His Steady Heart

by Nell Iris

  I hesitated. They were stupidly cheap, but getting Pippin to agree to accept them would be more difficult than driving to the moon in my old truck. The books I can get away with; I’ll just clear off a shelf and tell him my house looks more like a home with books in it, and let the books do their magic and lure him in. He won’t be able to resist them, and since they’re technically for me and not a gift for him—yeah, right—he’ll believe me. Or at least play along.

  But there’s no way I can get away buying clothes in his size, pretending they’re for me.

  After running my fingers through my beard a few times, I grabbed three hoodies and three pairs of sweatpants that’ll fit Pippin and refused to think about why I need to make sure he’s got warm clothes. The rational part of my brain tried to tell me he’s not my responsibility, but I ignored it. I always do.

  Now, with a huff, I empty the bag and throw the clothes in the washer. As I wait for the machine to finish, I bring the books to the living room and pull the DVDs off the shelf. I never watch them anymore now that I have Netflix, so I might as well give them to my sister to enjoy.

  Soon, I have a free space to put the books, and I arrange them in size order. They barely fill half the shelf—I should’ve bought more—but I must admit I like them there. It feels right, somehow. Homier.

  Huh. Amazing how much cheer you can buy for a couple bucks.

  Pippin isn’t back when it’s time to leave for work, but I scribble a note and add my phone number. We haven’t exchanged numbers; we’ve had no reason to do it before. Now, I regret not asking him this morning, so I could text him and make sure he’s okay.

  I fold the clean clothes and put them in a neat pile on the breakfast bar. On top of them, I lay his book and tuck the note between the pages, so it won’t fall to the floor, while still making sure it sticks out enough for him to see it.

  As I get into my truck, I force all thoughts of him out of my head and focus on work, hoping that I’ll have a quiet night at the airport without any emergencies that need a plumber.

  * * * *

  He’s asleep on the couch when I get home after my shift, and if I ease open the door and sneak in as silently as I can, hoping he’ll be there, he’ll never know.

  My stomach settles when I see him curled up on his side with a thin sheet pulled up all the way to his nose. Only his eyes and unruly mop of hair are visible. I allow myself to watch him for a few seconds. When a shiver racks his body, I knit my eyebrows together.

  Is he cold?

  I pad into my bedroom and grab a thick, snuggly blanket from the closet, and spread it over him carefully so he won’t wake up. I resist the urge to brush away the bangs from his face, and instead tiptoe my way to the kitchen, where I prepare my after-work fix of hot chocolate as quietly as I can.

  “Morning.”

  His rough, sleepy voice makes me jump. I turn around to face him.

  “I’m sorry if I woke you,” I whisper.

  The blanket is wound tightly around his body, and his eyes are barely open. He grunts something unintelligible, and I bite my lip to keep from smiling.

  “Hot cocoa?” I ask.

  “Mmm.”

  I fix him a cup and join him at the breakfast bar. We drink in silence, but a few sips later, he looks almost awake.

  “Ashley?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What’s that?” He nods toward the pile of clothes. His book is still lying on top, but my note is gone.

  “Clothes.” I grab a strand of my beard and twirl it as I avoid his questioning eyes.

  “I can see that.” His tone is the equivalent of an eye roll, but he doesn’t ask anything else. Just waits me out as though he’d taken lessons from Ma on how to best make me talk.

  I crack under the pressure, just like I did when Ma was alive and used the tactic on me. “I bought ‘em for you.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t want you to be cold, ‘s all.”

  “I’m not some charity case you need to coddle,” he snaps, the adorable sleepiness gone and replaced with steel and resolve.

  “I know that,” I mutter, still refusing to look at him.

  “Then why?”

  I shrug. “I was in the store for another reason. I just wanted you to have ‘em, ‘s all. And you know I worry.”

  “You shouldn’t spend your hard-earned money on me. I won’t allow it.”

  Annoyance flares in my chest. I knew he’d react like this, and his pride is one of the things I like so darn much about him, but I still want him to stop arguing.

