Emerald

by Elle Casey

A movement catches my eye, and I see a man who looks like he could be my sister’s friend. I’ve never been so happy to see a homeless man in my life. “Look! It’s Ray!”

  My outburst has the desired effect. Amber turns to follow my gaze, and Sam moves forward again, putting more space between us.

  “That is him,” she says. “How did you know?” Her voice sounds a lot more cheerful now.

  Phew . . . crisis averted. “He looks just how you described him.” Like a man who doesn’t have a home and who’s mentally ill. He’s big and broad shouldered but stooped over and shuffling. His clothes look like rags hanging from his large frame. He’s wearing a bright-red knitted hat—the only thing of any distinguishable color on his body. The rest of him is the same dark shade of gray as the dirty street, including his long, knotted hair.

  Amber grabs my hand as she speaks to Sam. “Hold our spots; we’ll be right back.” She abandons the line, pulling me with her. I so wish she had taken Sam instead, leaving me to stand in the line alone, but alas . . . here I am, running on tiptoes so I can keep up with my sister and not fall flat on my face as she rushes over to greet her friend, the hot dog pervert.

  “Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in,” he says in a gravelly voice when he recognizes her. I wouldn’t say he looks particularly happy to see my sister, but he doesn’t look angry either. I think his face has this expression permanently affixed to it.

  “I thought you weren’t going to be here, you old grouch.” She’s smiling as she delivers her insult.

  “It’s lunchtime. Where else would I be? Your bedroom?” He laughs at his rude joke.

  She snorts. “You wish. How about the park? The grocery store? You know, hot dogs are terrible for your health. You should go hang out at another restaurant sometime.”

  “Who says I don’t?” He’s not laughing anymore. I don’t think he likes her lecturing him.

  She shrugs, digging into her purse. “All the spies I have watching you tell me.”

  He narrows his eyes at her. “You’d better not be surveilling me. I told you how I feel about the government.” He looks left and right, suspicion darkening his expression.

  She pulls a silver packet from her purse, thrusting it out at him. “Here. This should help keep the government from being able to find you. Consider it a tinfoil hat for your whole body.”

  He takes it from her and turns it over, confusion drawing his eyebrows together. “What’s this?”

  “Open it up and you’ll see.” She sounds proud of herself.

  He pulls the plastic cover off and holds up the flat, folded-up piece of silver in his hand. It’s about a half-inch thick.

  “Open it,” Amber urges.

  He slowly unfolds it, one square at a time. When he’s done, a shiny silver sheet as long as he is and twice as wide is revealed.

  He grunts as he stares at it, turning it left and right to see it from all angles. “Are you sending me into space?”

  “Yeah. I’m sending you into space. This is the first thing you’re going to need: it’s a blanket.”

  He points at his head. “You already gave me a hat.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, and winter is coming, dummy. You’re going to need more than a hat to stay warm.”

  My jaw drops open as I realize she just called this monster of a man a dummy. Is she insane? I ready myself to grab her and pull her out of harm’s way. He doesn’t look like he could move too fast, thankfully.

  He smiles at her. “Who’s the dummy? Where’d you get this piece of junk? China?”

  Amber holds her hand out. “You don’t want it? Fine. Give it back.”

  He hugs it to his chest immediately, his expression suddenly very possessive. “No. Go away. You already gave it to me.” Ray turns and starts shuffling away.

  She shouts at his back. “Don’t trade it for anything. It’s Mylar. You’re going to need it when it gets cold. It’s good for shade too!”

  He waves his hand over his head, his dirty fingers sticking out of the ends of cut-off gloves. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he says. “Nag, nag, nag.”

  I look at my sister, fascinated by her smile. Ray smells really bad and is obviously three different kinds of crazy, but she’s actually enjoying this relationship somehow. We’ve dealt with a lot of interesting characters out at the farm over the years, but none of them came even close to this guy. I’m even more in awe of my sister’s metamorphosis now than I was before. This city has turned her into the most tolerant person I’ve ever met. I don’t think even our mothers could handle this Ray person as well as she has.

