I tried to push those thoughts aside, telling myself to focus on the present. The present was where I was, after all. My life had just imploded. I needed to figure out where I was going to stay, what I was going to do with myself. And yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the answer was somewhere in that small black card.
After I finished my coffee, I stood up and left the diner, the chill air biting at my skin as I walked back to the car. I didn’t know where I was going. But I knew I couldn’t just sit around feeling sorry for myself. I had to make something of this. Somehow.
I started the engine and drove, not knowing exactly where I was headed, just following the road as it wound through the city. The streets seemed unfamiliar, even though I had lived here for years. My mind kept racing, asking questions I didn’t have the answers to. Where had this card come from? What was my father involved in? Why had he left it to me?