The Unintended Traveler

THE ARRIVAL

1

Consciousness perceived nothing but utter blackness. And it wouldn’t be unusual to think such a deep and endless void might be frightening, but, somehow, it wasn’t. It was comforting, in fact, and there existed a sense of everything with the need for nothing more. Eventually, it became evident that consciousness was not only aware of the darkness; it was bound by it. Strangely, without a sense of attachment - like waking from a dream without knowing the dreamer. Until suddenly, the blackness and the experience of it were the same.

A thought settled in, dim but present. I am…

Discarnate…

Floating?

Next, there was a long, dark tunnel. Beyond the charcoal depths at the end was a faint glow - far away and tiny as a pinhole. At once, the light began to expand. And it was uncomfortable, intrusive, forced with no care of rejection. There was a splotch of color in the sheen, the image purple, blurry, and shifting. It was difficult to make out as other colors came into view: silver, beige, and something small and red. 

As the blackened void gave way to increasing light, there was something audible. The sound echoed as though in a large concert hall. It was a human voice. Female. The words were incomprehensible at first, and it wasn’t clear who she was addressing. There was persistence in her tone, and she was repeating the same message.

"Okay, I need you to wake up. Can you wake up for me? Wake up now, wake up!"

A strange weight that hadn’t been noticed before enveloped the senses like a warm, heavy blanket. It was compacting and restrictive, like being confined to a small box. Then, swiftly, there was a sense of embodiment.

My body.

And from limb to limb, consciousness experienced the density of its carnal existence.

Where am I?

Exposed skin suddenly revealed the icy chill of an air-conditioned room.

The woman’s voice spoke again, Can you sit up? It was more apparent now, less echoey, and her tone was soothing, motherly. My name is Beth, she said. I need you to sit up and take a sip of juice from this cup. Can you do that for me?

Through the fog, he realized who he was…where he was. He could barely lift his head, but he did try, keeping his eyes fixed on the woman who called herself Beth as she came into focus. She had short brown hair and a warm smile, and she was dressed in purple nursing scrubs. In her hand, she held a small red cup with a silver straw, and she brought it slowly toward his mouth. He took a sip, and the instant he felt his esophagus move to accept the drink, he recognized how thirsty he was.

That’s it, she said, Good…

Thoughts flooded his mind. Of course! He’d been in the hospital for surgery, having suffered from water build-up on both knees. According to doctors, the trauma had caused swelling due to injuries to his ligaments from years of playing rugby and soccer competitively as a young adult. He was thirty-four years old, but his injuries made him feel eighty-four.

Memories ushered in more images, like scenes from a movie: the unbearable pain he felt from walking; the imposition he was to his family who struggled to help him get around; the debilitating sense that made him feel less of a man, less of a human being; the deep depression resulting in conscious efforts to keep his family and loved ones at an emotionally safe distance. He remembered the doctor saying the surgery would be routine. Was it a success? Would he walk again?

He mentally scanned the lower portion of his body, willing his legs to move, even if it was just an inch. He was surprised how heavy they felt, muscles working extra hard to coordinate the slight bend to his right knee.

Movement!

A sigh of relief. And better yet, no pain! But stranger still, he could feel the hospital sheets against the bare skin of both knee caps.

Why are there no bandages on my knees?

He signaled his left leg to move and became aware of a bandage around the left calf muscle.

What’s this?

He wiggled his toes and moved his feet.

At least they work.

He thought to ask the nurse about the surgery but suddenly felt like he would be sick. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting out a tiny groan.

You may experience some nausea coming out of anesthesia, nurse Beth explained. Here, have some more juice. She offered the red cup with the silver straw again. He finished the rest, and when she asked if he wanted more, he nodded. 

As nurse Beth turned to leave, a woman entered his room. She was familiar, yet different in some way.

Gina. Sister.

He recognized her eyes, but her hair was different, and she was dressed overtly professionally, not at all the way he’d previously recalled seeing her. He remembered Gina had given him a ride to the hospital. She’d promised to pick him up. The plan was to take some time off work, and he was to stay with her for a few days. She’d agreed to help transport him to and from physical therapy appointments. 

But…there are no bandages on my knees.

I just talked to the doctor, she said. Looks like everything went well. How are you feeling?

Sick, he replied. He noticed her makeup. She looked good, but she never wore that much makeup. Gina, why are you dressed so funny? He cut right to the chase.

She looked at him, puzzled. "This is how I always dress, ass, and who’s Gina?"

