At forty his looks had begun to fade long ago. He'd started smoking, ignoring all the health risks, but soon quit after he failed to get over the initial coughing fit. Life had come to a complete halt for him, and he didn't know how to get the ball rolling again. The cab driver stared at him through the rear view mirror.
"Well?" He finally asked. David looked up. He'd been sent back from Minsk having finally given up hope of finding conclusive evidence, but now, sat in the back of the homely yellow cab, he didn't have anywhere to go.
"Look I'm charging you on the metre here," the taxi driver said fiercely, popping a stick of gum into his mouth and turning to the face the wheel.
"I, um, well I. . ." He wasn't sure what he wanted to say. New York City had long ago become a foreign place to him, no longer his home land. Where was he supposed to go? The estate agents – find himself an apartment, a new place to call home? Relatives – hope one of them remembered who he was and take pity on him for a few nights? No, neither sounded appealing. He knew only one address. One address that had stuck in his mind all these years, and that was where he had to try. He gave the driver the address. . .and waited for the cab to pull away from the airport. I'm coming Phoebe.
"Forty bucks," the driver spat, still chewing gum. David through some notes onto the front seat, grabbed his carry-on bag – he'd learnt the hard way about forgetting luggage – and got out of the cab. He was stood in a familiar spot; the spot on which, years before, he'd last seen her. Last seen the love of his life, the only girl that ever mattered. He looked around at the tall buildings and swallowed hard. Would she still live there? Did he expect her to still be there, living the same life she always had? What did he hope would happen; that she'd run to meet him, throw her arms around him and tell him she knew he'd come back to her and that she waited. . .waited for him? He didn't need the answers because before he knew it he was at the apartment door. It stood slightly ajar. He dropped his bag and peered into the room. It was practically empty, scattered with boxes, newspaper and the occasional item of furniture uprooted from it's spot and pushed towards the door. David knocked on the door and as he did so the door opened further. There she was. . .Phoebe Buffay; knelt before a picture of a woman climbing out of the frame. He smiled and stepped into the room. She looked up at him and he sympathised with the shocked look that spread immediately across her face.
"David. . ." Mouth open, eyes staring at the man in disbelief that he was really there, Phoebe stood up.
"Phoebe. I got in the cab and gave him – " He stopped talking. It was his turn to let his mouth fall open in shock. Phoebe opened her mouth to speak but was stopped by the sound of her husbands voice.
"Hey shall we box the cot mobile up or leave it. . .out." Mike stopped in his tracks. He recognised him instantly; the man from the past.
"I'm sorry," Phoebe told him, though she wasn't sure what she had to apologise for, after all it had been David who'd moved to Minsk in search of scientific discovery. "I really am." She gripped Mike's arm with one hand, and placed the other on her large, pregnant belly.