  “Pippin. I coulda bought ten of ‘em and it wouldna made a dent in my wallet.”

  I’m not strapped for cash. I know why he would think so—this neighborhood says a lot about the economic status of the people living here. But I’m a simple guy with simple tastes. I live frugally. I save a huge chunk of my paychecks in the hopes of one day being able to buy a property in the woods. And whatever’s left, I give to my sister Aubrey and her daughter Minnie to help out, since Minnie’s dad is a bastard who took off when they found out Minnie had been born with a heart defect that will most likely result in her needing a transplant one day.

  I’m not rich. Far from it. But I can afford to buy him some clothes at a darned thrift store.

  “I’m not a kid who can’t take care of himself,” he says, stubbornness blasting from his eyes.

  “I know. Is that what this is about? You think I believe you’re a kid?”

  He dips his chin in acknowledgement.

  “I don’t.”

  Pippin furrows his eyebrows and squints at me.

  “Look.” I run my fingers through my hair in an attempt to gather my thoughts. “You’re many things. Smart. Brave. Loyal. Funny. Stubborn. Too darned proud. Kind. Generous. Happy. But not a kid. You had to grow up too darned fast, ‘s what I think.”

  His eyes widen with every word until they’re about as big and round as the wheels on my truck. His Adam’s apple bobs several times. Then he unwinds himself from the blanket and lays it across his lap. With shaking hands—without taking his eyes off me—he fumbles for the clothes. When he finds them, he pulls the pile closer, grabs the top hoodie, and puts it on. Pulls up the zipper and buries his hands in the pockets.

  It’s a little too big, but a lot better than my stuff.

  “Thank you, Ashley,” he whispers.

  I grunt a sound that means “you’re welcome,” and he interprets it correctly because his mouth breaks into a smile.

  Suddenly, it’s too much. His warm eyes overflowing with fondness and his wide sunny smile make my chest ache. So, I stand, turn my back at him, and rinse my mug. “I need to take a shower and hit the hay.”

  “Of course.”

  “See you ‘round.”

  “Sure. G’night.”

  I shuffle out of the kitchen without looking at him. But when I pass the couch, I notice one of the books I bought lying open with the cover facing up on the coffee table.

  I stop and look at it for a second before I continue down the hallway. Not until I close the door behind me do I allow myself to smile.

  The sight of that book made the disagreement in the kitchen worth everything.

  Chapter 3

  When I wake up, my body thrums with restless energy, and my legs are buzzing. Lifting weights for an hour doesn’t settle me the way it usually does, so I try to work it off by hauling the gym equipment out of the second bedroom and dumping it in the corner of the living room for temporary storage.

  It’s Friday afternoon, I’m off for the weekend, and my plans for the coming days include stripping off the faded, peeling wallpaper from the recently emptied room to prepare it for paint. Slowly but surely, I’m fixing up the house so it’ll be ready to sell when I find the property of my dreams. But right now, I’m too jittery to focus on prep work. Another huge cup of coffee doesn’t help.

  My house is empty. No Pippin was curled up on the couch this morning when I stumbled through the door after an
other chaotic shift. No book lay open on the coffee table, and no hoodie hung over the back of the couch.

  He’s still not here. The mug from this morning’s lonely cocoa before bed is unwashed in the sink. The house is quieter than usual, as though I’m the last human alive on Planet Earth.

  I scratch my neck and grunt, shaking out my fingers and stretching my neck. “More coffee,” I mutter.

  As I wait for the machine to brew, I take care of the dishes. It’s not much and I’m done a couple minutes later.

  I pour myself a cup and return to my spot by the sink. To the place from where I can see Pippin’s house.

  He hasn’t been here for three days. After spending several nights sleeping on my couch, reading his way through the books I bought and, more often than not, keeping me company after work in the mornings, I haven’t seen him for days.