He felt another wave of nausea. You, he said, grimacing, you’re Gina.

She laughed, Boy, I’ll have some of what you’re having. Sounds like it might be better than the crap you used to sell way back when. It’s Izzie, Brian. Your sister…remember? The one who left her family and drove clear across town to make sure you could get a ride to and from the hospital? Who stood by your side, fighting the doctors and the insurance company so your surgery would be covered? The one who…

As she went on, he tuned her out.

He wondered briefly about her comment regarding the ‘crap he sold way back when,’ but was more struck by her calling him by a different name. Why the hell did she call me Brian?

He interrupted her rant and said, What are you talking about? It’s me, Wally.

Izzie threw her head back and laughed again, making fun of the name Wally and added some snide remark about an alter ego. She then scanned the room and located his pants, from which she produced his wallet.

Like I said, that’s some good shit they have you on, she responded, finding his driver’s license and removing it from its sleeve. You’re still in la-la land. She handed him the card with a dismissive look that boarded on sarcasm.

He leered at the identification in disbelief and noticed the location right away. Denver, Colorado? His chest tightened. That’s impossible - he lived in San Francisco, California! He read the name Brian Alexander Walker? Who the fuck is that? That’s not my name! He looked long and hard at the face in the picture, which revealed a familiar, handsome man with dark features, a full head of thick black hair, and a square jaw. Looking at himself in the photo made him feel uneasy because he didn’t recall ever posing for such a picture. Okay, so that’s me, but hell if that ain’t my name. Besides, he was smiling. He never smiled. Well…hardly ever.

"What is this, some kind of fucking joke?" he asked, breathing heavily with half a laugh.

Give it some time, Izzie said, trying to sound reassuring. The doctor said you’d be ready to go as soon as you’re able to get comfortably back on your feet. Then she added jokingly, "…so I can take your sorry ass home! She chuckled at herself, took the license from him, placed it where it belonged, and slipped the wallet back into his pants pocket. You should be able to put some weight on your left leg soon…that is, with minimal discomfort."

Who is this person, he thought, and what had she done with my sister Gina?

Gina never used words like ‘minimal discomfort.’ She worked two jobs: an administrative assistant at a tech firm and a second as a barista at a local coffee shop. She married Carl Madigan and had two children, Michael and Sabrina. He was confused. The woman standing in his room was dressed professionally to a T, as though she were a top attorney at a law firm or something. This was not the Gina he remembered. It was like she was wearing a costume.

Wally struggled to wrap his mind around the experience. His rational self told him to remain calm, but his mind began buzzing with a strategy, a way to figure out what to do next. His breathing became rapid, and he noticed he was still connected to the hospital monitors. The last thing he wanted was to stay longer than he needed. So he tried to exercise some caution to keep the alarm bells from going off.

What day is this - Wednesday? He remembered his knee surgery was scheduled on a Wednesday.

The woman who called herself Izzie nodded, All day until midnight, she said, smiling.

And this operation I had…it was on my knees? He kept looking for something to help him feel he wasn’t losing his mind.

Izzie looked at him with surprise. No, you had a vein stripped from your left calf. What are you talking about, operation on your knees? 

She leaned in and looked into his eyes, shifting her gaze between both pupils. 

Yep, you’re definitely in there, Bri. I can see you. She gave him a sisterly kiss on the cheek and began talking about co-workers in the office and how dishonest they were with taking extra long lunches.

He tuned her out once more and started thinking about the events before the surgery, trying to piece things together. He remembered leaving his flat in San Francisco after Gina had picked him up that morning. He remembered meeting with the doctor, who walked him carefully through the surgical procedure. He recalled being in pre-op and how the nurses were friendly and helpful. He also remembered being wheeled on his back into the operating room, the anesthesiologist placing a mask over his face and asking him to count backward from ten. He only got to the number nine, and the next thing he knew, he was regaining consciousness in a strange and unfamiliar place.

Hey, can you hand me my phone? he asked Izzie, trying to sound casual.

Izzie turned and reached for his pants again. She checked the pockets. It’s not here, she said. She looked around the room and spotted the phone on the counter near some flowers he’d received earlier. She walked over and took a whiff of the arrangement. Before picking up the phone, she quietly read the card.

"Ummm, hello, I’m sure that’s personal, Wally said. Who’s that from anyway?"

You know who they’re from. They came before your prep for surgery this morning. They’re from Julia.

