Watching Their Steps

by Alana Terry

  The note confused her. Just a few short words, she didn’t know what to make of them

  Erika,

  “Here I give you milk to drink, not solid food; for you are not ready for solid food yet.”

  I dare you to read it.

  Keith

  Chapter 33

  IN A CITY THE SIZE of Rockland, apartments become available on an extremely frequent basis. However, affordable apartments that are still available by the time a potential tenant has finished examining the place are much rarer than most renters suppose. After two weeks of getting nowhere, Erika began looking in Hillsdale, Marshfield, and Westbury. If the subway was in reasonable walking distance, she made an appointment to see it.

  By the end of the third week, she wanted to cry. As she walked away from yet another shack masquerading as a reasonable excuse for an apartment, her cell phone rang. “Hey, Yvonne. Do you want to go drown my sorrows with me? Another dud.”

  “That’s why I called. Didn’t you say you were in Westbury today?”

  “Yeah. I checked out three. One was decent, I guess, but the landlord was creepy. Kept ogling me. Yve, I’ve got to find a place, or I’ll go nuts. I’ve taken to reading in my room to avoid yelling at my dad when he says something else that is totally inappropriate. I mean, it’s Dad! What do I expect?”

  “Well then, I expect you to take me out for coffee or dessert or even a nice steak would do.”

  “Why? What’d you find?” As she listened, Erika dug out the mini notepad she’d been making notes in all day and began writing. “Oh, that’s just...” It took a few seconds to find her street on her cellphone’s map, but her memory was correct. “Three streets over and a block or two down.”

  “They’re asking six-fifty and that includes everything including cable—fully furnished.”

  “Well, that’s kind of high, but not ridiculously so.”

  Yvonne’s impatient voice snapped back at her, “Negotiate. I bet if you point out your years as a house sitter, you could easily knock off a hundred dollars a month.”

  “Yeah. Glad I got that reference for my file last summer when she talked about staying longer. Of course, if the guy tries to verify it, he’d have to call the FBI for how to contact her.”

  “Tell him upfront and remind him that her criminal activity doesn’t mean that she didn’t write an honest reference. Who you are doesn’t change because she turned out to be a creep.”

  “Why don’t I just have you negotiate for me? You sound better than I ever could.”

  “Hogwash,” Yvonne protested. “You’re the one with the mad people skills. Treat him like a customer that you want to buy a scone to go with his coffee and sell the deal.”

  “Okay. Fine. I’ll call you if I get it.”

  Erika slid her phone shut and stuffed it in her purse. Yvonne was right. She was acting like a twit. “I know how to negotiate, and I know how to sell. I’ll get this apartment if it’s the last thing I do, and I’ll get it for five-fifty. Period.”

  The last two blocks were short enough to prevent the doubts from resurfacing. As she rang the doorbell, she glanced around the yard. “Must be a basement apartment. I hate those. They’re so dark. Might as well look, though,” she muttered as she waited for the owner to open the door.

  A man, hardly taller than herself and twice as round as anyone his height should be opened the door. Erika stifled the temptation to laugh. Every storybook description of a jolly grandpa danced through her mind as she took in the white bushy eyebrows, the two powder puff pieces of white hair on each side of his head, and the little clear round “Santa” glasses on his nose. He was too adorable for words.

  “Hi, my name is Erika Polowski. My friend Yvonne—”

  “Oh, she called and said you’d be coming. Come on in.”

  “You know Yvonne?” That was news. Her friend hadn’t mentioned knowing the man—just that he had an apartment.

  “Oh, sure. She dated my grandnephew for a while. Lovely girl, but not ready to settle down, is she?”

  “Yvonne? No.”

  “Well, Gabe just moved out last week, and when she called to see if any of my friends had places, I thought it was perfect. Come on in and check it out. Gabe had it all designed for me and oversaw the work. He was very particular.”

  “Gabe Moretti?”

