I removed my hand from the glass and let it rest in my lap. “Yes. Do you have a girlfriend?” I blurted the last part out, regretting it instantly, realizing too late that he might misinterpret my question. Would he think I was asking him out? I felt my face turn pink. This finding a friend thing is not for sissies, I thought.
“I do not have a girlfriend.” He smiled and his voiced sounded softer than the moment before. “My son encourages me to try and find one.” He shrugged. “But I’m not sure how one goes about that.”
“Yeah. I understand.”
We drove another block and then another before stopping at a red light.
“Henry?”
“Yes, Miss Heywood?”
“My sister’s getting engaged.”
“You have a sister?”
“Yeah. And two nieces.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Why do you say it like that?”
“Like what, Miss Heywood?”
“Like it’s a surprise.”
He shrugged. “I find it hard to imagine you outside of your professional persona.”
My professional persona? Maybe this was the trouble. I was too buttoned up all the time. I should get a pair of jeans and tennis shoes. Oh, God, no. I can’t be expected to change my entire personality just to find some friends. I didn’t speak for a few moments, gazing out the window at a frozen mud puddle. “I’m supposed to go to Idaho for Thanksgiving to visit my sister and my nieces and Kevan, her betrothed. But I can’t fly.” I pointed to my head. “Or drive.”
“Oh, well, that’s a shame.” He said this with a hint of concern in his voice, which was the most emotion I’d ever heard from him.
“I want to go. The thought of the long weekend alone…” My voice cracked as I trailed off, suddenly unsure what the last part of that sentence should be. What in the world was wrong with me? About to cry over something so trivial? People had real problems. Maybe my head injury had caused some kind of permanent damage? Had it turned me from a badass businesswoman to a simpering dame in a matter of twenty-four hours?
“I could take you, Miss Heywood.”
My head snapped up. I looked into the rearview mirror for his eyes but they were focused on the road. “But it’s all the way to Idaho. I mean, like, the-middle-of-nowhere Idaho. There’s snow and stuff. Maybe snow monsters.” This was another attempt at humor, but instead of an awkward laugh, I welled up. Oh, what the hell. Just let it out, I thought. “My sister’s boyfriend called and asked my permission to marry her. Isn’t that thoughtful? He said Blythe needed my blessing because I’m the only one she has. Our parents, well, you know, my dad’s dead and my mother’s a hippie. The two of us clung together growing up. She practically raised me. She taught me to read when I was four years old.” I shook my head, feeling the pink flush of embarrassment on my cheeks. Why couldn’t I stop talking? “Well, anyway, it’s too far for you to drive me.” I turned to look out the window once again. Ice had formed on the glass. I placed the palm of my hand against it, wondering, idly, if the heat from my skin could melt it.
“Miss Heywood.” He cleared his throat. “It’s certainly not my place to pry, but I think you need to go to Idaho.” Had I flustered him? “I’m afraid to say I understand something about lonely holidays. I could take you, would like to take you. It would be no problem. You’d be doing me a favor, actually. I could use a little extra money. There’s something I had in mind for my son. For Christmas, I mean. A surprise.”
“There’s a little inn. You could stay there and take me home after a few days. I’d pay for everything, of course.” My sister had stayed in a bed and breakfast in the small town of Peregrine before a chance encounter had brought her to Kevan. She had told me all about it, along with its proprietor, Moonstone, a self-proclaimed psychic and enthusiastic antique collector.
As if this were the most ordinary request in the world, he answered without hesitation. “Of course, Miss Heywood.” We passed the waterfront park. During summer months, children played in the giant water fountain. It was empty today, icicles hanging from benches. Columbia River sparkled in the sun. Overhead a gaggle of geese in the formation of a V headed south, late for their date with warmer climates.
“Thank you.” We were near my office building now. He pulled up to the curb. I searched for Sam but didn’t see him in his typical spot.
“Are you going up?” asked Henry, obviously meaning to my office.
