said, replying in a slightly cracked voice, “And you think that’s me, huh?”
Matthew was the one shrugging his shoulders now. “Beats me, but why not? You’re a good person, Chase. I saw that the first day I met you. And I appreciate you trusting me enough to tell me about Winchester, Vermont, and the church windows.”
Chase laughed, “Manchester, it was Manchester, but … thank you, Matthew.”
Chase felt like a twenty-pound weight had been lifted from her shoulders as she smiled at her driver and said, “Gotta go. Thank you for listening.”
Matthew Rodriguez watched his one and only client exit the vehicle and make her way toward the front door of her well-appointed building.
He noticed she left the quarter that was in her hand, the one that triggered all those memories, behind on the dashboard. Matthew scooped up the emotional landmine, tossing it into a dish with the rest of his loose change.
As he watched Chase pull the rubber band tie out of her hair, causing it to fall softly on her shoulders, catching the late morning light, Matthew had one powerful thought cross his mind.
He said it out loud, as if doing so made it more real, “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Chase. I promise.”
What Matthew didn’t know was that he had the situation exactly backwards. It was Chase who would someday save his life.
CHAPTER 3
Fur-Ever Java
The Brownstone where Chase lived alone with her pup was four stories high. She rented the second floor, with tenants above and a one-of-a-kind coffee shop taking up a very lively residence down below. Chase smiled every time she approached the front door and looked up to see the large red and white sign that said Fur-Ever Java. The casual observer would assume it was just a play on words, but within thirty seconds of entering the coffee house, you’d understand what the Fur was about.
Chase was about to reach for the doorknob to let herself in when she heard her best friend call out to her. Scooter, an Australian Shepherd she’d saved from a shelter outside Seattle, was already in the window announcing her return. Scooter was smart and knew exactly how long his mommy’s morning jog took. One hour after she left, his piercing, light blue eyes would scan the block waiting for the black car to arrive that carried everything that mattered to him in the world.
Chase pulled the door open and braced herself for the two front paws that would hit her legs hard, just above the knee, Scooter’s way of saying I missed you.
“EASY, buddy,” she said, scratching the top of his furry head.
“Did he behave?” Chase asked the busy café, tossing the question to whoever wanted to catch it.
Raylan, the owner, said, “Are you kidding? He’s smitten with that Pug who just came in, Penelope. The two were thick as thieves while you were gone.”
Chase’s eyes scanned the café, and waddling over was a small dog with a light brown body and a jet-black face. Around the Pug’s neck was a handmade white cloth collar with the name PENELOPE sewn right in. The animal shelter on Bleeker Street in Greenwich Village had a volunteer sew those collars so any dog that was up for adoption would be easy to identify.
Chase leaned down to give her a pat on the head when Scooter suddenly pushed himself between them as if to say, Um, mom, she’s mine.
Chase looked at Raylan and said, “You’re not kidding, he likes her. It’s gonna break his heart when she goes.”
Raylan, a man in his forties, with a face that told a hard story and a crisp white apron tied around his waist, continued wiping down a table and replied, “Oh yeah, he’ll be heartbroken until the next girl comes in to visit.”
A well-dressed woman in her sixties holding an expensive Hermes bag was looking at pottery, specifically a clay bowl made by a local artist. Raylan was kind enough to offer a free shelf in his café to any of the local artisans so they could sell their wares. He wouldn’t even take a cut, letting them keep all the profits. In Raylan’s mind everyone needed a hand up sometimes, especially a struggling artist.
The woman holding the bowl asked in a rude tone, “Can I ask you why you have so many dogs in here?”
“GOUT, It’s definitely gout, Raylan.” The words came from a different woman with short red hair who worked part-time at the café and was busy not ringing up customers. Instead, she was staring at a laptop computer that didn’t belong on the front counter. She shouted to Raylan something about gout with a look of horror on her face.
Raylan turned from the customer who asked the question about the dogs toward the woman with the laptop and said, “Hang on, Deb. You can tell me about your horrible disease in a minute. I’m talking to a customer.”
Deb slammed the computer shut and walked in a circle talking
to herself, “Gout, I knew it. And everyone said I just banged my leg on the stairs. It’s probably creeping toward my brain as we speak.”
Raylan, no stranger to Deb’s hypochondria, heard that last comment about it creeping and started laughing out loud.
The wealthy woman holding the pottery looking annoyed, asking, “Did I say something funny?”
Raylan straightened up, “No, ma’am. I was laughing at my worker. Every day she comes in here with some ailment and instead of RINGING UP CUSTOMERS,” Raylan said loudly in Deb’s direction, “She gets on the internet and puts in her symptoms and about twenty seconds later she’s convinced she has some horrible disease.”
Raylan could see the woman wasn’t amused or interested, “I’m sorry. What was your question again—why so many dogs in here?”
The woman folded her arms in front of her in a defiant stance and said, “Seems like a health hazard in a place you sell food.”
Raylan had gotten the question before and was growing tired of answering it. Chase, holding Scooter by his collar, was eavesdropping, so she decided to help him out.
“Mrs.?” Chase began with inquiry in her voice.
The woman turned a cold eye toward Chase and said, “Wainwright. Delores Wainwright. And you are?”
“Chase,” she replied with a smile.
The woman crinkled her nose, “Chase? Aren’t you a girl?”
Chase let go of Scooter’s collar now so he could go rub noses with his new girlfriend, Penelope, saying, “Yes, last I checked. Anyway, Mrs. Wainwright, can I ask you a question? I saw you looking at the pottery there … it’s pretty, isn’t it?”
The older woman paused, then said in a calmer tone, “It is.”
Chase continued, “Were you thinking of maybe buying some?”
The woman cleared her throat, “I suppose I was, but …”
Before she could continue, Chase said, “Not to interrupt, but I’ll bet you when you walked into this coffee shop you planned on getting coffee, not pottery, but because it’s here you happened to see it and like it and now you might get it.”
