Doubleback: A Novel by Libby Fischer Hellmann Page A

I’m out in them.” That much was true. Rachel was worse. Whenever a gust of wind blew in on a dark day, she was convinced a tornado was imminent, even though they’re pretty rare in Chicago. It was my fault—I let her watch the Wizard of Oz repeatedly when she was little.
    “Which bus do you take?”
    I was afraid he’d ask that. “Er... the one that goes up Dearborn.”
    “Where’s the stop?”
    The light on Monroe turned amber. In a few seconds we’d cross.
    “I’m not sure.” I spotted a bus a few blocks away. It was heading north on Dearborn towards us. “Caddy corner, I think. I— uh—don’t take it much.”
    “You drive?”
    “I—um—usually work out of my house.” That was true. “I was just downtown for a meeting. What about you?”
    The light changed. Huddled under the umbrella, we started across. Rain lashed the exposed side of my body.
    “I work at Midwest National Bank.”
    “Oh.” I hoped I sounded impressed. “What do you do for them?”
    “I’m a programmer in IT.”
    The noise from the storm combined with angry motorists leaning on their horns made it hard to hear.
    “Oh.” I repeated, louder this time. We crossed Monroe. One more street to cross. “I’m Ellie.”
    “Cody.”
    The light turned green.
    “There’s the bus stop,” Cody said. A bus shelter hugged the curb about fifty feet south of the intersection. The bus I’d seen approaching was only a block away. We headed over.
    “Cody, thank you so much. For your chivalry. You really are a savior.” I was laying it on thick, but he didn’t seem to mind. He even smiled. “Hey...” I hesitantly placed my hand on his arm. “Are you in a hurry?”
    He looked puzzled.
    “Oh, forget it. You probably need to get home. I was just thinking I could maybe buy you a drink. To thank you for being such a gentleman.”
    “Well... actually...”
    •   •   •
    Ten minutes later Cody—his last name was Wegman—and I sat on barstools in Bailey’s, a quiet café across from the old Shubert Theater. Concrete planters with red petunias edged an arrangement of empty—and now wet—tables outside. Inside were the requisite dim lights, small tables, and metal-backed chairs. After reapplying my make-up and running a brush through my hair in the ladies room, I half expected to see Georgia when I came out, but there was no sign of her.
    I hurried over to Cody and picked up my glass of wine. “So...” I smiled. “A toast to the last of the courtly gentlemen. Thanks again.”
    He took a swig from his draft and laughed. It was a loud, crude, goofy laugh, the kind that calls attention to itself. A couple at a nearby table looked our way. For an instant I was taken aback. Cody must have realized it, as well—someone probably told him his laugh wasn’t socially acceptable—because he abruptly closed his mouth.
    I recovered quickly. “Oh, don’t be embarrassed. I like it.”
    “Really?”
    “It’s—distinctive. No one will ever mistake you for someone else.”
    Color came into his cheeks, and the look in his eyes deepened. I got the feeling he was trying to come up with a suave reply.
    “So...” he said, “... what do you do?”
    If that was the best he could come up with, this would be a tough conversation. “I’m a video producer. Mostly industrials— you know, corporate and training videos.”
    He looked impressed.
    “It’s a living. But you... you have to be pretty smart to be a programmer. Where did you learn?”
    “It’s not that you have to be smart. You just need to understand how code is written. I get a lot of help.”
    “How long have you worked at the bank?”
    “About five years.”
    “That’s a lifetime in corporate-speak.”
    “Sometimes it seems like twenty.”
    “Why is that?”
    He shook his head, and a distant look came over him. “Nothing.”
    I peered at him. “You’re at Midwest National, right?”
    “That’s right.”
    I sat up straighter. “Hold on. Isn’t that the place