Free Love Me Not by Villette Snowe

route was more direct, and I knew everyone was gone. I went down the hall and into Penny’s office. The ring and note were gone off the desk. Finally, a genuine smile curved over my lips.
    I turned and opened the file cabinet. Shit. I didn’t know Kimber’s last name. I looked through the tabs one at a time, all the past and current employees. Baker, Blanchard, Carpenter…
    Finally…West, Kimber. Of course, she’d have to be at the end. At least her first name was unique enough that I didn’t doubt I had the right file.
    The address didn’t ring a bell. Though, admittedly, I hadn’t been away from this small area in a few years. The zip code was the Southside, not far from here, though certainly not within walking distance, not if I wanted to get there before morning.
    I pulled the phonebook out of Penny’s bottom desk drawer and slapped it down on the desk. Hopefully, cab companies still ran on Christmas Eve.
    They did. A very somber cabby pulled up to the shop a little while later.
    “Sorry, man,” I said as he turned onto the main road. “I’ll give you a great tip.”
    He glanced in the rearview mirror, and the caterpillars that were his eyebrows rose a bit.
    He took the short jump onto 202 over to Southside Boulevard. Then he made the turn onto the access road. This area was a muddle of classes and cultures. On the east side of the road was Deerwood, an upper class yuppyish community, and on the west side of the road was a line of apartment complexes, all using the access road. Some of the apartments looked nice enough, not new but remodeled and well maintained, and then there were those that were not remodeled. That was where the cabby turned.
    The entry to the complex was neat but no flowers or palms, only a wooden sign planted in mulch.
    “What apartment again?” the driver said.
    “209.”
    A few seconds later, the cab stopped. I glanced around to make sure no one was around.
    “Wait here,” I said.
    “How long you gonna be?”
    “About twenty seconds.”
    He shifted into park. “Meter’s running.”
    I opened the door and then paused and looked back at the driver. “Do you have a pen?”
    “Twenty seconds?”
    “Great tip,” I countered.
    He produced a pen with a chewed-up end, and I jotted a note on the inside front cover of the book, without taking the time to make my handwriting nice. She got the same scrawl I used to write in my notebooks. Be lost in the pages. Never underestimate the value of allowing yourself to be lost for a while.
    I handed back the pen, stuffed the book back in its Barnes and Noble bag, and then hopped out of the car.
    Quietly, I took the wooden steps up to the second level exterior walkway. I walked past number 207 and then 208. I almost missed 209 because the doors were so close together. The apartments couldn’t be more than a couple rooms large.
    On her door hung a small wreath, which looked to be homemade out of pinecones. I wanted to look around a little more, see if I could spy any more of her personality, but I stuck with my plan and hung the handle of the bag off her doorknob and then returned to the cab.
    “What are you, Santa Claus?” the driver said.
    I rubbed my bristly chin. “Don’t you see the whiskers?”
    He actually smiled a little.
    At a puttering speed, he drove back up Southside Boulevard and across 202 toward the mall. I knew he was taking his time for the sake of running the meter, but I didn’t care. I felt high, like when I’d write love letters for Cassie and she’d cry.
    I imagined what Kimber’s reaction would be—hopefully not creeped out that someone knew where she lived. No, she’d just assume it was from one of her neighbors.
    She’d wake in the morning and open her door, on her way to some family event, and see the bag. She’d think the inscription was cute and hopefully smile about someone caring about her. Maybe I could help make her feel good for the rest of the day. Maybe that would help atone for my behavior, at