  “That was really nice of you to buy that for him,” I say. “The hat too.”

  She shrugs, looking down at her purse as she rearranges things inside it and then closes it more fully. “Winter is coming. I have no idea where he sleeps.”

  I look over at him. “Do you think he’s out on the streets full-time?” He’s setting up a little spot next to the exit door of the restaurant, a bag of belongings on either side of him. He leans against the building with the silver blanket now wrapped around his waist like a skirt. He looks hilariously bizarre. I almost admire his style; no one could say that he cares what people think, at least . . . and in a city like this, that means something. It seems like everyone else is dressed like they’re hoping to be scouted for a fashion magazine.

  “There are a few shelters and some churches that take people in when it’s really cold, but I haven’t gotten to the point with Ray that I can ask him where he stays.”

  Interesting . . . they can talk about sexual relations with food items but not sleeping accommodations. I really don’t understand New Yorkers.

  We make our way back over to the line. Sam is just at the entrance to the restaurant, and there are only five people ahead of us now.

  “That was nice,” he says, looking down at my sister.

  She stares straight ahead. “It’s nothing.”

  He shrugs and turns to face the front of the restaurant along with her. “He’ll probably appreciate it in a few days. I hear a cold front is moving in.”

  “Yeah, I heard that too.”

  I’m behind Amber and Sam, looking at two really stubborn, prideful people who may be calling a truce. It’s hard to say. Observing behavior, both animal and human, is one of my favorite things to do, something I’ve had a lot of practice with at the farm. It’s funny to me how similar these two people in front of me are. I like that they’re managing the conversation around me, though, and that my sister is in control, never backing down or admitting defeat . . . never saying anything embarrassingly silly because she’s panicking and doesn’t know what else to say. She makes me proud.

  The line moves forward again, and now I can see a menu. I stare up at it, trying to figure out what I’m in for. A stomachache for sure . . .

  “We’re each getting two dogs with a drink.” My sister points to the menu board. “Those are the different drinks you can get. Tell me what you want on your dog, and I’ll order it for you.”

  Sam and I speak at the same time: “Ketchup.”

  Amber looks first at Sam and then me. “No cheese? No chili? No onions? No mustard, even? You guys are in the hot dog capital of the world and you’re getting plain old ketchup?”

  Sam rubs his abdomen. “I don’t want to get an upset stomach. I hear these things are murder on the intestines.” He winks at her and then looks up at the menu.

  Her eyes narrow as she stares at the side of his face. Then she turns and glares at me.

  I’m trying really, really hard not to laugh; it’s making me look like I have gas pains, I’m pretty sure. As soon as Sam turns away more fully, Amber mouths a sentence at me: You are going to pay for that log cabin comment.

  I throw up my hands and lift my shoulders, trying to express my innocence, when Sam turns around and catches me. I immediately drop the pantomime and stare at the floor, praying for the moment to be over. I’m torn between laughing and wanting to run all the way back to th
e apartment. Once again, I am the dingbat in the room.

  Amber is going to kill me as soon as she gets me alone. I owe her a big, fat apology for embarrassing her in front of her boyfriend’s brother with that whole log cabin comment, and I don’t relish the dressing down I’m going to get, so I vote for staying put and eating one of these horrible-looking hot dogs that probably aren’t even made of real meat, so I can delay the inevitable as long as possible.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Well, that was an experience,” I say as we walk out of the restaurant. My sister leaves me standing with Sam just outside the exit and goes over to talk to Ray again.

  “You want to go over there with her?” Sam asks.

  “Not particularly. I don’t really understand their relationship, to be honest.”

  “That was nice of her . . . Getting him that blanket.” His voice is gruff.

  I look up and find him staring at her.

  “My sister is very kind. Both of my sisters are.”

  “You have two?” He looks at me, those chocolate-brown eyes of his very engaged.

