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I pat him on the shoulder. “It’s okay. We’ll have another chance.” After thinking about it briefly, I say, “I’ll walk, too. Meet you there.”
He nods, tipping his cap slightly. “Sir.”
I stay behind them, telling myself I’m just watching out for Raeann in this big city. She’s a beautiful girl. An easy target.
Before long, she’s walking into a building, and I peer up to find the name of her hotel. I wait a few moments, then slip inside as well, grabbing a seat in the lobby. She heads straight for the elevators, but then a hotel employee calls out her name. I pretend like I’m not laser focused on this conversation, but I frown when I realize I can’t hear them.
The lobby is adorned with big columns, so I walk to the closest one, casually leaning against it and checking my watch for the time.
Finally, snippets of their conversation hit me. “The penthouse?”
That’s Raeann. I’d recognize her sweet twang anywhere.
“Yes, your things are already being moved there, and here’s your new key.”
“But how?”
“I’m honestly not sure. I was just told to look out for you and give you your new key.”
“Are you sure? Raeann Gorman?”
“Raeann Gorman,” the employee confirms.
“I was in 222.”
“Yes, ma’am, 222 to the penthouse. That’s correct.”
“Oh.” Her pinched face softens when she shrugs. “That sounds like some good luck, then.”
“Very good luck. You’ll love it. You have your own personal bellhop, and if you put in a room service order, yours is given priority.”
“I’ll feel like a princess.”
The young employee smiles.
Raeann gestures toward the elevators. “So I just…”
“Scan this card in the elevator and hit PH. The doors open up right into your suite.”
“Wow. Okay.”
I indulge myself in a few more moments of watching Raeann as she waits for the elevator. When it stops, the smile on her face when she turns toward the room numbers to swipe her card is priceless.
The urge to follow her up there is too much, so I walk back out to the limo and tell the driver to take me to my hotel.
As soon as I get into my own penthouse, my phone buzzes. I stare down at a text from Joey informing me that the dog gift basket was delivered and that Raeann should be in the penthouse already.
I’m certainly not going to tell him I already knew that, so I text back a thank you and then move through the spacious room, complete with a wall full of windows overlooking the New York skyline, to the master bedroom. I throw myself onto the bed at the same time my cell phone buzzes again. This time, it’s an email from Joey. In the body is a bunch of links to articlesrelated to anxiety, but it’s the bottom one that interests me the most. Joey has it bolded.You should read this one.
The article links to a small, local paper in Tennessee from two years ago.
“Woman Rides Out Tornado, Is Saved By Stray Dog”
I sit up at the picture on the front page: Raeann, mud-spattered with dirt-caked, stringy hair, kneeling next to what can only be described as wreckage. Complete desolation. Her hand is covering her mouth, and then there’s Athena. Equally as dirty with matted fur, glued right to her side, just like I’d witnessed today.
I read through the article quickly, then read through it two more times to let it sink in.
Raeann is a survivor, and Athena is a goddamn hero.