“No. They fired me yesterday.”
His voice went up an octave. “You were fired?”
“Yeah. It was a crappy day.” I scooted to the other side of the car, hoping to get a clearer view of the alley between the buildings. Sam was there, tucked away. “I’ll just be a moment,” I said to Henry as I stepped out of the car. The cold wind blasted my face. I started to move toward Sam but then fear overcame me. Ice. Would I slip again? These boots were not meant for walking, I thought. Wasn’t that an old country song? Or the title of a book? I couldn’t remember which. I turned back to the car and knocked on Henry’s window. He slid it down.
“May I help you, Miss Heywood?”
“I’m afraid I might slip.”
His face softened. Without a word he exited the car and offered his arm. For a moment I felt transformed to another time, expecting lights and a red carpet for the premier of some movie starring Jimmy Stewart. That’s the way of Henry, I realized. Charisma. No wonder he’d been an actor. You can’t fake that.
“It’s just Sam here.” I pointed toward the homeless man and his dog, both of whom appeared to be asleep. “I give him money every day, and with this weather I’m worried.” I stopped, glancing up at Henry’s face.
He met my gaze, scratching the side of his face with his index finger. “There’s a shelter six or so blocks from here. Perhaps he goes there at night?”
“Maybe.” I gripped his arm a little tighter. “But what about Sweetheart? His dog. Do they take dogs at shelters?”
He grimaced, as if searching for an answer, and looked down at me. “I’m not sure.” Henry was tall; he must be well over six feet. I’d never noticed that before, having never really stood next to him. I’m almost six feet with my heels and he still had several inches on me. “Miss Heywood, what is it you want to do here?”
“Nothing, I guess. Just give him some money, like I do normally. That’s all. The stupid holidays just have me thinking.”
“Well, of course. And you suffered a bit of a shock, I imagine, with the hospital visit and all.” His voice was low, almost soothing, and certainly sympathetic.
“Exactly, Henry. I woke up last night thinking about my life. What am I doing with it, really? How much more do I have to prove?”
“Prove, Miss Heywood?”
“Yes. You know, how much money do I have to make before I say, enough.” I sighed, pulling on a lock of my hair. “I’m lonely, Henry. I didn’t realize how much until last night staring into the light of some machine. I need to focus on relationships more than work. I need a life.”
“While I understand the sentiment, I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that Sam, well, you don’t know what kind of troubles he might have. It’s no accident that he lives on the streets.”
“Right. Of course.” I paused. “But he chased the ambulance. He sent a note.” I lowered my voice. “He’s mute. For some stupid reason I thought that made him illiterate too.”
“I see.”
I looked at up at him. His lids were at half-mast. What was he thinking? “Well, anyway, let’s give him some cash to get him through the next couple of days,” I said.
We headed toward Sam and Sweetheart. When we were a few feet away, Sweetheart jumped to her feet, wagging her tail harder than I’d ever seen her do. I knelt down and she licked the back of my hand. Sam opened his eyes, sleepily at first, before they flew open and he leaned forward, his mouth moving, di
storted, as if he wanted to speak but no sound came.
“Sam, I’m fine. I wanted you to know,” I said.
He nodded and smiled.
Realizing I’d forgotten my purse, I looked back at Henry. He had returned to the car, his arms folded over his chest like he was a guard on duty. I called out to him. “Henry, will you bring my purse, please?”
“Yes, Miss Heywood.”
“Sam, I’m leaving you some money. I’m going away for the holiday and I want to make sure you’re okay while I’m gone.”
He made the gesture over his heart. Henry, behind me now, handed my purse over and I emptied my wallet of all the cash I had, about $140. I gave it to Sam. “Can you keep it safe from thieves?”
Shrugging, his gaze darted down the street.
“Put it inside your jacket.”
