Cast Me Gently by Caren J. Werlinger Page A

didn’t ask.” Bernie was right. Something about Ellie did make her seem young— and innocent, said a voice in Teresa’s head. Like she needs someone to take care of her— which was ridiculous. Ellie had been alone since high school. She obviously knew how to take care of herself and had friends like Louise and the girls from Kaufman’s, and yet… What had she meant when she said Louise saved her life, and who were all the extra sandwiches for? Teresa’s mind had been drawn back, over and over, to these questions. She had mentioned her curiosity to Bernie—but only the one time—as Bernie’s immediate retort had been, “I wouldn’t trust anyone who tries to be so mysterious.”
    “She’s not,” replied Teresa. The comment had stung in a way that intuitively let her know that this was not something she could talk to Bernie about. Trying or not, Ellie was a mystery to Teresa, one that intrigued her. She kept picturing Ellie’s bright eyes— what color are they? she wondered. She couldn’t remember for sure; in her mind, they were light, maybe blue or gray, because to Teresa, they seemed open and childlike— There you go, thinking of her as a child again.
    She punched her pillow into a different shape as she rolled over again onto her other side. She reached for the rosary on her nightstand, forcing herself to concentrate as she said the prayers in Latin until, at last, she drifted into a restless sleep.

    It seemed she had barely fallen asleep when the alarm clock woke her with its clang. Even a shower couldn’t completely erase the drowsiness from her brain. She was alone in the kitchen as she made coffee and scrambled some eggs. Sitting at the table, poking at her eggs with a corner of her toast, she realized she was thinking of Ellie again. She finished her breakfast and placed her dishes in the dishwasher before taking her coat from the hook by the back door and letting herself into the early morning cold. Her Bug, parked outside the garage housing her parents’ cars, started up with its putt-putt-putt, and she backed out into the dark. The streets were nearly deserted as she drove, turning down the alley that ran behind the stores. She pulled into one of the parking spaces behind their store, and her headlights caught movement. There, shielding his eyes from the glare, was the homeless man with the dog, camped out near the trash cans. Teresa sat for a moment, wondering if it was safe to get out of her car. She reached for the key and turned the engine off.
    The man was getting stiffly to his feet as she got out of the VW.
    “I didn’t mean to startle you,” Teresa said.
    He was folding and rolling up his sleeping bag. His dog bowed down, stretching and yawning before coming over to Teresa, its tail wagging. She reached down to give it a pat on the head.
    “We’ll get out of your way,” the man said in a raspy voice.
    “You’re not—”
    “Come on, Lucy,” he said, not waiting for her to finish. The dog trotted over to him, and, with the rolled-up sleeping bag now tied to a green canvas backpack, the pair of them headed down the alley, the man limping a bit.
    Teresa watched them disappear into the darkness and went to unlock the security grate covering the store’s back door. Re-locking the door behind her, she deposited her purse in the office and went to unlock the front grate and sweep the sidewalk as she did every morning.
    As she swept, she looked up and down the street, but there was no sign of the man with the dog. Next door, Mrs. Schiavo came out carrying a bag filled with loaves of bread, and she was quickly surrounded by hungry people. Another scuffle broke out, and tiny Mrs. Schiavo was knocked to the ground.
    Teresa pushed through. “Get away!” she said as she shouldered her way to where Mrs. Schiavo lay in a heap. “Let me help you.” Other hands reached out to assist, and there were murmurs of apology. Teresa picked up the bag with the remaining loaves, but there were more