Stopping at a small café on Delancy, Denise ordered a decaf latte and a small croissant with apricot butter. The detective was right. As she watched all of the people walk by, busy in their lives, rushing casually as New Yorkers were prone to, she realized that Cheryl was lost. Something dreadful had happened to her and she would probably never know what. Tears blurred her vision when the waiter brought her fare.
“You ok lady?” the waiter asked. He was a tall, skinny boy, a scraggly beard bedecking his face. He was dressed casually, with a white apron wrapped across his waist. He looked at her with what seemed like true concern. Denise was surprised.
“Oh, I’m okay,” she said. “Just a little sad, that’s all.”
“Well, I hope it turns out all right for you. Enjoy the day.”
The waiter retre