Another name Wally didn’t recognize. He hadn’t seen anyone romantically since Sarah Thomas. Thinking about her made him wish she were there, but it also filled him with regret because it’d been his fault the break-up occurred.

Their relationship had just turned serious right before the trouble with his knees. He didn’t need anyone to tell him she was one of a kind, and there was a unique connection they shared - a bond that’d lofted his spirits to new heights. Not to mention, of course, the flutter of butterflies he’d felt in anticipation of seeing her after short stints of being apart. Unfortunately, though, they’d reached a moment where he tried to convince her they wanted different things, and against Sarah’s wishes, they stopped seeing one another. She’d tried to persuade him to hang on, that he was using the frustrations with his condition to push people away. Still, he avoided the topic and maintained they’d grown apart. After the break-up, she tried calling, but he’d let the calls go to voice mail. The last thing he wanted was anyone feeling sorry for him. Eventually, they stopped altogether, and he stubbornly convinced himself that leaving her calls unanswered was the right thing to do.

After Izzie handed Wally the phone, he confirmed the date was the same as he remembered, and he immediately searched through his list of contacts. He looked for Jason, for Sarah, and for any name he thought might be vaguely familiar. With a heavy sigh, he realized there wasn’t one he recognized.

What’s going on?

You gonna call her? Izzie asked, referring to Julia.

Nah. Again, trying to sound normal.

He thought if he could just stand up and get out of the fricken hospital, he’d have a chance to sort things out. I think…I want to try and stand up now.

Let me get the nurse. Izzie began to leave the room but then realized she could just use the call button. Oh, here, we’ll just do this. She walked over to his bedside and reached for the small hand-held device attached to the back wall, and pressed it.

Wally looked at the monitor as he unsuccessfully tried to move into more of a sitting position. He noticed his blood pressure had risen slightly, and his heart was beginning to race: 110…115…122… To stay in control, he stopped moving, closed his eyes, and exhaled some deep breaths.

Calm…just remain calm.

Nurse Beth arrived a few moments later. She looked at Wally, and her eyes went immediately to the IV drip. Feeling any better? she asked.

Yes, Wally said. Can I try to stand up?

Why, sure, if you feel up to it. You’re almost through your IV, and you’ll need to make sure you continue to drink plenty of fluids. Let me help you get to your feet. Did you still want more juice?

Fuck no, he thought. He realized he was irritated, but the abrupt use of vulgarity had taken him by surprise.

Wally shook his head and forced himself to sit, fighting another bout of nausea. He moved his legs from underneath the covers, bewildered by how pain-free his knees felt. Nurse Beth stood close by, placing her hand gently on his arm. As he stood with his full weight, his left calf felt tingly and numb. The hospital floors were like ice against the bottoms of his feet.

You’ll need to go easy on your left side for a little while, the nurse said, Your strength should come back fully in just a couple of days or so.

Am I going to need physical therapy? Wally asked.

No, the nurse replied. There’ll be no need unless you continue to feel some discomfort. If so, you’ll have to give your doctor a call.

No physical therapy, he thought. Incredible.

As he felt the freeing nimbleness of his knees, he fought the urge to express his feelings of being overwhelmed. He couldn’t remember the last time they felt so strong. But his current predicament proved to be the thief that would rob him of such excitement as his mind swirled with confusion over how he got there. Was this a dream? Or was everything that happened before the surgery a dream? Perhaps the mobility and strength in his knees was some kind of morbid answer to his prayers. What kind of fucked-up Twilight Zone episode had he ended up in?

2

WALLY HADN’T PLANNED ON SAYING MUCH on the way to Brian’s home, wherever that may be, and it didn’t matter because his sister, who he now knew as Izzie, couldn’t stop talking about herself. He was mildly comforted that her personality didn’t differ much from the Gina he knew, who also had the gift of gab, but with much less cheeky fashion. It wasn’t enough that she was dressed differently from how he’d recalled her, but the fact she was driving a Lexus NX SUV said to Wally, somehow, she’d arrived. The vehicle Wally knew Gina owned in San Francisco was an older model Chevy Impala, which had given her more grief in mechanical problems than it was worth. Clearly, this version of Gina was doing well for herself.

As she spoke, he listened for similarities. Like Gina, Izzie was married, having referred to her husband’s name as Darrel instead of Carl, and she did mention two kids who were not Michael and Sabrina, but rather Adam and Samantha, or Sam, as Izzie preferred to call her.