  His gaze is so intense, I have to look elsewhere. I focus on his earlobe as I respond. “Yes. Rose is our sister. She’s back in central Maine where we grew up.”

  “That’s where you live?”

  I nod, looking him in the eye again. He seems genuinely interested.

  “What do you do there again?”

  I sigh. “Didn’t we already cover this?” I smile so he knows I’m not mad.

  He shrugs, smiling a little bit too. “I’m not sure I really appreciated your answer like I should have last time.”

  I guess my life is so boring it doesn’t even sound like a life. Talk about deflating. I shrug, brushing off the hurt feelings. “I just take care of the animals and sell stuff. It’s nothing more complicated than that.”

  He looks at Amber again and then back to me. “So, how does your sister become a PR manager for a band like Red Hot if she grew up in the middle of nowhere in Maine?”

  “You really don’t know the story?” I stare at his facial expression, searching for clues of deceit, but see nothing there.

  “No. Should I?”

  “You don’t talk to your brother very much, do you?”

  He shoves his hands down into his pockets and rounds his shoulders. “Nope.”

  I nod my head politely, curious about his life but loath to dig deeper. To push for more would make me feel as though I were interrogating him. I like my privacy, and I’m going to assume he likes his too.

  “You guys have plans after this?” he asks.

  I’m grateful for the change of subject. “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask the boss.”

  “You’re in the Big Apple. Don’t you have anything you want to do?”

  I shake my head and stare at the ground. “Not really. I prefer to hang out at the apartment.”

  “With all those ostrich feathers and stuff?” He half-smiles and it’s utterly charming. Sharing a secret over my sister’s home decor is way more fun than it should be.

  I hold in the laughter that wants to fly out. “Those are peacock feathers.”

  “Ostrich . . . peacock . . . whatever. Feathers are feathers. Do you like them?”

  “No, I’m not a big fan of those or the gilding.” It seems slightly traitorous to admit that, but when he sighs and tips his head back, smiling, I don’t feel bad anymore.

  “Thank God . . . I thought I was alone in that nightmare.”

  I’m really enjoying the twinkle in his eye. He can be really handsome when he’s happy. “My sister said the place came professionally decorated.”

  “By who? Willy Wonka?”

  “Shush!” I say, looking over at Amber. She’s turning around and heading our direction again. “She’s going to hear you.”

  “I’ve got nothing to hide. I’ll tell her right now to lose those feathers.”

  I think he’s teasing me, but I can’t be sure. “Shush.” I glare at him and he smiles. He knows he’s making me nuts.

  “Is there anything you want to do while you’re here?” I ask. Now it’s my turn to challenge him. My pulse is pounding at my boldness. I meant the question as a distraction, but now that I see the look on his face—darkness and unspoken thoughts—I really want to know his answer. There are hidden depths to this man, and normally I don’t bother with people’s private thoughts because I don’t want anyone to bother with mine, but he’s different for some reason. I want to know all about him. Unfortunately, the chicken-hearted girl in me needs to find out what makes him tick from another source, because I don’t have the guts to ask him to his face for the answers to the questions I have. He’s too intense for me.

  “I have work to do,” he says, all traces of humor gone. “I’m not here to be a tourist.”

  I nod. “Yeah. Me too.”

  He gives me a sassy look. “You got some chickens to feed up in that high-rise?”

  “No, Mr. Smarty-Pants. But I have a canvas I need to paint, so . . .”

  “A canvas for . . .”

  Suddenly, Amber is there and the moment is gone. He never finishes his sentence. She stops at my side and smiles, full of cheer. “You guys ready to go to the paint supply store?”

  I expect Sam to beg off, but he shrugs and answers, “Sure. Why not?”

  I shrug too, feeling shy and off-balance again. The art supply store is my special territory . . . I’m not sure I want to share it with him. Amber is one thing, but Sam is something else altogether. I’m afraid of him watching me and getting into my head, into my world. My life has been safe and the same for so long; it’s comfortable, and I like it that way. Sam makes me decidedly uncomfortable. He makes me feel . . . antsy. Unsettled. Like I’m longing for something more, but I don’t know what that something more is.

