Free The Third Angel by Alice Hoffman

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    â€œLucy,” he said. “Yes.”
    â€œI tried to write to you at this address, here at the hotel, when I returned to the States, but the letters came back to me.”
    â€œMyself and letters were never a good match.”
    â€œI've thought about you often, Mr. Healy.”
    â€œWell, God bless you,” he said. “Thank you.”
    â€œMy daughter lives in London. One of them. She's about to be married, but her fiancé is very ill. They don't expect him to survive.”
    â€œStay away from letters and marriage,” Teddy Healy said. “That's my best advice.”
    â€œRight,” Lucy said. She knew the pain such things had caused him.
    â€œI'm sorry for your daughter's troubles,” Teddy added. “That's a very sad thing.”
    â€œThank you. I was sorry for yours. I should have come back here years ago. I meant to, but I got caught up in my own life. I made more mistakes than I could begin to count.”
    Teddy Healy shrugged. He called for another coffee and one for Lucy as well. “To hell with the past,” he said.
    â€œMy daughter says the place is still haunted.”
    â€œSo I've heard.” Teddy glanced up and saw she wasn't going to let it go at that. “You don't believe in that nonsense, do you?”
    â€œI saw it once,” Lucy said. “I wasn't much of a witness. I fell and hit my head.”
    â€œYou've got a good, long memory,” Teddy said. And that was unfortunate; that was what he always worried about. That he'd ruined her life as well as his own. “I suppose you remember I was a coward.”
    â€œI remember I thought everything that had happened was my fault.”
    â€œWell, that's a foolish idea. It was mine. I took away your childhood. There's no way to make amends for that. I can assure you.”
    â€œIs that what you think? If anything, you gave my childhood back to me.”
    Teddy laughed. “That I don't believe.”
    â€œYou did. My father married a woman he met over here, and we lived together in New York. I walked my dog through Central Park every day, and I was happy, something I never thought I'd be again. What I saw up on the seventh floor of this hotel was an innocent man. I definitely remember that. Come with me and we'll see.”
    â€œTo tell you the truth I don't go upstairs anymore. Not since I cut down on the drinking.” The barman brought over their coffees. “Put that on my tab.” Teddy looked up at the clock. It was nearly ten-thirty, that dreadful time.
    â€œI think we should go upstairs and be done with it, Mr. Healy.” She'd already stood up.
    â€œI won't get rid of you until I do, will I, Lucy?”
    She shook her head. He recalled that she'd been stubborn then, too.
    They took the lift up. She hadn't remembered it to be so small or so creaky. They got out on the top floor. Seven. There had been some work done along the molding where the pet rabbit who'd lived in the hotel back when Lucy was a girl had torn off strips of wallpaper. But most everything seemed very dim, in need of repair.
    â€œMy daughter's staying on this floor.”
    â€œShe could have found a better place to stay,” Teddy said.
    â€œWe all could have done that.”
    Teddy chuckled. He looked quite pale.
    When they got to 707, Lucy knocked, then opened the door.
    The room was empty and cold. Some extra mattresses were stored against one wall. Lucy left the door open and she and Teddy stood in the hallway, looking in. Teddy glanced at her once and she felt his uncertainty. They both remembered everything. They might not recall what they'd had for breakfast, but they assuredly recalled exactly what had happened in this room.
    It was now ten-thirty. When Lucy's husband had left, she had often thought about Teddy Healy. She knew that love wasn't something you could bargain for. She remembered the girl she had been; in many ways, she was still that girl. She had lost her faith