I lead him to my truck and open the passenger side door for him. He glances at me and climbs in. I go around to the driver’s side and get in.
“Seatbelt,” I say. He rolls his eyes at me, but buckles in anyway. He’s silent as he stares out of the window on the short drive to the nearby Walgreens.
When we get there, I park and turn off the car, then turn to him. He’s a little pale, and I really wish he would come home with me and let me take care of him, but I can’t say I blame him. He seems to have plenty of reasons for not trusting people. “I’ll um, I’ll be right back. Probably best if you wait here.” I don’t think there’s much chance of him running off when he’s already come this far, and I don't want him walking through the store in his current condition.
He just nods and stares out the window some more. I head into the store and grab a first aid kit, some snacks, Gatorade, and a clean T-shirt and hoodie that are closer to his size than the one he’s wearing. I also grab some socks, hand sanitizer, wipes, water, and a small package of washcloths. Then I search for a toothbrush, toothpaste and some deodorant before getting a backpack for him to put everything in. He might have one stashed somewhere but I don’t want to take the chance that he’ll have to leave any of these things behind because he doesn’t have a way to carry them.
I check out and head back to the truck. When I hand him the bag and the backpack his eyes widen.
“What the fuck, grandpa, I didn’t ask for all this.”
“Maybe not but you need it.” He glares at me again. Then he’s peering into the bag and I see his face go even more pale. “Why the hell are there condoms in here?”
“Just in case. I know people in your situation get desperate sometimes and I don’t like the idea of you not having protection.”
He’s staring at me now and I hold my hand out. “First aid kit,” I say. Without hesitation, he reaches into the bag and pulls it out. I take it and open it. Then I pull out a water bottle, and holding the door open, I soak the washcloth and then squeeze it out. I turn back to him and use it to wipe the blood and dirt from his face as gently as I can. Then I get a clean washcloth and do the same thing, this time applying it to the cut on his lower lip. He doesn’t wince or squirm once.
I finish with some Neosporin and a bandage over the cut on his forehead. It’s only after all the blood and dirt are gone that I realize how striking he is. His hair is still dirty and he doesn’t smell the greatest, but his eyes are the greenest I’ve ever seen and his skin is incredibly fair. With all the dirt gone you can see the freckles sparsely scattered across his nose and cheeks. His red hair is shorter on the sides and longer on top and his bottom lip is quite a bit fuller than his top. It suits him.
“You should probably change shirts,” I say. He does without hesitation and my chest constricts when I see not only the bruises on his abdomen, but how incredibly thin he is. God, you can practically see his ribs.
He slides on the T-shirt and hoodie I got him and then his eyes meet mine.
“I’ll just take these home and get rid of them, if that’s okay,” I say, grabbing the discarded bloody shirts.
He nods and then wraps his arms around himself. It’s killing me to leave him out here when I have everything he needs at home, but I can’t make him come with me, no matter how much I want to.
“You sure you don’t want to take me up on that offer of a warm bed?” I ask. He seems to be considering it for a moment but then shakes his head.
“I’m good.” It’s barely a whisper. He takes the backpack and the plastic bag in hand. I reach over and shove the first aid kit and washcloths back in and he chuckles a little. “Thanks, gramps.” He turns and reaches for the door handle, but I speak before he can leave.
“You have a phone?” He nods and I’m surprised when he unlocks it and hands it to me. I type in my number and address and hand it back to him. “Just in case,” I say. “My offer is always open.”
To my surprise he actually takes it and types something, a name no doubt, probably something like ‘old man’, then shoves it in his pants pocket. “There’s some instant cold packs in the first aid kit, you should probably use them on your ribs.” He nods and steps out of the truck. “Take care of yourself,” I add. He shuts the door and walks away, and I drive away with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
It’s only when I arrive back home and step inside, greeted by the silence once again, that I realize I never got his name.
ChapterTwo
PAUL
When I arrive at the small Cuban cafe the next afternoon, my ex-wife greets me with a kiss on the cheek. We stand in line to order, then take our numbers as we make our way to our usual booth near one of the windows.
“You look nice,” she says. I’m wearing jeans and a long-sleeved gray Henley since it’s a little colder out today than normal. My chest tightens as I think of the boy from last night and how he must have been freezing sleeping outside. I really hope he found somewhere to sleep that wasn’t an alleyway or a sidewalk. I haven’t been able to get him out of my head all day, and I didn’t sleep very well last night either, because I was worried about him. Part of me, a really freaking big part of me wants to track him down and make sure he’s okay, but I have no way of knowing where he is. I just hope he can stay out of too much trouble.
“Thank you,” I say. “So do you.” She’s got her dark hair in a ponytail and is wearing skinny jeans and a black sweater that I don’t think I’ve seen on her before. Her boots are black as well and she’s got large silver hoop earrings in her ears.
“Thank you.” She gives me a warm smile.
“How are you?” We both ask at the same time and then laugh. It does me good to hear her laugh. It’s not measured or forced, but genuine and carefree, and it warms my insides. Even though our marriage didn’t work out, she’s still my best friend, and seeing her happy gives me joy.
“How’s the wedding planning coming?” I ask as our food is delivered, and we both dive in.
“Good,” she says, her smile brightening. “Colin is ready for it to be over with, I think.” She chuckles at the mention of her fiancé. I’ve met him a few times and he’s a good guy. Very patient, somewhat stern, but kind, and I know he loves Rachel. He’s been married once before too, but his wife passed away early on and they never had kids. Rachel and he met about a year and half ago and got engaged six months ago. The wedding is in two months, and since her father and mother passed away a while back, she’s having me walk her down the aisle. It’s a bit untraditional, having your ex-husband give you away to your future husband, we know, but it works for us.
“So what’s new with you?” she asks. “You been getting out at all?”
“Yeah, actually,” I tell her. “Just went out last night with some friends from work.” She beams. “I uh, I had kind of an interesting experience, too.”