As they drove, Wally’s anxiety rose like molten lava. It took all his strength to keep from going out of his mind as he listened to his sister recount circumstances he’d no memory of. He wondered if there was a way to reverse what’d happened. Perhaps being placed back under anesthesia, or maybe a hit of marijuana laced with something strong enough, the resulting effect would catapult him back to familiarity, back to home. Although still in shock with his apparent identity crisis and the strange city and state he found himself in, at least Izzie seemed close enough in similarity to Gina that it made some of what was happening more tolerable in a disconnected, crazy kind of way.

He’d never been to Denver and had no knowledge of the city whatsoever.  The scenery looked simple enough; highways, strip malls, skyscrapers off into the distance amid the Rocky Mountains’ majestic front range. It only made him wish to be home in San Francisco. 

How is any of this even possible?

Formulating the notion that he was in some kind of upside-down fantasy, he wondered haphazardly what Brian’s life might be like, what he did for a living, the type of man he was, or the people he chose as his close friends. Based on his assessment of Izzie, Wally guessed there were possible similarities between himself and this Brian character. Shit, for all intents and purposes, he was Brian.

He looked at his reflection in the side-view mirror of the SUV. The strange desire to resist his own appearance fueled a sense of ambiguity. No, I’m not Brian, he told himself, I am Walter James Briggs. That’s right, Wally Briggs…this isn’t my life. I don’t belong here… But he was here. And here, he was Brian. He felt a wave of nausea closing in, only this time, he was certain it wasn’t from the effects of anesthesia.

Having arrived at what he presumed was Brian’s home, Izzie pulled into a single-car drive, which led to a red-brick, one-story bungalow. A dark grey Toyota FJ Cruiser was parked in front of a small garage in the back of the property. Wally couldn’t help but feel a little insecure by his first impressions of Brian’s apparent lifestyle choices. It was a far cry from what Wally called home, but nonetheless, it’d still been home to him.

In Wally’s reality, he lived in a one-bedroom flat in the Mission District of San Francisco and worked as a business analyst for a small financial firm in the east bay. The city was loud, densely congested, and it wasn’t uncommon for people to feel like they were living on top of one another. Wally drove a Dodge Ram, his pride and joy; a gas guzzler, yes, and not something one would sensibly choose for the hill-ridden, finding-parking-is-a-nightmare city that San Francisco was known to be. In stark contrast, Brian’s neighborhood was quaint and quiet, with similar-looking houses spaced generously apart, lining both sides of the street. Tall ash and birch trees forged great shadows in neighboring yards where residents took considerable care with their landscaping.

He stepped out of the car and closed the door, holding an overnight bag that’d been with him in the hospital. He realized that he’d forgotten to bring the flowers Julia had sent. But it was of no matter. Despite the kind thoughts he was confident this Julia - or whoever she was - intended to convey, his forgetting had no impact on his feelings one way or the other.

Izzie rolled the passenger window down and asked if he wanted help getting settled in. He shook his head no. She told him she loved him and would call him later to see how he was doing. With that, she backed out of the drive and sped down the street.

*

The interior of the home was tasteful, and it was clear Brian made a decent income. He saw a baby grand piano sitting in a space where a dining room table might normally go. This raised some interest, especially since he had zero musical talent.

Past the piano, the home expanded into a kitchen towards the back, which was small but nicely updated with a breakfast nook in the corner. He opened the refrigerator and was not impressed with what he saw; the shelves were practically bare. He reserved criticism, barely letting out a sigh as he let the refrigerator door softly close.

He was curious about Brian’s occupation and found a small room off to the side, set up like a study. Before he began his search, he recognized a picture of his parents on a nearby shelf. He lifted the frame, taking a long look at the people in the photo. He felt the same way when he first saw Gina, or Izzie, rather; familiar, yes…but different. It wasn’t surprising to notice how uncharacteristic they appeared. In the picture, his mother styled her hair differently. His father sported glasses he’d never worn before. The photograph looked to have been taken on some extravagant trip, and his parents were well-dressed, appearing to depict a healthier, financially happier pair than what he was familiar with. Still, he missed them and couldn’t bear the thought of meeting them here in this place. He guessed he’d not be able to relate or connect in any way to the lives they’d led.

He rummaged through some papers on the desk and searched the drawers carefully. He was surprised to come across an old hospital invoice that listed out medical procedures associated with an operation Brian had two years prior. Looking at the bill, it was evident that Brian had already been through the knee surgery, which he was to have undergone that morning. He looked down and immediately noticed faint scars on both of his knee caps.

