was a lot more “homey” than the outside of the building. He’d circled the block twice before parking in front of a series of apartment buildings in a low-rent section of the city, buildings from the sixties, three stories, with flat roofs and not much landscaping except for a few shrubs here and there and narrow strips of what should have been green grass, but was just brown. The whole place had seemed depressing, old, poorly kept and reeking of disinterest, with just a few Christmas touches in sight.
But in here, despite the clutter, the tiny size and obvious lack of luxury, it seemed invitingly warm. Odd, unmatched furniture crowded the space, along with a stack of laundry on a side chair, a TV on top of a low bookshelf, and a small Christmas tree decorated with popcorn garlands and colored paper chains sitting in front of a window covered by shades. It had an angel at the top.
“Excuse the mess,” she was muttering as she dropped the things in her arms in a pile on the floor by the Christmas tree, then went into what looked likea kitchen alcove ahead and on the left. “I meant to bring the wallet to work today, but I didn’t go, and I just totally forgot about it,” she said disappearing from sight.
It was then that he noticed the child curled up in a ball on the sofa to the left. She was a tiny thing for a two-year-old, in pink sleepers lying with her back to him. Wisps of feathery dark hair were damp and clinging to her flushed skin. “She’s sick?” he asked.
“Teething and a bit of a cold,” Amy called from the kitchen. She appeared with a purse in her hands, setting it on a half wall between the kitchen and living area. She waved a hand at him as she opened the purse and started to rummage inside. “Sit down if you’d like,” she said as she went through her purse.
He looked at an overstuffed chair that faced the couch, alongside a wooden rocking chair. The upholstered chair was filled with what looked like clean laundry, so he crossed to the rocking chair, sat down and looked back at Amy, who was literally turning her purse upside down to let the contents fall on the divider. “It’s here,” she muttered. “I remember seeing it.”
He glanced from her to the child. “Is she why you didn’t come into work today?”
“Pretty much,” she muttered, then turned with his wallet in her hand. “Success,” she said and crossed to hand it to him.
“Thanks for finding it,” he said as he took it.
She stood over him, tucking a strand of hair that had worked its way out of her ponytail behind her ear. “Sure, no problem.” She glanced at the child,then back at him. “Go ahead,” she said, motioning to his wallet. “Look in it. Everything’s there, including the money.”
He wasn’t even thinking about the wallet. “I trust you.”
“Okay, can I offer you something? Coffee or tea? I mean, you had to come all this way and everything.”
“No, thanks.” He was going to say she must have plans for Christmas Eve, but that sounded ludicrous. A sick child. That was her plan.
“Good, good,” she said, hesitated, then turned and scooped the laundry out of the overstuffed chair, and moved it to the coffee table that was partially filled with wooden blocks and some small plastic animals. She plunked down in the chair, twisted to face him and tugged her feet up to cross her legs. “So, you’re doing okay at LynTech?”
“Fine. Settling in at work.”
“And…” She waved a hand vaguely. “Houston? You like it? I heard you were from New York.”
“I was born here.” He slipped his wallet in the inside pocket of his suit coat. He should be going, he should be saying goodbye and getting out of her way, but he wasn’t anxious to leave just yet. Since he’d walked away from her the night before, he’d had a strange sense of being alone. Singular. He’d even tried to call Mike to connect with him, but had missed him. He’d worked until the small hours of the morning.
The
But in here, despite the clutter, the tiny size and obvious lack of luxury, it seemed invitingly warm. Odd, unmatched furniture crowded the space, along with a stack of laundry on a side chair, a TV on top of a low bookshelf, and a small Christmas tree decorated with popcorn garlands and colored paper chains sitting in front of a window covered by shades. It had an angel at the top.
“Excuse the mess,” she was muttering as she dropped the things in her arms in a pile on the floor by the Christmas tree, then went into what looked likea kitchen alcove ahead and on the left. “I meant to bring the wallet to work today, but I didn’t go, and I just totally forgot about it,” she said disappearing from sight.
It was then that he noticed the child curled up in a ball on the sofa to the left. She was a tiny thing for a two-year-old, in pink sleepers lying with her back to him. Wisps of feathery dark hair were damp and clinging to her flushed skin. “She’s sick?” he asked.
“Teething and a bit of a cold,” Amy called from the kitchen. She appeared with a purse in her hands, setting it on a half wall between the kitchen and living area. She waved a hand at him as she opened the purse and started to rummage inside. “Sit down if you’d like,” she said as she went through her purse.
He looked at an overstuffed chair that faced the couch, alongside a wooden rocking chair. The upholstered chair was filled with what looked like clean laundry, so he crossed to the rocking chair, sat down and looked back at Amy, who was literally turning her purse upside down to let the contents fall on the divider. “It’s here,” she muttered. “I remember seeing it.”
He glanced from her to the child. “Is she why you didn’t come into work today?”
“Pretty much,” she muttered, then turned with his wallet in her hand. “Success,” she said and crossed to hand it to him.
“Thanks for finding it,” he said as he took it.
She stood over him, tucking a strand of hair that had worked its way out of her ponytail behind her ear. “Sure, no problem.” She glanced at the child,then back at him. “Go ahead,” she said, motioning to his wallet. “Look in it. Everything’s there, including the money.”
He wasn’t even thinking about the wallet. “I trust you.”
“Okay, can I offer you something? Coffee or tea? I mean, you had to come all this way and everything.”
“No, thanks.” He was going to say she must have plans for Christmas Eve, but that sounded ludicrous. A sick child. That was her plan.
“Good, good,” she said, hesitated, then turned and scooped the laundry out of the overstuffed chair, and moved it to the coffee table that was partially filled with wooden blocks and some small plastic animals. She plunked down in the chair, twisted to face him and tugged her feet up to cross her legs. “So, you’re doing okay at LynTech?”
“Fine. Settling in at work.”
“And…” She waved a hand vaguely. “Houston? You like it? I heard you were from New York.”
“I was born here.” He slipped his wallet in the inside pocket of his suit coat. He should be going, he should be saying goodbye and getting out of her way, but he wasn’t anxious to leave just yet. Since he’d walked away from her the night before, he’d had a strange sense of being alone. Singular. He’d even tried to call Mike to connect with him, but had missed him. He’d worked until the small hours of the morning.
The
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