  “Let’s go,” Amber says, ignorant of my inner conflict. Sam walks away, headed for the curb.

  She hails a cab in no time and gives the driver directions to a place she finds on her phone. We’re soon weaving our way through traffic, Amber humming away to a tune on the radio.

  I stare at the back of Sam’s head, wondering what’s going on inside it. Is he wondering what I’m going to buy? What I’m going to paint? Or is he thinking of his life in California? His work? The trouble that sent him to New York three weeks early? His girlfriend or wife?

  The idea of him having a special woman in his life sends a sharp pang of jealousy through me. What the heck . . . ? What do I care if he’s taken? It’s not like he’s my type, and it’s not like I’m his. We’re just sharing an apartment for ten days. Ugh, get a life, Em. I hate that I’m acting like a hormonal teenager. I can be an adult woman sharing a living space with a hot guy without imagining anything happening between us. I know I can. I just need to concentrate . . .

  Amber speaks softly so he won’t hear. “Are you cool with him coming with us?”

  “Sure. No big deal.” Although it feels like a big deal, I know it shouldn’t be. Come on, Emerald, woman up!

  “Do you feel like seeing anything else while we’re out? Maybe the September 11 Memorial?” she asks.

  I’m about to shake my head no, but then I see the side of Sam’s face as he turns his head toward the driver. He’s definitely interested in the conversation. “Sure. Why not.” I might not want to do the touristy things for myself, but I can do them for Sam. Besides, I’m an American citizen; I should go see the memorial while I’m here. It’s the right thing to do, to honor the people who died or suffered.

  “We’ll go to the memorial first; it’s closer.” A somber mood descends over the taxicab as Amber instructs the driver to take us there.

  CHAPTER TEN

  We stop at the curb a few minutes later, and Amber quickly pays for our ride with her credit card. She’s an expert at working the computer to take care of the bill. She gives the cabbie five dollars in cash and waves at him in the rearview mirror. “Thank you.”

  Sam is waiting for us when we get out
. Together, we move toward the memorial, mingling with the crowds. There are a lot of people here, even though there’s a chill in the air. The sound of falling water rises above the murmur of voices.

  “Have you ever been here before?” Amber asks Sam.

  “Nope. Never been to New York City.”

  “You guys go ahead. I’m going to grab a brochure.” Amber goes over to an information area while Sam and I walk to the edge of the first structure: a huge, deep pit in the ground continually filling with water that disappears into a hole in the middle.

  I’m not sure what emotion this memorial is supposed to invoke in me, but all I can think about is how the water just keeps disappearing and there’s nothing left to show for it. It seems so . . . hopeless. Is it supposed to represent the cycle of life, with things going in, going down, disappearing, and then somehow magically coming back again? I don’t see how that has anything to do with the deaths that occurred here. No one who died on that day is coming back. It makes me sadder than I already was.

  People all around us are crying. I have an ache in my chest. I feel a hand on my shoulder, and it confuses me for a moment because it’s too heavy. And then I notice that Amber is still several feet away. It’s Sam who’s touching me as his jaw clenches over and over again. He’s staring out into the water so intently, I’m not sure he even realizes what he’s doing.

  My chest tightens, and I shift just the slightest bit away. I don’t mean to reject him; it’s just that his presence is so incredibly intense, I can’t handle it without my heart racing and my pulse running away from me. It’s silly to be so affected by a near-stranger.

  His hand drops away. “Sorry,” he says softly, still staring at the water.

  “Don’t apologize. I get it.”

  “It’s really sad here.” His voice is gruffer than normal.

  My own voice is strained, higher than it should be. “Yes, it is.”

  “Did you know anyone who died here?”

  “No. It was kind of before my time. I was just a kid.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  I study his face, looking for signs of his age. His beard covers up too much of his skin to be able to gauge it correctly. “How old are you?”