Wally wondered if the timing of both medical procedures had something to do with what happened; some kind of metaphysical split, or soul exchange, some kind of switch, or crossing of celestial streams at the exact moment. It was not common for him to have such outlandish thoughts on his own, except during in-depth conversations when he and Sarah had been together. But he was willing to step outside his reasoning to help soften the blow of his strange and unusual surroundings.

He left the study, having found no evidence of what Brian did for a living, and walked over to the bedroom. For the first time, he felt uneasy about being in someone else’s space but immediately sensed a strange connection to the room. The bed was made in the apparent rough style he was used to: tugging the comforter to rest just over the pillows. On the wall to the right, he was initially surprised to see a picture of himself, or Brian, rather, in an action shot during a soccer game. Pretty cool, he thought, recognizing he had similar ones of his own in San Francisco.

Suddenly, Wally felt the vibration of Brian’s phone in his pants pocket and removed it to see Julia calling. The photo that appeared on Brian’s cellular display revealed a beautiful black woman with golden brown skin and long dark hair. Her smile was radiant, and her eyes sparkled with an inviting flair.

Hello? Wally said, answering the call.

Hey - Izzie told me you were home. How’d everything go?

Fine, I guess. Wally felt awkward, a little like an imposter, not knowing anything about this woman. Then he remembered the flower arrangement. Thanks for sending the flowers. That was sweet.

You’re welcome, something to brighten your day. I’m heading to Common Grounds over by your house, you feel up to meeting me there?

Her voice was gentle but unfamiliar, a mere stranger.

Uhh, yeah…sure. I guess.

If you don’t feel up to it, it’s cool. We can meet up later.

He wondered if she heard something in his tone. Wally thought for a moment. Was this a good idea? But then his perception of feeling artificial was curbed when he realized that if Izzie was clueless, maybe he could just wing it. No, it’s fine, he replied, but my leg…

Well, I can come get you, she offered, interrupting him.

It’s what, just a few blocks, right? Wally took a guess.

"Two blocks, she responded in a correcting tone, and I don’t mind picking you up."

No, really, Julia, it’s okay. I’ll just meet you there. Geez.

There was that irritable feeling again. It was a natural sense of being short on patience, more so than his usual self. However, given his current situation, it wasn’t all that surprising.

Well, okay, see you in a few.

Okay, see ya.

3

BECAUSE THE LEFT LEG STILL FELT somewhat tender to Wally, he chose to drive the short distance to his destination. Parking was a pain in the ass, and he amused himself by deciding that walking would have been a faster result. 

When he stepped into Common Grounds, the place was moderately busy. He looked around to see if he could spot Julia, but no one resembled the picture he’d seen on Brian’s phone. He had no idea where she lived or how long it would take for her to get there. He decided to order a drink and stood in line, studying the menu. Mocha, Mocha Latte, Americano….what’s your fancy? At least the list of beverages was comfortably familiar. When it was his turn, he stepped up and was greeted by the cashier.

Hey, Brian, how are you, man. The usual?

Wally threw a glance at the young man’s name tag. Ted.

Um, hey Ted, yeah, the usual, he said, trying to sound inconspicuous.

Ted called out a medium non-fat white chocolate mocha latte, and Wally was relieved to hear it was a drink he would have ordered for himself. He paid for the beverage using the only means he had, which was Brian’s debit card from the wallet he carried, and stepped over to the waiting area for pick-up. A part of him felt like he’d just committed a crime, but he tried to overlook the oddity.

It turned out several people were waiting to get their drinks besides himself, so he decided to find a table and listen for the name, Brian, to be called. He found one in the corner, removed the phone from his pocket, and took a seat while aimlessly scrolling through the device.

A few minutes passed before the small bell, which hung from the cafe’s front door, sounded, signaling the arrival of a new patron. Wally looked over in time to see Julia walk in. She was just as beautiful in person as he would have imagined. They caught each other’s eyes, and she beamed from ear to ear. 

But Wally’s expression turned to disbelief when he noticed the blond woman following Julia in from behind. If he didn’t know any better, she looked exactly like his ex, Sarah Thomas. He turned white as a ghost as he watched her step through the door. She moved as if in slow motion, glancing around, looking for someone. She glimpsed down to secure her footing, causing a wisp of hair to fall against the right side of her rosy cheek. She reached up and tucked it behind her ear as her eyes once again scanned the crowd. Her hair was longer than he remembered and much lighter with complimenting highlights. But there was no mistaking her big brown eyes and a smile that formed dimples he used to proudly tout to her as ‘the cutest in all of San Francisco.’

