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Simon shook his head. “No. I don’t want to be any more disruptive to the transition than I have to be.”
Before leaving the car, Jefferson gave him a hard hug. “Thanks for everything, Uncle Simon. I mean it.”
“I know you do. Go make me proud.”
As Simon watched Jeff go back into the Prince building, he saw a small figure sweeping the accumulating snow away from the entrance. It was the worst of all temperatures that day; too cold for the salt to do much good, but still just barely warm enough to still snow. The person sweeping seemed to sway a little, but perhaps they were just fighting the relentless wind. They stopped and put a gloved hand to their face. Coughing, presumably. They lost their grip on the broom and it fell into the snow. The figure bent over to pick it up and fell.
At that moment, Jeff, having not seen the tableau behind him, walked into the building. Simon waited for the person to get up.
“Home, then?” Hudson asked. “Or is there somewhere we need to go first?”
“A hospital, I think,” Simon said, undoing his seatbelt.
“What?” Hudson asked, alarmed.
Simon didn’t stay to enlighten him. He let himself out of the car and hurried toward the fallen person. The weather assaulted him from all sides. The wind was vicious and the snow was tiny shards of ice that individually bit into his skin. Where was the doorman? Or security? Why was no one else coming to help?
“Are you alright?” Simon crouched above the figure and still had to shout to be heard over the wind. “Can I help?” There was no response. Simon cut his eyes back to the building and saw a doorman dressed in black coming their way. Thank god. He turned back to the person and shook their shoulder. “Are you okay?”
They stirred, turning their head slightly, and Simon saw the figure was a man. Or a boy. The face was both red and white from the cold and looked impossibly young. Since when did the building employ children to do maintenance?
“Come on, now, Benny,” the doorman said, reaching for the boy’s arm. “You took quite the spill there. Let me help you up.”
The boy tried to push himself up but looked shaky as hell. “That’s enough of that,” Simon said and scooped the boy into his arms. He felt impossibly light to Simon.
“Oh, sir, don’t hurt yourself,” the doorman said. “We just need to get Benny on his feet and he’ll be right as rain.”
The boy in Simon’s arms—Benny—stirred, tried to speak, then began to cough. It was the kind of deep, painful coughing you heard from someone who had emphysema, like his great-aunt Sophia, who had smoked nearly her entire life, refusing to give cigarettes up even as her lungs ceased to function.
The doorman clucked. “That cough of his is just getting worse and worse. I told Candida to keep the boy on inside work but she said it was his turn to clear the door and she wasn’t going to show no favoritism. Favoritism my ass. Oh, sorry sir. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, its fine. Can you hold the door open for me? I’ll never get him in through one of the revolving doors.”
“No, sir. I mean yes, sir. Right away.” The doorman practically skipped his way over to the regular glass door on the far side of the entrance that was reserved for those who were handicapped. He pushed the button and door slowly swung open.
Simon rushed inside as soon as the opening was wide enough and looked around for somewhere to put the young man. All he saw was the reception desk and behind that, the bank of elevators. “A chair, now,” he barked.
It was Hudson, who had followed him into the building, that brought over an office chair on wheels. Right behind him was the owner of the chair.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “Isn’t that one of the janitors?”
Simon didn’t see how it mattered one way or another what the boy’s job was. He put him down on the chair then took off his snow-caked hat. The curly brown hair underneath was wet. His red cheeks felt warm to Simon’s fingers—too warm for someone as covered with snow as the boy was. “I think he has a fever.”
Benny spoke, his voice raspy. “I’m fine. Just… slipped.”
Hudson snorted. “He’s not even in the vicinity of fine.”
“I think he needs to see a doctor,” Simon agreed.
“You want me to call an ambulance?” the doorman asked.
“Oh my god,” the receptionist said, apparently having nothing useful to add to the conversation but still needing to get her two cents in.
“No,” Benny said so quietly Simon wouldn’t have heard him if he hadn’t been looking at his face and seen his lips move. “Can’t leave. Shift not over. I’ll lose my job.” He tried to stand up. “I’m better now. Just needed to warm up. I can finish—” He started coughing again and slid back down into the chair.
“I’ll just go tell Candida you’re going home sick, Benny.”
Still coughing, the boy shook his head. The doorman ignored him and walked away. Hopefully to tell this Candida person that her employee would be leaving work early.