  The unknown car hasn’t been parked outside their house either, so I guess Crystal’s current Sugar Daddy hasn’t been around. Which means Pippin can sleep undisturbed in his own bed.

  That should make me happy for him, right? No matter how comfy my couch is, nothing beats a real bed.

  Then why do I feel so lonely? So…abandoned?

  I huff. I’m being ridiculous. It’s not like we agreed to move in together or anything. And I’m used to being alone. I haven’t lived with anyone since I threw out Lyin’ Dave three years ago, and I’ve been more than okay with that. I hardly ever have people over; my sister Aubrey doesn’t have a car, so it’s easier for me to visit her and my niece. I’m not a very social guy; I have a couple friends, but we rarely go out. They have families, and I’m over the whole bar scene anyway. Have been pretty much since I moved back in to take care of Ma. I never bring the occasional hookup home, and the hookups are rarer than a blue moon these days.

  So why am I so unsettled?

  I gulp the rapidly cooling coffee and scramble out of the house as though my ass is on fire. I can’t stand the silence anymore. A last glimpse at Pippin’s house shows no movement, so I jump in the car, turn on my favorite radio station—minimal talking and lots and lots of rock ‘n’ roll—aim for the closest star, and just drive. With no destination in mind, I crank up the volume, growl along to AC/DC, and empty my mind.

  Driving has always been my way of relaxing. I love exploring the area and looking at the trees and fields rushing by outside the window. These days, I keep my eyes open for “For Sale” signs and look at houses or properties I pass by. My savings account contains a pretty penny, and I would be able to buy something immediately if the price was right. But I’m in no hurry. I’d rather wait for the perfect match than rush into something.

  I drive until the gas tank needs refilling and hunger gnaws my stomach. After a pit stop at a gas station to fill us both, I turn back toward town.

  …And find my way back to the thrift store and the twenty-five-cent book sale.

  The guy who helped me last time isn’t working today, so I browse the shelves by myself. I pick out titles that sound intriguing, and books with pretty covers, because even if I’m not gonna read them, they’ll look pretty in my living room.

  For some reason, books feels homier than DVDs. I didn’t grow up around books; Ma wasn’t a reader—she worked three jobs, and what little energy she had left, she spent on me and Aubrey, not anything frivolous like books—so neither of us turned into readers.

  The thought makes me frown. Do they have children’s books in this store? I should buy some for Minnie. Just because my sister and I weren’t raised on a diet of fantasy worlds and fairytales, it doesn’t mean Minnie can’t be.

  I add a few colorful picture books to my growing stack before I pay. I take the purchases to my car, but don’t feel like going home. I could visit my sister and give Minnie the books, but I never go unannounced. Aubrey would undoubtedly sense my weird mood and give me the third degree, and since I don’t have answers for her, I avoid it.

  Instead, I send her a text to set up a time for a visit. Very normal. She won’t suspect something’s up with me.

  Now, if I could just convince myself.

  I can’t say I’m surprised when I park outside The Friendly Bean. I don’t try to analyze what I’m doing here—deep thinking isn’t my thing. Instead, I let the lovely smell of bitter coffee and freshly baked pastries lure me inside.

  Pippin’s not at the counter when I order a plain, unfrilly coffee, but I’m not disappointed.

  I’m not. Really.

  I find a free table in a quiet corner with a view of the door and the counter, and take in the place. I’ve never been here before—I usually don’t splurge on expensive coffee when I can make it much cheaper at home.

  It’s a nice place. Not as generic as the average Starbucks, but not a pretentious place either, where they would turn up their noses at someone plain and blue-collar like me. No, it’s…I guess “cozy” is the right word. The furniture is mismatched—no two chairs are the same—but somehow it works. Framed photographs taken around town hang on the walls. The dishes are colorful in abstract patterns—not the boring white so popular everywhere—and I feel like I’m in someone’s home rather than a coffee shop.

  I like it.

  When Pippin still hasn’t shown up a few minutes later, I sigh and grab my phone. I can always read the news and check out the real estate agents’ web pages for new listings while I finish my hundredth coffee of the day. At this rate, I’ll be up all night.

