To Steal a Weeping Widow

Chapter Twenty-One: Chipping Away

"Charing Cross Bridge" by Claude Monet (1903), stolen 2012, never to be recovered (thief's mother is believed to have burned painting in fireplace along with six other works) - value unknown

Chapter Twenty-One

There were advantages to living near a metropolis.

They were bright, shiny perks that made it easy to overlook everything else. But even as alluring as they were, it would be misleading to say there weren't a few drawbacks, too. It seemed the upsides valiantly combatted the steep downsides in an ever-waged war of pros versus cons. Sure, traffic was horrible. And yes, it could be said everyone had too much money, or none at all—but damn.

California had some good food.

If one could find the small, hole-in-the-wall places like Simon could, they'd discover it was possible to eat like a king without shelling out the big bucks. The authentic mom-and-pop shops never disappointed. They couldn't; generational wisdom was the main ingredient. Mediocrity was left at the door, banned from the premises, and never to be seen at the humble locations.

Simon had led me down a series of streets not yet touched by the botoxed fingers of gentrification. They'd reach eventually, as the beating heart of capitalistic growth demanded, but for now restaurants like the one we sat in could afford rent. It was a good thing, too, because the place deserved a lot more than the few patrons scattered about. It certainly deserved more than to be closed or replaced with a chain restaurant. Although, if I was honest, I was selfishly glad it wasn't packed. Because we could sit in the back, cloaked by the dim aesthetic of the shop, and enjoy our food in peace. I could stabilize without prying eyes; recalibrate without inquisitive tracing of my rough edges, and try to pull myself together without keen scrutiny.

Other than Simon's, of course.

"Better?"

I didn't answer at first. I was too busy carving out a sizeable chunk of guacamole with my chip. Then I chewed slowly, knowing I'd have to answer him when I was done. Or worse, I'd have to look at him.

"How'd you know about this place?" I eventually asked, sullen when the chip offered no more reprieve.

"I realized we weren't too far from here," Simon said. "I used to come here all the time with my friend Reed. He used to work at Greystone, but he left before we became Riverwide."

I nodded, brushing chip crumbs off my shirt. "Right. Reed Sterling. I read about him online. I remember it said he left the company, but I thought it was strange it didn't say why."

"It's cheesy."

"Cheesy scandalous or just cheesy?"

"Just cheesy," Simon assured. "He left for love."

Then he shoved a huge bite of fish taco into his mouth. I was left staring at him; I wasn't sure I'd heard correctly.

"He gave up a CEO position for love?"

Simon swallowed and shrugged. His answer was too nonchalant. "Well, according to him, he says he left because he wants to be a lawyer one day. To be fair, he did get a great job offer in D.C., but everyone knows there was more to it. Either way, it worked out well for him. Avery moved to D.C., and he followed. He got the job, the girl, the dog. All he needs now is a picket fence and a mortgage. That'll probably take a little longer, though, you know how the housing market is."

I scowled down at my plate as Simon continued eating. It almost always made sense to take a better job offer, especially if a ship was going down, but to give up being CEO for love? If the story was to be believed, then it wasn't all for love, but at least part of it was. And I thought that was... well, I thought it was romantic and awful and sweet and stupid. It reminded me of Geraldine and her late husband, Artie. Which made me think of the painting. Which made me think of the museum. Which made me think of the gallery we'd just gotten ourselves kicked out of, and how I was once again making my own awful decision.