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Look at them. Our little misfits, brought together by a kinder fate than what they’d been shown before. They’ll make each other better; they already have.
Then, with a burst of confidence, I reached down and grabbed her hand in mine. Our difference in height made it a little awkward, but that quickly settled into something nicer as I interlaced our fingers and held tight while we continued to walk toward the restaurant.
I had never held a girl’s hand like this before, and with a heart beating too loudly to notice if any of the onlookers gasped or snickered, I hoped she wouldn’t let go. Her fingers felt nice between mine; her palm, soft and small, felt good against mine. Walking alongside her, like we were a real couple in a world that had somehow given me a second chance, felt comfortable and as warm as the sunlight. And, God, I prayed she wouldn’t be bothered by my bravery and let go.
And I was happy to say, she never did.
***
When we got to the restaurant, we were seated toward the back. Momentarily, I questioned the hostess’s motives with a narrowed glare. Was she trying to relax the other diners by secluding the felon? Did she herself not want a clear shot of me wielding my steak knife? But as she laid out menus on the table, she winked at Ray and told her it was the nicest table in the place.
“Way quieter and more romantic than over there,” she said, bumping her shoulder against my date’s. Then, she looked up at me, her smile beaming brighter than any light in the place. “Enjoy your dinner, guys.”
Maybe it was time I stopped assuming everyone thought the worst of me.
“You’re friends?” I asked as I pulled out Ray’s chair—that was what guys on dates did, right?
She sat as she nodded. “She comes into the library a lot. She’s studying to be a teacher.”
I took my seat across from her and opened the menu. “What kind of teacher?”
“English, I think.”
An image of Mrs. Henderson came to mind, clouding my view of the list of appetizers and drinks. She had been the only teacher I could remember liking, the only one I could recall caring. There might’ve been more in my youth, but that wasn’t the time of my life when it mattered. I needed kindness then, I needed compassion, and she had given it to me—even if it had, at the time, fallen on deaf ears.
Then, I remembered that Ray had gone to the same school, so I asked, “Did you ever have Mrs. Henderson in high school?”
She smiled with instant recollection. “Oh my God, yes! Wow. Yeah … I haven’t thought of her in forever. She was so sweet.”
“She was,” I agreed. “I had the dumbest crush on her. But I think part of that was because she was so nice to me when nobody else was.”
Ray nodded somberly. Her menu still sat on the table in front of her, untouched. I had her undivided attention. It was nice to feel so important, and I wanted her to feel the same.
So, I put my menu down and said, “She’s Harry’s daughter. Have I ever told you about Harry?”
Ray and Harry had yet to be formally introduced, but I knew she had to have noticed the older guy coming around my place once or twice a week since I’d moved in. His visits were frequent, and I was sure I’d mentioned him enough that she would remember his name by now.
But she shook her head, to my surprise. “You’ve mentioned him a few times, but I don’t think you’ve ever really told me about him.”
“Well”—I picked up my menu again—“why don’t we order some drinks and appetizers? Then, I’ll tell you everything there is to know about Harry Fischer.”
***
“So, tell me about the elusive Harry,” she said after the waiter walked away with our drink and appetizer order. “Did you know him as a kid?”
I shook my head, folding my arms casually against the table. “Nope. I met him in prison.”
She didn’t even bat a lash. “Was he an inmate too?”
I smiled and chuckled at the thought of Harry doing anything bad enough to put him behind bars. “Nah. He’s one of the officers at Wayward, and hekindatook me under his wing.”
That took her aback a little. A line formed between her brows as they pinched with curiosity. “Youactually madefriends with an officer? Isn’t that, like, frowned upon or something?”
“Eh … I mean”—I lifted a hand with my shrug—“there’s appropriate relationships, but then there’s inappropriate ones. Like, this guy I knew, Zero—”
“Not his real name, I’m assuming?”
“I never thought to ask. He was just always Zero.”