As Julia made her way toward him, he noticed the blond woman do a double-take, fixing a sudden gaze in his direction. He couldn’t help but wonder if the look was one of recognition. Seeing someone who looked exactly like Sarah confused him, reinforcing a sense of panic that only reminded him of his current predicament. Clearly, this won’t be the Sarah I remember…He wondered about the possibility that she and Brian might know one another.

Hey, you, Julia said, leaning over to give Wally a kiss on the lips.

Wally obliged, even smiled, and immediately stood to hug her. As they embraced, he looked over Julia’s shoulder and noticed the woman had turned away. She was laughing now, engaged in conversation with a couple of guys on the other side of the cafe. However, right before he let Julia go, she threw one last glance. When their eyes locked, she immediately returned her attention to her friends, revealing an expression to Wally of someone who’d been caught in a fleeting moment of concession.

He retrieved his drink, but only after he’d been embarrassed when the barista called out Brian’s name several times before Julia finally asked if the drink order was his. Julia asked for an espresso with a waiter who was making the rounds. They sat quietly together, discussing things only Wally felt comfortable talking about. Still, he began to feel nervous when he sensed Julia becoming distant.

Uh-oh, this may not be going so well.

What’s wrong with you? she finally asked.

Wally sat back and tried to avoid appearing skittish. What do you mean? he said, Nothing’s wrong, why?

Well, for one, I’m doing all the talking, and you’re just giving me one-word answers, two, you haven’t once asked me about how my dad’s doing, and three, you don’t seem at all interested in what’s going on between Kayla and me at work…should I go on? Because I can go on.

He sensed a slight irritation in her tone. Julia, he said, I’m sorry. I’m still not myself. You know I was completely under for my surgery, and I guess…I’m still a little loopy from it. I should’ve just stayed home and crashed. I’m - he paused and pretended to act defeated, even though there was truth behind what came out of his mouth, I’m just a little tired and distracted right now.

I’d say, she responded, crossing her arms. Distracted with that little blond thing over there, Julia paused just enough to catch his surprised reaction. Yeah, I caught that eye contact.

Wally let out a nervous laugh, What, her? He looked in the woman’s direction, her back entirely to them now. I don’t…know her…and look, she’s not even looking this way.

"Anymore," she said, …she did at first, plus you keep glancing in her direction. Don’t think I didn’t notice.

He was surprised at Julia’s sense of perception. Once more, Wally did precisely what was causing her irritation and glanced that way again. Only this time, there was a second woman whose eyes locked onto his as though she recognized him. Initially, he was startled by her gaze. She was slightly shorter than the woman who resembled Sarah and was standing only a short distance away. He noticed she had short dark hair and was wearing a dark blue jacket over a burgundy blouse.

Great, all I need is another complication in this scenario…He wondered who this woman might be to Brian. A friend? An ex? A problem?

After a few moments, Wally watched the second woman raise the back of her hand toward her chin. He was surprised by the appearance that she was speaking into a wristband she wore. He turned his attention back to Julia, who was now growing even more agitated with his actions.

He let out a sigh, "Look, Julia, I’m sorry. You know, I take that back. Maybe she does look familiar… Wally looked again in her direction, then back at Julia. He decided to take a chance and ask, Doesn’t she look kinda familiar to you, though? I mean, have you ever seen her in here before?" He was curious about whether this version of Sarah might have had an interest in Brian, but perhaps they hadn’t crossed paths yet.

Julia looked at him, dumbfounded over his question, "No. She. Doesn’t," she snarled. "And how the fuck should I know if she comes in here a lot? I tell you what, Brian, maybe you should go over there and ask her your goddamned self. Julia stood. And don’t call me until you get your head out of your ass."

Wally watched as Julia stormed through the door of the cafe, leaving him a little embarrassed. He lowered his head with a sigh.

Well, shit, that certainly could have gone better.

He glanced over in the direction of the woman who resembled Sarah and noticed she and her friends were leaving as well. He expected her to look back one last time, but to his dismay, she didn’t. Instead, he watched them gather their things, laughing and talking as they walked out the door.

Even though it appeared initially that they hadn’t been together, the mysterious dark-haired woman followed them out.