  But I haven’t even opened the browser before I’m interrupted. “Ashley?”

  Hearing Pippin’s voice is like a soothing drink of cold beer on a scorching summer’s day, and I can’t help smiling as I look up from my phone. “Hiya.”

  His eyebrows disappear into his hairline, and he gives me a one-armed hug before he sits in the chair across from me. “What are you doing here? I’ve never seen you here before.”

  “I, uh, needed to get out of the house.”

  “Yeah?” He returns my smile. “I thought you’d be happy to finally have your home to yourself?”

  I scowl. “Why would you think that? Have I made you feel unwelcome?”

  “No!” He emphasizes his word with a shake of the head. “It’s just…you know, nobody wants someone sleeping on their couch all the time.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  His smile widens.

  “Is that why you haven’t been around? You thought I wanted the place for myself?”

  “No.” He sighs. “Mom’s been sick, so Richard hasn’t been around.” He wrinkles his nose when he says the current boyfriend’s name.

  “Just so you know, my offer stands whether your ma has a visitor or not.”

  “Thanks. But apparently she needed me, so I had to be home as much as possible.”

  For the first time ever, there’s a hint of disappointment in his tone and I suppress an urge to raise my fist in victory over the fact that he’s maybe finally starting to open his eyes to his mother’s ways.

  She needed him? What about his needs?

  He could definitely have used a mother concerned more about his welfare than screwing around with half the population in town a long time ago. A mother who didn’t send him to school in tatty clothes without lunches and spent what little money she had on salon appointments to keep herself looking good enough to attract the next guy to support her.

  It’s not that I have a problem with women enjoying their sexuality—heck no. It bugs me only when it has a negative impact on anyone dependent on them for their well-being. And I do have a problem with selfishness and neglect.

  With a gulp of my coffee, I swallow the rant about to erupt from my throat like magma from a volcano. Then I say, “Key’s yours. Anytime you need it…”

  He smiles at me, but it’s not the usual ray of sunshine. And when I look closer, I notice the dark smudges under his eyes, as though he rubbed his face with oily hands. “I just wish…” His shoulders slump.

  “What?”

  “I wish I could find a place of
my own.” His voice is almost a whisper, as though he needs to say it out loud, but at the same time, doesn’t want anyone to hear it. “I wish I didn’t have to stay with her. But if I ever want to go to college…” He ends the sentence with a shrug.

  I tighten my grip on the cup to stop myself from tugging him into my arms. “You’re doin’ a great thing for yourself. Learnin’ is important.”

  He shrugs again.

  “You listen to me, Pippin.” My voice is gruff like always when I get emotional. “Wantin’ a better life for yourself and workin’ hard to achieve it is admirable. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

  “You’re doing great without a college education.”

  “I was never interested in school. I love workin’ with my hands. You’re smart. You can be a doctor or a rocket scientist if you wanna.”

  He wrinkles his nose. “That’s not what I want.”

  “The point is, you can do whatever you set your mind to, Pippin. I’m sure of it.”

  “You really think so?”

  “I know so,” I mutter. “Stay at my place whenever you like if sleepin’ on my couch helps.”

  His gaze on me is intense. I imagine this is what Superman’s laser eyes would feel like. “Why?” he asks.

  “Why not? It’s not like you’re a pain in the butt or anythin’.”

  “I thought you liked being alone. That’s what you said after Dave moved out.”

  “I said that because I didn’t wanna tell you he was a cheatin’ bastard whose biggest priority was getting a big daddy-dick rammed up his ass, not bein’ faithful to me. When he realized I’m nobody’s daddy, he went lookin’ other places.”

  Pippin’s eyes widen and he drops his jaw to the table.

  “‘M sorry,” I mumble. “TMI.”

  “No…uh…it’s…” He sweeps his gaze over my body. “Daddy?” he asks with a raised eyebrow. “I guess I can see it.”