Page 109 of Run to Me

“I’ll drive you to Vera’s house since I’m picking her up anyway,” Pam says from my bedroom doorway.

I stuff an extra shirt in my tote bag because I’m staying at Jensen’s again tonight. More and more of my belongings have made their way to his house in recent weeks. I’m a tampon box away from moving in.

“Picking her up?” I ask.

“I’m taking her shopping today. The guys will finish faster if she’s out of the way.”

With my bag slung over my shoulder, I meet her in the hallway. “Thank you, Pam.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” she says. “I told you I’m happy to help however I can, and I meant it.”

“I’m still grateful,” I say. She’s shown me more support in the past three months than my parents did in twenty-eight years, a kindness I’ll never take for granted.

“We better get going. Can’t let everyone else have all the fun.” she winks, and I shake my head, chuckling. It’s not often that Pam’s sassy or sarcastic, but when she is, she’s golden.

We get Vera out of the house without any fuss. In fact, she’s feeling good today and seems excited about going shopping with a friend, though she and Pam were never close.

Soon after they leave, a convoy of trucks and trailers rolls down the street, led by a black Jeep with the top off and a yummy man whose dark hair whips in the wind. Jensen partially blocks the driveway with his vehicle to ensure no one tries to park there.

I thought we were planning to install a ramp and a couple of handrails, but the number of people with tools and machinery pouring out of vehicles alludes to a larger project.

“What is all this?” I ask.

Jensen gives me a genuine smile, a sign he’s in good spirits today, but agitation lurks beneath his surface. He looks exhausted, the circles under his eyes darkening from lack of sleep and too many nights in his garage. I’m worried his mind will also start to decay, and he’ll become a living corpse, buried under the pressure to be mayor. If he doesn’t withdraw soon, I can’t imagine how stressed he’ll become.

“I brought the cavalry. You just sit back and let the magic happen.” He winks and buckles a tool belt around his waist. And damn, hammers and tattoos make an attractive couple.

Menchy’s apron sags, loaded down with too many tools. He sets up a command post in the driveway, forming a makeshift table out of two sawhorses and a sheet of plywood. He has a notepad in one hand, and tucked under the other arm is a…megaphone?

Lydia appears with two trays of drinks. Close behind her, Tom carries a third tray along with a giant paper bag with his bakery’s new muffin logo on it.

“We brought breakfast for everyone,” Lydia says, her bright white teeth on display as usual.

“Thanks,” I say. My head spins from the outpouring of generosity and the flurry of activity around us. “Follow me, and we’ll set everything on the kitchen table.”

I help them lay out a breakfast buffet of several to-go cups of coffee and an assortment of pastries, and Tom joins the workers outside once he’s satisfied with the display. When I reach for a styrofoam coffee cup to be nice, Lydia stops me with a pat on the shoulder.

“I brought you an iced mint chocolate.” She hands me a plastic cup with a brown liquid, which I’d assumed was iced coffee.

“Mint what?” I ask, accepting the drink from her.

“Hot chocolate with mint, but it’s iced.” Her shrug suggests I should know about this magic potion of which she speaks, but I don’t.

Bringing the straw to my lips, I take a tentative sip. My eyes must light up with joy because a smug grin appears on her face. I suck down half of the rich, sweet drink before deciding it’s too delicious not to savor.

With a nervous chuckle, I glance around Vera’s house and say, “I don’t really know what’s going on right now.”

Lydia pulls me into a side hug. “They say it takes a village to raise a child, and everyone in this village agreed we didn’t do enough for one particular daughter of Walford. So here we are. Better late than never.”

My first reaction is to think they’re here out of pity. I don’t want their help if that’s the case. “I’m sure they have other things to do on a Sunday,” I say.

“When Jensen put out the call, every one of us jumped at the opportunity to help you out. We know about Vera’s situation, and you can’t manage it alone. We pull together in hard times, and I’m sorry you’re finding this out only now,” she says. Pressure builds in my eyes and throat as she walks with me to the front porch, her arm still wrapped around my shoulders. “Tom and I have to get back to our shops. You go on and relax, and these folks will handle the rest.”

“Thanks, Lydia.”

After she and Tom leave, I sit on the bench, my jaw permanently unhinged, and take in the activity. People work together as Menchy barks orders to the men and women flowing in and out of the house. The sounds of saws scraping, hammers banging, and drills whirring fill the air.

Everyone’s here of their own free will, and they’re here for me, according to Lydia. I never imagined this. Personally, I haven’t experienced this side of Walford. I’ve seen how folks rally around their injured sports heroes and support the families in mourning, but I’ve done nothing to deserve the generosity of this community.