In Pieces, Still Mine

As I stepped out of the courthouse, the Oklahoma heat hit me in the face. The sun seemed to have beaten down on the concrete floor all day; the hot air rising from the ground made it hard to breathe. The collar of my shirt was sticking to my neck. I loosened my tie, but the pressure on my chest didn’t ease. I knew it had nothing to do with the weather. Nothing had a single cause these days anyway.

The trial was over. I had won the case. It was a major commercial case. Months of contract reviews, deliberately vague clauses, transfers through shell companies... The other side had set up a complex network of companies to conceal their obligations. We untangled that web. We added every connection, every covert move to the file. We made the intent hidden behind the numbers visible.

There was a brief silence in the courtroom as the judge read the verdict. I usually liked that silence. That moment when people accept that something is final. Today, that moment felt foreign to me. I felt neither relief nor satisfaction. The decision had been made, but it didn’t feel like it belonged to me.

I stopped on the courthouse steps and lit a cigarette. As I inhaled the smoke, my lungs burned, but I didn’t care. Tonny appeared beside me. “You’ve done it again,” he said. I nodded. I had nothing to say. Sometimes winning is just a word.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was Tom. “I’m at Jack’s Bar,” he said. “You’re coming.” He hung up before I could protest. I put the phone back in my pocket. I paused for a moment in front of the courthouse and looked around. I hadn’t seen Tom and the others in a long time. Things had piled up. Files, hearings, meetings... The days had blurred together. Distance had grown between us, but I was only just realizing it.

I walked toward the car. I paused briefly before turning the ignition. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to go. It was more of a fleeting thought about how long it had been since I’d heard those same voices. I started the engine. “I’ve been gone for a while,” I said to myself. “It wouldn’t be bad to go.”

I turned the steering wheel toward the bar. After a short drive, I was in front of the bar. It was quiet at this hour, as usual; the crowd hadn’t arrived yet. I parked the car in front of the bar and walked inside with quick steps. Everything was familiar when I entered the bar. The smell of alcohol lingering at the door, overlapping laughter, the rhythm of the music playing in the background. Tom and the others were at the table. I pulled up a chair and sat down. Jack placed a bourbon in front of me without asking anything. I took the glass between my fingers. The cold glass was steady in my palm.

“We thought you’d forgotten us,” said Tom, leaning back in the chair opposite me. “You don’t give me a chance to forget,” I said. “Do you use these charming ways in court too, or are they just for us?” “Just for you,” I said. “It’s your lucky day.”

We laughed, clinking our glasses. Tom nodded. “It couldn’t have been any other way.” The conversation flowed at its usual pace. Hours passed. At some point, I began to withdraw from the conversation. I leaned back in my chair and started watching the surroundings. Right then, I saw her.

She was standing outside the bar. Standing slightly apart from the crowd, her jet-black, long hair falling over her shoulders. Her posture was calm. Unnaturally calm. Her face... was all too familiar. I felt a sudden tightening in my stomach. My heart skipped a beat for a moment. I wanted to be wrong. I blinked. I fixed my gaze and looked again. No. She was there.

Could one person resemble another so much? “Jack,” I said, without taking my eyes off her. “Look at that.” When I looked again, the woman was gone.

She had been there just a moment ago. I was sure of it. I scanned the bar. I looked back at the same spot. She was gone. I waited as if she might emerge from behind a chair, but the crowd had returned to its own rhythm. People were talking, glasses were clinking, the music was playing at the same tempo. Only for me, the sounds seemed to come from a little further away.

I stood up. The chair leg scraped against the floor, making a short, sharp sound. “Hey, where are you going?” Jack asked. “Are you okay?” Tom asked. I didn’t answer. I pushed open the door and stepped outside. The evening heat hit my face. The street lamps cast a yellow light. I paused for a few steps on the cobblestones. I didn’t light a cigarette. I just breathed.

When I got into the car, I realized I had closed the door a little too hard. I turned the ignition. The engine sounded steady. Familiar. I shifted into gear and drove off. After a stifling half-hour drive, I arrived home. I sat there for a few seconds before turning off the ignition. My hands on the steering wheel were still warm.

I jumped straight into a hot shower. As the water flowed over my shoulders, the knots in my mind slowly loosened. When I closed my eyes, her face reappeared. That resemblance. It was too clear. Too close. How could it be?

I tried to push the thoughts aside. When I got out of the shower, the rumbling in my stomach reminded me that I had spent the whole day on just alcohol and cigarettes. I threw on some sweatpants and a T-shirt and went into the kitchen. I made pasta for dinner. Until a few years ago, I used to cook different meals every day, trying out new recipes. I loved the kitchen. Now I could barely remember being hungry.

The TV was on. The news was covering the case of two people who had been missing for years. There was no panic in the images. Both seemed to have left their locations of their own accord. Both were men; their physical features were strikingly similar, but the news anchor didn’t mention this specifically. The last place they were seen was the same gas station. This detail was brushed off as if it were incidental information. But only up to that point. After that point, there was not a single trace of either of them. No camera footage, no card activity, no phone signal. These people hadn’t disappeared. They had gone somewhere. And they hadn’t come back.

“Whatever,” I said to myself. My voice sounded emptier than I expected. I turned off the TV. I left the plate in the kitchen. The moment I entered the room, the weight of the day came crashing down on me. I collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep, almost passing out.

