Free This Case Is Gonna Kill Me by Phillipa Bornikova Page A

him?”
    “Absolutely.”
    Off to our right the Macy’s fireworks display thundered off barges in the Hudson River, but the president had decided to provide a federal display on Liberty Island. Sparks fell past Liberty’s shoulders.
    “Trust the president to kick off his reelection campaign by wrapping himself in the flag until he chokes,” Gregory said.
    “I know that’s probably true, but don’t be a cynic. Not tonight,” Ray said.
    The wind off the water faintly carried the notes of “Stars and Stripes.” I’m a sentimental sap, and my upmty-ump great-grandfather, William Ellery, had been a signer of the Declaration of Independence, so I had tears in my eyes. Gregory threw up his hands.
    “God, I’m surrounded.”
    Ray twined his arms behind Gregory’s neck. “Admit it. That’s why you love me. Because I’m sincere.”
    The older man smiled down at him. “Well, that’s one reason.” They embraced. I looked away.
    Their love made me feel so horribly alone. Once again, I questioned the wisdom of ending things with Devon. When you share your life with someone, the good times are better and the bad times are less bad. I sternly warned myself not to romanticize my time with Devon. Toward the end, it hadn’t been all unicorns, rainbows, and cotton candy. It had been about competing goals and who yielded to the other. I hated power games, so I’d taken my ball and gone home. Except I wasn’t sure which home I belonged in, the vampire one or the human one.
    The grand finale was starting. Some of the secondary explosions looked like spinning galaxies out over the water, and Lady Liberty seemed to be wearing a crown of stars. It reminded me of a statue of the Virgin I’d seen in the Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi. My father loved the Virgin Mother, and he always lit a candle in any Lady Chapel he entered. I had adopted the habit, but in my case the candle was always for him. So, where the hell was he ?
    I turned my back to the figure in the harbor. Was it trauma that made every train of thought take me back to the men who were in (or out) of my life?
    *   *   *
    The trip home required a decision—subway or taxi? A taxi was potentially safer, but there was also safety in numbers, and the subways had police on duty who had guns. My vivid imagination made me picture being stuck in traffic when a werewolf ripped the door off the cab, yanked me out, and tore … I cut off that line of thought and decided on the subway.
    I walked toward the green globe glowing on the corner, past the windows and doors of restaurants spilling light, conversations, and the clink of silverware on china onto the sidewalk. They were a pleasant contrast to the dark, blank shutters of the neighboring stores. Above the stores were offices and apartments. From the apartments came the sounds of televisions, radios, voices, and children’s laughter.
    The lonesome sound of a saxophone floated up the stairs as I descended to the station. The musician was an elderly African-American man. I threw five dollars into his instrument case as I passed, and he nodded his thanks.
    The platform was filled with people heading home from various Fourth of July celebrations. The mood was exuberant, so the nervous couple alternatively huddled against and studying the subway map hung on the tiled wall stood out like gazelles in … well, in New York. I debated walking over and speaking to them, but New York teaches you to keep to yourself. Zones of privacy are really important when you have over eight million people living in about three hundred square miles.
    The woman made the decision for me. She sidled over to me, eyes flicking nervously from side to side as more people drifted down the stairs and gathered on the platform.
    “Excuse me, my husband and I are tryin’ to get back to our hotel.” The distinctive drawl of the South flattened every vowel. She fumbled in her purse and pulled out a card. “It’s the Amsterdam Inn on West