  “Yes! You knew him?” The man led her around the side of the house and down a small flight of stairs. “See, it has a drain pipe that runs to the street. Gabe insisted on it so that the rain wouldn’t come into the apartment.”

  “Mr.—”

  “Moretti. Like Gabe.”

  “Great. I didn’t realize it had a private entrance. I like that.”

  “Oh, it has everything. See those windows?” Mr. Moretti gestured to large windows along the west side of the house. “Gabe had them doubled in size. Said a dark house would be miserable.”

  “Seems like—” Erika stopped mid-sentence. The apartment was amazing. The furniture, the appliances, even the window coverings were better than she’d hoped to find. Yvonne had to be wrong about the price. “Yvonne said the rent—”

  “Six-fifty, all inclusive. That might even include meals sometimes. I tend to cook too much still. Might as well share it with a tenant than eat it every day for a week.” At the uncertain look on her face, he added quickly, “Not that I’d expect to eat here or for you to come eat with me, but there’s no reason you couldn’t stop in and grab a plate when you got home sometimes. It’d save you cooking—”

  “Are you for real? Is this a joke? Is Yvonne hiding somewhere or something?”

  Almost panicked sounding, the man backtracked. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just feel sorry for people who have to work hard all day and then come home and cook. If that’s not something you’d like to do, I can work harder to learn to cook for one.”

  “Well, for that price—”

  “I could drop it to six hundred, but I really—”

  “No.”

  Erika could see that the man was crushed. As she tried to formulate an acceptance of his original price if it included food now and then, the man sighed. “I do that. I’m sorry. I just love young people and I get a little carried away when I’ve got a chance to have someone around the place. I promise I won’t be a bother. I hardly came down here when Gabe was here, and he only came up for dinner a few nights a week. I’m really not as pushy as I sound.”

  “No, no. That’s not what I meant by no. I’ll take it. At six-fifty and dinner when you cook too much. Just call me on the way home and if I’m not busy, I’ll eat with you and do the dishes too. I’m just a bit overwhelmed. If you saw the dumps I’ve been walking through every day. If I like it, it’s too expensive. If I can afford, it, the place should be condemned. I saw one place that literally pulsated with the beat of the music from the cars that circled the neighborhood all day. Freaky.”

  “You’ll take it? Let me get the contract.”

  Mr. Moretti hurried toward the door, but Erika had one more question. “Oh, when can I move in?”

  “Do you have a suitcase with you?”

  Her laughter filled the little living room. “Oh, I’m going to like you. I’ll move in on Saturday. You’ve just made my month.”

  “And you’ve just given me hope that I can repay the loan I took out from myself to remodel this place.”

  “Well, I’ll do my best. How long did Gabe live here?”

  “Three years.”

  “Well, he probably made a healthy dent in it himself!” Erika glanced around the room, her eyes lingering on the leather couches and the large flat-screened TV.

  “Oh, no. I couldn’t charge family rent! I’ll be right back.”

  Erika frowned at those words. She’d never liked Gabe, and now she liked him even less. Good riddance to a jerk.

  ERIKA CLICKED THE REMOTE, plunging the TV screen into darkness. Why didn’t the networks come up with something reasonable to watch on Wednesday nights? It’s all path
etic!

  She reached for the latest Alexa Hartfield mystery and tossed it aside. Either the woman was losing her touch, or Erika needed a change of genre. It seemed stale and uninteresting. The magazine she’d brought home was more advertisements for things she’d never buy than articles about things that didn’t interest her.

  For the third time that week, she wandered through the four rooms of her apartment, anxious to find something to do without resorting to another trip to a movie or the mall. Her mother had “diagnosed” her with a serious case of ennui. Even that seemed too exciting for the disinterested feeling she had. It seemed as though that now she’d accomplished her latest goal, finding an apartment, there was nothing left to do but exist.

  A glance at her watch told her it was too late for the library. She could try the bookstore in the mall. Maybe they’d have a new TV series or a book—or maybe she should go read some nice political blogs to get her blood boiling. There was nothing like reading a bunch of right-wing hot heads to stir some life into her.

