She stares at the wall, lost in her thoughts for a minute.
“I love New York, but I’ve never really called it home. Not when I know what big blue skies look like without having to find the nearest roof deck to see them.” She leans on her fist and says, “And Daddy’s there. Nowhere feels like home when he’s this far away.”
She’s a true daddy’s girl. The only girl.She’s also the most lovable of all of us. But the truth is, we all play our roles. My brother Michael is quiet and stoic, but passionate about everything he does. It’s infectious. Law is the youngest. Always carefree, doing things over the top. But it earns him a fuck load of smiles and approvals.
And then there’s me. The oldest, with a penchant for calculated risks. I thrive on doing things I shouldn’t. Like flying. Leaving home. Choosing to join the Air Force when I knew the risks. Flying for a living could have meant safer choices, but the safe choice isn’t usually the one I want, and I wanted to be the best. The adrenaline I got from flying, becoming the best there is, and creating my own name for myself is a high I never anticipated.
In Strutt’s Peak, being a Riggs has expectations. My father is well-known and respected. He’s built up his business in such a way that he’s brought in tourists. His business has helped build up other businesses. Everyone knows Asher Riggs. But they only know us as his kids. I’ve only ever wanted to be a pilot. I’ve talked about it since I graduated from high-school years ago.
And now, I can barely do that. At least not in the way I was trained. Enlisting in the Air Force meant I’d trained to be the best. I didn’t want to just be a pilot. I wanted to wreck goals and records. Be part of the elite. My peak-level reflexes and reaction time made me the top of my class, and in special training too. And it was all for nothing.
What do you become when the thing that defined you, the goal you’ve had for your entire adult life, is no longer on the table?
Ev and I spend the morning exchanging ideas that could become realities back in Strutt’s. Ones that we’ve pitched over the years to our father but that he couldn’t execute without help. We talk about what it could look like going back home and really doing this. How to make the move look less like nepotism and more like a fresh perspective for a business that hasn’t reached its potential yet.
Riggs Outdoor is already a place worth checking out when tourists come into town—renting equipment, taking lessons for skiing, snowboarding, and snowmobiling. It takes up a massive space on Main Street in our town, but it could do so much more in the warmer season. Expand even further during the peak winter months.
I’m excited thinking about it. An excitement that I didn’t think I was still capable of having until I met a beautiful woman who managed to turn me inside out in just one night.
I haven’t felt this good in a while. That lighter feeling when you’d much rather smile at a stranger than stare straight ahead. A concept that really isn’t optimal in New York City.
Just after 7 p.m., I walk up the hot subway steps from the 6 train and into Bryant Park. I ditched the long-sleeved thermal for a t-shirt. It’s hot tonight. The massive lawn of the park is peppered with people on blankets and chairs, facing a huge screen that plays advertisements. No one pays attention. People are still waiting for food and talking with friends. I realize quickly that finding her in this sea of people is going to be a bit of a nightmare.
I spend the first hour of the movie walking around the lawn, looking every bit like the tourist that I am. Every time I think I see her, it turns out it’s just a curvy brunette meeting girlfriends. It’s never her.
The high that I was on from earlier today plummets by the time the credits roll. I’m sweating from the night's humidity and the constant searching.
Maybe it was just a random night and an amazing kiss. That I should leave it at that. A small swoop of fate woke up a part of me that I hadn’t realized I let shut down. The excitement of learning something new and feeling something again didn’t turn into feeling sorry for myself.
But I’ve never been someone to let loose ends go untied, so when I show up at the bar again, my emotions make a bit of a leap of hope that maybe she thought the same thing that I did. Come back here if she couldn’t find me. Either that or she purposely didn’t show, and I’m about to be the creepy stalker guy.
“Sir! Sir, I’m sorry, but you can’t go in there,” a man shouts in my direction. As I turn around, I notice a huddle of people to the right of the bar. Behind them are a few police cars.
“Is the place open?”
“Closed. Under investigation,” he says.
But before I can ask anything else, another man comes up behind him, flashing a badge and asking me if I know the owner.
“I’m from out of town. I met a girl here last night, the bartender, actually.” I smile. “I was hoping I’d see her again if I came back here tonight.”
The look that the plainclothes officer gives to the other one in uniform is what should tip me off first. Or at least prepare me for what comes next. A reporter and cameraman interrupt our discussion, and I step away. The sinking feeling I have in my gut is what keeps me there. Another officer comes along to ask me questions about when I was at the bar last night. Things like what time I left and where I went from here.
It’s not until I hear the line of reporters that have set up on the sidewalk talking about a homicide that I finally start to understand what could have happened. I look around, hoping that I see her. Maybe she wasn’t involved in the situation that’s overtaking the sidewalk. But the sick feeling I have is outweighing the hope.
“Sir, you said you came looking for the bartender from last night?” the only female officer I’ve seen asks, as she saddles up next to me. “Gia Neri, twenty-two years old, brunette?”
I nod. Not wanting to hear what she has to say, but listening, regardless.I didn’t even know her last name.
“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but she’s not going to be here, sir.” The officer looks around, maybe thinking that I’m going to pass out at this news. Because I do feel like I’m going to pass out, my fingers and legs tingling. And a wave of sickness rolls through me. There’s no way the woman I met last night is dead. No way.
“She was involved in a home invasion. I’m so sorry, but she didn’t make it,” the officer says. I stare at the officer. I can only blink.
Everything else after that seems like a blur. The trip to the station. The statement I had to make formally. The walk back to my sister's apartment. The way I found myself crying into Everly’s shoulder as I told her what I found out. The weeks that followed had me calling the police station and investigating officers every day. I showed up to Bryant Park every evening and just watched. Waited.
Maybe they were wrong. I stayed a month later than I had planned. I helped Everly pack up her apartment. When I was able to focus, we’d plan tasks around the business with regular calls to our dad for feedback and approvals. But every night, I’d ride the subway. Walk for blocks. The big-ness of the city always felt like nothing there could be final. I looked, but never found her.
Even after we went back to Strutt’s Peak. After Everly moved home and we started working with our dad, I would return to the city. Quick trips. Sometimes for a night, other times for just a few hours. I’m not sure why or what I thought I’d find. I read her obituary. Attended her services. Even stopped by her gravesite. But I still felt like it wasn’t final. It was only one night with her.