By her last stop, a drug rehab facility in lower Manhattan a few blocks from Church Street, Raine’s steps were dragging. She watched the clock worse than any student, willing it to move faster, and her sense of confinement increased until she could relate to the caged canary birds her grandmother once kept. She remembered the bright little songbirds and how their music often filled the kitchen. But she also could recall how sometimes they beat their wings as if they wanted to escape. More than once as a child, she’d pulled over a chair and attempted to free them without any success. Now, she wished she could fly as much as they must have longed to go. If she could have, Raine would have taken her handful of students outside, down to Battery Park if possible or into the tiny courtyard, but their rehab status prevented it. So she muddled through the lessons, and for once, she thought she was as glad as they were when the session ended. She gathered her books and papers into her bag and paused to check her appearance in the restroom mirror. The second she hit the street, she searched for Callahan and found him within moments. He stood on the closest corner, out of the way of passing pedestrians, hands behind his back. In his jeans, simple shirt, and denim jacket, she found him incredibly attractive. And he’s mine, she thought.