  Next to her laptop sat the Bible Keith had sent her. The cryptic note, still stuck in the same place where she’d found it, continued to annoy her. What did he mean about solid food or milk? Was he calling her a big baby?

  She grabbed the Bible and the laptop and carried it back to her favorite chair. Maybe if she Googled the right combination of words, there’d be some explanation. It was probably some religious terminology that those with an “in” understood. Church types always seemed to speak their own language—kind of like little kids who want to be able to insult the people around them without those people knowing.

  It took a little searching, but she found what she thought he was trying to tell her. None of it made sense, and the worst part of it was that she couldn’t just call and ask. Anger welled up in her heart again as she remembered his broken promise. The meal didn’t mean that much—not really. No one would expect a guy like Keith to toss aside whatever rules there were about dating people who weren’t religious—there had to be rules. People like him had rules for everything.

  Then again, she hadn’t had any illusions of it being an actual date. He’d promised her dinner in a difficult circumstance. It was supposed to be a fun, “Hey, we’re out of this mess now” kind of celebration, not some big deal. As she remembered his entire curt demeanor, she sighed. It was about the attraction. He wasn’t going to risk it again. It was too bad, too. He was a good-looking guy—a nice one, when he wasn’t letting you wander through the woods tired and hungry or tackling you when you tried to escape.

  A word on the opposing page from the note caught her attention. Adultery. She hated that word. Yvonne’s parents had been through the ugliest divorce she’d ever heard of because of adultery. Even her own father, with all his bizarre ideas, had a simple outlook on marriage. You kept your word. You promised to be faithful, now do it. If you can’t promise to do that, then don’t get married and say you will.

  Premarital sex didn’t bother Tom Polowski, but extramarital received the same passionless condemnation that murder, corruption in politics, and bad service at restaurants did. “It’s wrong” spoken in nearly a monotone as if bored. Just thinking of it made her smile and frown at the same time. Men like her dad were rare—no, not the lack of emotion. Men today seemed more interested in serving themselves than honoring promises—kind of like Keith. The irony would have been amusing if she wasn’t so irritated.

  The word adultery pulled at her again, so Erika began reading the section from the beginning. It was short—simple even. It was powerful. She’d heard that Jesus was a pretty good guy. One of her friends had a mother who talked about how Jesus forgave this and forgave that. Here it was in black, red, and white. The woman was caught and told to knock it off. Erika snickered at the thought that followed. “Knock it off before he knocks you up is more like it.”

  Google sent a few dozen links on adultery when she typed it into the search bar. Some verses were harsh. Killing a person for adultery seemed a bit extreme, but a small part of her resonated with the idea. If capital punishment, which she had always opposed, was the sentence for adultery, Yvonne’s father would never have strayed. People liked to live. It didn’t sound like the Bible people had a backlog of cases to drag out the sentencing either.

  One verse made no sense. Adultery and friendship with the world didn’t make sense. If she could have, she’d have called Keith and demanded an explanation. That thought sent the Bible flying across the room. Her anger grew as she realized she’d let her emotions override her self-control. Unlike her father, Erika valued emotions, but like her father, she respected people who were able to control them. She rose, picked up the book, smoothed the rumpled pages, and set it on the bookshelf where it belonged. She’d ask around and see if anyone at work wanted or needed a new one.

  “HOW LONG ARE YOU GOING to make her wait?”

  Keith shook his head. Why did Karen always ask it like that? “I’m not ‘making her wait.’ I’m giving her time to see what the Bible is all about. I thought it’d give us something to discuss.”

  “She’s going to see you as someone who breaks his word.”

  It was true; he had to accept that possibility, but Keith had prayed like crazy about how to go about the dinner, and this was his solution. He didn’t know if it was prompted by the Holy Spirit—some kind of perfect timing thing—or if he was just subconsciously stalling for whatever stupid reason that’d be. “Well, I never said when. As long as I ask within a semi-reasonable amount of time, she can’t say I broke my word.”