I woke up to the sound of the alarm. I stared at the ceiling for a few seconds before getting out of bed. Even though my eyes were open, my mind was still bargaining with the night. I silenced the alarm and left my phone on the nightstand. It was a little past nine. I had a meeting at nine-thirty. I practically dragged myself out of bed. I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. The man in the mirror wasn’t a stranger to me, but he wasn’t familiar either. My beard had grown out. There were shadows under my eyes that sleep couldn’t hide. I pushed my hair back with my hand and let it fall naturally. I chose a white shirt and black pants. I put my watch on my wrist. I grabbed the keys and left the house.

When I parked the car in the office parking lot, the building was quiet as usual. A four-story, linear structure. Light gray concrete, large glass surfaces, an unadorned facade. Unpretentious but functional. The kind where what goes on inside doesn’t show on the outside. As I walked through the glass door, a cool breeze hit my face. Emily was at the entrance, organizing files behind the reception desk. She looked up and smiled as soon as she saw me.

“Good morning, Emily,” I said. “You’re full of energy again.” “Good morning, Mr. John,” she said. “As usual.” I really didn’t know where she got that energy from. Could a person be so ready at this hour of the morning?

I headed for the elevator. I pressed the button. When the doors opened, I stepped in and pressed the button for the fourth floor. As the elevator rose, the office floors passed by one by one through the glass walls. The first floor handled business cases, the second floor handled large corporate files. The third and fourth floors were heavier. Trade, murder, long-term cases. When I reached the fourth floor, I stepped into the corridor. Walking along the glass-walled offices, I exchanged brief nods with everyone. Here, privacy was just glass. Everyone knew more or less what everyone else was up to.

I entered my office and placed my bag next to the desk. I hung my jacket on the back of the chair. I glanced at the files on the desk but didn’t touch them. I called Poly on the desk phone. “Poly, can I get a coffee?” “Right away.”

A short while later, there was a soft knock on the door. Poly entered, holding a white cup. Her short brown hair ended at her neck. She was wearing a tight black mini dress and white ballet flats. Her small, thin-framed glasses had slipped slightly down the bridge of her nose. “No sugar, no milk,” she said as she placed the cup on the table. “Thank you.”

She paused for a moment, glancing at the tablet in her hand. “There’s a change in your schedule after the meeting,” she said. “Your appointment with Mr. Harold today has been canceled. He’s feeling unwell.” “Alright,” I said.

Poly nodded and left quietly. When the door closed, only the smell of coffee remained in the room. I turned on my computer and joined the online meeting. My camera was off. Familiar faces appeared on the screen. The finance director, two company lawyers. The issue was a dispute related to the supply contract. Everything looked fine on paper. The problem was in the implementation.

“There is no violation in form,” I said. “But the manner of execution is contrary to the spirit of the contract.” Inflated costs through affiliated companies, delayed deliveries... It didn’t seem like a clear violation, but it undermined the principle of good faith. There was a brief silence. No one objected. The possibility of a settlement was discussed. The case wasn’t closed, but it remained on the table for now.

When the meeting ended, it was almost eleven o’clock. I shut down the computer. I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling for a moment. I took a sip of coffee. It was bitter. Just as I expected. I didn’t want to stay in the office. I decided to walk to the place I went to every day for lunch.

I took the elevator down. Emily was still there. This time, I didn’t look up and smile. She didn’t notice. Or if she did, she didn’t show it. When I stepped out onto the street, the Oklahoma sun was still shining. The shadows were short. As I walked along the sidewalk, everything around me seemed too clear. Too real.

I stopped in front of Harold & Mabel’s Sandwich Shop. I looked at the old sign in the window. The edges of the letters had worn away over time, but their outlines were still visible. When I opened the door, the bell rang. Harold was at the grill. His arms were covered in flour up to his elbows. Mabel was at the register. “The usual, John?” Harold said, without looking at me. “Yes,” I said.

I walked over to the table near the window and sat down. The wood of the chair creaked slightly. I watched the cars passing by outside. Time always flowed at the same pace here. Neither fast nor slow. I hadn’t even noticed my sandwich being placed on the plate. Suddenly, I felt the chair across from me being pulled out.

“Excuse me,” said a voice. “May I sit here?” I looked up. It was her.

She was standing. She had a tray in her hand. Her jet-black, long hair fell over her shoulders. Her posture was calm, her gaze measured. It was as if she had weighed the possibilities before coming here. “Of course,” I said. “Please.”

She pulled out the chair and sat down. She placed her plate parallel to mine. Her movements were precise. Neither hurried nor hesitant. We didn’t speak for a while. We just ate. The sound the fork made each time it touched the plate was too distinct for my ears. Questions crossed my mind, but I didn’t voice any of them. The word “coincidence” lingered in my mind, refusing to settle.

I was the one who broke the silence. “What a coincidence,” I said. “We’ve run into each other in the same places twice now.” She lifted her head. Her eyes met mine for the first time. “Is that so?” she said. “I hadn’t noticed. Where were we?” “We were at Jack’s Bar the other day,” I said. “You were sitting across from me.”

She paused for a moment. Then she shrugged her shoulders slightly. “Oh... sorry,” she said. “I really hadn’t noticed.” There was a brief pause. “I came here on a friend’s recommendation,” she said. “The tables were full.” She looked up from the table. “You were the most suitable person for me to sit next to.”

My heartbeat changed. Something I couldn’t name shifted. “John,” I said. “Olivia.”

The moment her name left her lips, an alarm went off silently somewhere deep inside me. But in that moment, I didn’t listen to it.