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“Oh, this is awkward,” he said, rubbing his chin. “I’ve never had to crash a party before to get to my shed.”
“Would it help if I walked in with you?”
He looked at her sidelong. “You’d do that? The girl who called herself a hermit?”
“Of course I’d do it. I don’t want anything to interfere with your new job tomorrow. How long do these shindigs usually last?”
“I don’t know. This is my first week here. I wonder if this is their daughter’s graduation party.”
“Ugh. Maybe you should stay at my place tonight.”
“I can’t ask that,” he said, opening the car door.
“Yes, you can. Get some clothes and you’ll get a good night’s sleep at my place.”
“Are you sure? I’m back to couch surfing.”
“Not at my place. I have a guest room you can have.”
“Okay, if you’re sure it’s not an inconvenience,” he said, hoping she was sure.
“I’m sure.”
He went to his shed alone and got his computer bag and a change of clothes.
“I really appreciate this,” he said back at the car. “I’ll pay you back someday, I promise.”
“Right now the way you’ll pay me back is thinking as highly of yourself as you deserve. That’s all I want.”
Back at her house, she helped him settle in. The bus stop kiosk right in front of her building would be convenient for him in the morning. She tried not to have any expectations. He could hate the job and quit the same day, stop by a convenience store, and get a forty on the way home.
The next morning, she woke up with a start long after nine. Running to the guest room, she saw his bed neatly made, computer on the side table, and what she assumed were his dirty clothes in the bag in which he’d brought the clean clothes. He’d gotten up on his own and left her apartment without a sound. He’d be in the midst of training already, and she hadn’t even had coffee.
In the guest bathroom, on the corner of the counter, snooping as discreetly as possible, she saw a ziplock bag with a razor, soap and deodorant, and a small bottle of generic-brand dandruff shampoo. For some reason, his meager personal effects brought her to tears. She wondered what it had cost him to get to this point of wanting to succeed so badly that he’d accept her offer of charity, handouts from a stranger. What measure of desperation would a man have reached, who’d been through medical school, who’d held his wife’s hand as she lay dying, to have to ask people if he could sleep on their couch? The thought of it humbled her.
After her morning routine, she sat in her chair facing the window, computer on her lap, and began writing. The story of the grandparents struggling to come to grips with their child’s death, and having to rearrange their lives to accommodate their grandchildren at the same time flowed from her own place of loss. A few stray tears rolled down her cheeks as she wrote, at once both concerned that the reader would dislike so much sadness, and needing to be true to herself. To the story.
At eleven, her phone beeped. She’d received a text from Ryan.
All’s well here at the Depot. Thank you for last night. I slept like the dead. Hope you’re doing fine. Will be by to get my things at four or thereabouts.
She quickly answered.I’m so glad! All’s well here, as well. See you later.
As sorry as she was to read that he was going back to his shed, she knew it was for the best for now. It would be too easy for her to slide into the role of his caretaker or, worse, his enabler.
Focusing on the story, she quickly got back into that zone of writing, and for the next hour she stayed in that place, able to fluidly put her thoughts down from fingertips to keyboard.
While Ryan followed his new boss around, learning about codes and stock, he thought about how easy it would be to slip into a relationship with Sofia. Just like he’d been a sex addict with his wife, and when she was gone, he quickly found a substitute, he had to beware that a relationship with Sofia at that moment would be detrimental. He really liked Sofia, was intensely attracted to her, but before he pursued anything with her, he’d better get his act together.
At noon, Sofia’s father, Steven, called her. “Any last minute changes for the paper before I tell Audrey to hit the publish button?”
“Nope, it’s ready to go as far as I’m concerned. I’m glad you handle that part of the paper, Dad.”
“It’s working for now,” he said. “We work well together.” There was a moment’s pause. “How did your dinner go?”
“It was nice! We have a lot in common.”
She didn’t tell him aboutwhatthey had in common, not yet anyway.