  “It’s been two months. Isn’t that a bit excessive?”

  “She’s been getting settled. I’m being patient—waiting.”

  “You’re stalling. Call.” Karen shoved his phone across the table. “I’ll go see how Allison is doing.”

  “She won’t thank you.”

  “I know. Isn’t it great? They are so cute.”

  “When people say opposites attract...”

  “Yeah,” Karen agreed. “Look at you and Erika.”

  “She is not attracted to me.”

  Laughing, Karen strolled from the room. “Well, I don’t know about that. You could be right, but you sure are attracted to her.”

  “Go check on our latest prisoner.”

  Hours later, Keith’s fingers hovered over the buttons on his phone, before he slid it shut again. He might be a fool—probably was—but until he felt a green light, he wasn’t calling. Period.

  Epilogue

  FOR THE THIRD TIME that morning, Erika thought she saw Keith out of the corner of her eye. The first time, she’d been a little excited. As annoyed as she was, it was still an interesting prospect. She hadn’t lost her curiosity about that friendship with the world and adultery thing.

  The second time, she’d snapped at Jason and Myla both. Actually, if she were honest with herself, she’d have to admit that she humiliated Myla with her peevish remark about reserving flirtation for when they were off work. The girl hadn’t been the same since, and Jason had subsequently avoided both women.

  Now, furious at the idea that she could be so discomfited at the mere thought that someone she wanted to talk to could be avoiding her, Erika stormed out onto the sidewalk, glanced around her, and marched back inside again. Ignoring the line of customers that nearly reached the door, she strode through the back, into her office, and looked for something, anything, that she could break.

  Remorse flooded her seconds later. What kind of manager was she? They were down two baristas, and she was throwing a temper tantrum like none she’d ever seen. Taking a deep breath, she opened the office door and charged back to the counter. “Next!”

  For thirty minutes, the customers poured into the shop and then hurried back out again, anxious to make it to their next train. Once the store emptied, she glanced at the clock. “Hey, you guys, go on your breaks. I’ll take care of it. We’ve got twenty minutes before it gets bad again.”

  “Are you sure?” Myla seemed doubtful
but eager to leave. “Todd isn’t here and—”

  “Get out of here,” Erika joked as she made shooing motions. “Go somewhere and get a change of scene. I’ll be fine.”

  A glance at the serving area made her wince. Dropped lids, crushed cup sleeves, and drizzles of whipped cream littered every surface. With a glance at the door to be sure no one was coming, Erika grabbed a fresh towel and washcloth and started cleaning. A puddle of spilled coffee right in front of the register had nearly sent all three of them sprawling, but in seconds, she wiped it up and tossed the dirty rag in the bin. Just as she pulled herself up behind the counter, two familiar eyes smiled at her.

  “So,” Keith Auger, kidnapper extraordinaire quipped, “I do believe I owe you a steak dinner.”

  Irritated, Erika grabbed the can of whipped cream and sprayed it into his face. She waited to see what kind of response he’d have to that, and then shook her head when he asked, “Should I take that as a hint that you want dessert too?”

  “You should take it as a hint that I don’t live by the adage, ‘better late than never.’”

  “Name the restaurant.”

  “Marcello’s in Fairbury. Oh, and I have questions for you.”

  Keith’s knowing smile answered several unasked questions. “I thought you might. Friday?”

  Erika nodded. “Do you need my address, or am I still on the watch list?”

  “I could get it, sure, but I’d rather you gave it to me.”

  For several seconds, Erika searched his face for something, although she wasn’t quite sure what. After what seemed like an excessive pause, she nodded. “Good answer.”

  “See you Friday, then?” If she didn’t know better, she’d swear he was actually looking forward to it.

  “Why did you take so long?”

  “That’s an answer I’m not sure you want to hear.”