Page 12 of Unraveling an Enigma
The smell of rain and fresh-cut grass filters in my nostrils the instant I exit the glass doors of my apartment. I hear birds chirping in the distance even with the constant hooting of car horns impatiently sitting in the snail-paced morning commuter traffic.
Since the rain has cleared, the sidewalks are more populated with foot traffic than they were Friday night. In true modern times, most of the people walking along are talking on cell phones or scrolling through apps on their devices. It’s rare to see someone without a device in their hand these days. It’s nice to keep in contact, but they rarely look up from their phones, meaning I either have to constantly bob and weave through people, or cop the occasional elbow or shoulder barge.
Not wanting to get trampled by the busy morning commuter foot traffic, I move to the furthest side of the sidewalk and proceed along the curb. The roads are dense with traffic as well, but my odds of being hit by a car are significantly less than the many elbows I’ve already received this morning.
A few blocks over, the beat of my heart increases to a steady pace. In the corner of my eye, I’ve noticed a dark blue sedan that has been tailing me for the last two blocks. Although it maintains an appropriate distance of three to four car lengths away, I’ve still detected its pursuit. The morning commuter traffic on the roads is dense, but it isn’t heavy enough that the cars need to drive at a walking pace.
Adjusting my satchel, I peer over my shoulder to look into the front window of the sedan. Because of its dark tint, and the reflection of the morning sun, I can’t see the driver's features.
When I hear the beeping of a pedestrian crossing at the light ahead of me, I sprint to the intersection and dash to the other side of the road. My ponytail bounces from my hasty movements, and my black trousers become wet at the cuffs from stepping in one of the many puddles still on the roadside.
Once I’m safely on the other side of the road, I breath to steady my erratic heart. I brush away the fine layer of sweat formed on my nape from my fast movements. My brisk strides increase as my body temperature rises.Now I wish I hadn’t worn such a thick coat.
Another two blocks over, I catch the reflection of a blue sedan in the windows of a shop I am strolling by. From the muddled reflection, I can’t be certain it is the same vehicle following me earlier, but the fluttering of butterflies in my stomach tells me it is. When a group of commuters emerge from a bus that has just pulled into the curve, I use them as a shield to hide my urgent dash down an isolated side street. My quick strides increase to a brisk jog.
Have you ever had that feeling that something just isn’t quite right? Well, I have that feeling now.
By the time I walk into Harlow’s bakery, my body is covered in a sheen of sweat. After closing the bakery’s front door, I lean my back against it and take in several deep gulps of air. My overheated body relishes the coolness of the wooden door.
After a few minutes, I’ve gathered my composure, and I flutter my eyes back open. The jittery nerves I just expelled return full force the instant I spot the furious gaze of Harlow. She has her arms crossed in front of her apron-covered chest, and her green eyes, which have tears, are glaring firmly at me. Her lips move like she is about to speak, but no words seep from her mouth. Her eyes dart around the bakery to the handful of people who are seated, enjoying the tasty breakfast items Harlow supplies to her morning customers.
Noticing we are surrounded by a handful of customers, Harlow tersely spins on her heels and strides to the kitchen located behind the bakery counter. Pushing off the door, I smile a greeting to Renee, one of Harlow’s workers, before making my way behind the counter in search for Harlow.
I find Harlow in the outdated kitchen at the back of her bakery. She has her little fists clenched in a ball at her side. One fist is grasping a bunch of tissues. Sensing my arrival, she pivots around to face me. My breath snags halfway between my lungs and my throat when I notice the tears dripping down her face. The instant my eyes lock with hers, I know she knows my secret.
“Legally, I couldn’t tell anyone.” My voice is as pathetic as my excuse.
Her stance strengthens as an annoyed gasp puffs out of her thin lips. A dull ache forms in my chest, but I remain quiet, unable to find another excuse for my deceit.
“I’m still me, Harlow,” I eventually say. “I’m still that same Izzy you became friends with. I just don’t quite do the job I said I did, but nothing else about me has changed.”
Harlow rolls her eyes and briskly shakes her head. A disbelieving chuckle erupts from her lips. “And the whole thing with Isaac, was that you or Izzy the FBI agent, diving under the sheets for the good of society?” Her question brims with sarcasm.
Ouch.That’s another harsh sting to my already bruised ego, but I deserve her anger; I did lie to her. “I understand that you're angry.”
“I’m not angry, Izzy; I'm pissed off. You lied. . . for months; you lied to everyone around you,” she interrupts as more tears topple from her glistening eyes.
“Nothing I told you was a lie,” I argue, moving closer to her, wanting her to look into my eyes so she knows I'm telling the truth. “Anything I ever said or did when I was with you, was me, Izzy, your friend.”
“Some friend, Izzy.” Her angry glare lifts from the ground, cutting straight through me. “Not only do you have to suffer the consequences of your actions, Izzy, but others do as well.”
What?
Her face reddens, and she shakes her head before turning to face the window looking out to the side alley of her bakery. My eyes burn from the sudden formation of tears, and the dull ache in my chest enlarges to a painful stab.
Even though Harlow is quiet, the shudders racking through Harlow’s body indicate she is sobbing hard. In a hurry, I brush my tears off my cheeks with my index finger and rush to offer her comfort.
When I wrap my arms around her quivering shoulders, she shrugs out of my embrace, but I hold on tightly, not relinquishing her from my rigid grip. Bubbles form and burst in my chest when Harlow wraps her arms around my shoulders and returns my embrace. The wetness of her tears dampens the collar of my silk shirt. Every tear spilling from her eyes amplifies the cracks that have formed in my heart the past three days.
Several heartbreaking minutes pass before Harlow’s painful sobs slacken, and her red-rimmed eyes lift to mine. “Cormack hasn’t returned any of my calls or messages.”
“Oh, Harlow, I’m so sorry,” I sympathize, my voice reserved.
“He thinks I was conspiring to set you up with Isaac. He assumes I knew all along you were working with the FBI,” she informs me, her green eyes glancing into mine.
Oh, God.I didn’t even consider the ripple effect my deceit would create for the people surrounding me. Being immersed in Isaac’s world meant I had my blinders on. I only saw him, so I didn’t consider the implications for anyone else.
“I’ll explain everything to Cormack. I’ll make this right; I promise, Harlow.” I nod.