He shook his head, no, before beckoning Sweetheart. She went to him and, as if she knew exactly what to do, bowed her head. I’d not noticed before but her collar was wider than most. He unbuckled it from her neck and turned it over, holding it up for me to see. It had a zipper. A secret compartment. Genius. I glanced at Henry. He appeared as surprised and impressed as me. Sam slipped the money inside.
“Well, get to a shelter tonight, okay? Or buy a room for the night. Just stay warm.”
He nodded but I couldn’t tell if he understood or not. I said good-bye and assured him I would see them when I returned after the holiday.
Once in the warmth of the car, I shivered. No one should have to be out in this weather tonight, I thought. I have the power to do something about it. So do it, I told myself. Man up. Henry started the vehicle and was about to pull into the street when I stopped him. “Wait. This isn’t right. We need to get him a room for a week somewhere.”
“We, Miss Heywood?”
“I mean me.”
“What sort of room?”
“Like a motel room. That takes dogs.”
Henry put the car in park and turned all the way around to look at me. “Miss Heywood. I don’t think you’re thinking all this through properly.”
I hesitated. Had I lost my mind? No. I was fine. It was this cold front and the holidays and my vow to build relationships. Building friendships started with kindness. That was all. I wanted to make sure Sam and Sweetheart remained safe and warm. What was wrong with that? Nothing. It was the rest of the world that was crazy. Why were people like me around with more money than they knew what to do with when people like Sam were out on the street? That was the question. Not whether or not I should do something. Hadn’t I made a pact with God last night in the middle of that dark hospital room? I needed to do something with my life besides just make money. This was the beginning of the new day I’d promised Him. “You know what?”
“What’s that, Miss Heywood?”
“I’m going to take Sam and Sweetheart home with me tonight.”
The look of horror on Henry’s face almost made me laugh. I would have, but I didn’t want to further alarm him. “Home. With you? Oh no, this is not a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“You’re not well. And you don’t know if he’s dangerous. What if he robs you? Or, God forbid, hurts you.”
“He won’t. He’s harmless. Just lost. Henry, he needs me. We can’t just let him freeze to death out here.”
“Again with the we, Miss Heywood?”
I ignored him, letting the momentum of my righteousness fuel me. “Homeless people die in the cold all the time. I have the chance to do something.” I stopped, thinking of Sam chasing the ambulance across town, somehow getting to the hospital miles away. He’d done that for me.
“Miss Heywood?”
“Yes, Henry?”
“Do you have a young man?”
I squinted at him, irritated and amused at the same time. “A young man?”
“A man in your life.”
“I don’t need a man.”
He made a sweeping gesture with his hand, taking it off the steering wheel for a moment. “A man who would tell you this is a bad idea and to go home and get rested up before a long trip. Furthermore, it’s obvious you need someone to look after you. This world is not meant for a woman alone. Dangers are everywhere.”
“What’re you talking about? This isn’t 1950. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
He sighed. “They had some things right back then. Men knew how to treat women like ladies, and women knew how to accept it.”
“I’m fine.”
Henry raised his eyebrows in the rearview mirror. “Really?”
“I’m currently single, but I’ve had boyfriends. Or boyfriend-ish.”
“What’s this ‘ish’? Is that code for—what do the young people call it?—bootie calls?”
I made a face and threw up my hands. “No.” What was happening here? We’d gone from hardly speaking to Henry commenting on my sex life in the time it took to cross town. “’Ish’ is the way I like it. No strings attached. Casual. Fun. I don’t do the whole commitment thing well. I’m like Greta Garbo in this late night grand hotel.”
“Greta Garbo?”
“Never mind. It’s a song reference.” Only Blythe would understand. Despite all the ways we differed, we shared an almost obsessive love of music, especially singer/songwriters. Our favorite was Nanci Griffith. I didn’t bother to explain any of this to Henry.
I’d missed my opportunity to marry when I was younger because I was so focused on work. The men my age had married their sweethearts while I was in my twenties and thirties flying all over the world making deals. They were now all happily married—if not happy, at least married—and living in the suburbs with their perfect children and SUVs. The dating pool for women my age and older consisted of divorced men with baggage as long as the line at the Apple store on release day for the latest iPhone.
