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“Drinking a little bit. I see him all the time.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. Saw him not too long ago today.”
“Really?” I cleared the burn in my throat and looked over Bennie. “Please just take a little money,” I insisted, folding a couple of twenties and pushing them into his calloused hand.
“Thank you, Abbie.”
“Bennie, I’ll be there this week. I promise.”
“Abbie,” he said sternly. “Nothing to feel guilty for. You don’t have to promise me anything. I’m always going to be alright.”
“Are you still taking your meds?”
Bennie lowered his eyes as I challenged him. “Bennie?”
“I’ll go see Bree first thing tomorrow.”
“You need those meds, Bennie.”
“I know. I know.”
Bennie had HIV. He confessed to me weeks after I met him. He met and married his wife a few years prior to finding out. She miraculously hadn’t been infected, but upon hearing his diagnosis she cleaned out his life, kicked him out of his home and left him to fend for himself.
The problem was he was too sick to help himself at the time and ended up selling everything he had to try to survive. Eventually, he was left with nothing.
Bree had taken it upon herself to get him enrolled in a program to keep him supplied with the HIV cocktail. He wasn’t religious about taking it and it was clear by the way he was wasting away beneath the blankets. Everything about his situation shocked me to my core. And I hated that he had given up.
“Bennie, I’m going to get you a cab. I’ll pay for it. You get to Bree. She’s at work right now. I’ll text her and tell her you’re on your way, okay?”
“Abbie, I’m fine.”
“Bennie, please?” He stayed silent, his eyes weary. “Please?”
“Okay.”
Bennie gathered his things as I hailed a cab and spoke to the driver. I stood at the door while he piled into the cab and the driver gave me a side eye. I ignored it as Bennie grabbed the handle and looked up at me with his signature toothless grin.
“Abbie, you are good people.”
“Bennie, you go right to the hospital, promise me.”
“I promise.”
“See you Saturday.” I shut the door and the cab driver sped away.
After shooting off a quick text to Bree, I rushed into the pub and wandered through the small happy hour crowd until I heard my name. “Abbie?”
“Terry?”
“Yes,” we both said in unison. We shook hands before I joined him at the cocktail table where he stood. He was handsome—in a silver fox sort of way—and had soft brown eyes.
“Sorry I’m late. I missed the train and had to take a cab,” I offered knowing I was making a shitty first impression.
“It’s fine, it’s good to finally meet you,” he said taking my coat and hanging it on the chair behind me as I took a seat. “I’m glad you could make it on such short notice.”
“Me too. I’ve been anxious to meet you as well.”