I may be successful and confident about my work, but when it comes to dating, I’m still the girl no one asked to high school prom. I was the smart girl, not the pretty girl, and somehow that little girl is still alive and kicking inside my toned body and perfect hair and designer clothes. Men want young women. According to statistics, the chance of meeting someone at my age is less likely than getting hit by lightening.
But I wasn’t interested in a committed relationship. Would it be nice to have sex again? Yes. Was it worth the hassle? No. The combination of my couch, binge-watching Breaking Bad and a nice bottle of wine proved a much more attractive mate. There were good books to read, hot yoga, salted-caramel ice cream, and Nordstrom. I had my work, after all. What more did I need?
Focus, I thought. I needed to make my case about Sam. “Sam left me a note. That means something to me. It’s almost like we’re friends.”
“You give him money, Miss Heywood. Do you think that might have something to do with it?”
“So what if it does?” I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling petulant. Henry’s attitude made me feel like a child.
He didn’t say anything for a moment, watching me. With one of his long fingers, he tapped the headrest of his seat. “Oh for goodness sake. If you insist on taking this, this, homeless man into your home, then I’m staying with you. Until it warms up.”
Neither of us mentioned that it was not supposed to warm up for at least a week, or the fact that we were leaving the next day for Idaho. I would decide what to do about that tomorrow. One day at a time, I assured myself. This is how you become a friend, I thought. One day at a time until suddenly you love one another. Sam and Henry were going to be my friends whether they wanted to or not. I’d chosen them. The list was formulating in my mind.
Find love for Henry.
Save Sam.
I smiled to myself as we once again parked and headed for Sam and Sweetheart.
Chapter 5
WHEN I PROPOSED the idea to Sam, he cocked his head
to the side and stared at me with those watery blue eyes. Sweetheart, on the other hand, seemed to understand right away. She rose to her feet, tail wagging, and pointed her nose to Henry’s car parked and waiting at the curb. Then she barked, loudly, as if to say, “Let’s go. I’m cold and hungry.” Sam got to his feet but remained glued to the side of the building. He shook his head, no, and then pulled at the front of his jacket. I looked at Henry, hoping for a translation, as if the English could decipher the gestures of a mute.
“He thinks he’s too dirty.” Henry turned to Sam. “Isn’t that right?”
Sam nodded, yes.
“You can get washed up at my place,” I said, like I was talking to a girlfriend before a night out. Washed up was the ultimate understatement. It would take a week’s allotment of hot water and soap to cleanse Sam. But that was just fine, I told myself. I had two bathrooms and lots of towels.
Sam continued to shake his head, no. Sweetheart whined and looked up at him with sad, pleading eyes.
Henry, shifting his feet, glanced at me with one eyebrow raised. “He has a point, Miss Heywood.”
I looked over at Henry. “After you drop us off, you can go out and get him some new things to wear.”
Sam pulled off his wool cap. His white hair, long and matted, clung to his scalp. He tugged on a strand. What did he mean? I looked over at Henry. Maybe it was the acting training, but he seemed to understand Sam, regardless of words.
“He’s worried what they’ll think of him in your fancy building.”
“Wait, you know where I live?”
Sam shook his head, no.
“He knows you live in a fancy building,” said Henry. “Anyone can tell that by looking at you.”
“Oh, right. How about a haircut?” I asked. “Henry, do you know how to cut hair?”
Henry sighed and rolled his eyes. “I’m a former actor. I know how to wait tables and drive rich people around in my car. That’s it.”
“After you get cleaned up, Sam, we can get you a haircut. If you want,” I said. I’d ignore naysayer Henry for now. I was surprised someone like Henry wouldn’t have more sympathy for the downtrodden. Weren’t all actors a bevy of bleeding hearts?
Blue Moon (Blue Mountain Book 2) Page 4
