CHAPTER THREE
Journey
Sweat seemed to drip out of every pour of my body as I biked to my first home health appointment of the afternoon. Popping the last bite of a protein bar into my mouth as I pulled up and parked at the old apartment building, I looked around and frowned. The old place had cracks in the sidewalks big enough to consume a small dog if the poor thing wasn’t careful, and part of the front steps looked like they were about to crumble.
I tapped the iPad, double-checking that I was at the right place for the newest patient on my schedule. I was. At least the elderly woman lived on the first floor, but the building still seemed dangerous, especially for someone who was a risk for falling, as Mrs. Johnson was.
Draining the last of my water, I swiped a wet towelette over my face, neck, and chest, then smoothed back my hair, making sure the ponytail was straight. Using another towelette on my hands and arms, I felt somewhat presentable as I shrugged into my cotton home health jacket, rolling up the sleeves to my elbows.
Taking a deep breath, I made a mental adjustment from the nursing home I just left. There, I was a cheerleader, encouraging the residents to participate and have fun. Now, I was wearing my physical therapy assistant hat. My real hat. Well, the hat I’d wear until I could begin the Doctor of Physical Therapy program this fall.
I sighed. Until I could hopefully begin it this fall.
Getting accepted into the highly competitive program had been one of the greatest days of my life. It was also a day that had nearly paralyzed me with worry. How was I going to be able to handle the expenses? The time commitment? I was hoping to be able to work at least part time when school started again, to offset the need of crushing student loans. But could I do both and still take care of my sister?
It was one of the reasons I had picked up so much additional work this summer. I wanted to save every penny I could. In addition to working the home health job and taking on the temporary activities coordinator role, I also taught yoga classes in Central Park three days a week, tucking every cent of income I could away so I could continue to make a wonderful life for me and Jaz.
I made a good salary… if I lived anywhere else but New York. Here, the basic cost of living felt oppressive. We were lucky. Mee-maw’s apartment was rent controlled since it had been in her family since almost forever, making my rent more affordable than most. If you called eighteen hundred a month for a studio apartment affordable. I called it crazy, but I didn’t want to leave the city. Didn’t want to take Jazzy away from the only place she’d ever known.
Besides, she had been doing so well at her new school, absolutely loving the emphasis on art and dance. No… I didn’t want to take that away. I could do this. I just needed to stop feeling sorry for myself and get to work.
Hauling my bag onto my shoulder, I held the iPad to my chest and jogged up the steps and through the front entrance. Knocking on apartment three, I waited. And waited. Knocked again, then sighed in relief when I heard the distinct sound of a walker scooting and thunking its way to the door.
As soon as Mrs. Johnson opened the door, heat hit me in the face like a smack. It was oven hot inside the small space, and the sweet little woman looked like she’d been sitting in a sauna, which she effectively had been. The hot afternoon sun streamed through the windows, which would have been nice in the winter, but was tormenting now.
Still, I gave her a smile, introduced myself as her physical therapy assistant, and asked if I could come in.
“You sure can, but I can’t promise you won’t melt. I’m afraid it’s a bit stuffy in here.”
A bit?
Sweat was literally dripping down her walls, which was worry enough by itself. Worse, such conditions were a Petri dish for mold and fungus. The combination was enough to take down the healthiest of people. And Mrs. Johnson with her newly diagnosed hydrocephalus wasn’t healthy at all.
“Before we begin, I’m going to go check with your building manager about the temperature in here.”
The elderly woman just shook her head, fanning herself with an ancient copy of The Times. “Well, you can try, but he’ll just ignore you. Says the window unit is my responsibility.”
I growled under my breath. I knew what she was telling me was right. Not right as in ethical, but right in that owners were only required to provide heat to their tenants. Which was stupid. Summer heat could kill just as quickly as the winter cold. And it was still officially spring right now. I couldn’t imagine how this room would feel in June, July, or August.
“Are you able to buy a new one? I could help you get it installed if you can.”
She shook her head, looking down at the floor, her embarrassment evident. “Not right now, honey. My rent went up in January, then my medication costs went up too. I’m not sure what I’m going to do, to be honest.”
Anger competed with sadness as I looked in Mrs. Johnson’s eyes. Our system was failing people just like her. And I didn’t know how to fix it. Well, I might not be able to fix the system, but I could help this woman right now.
There was a charity that provided fans or window air conditioners to the elderly and disabled. I had them on speed dial and only needed to tap a couple times before I had them on the phone. Hope became a living thing in Mrs. Johnson’s eyes as she listened to me explain the situation. A grin spread on her face when I told her that a new unit would be delivered around four o’clock that same day.
Next, I got on the phone with the social security department and helped Mrs. Johnson apply for medication assistance, wondering why someone hadn’t done this already. But I already knew the answer. There were just too many cracks in the system that allowed too many people to fall so far down they could never climb out.
After that, it was time to provide actual therapy for the woman, but truth be told, it was terrible getting close to her. She smelled of a noxious mixture of sweat and incontinence, neither of which was good for her fragile skin.
“When will your aid be by?” I asked casually, not wanting to offend her in any way. Most home health patients were allowed a nursing aid to come in at least once a week to help with bathing and minor cleaning if needed.
She looked at me blankly, and I could see her attempt to recall her new home health schedule. “I’m not sure.” She scratched her sweat-matted hair. “A day or two, I guess.”
It didn’t matter. She needed some relief now. It was outside of my scope of treatment, but I couldn’t let her exist another minute like this. I remembered with vivid clarity how it felt to be dirty… the embarrassment in addition to the misery. I didn’t care if I got fired, I was going to help her bathe now.
“How about we get you in the shower, Mrs. Johnson? It will provide you some relief from the heat, and I’ll incorporate some of our exercises at the same time.”
She smiled. “That sounds good.”
That was what we did. After taking her blood pressure and oxygen saturation, I pulled on my gloves and got to work, glad that she had a shower stool and could just sit under the cool water after I helped her wash. While she relaxed, I whirled around her apartment, gathering all her clothes and sheets, tossing them in the little washing machine in her kitchen. I couldn’t stay long enough to put them in the dryer, but I set a timer to remind Mrs. Johnson to do it herself. I found another set of sheets and made her bed. Then I took a closer peek at her kitchen.
Damn it… these crazy tears.
I blinked hard as I stared at the emptiness of her refrigerator, then took out the water pitcher and filled it at the sink, sitting it back inside so it could grow cold. There was a carton of eggs, but on closer inspection, only one was left. I filled a glass full of water and dropped the egg inside. It floated. Crap. Finding a plastic bag for trash, I deposited it inside, thinking I’d toss it in the dumpster outside. In here, it would stink to high heaven within hours.
There were a couple inches of milk in a carton, which seemed okay after I checked the expiration date and took a tentative sniff. Aside from the usual assortment of condiments that provided flavor and zero nourishment, that was it. Breezing through her cabinets, things didn’t look any better there. When had she last eaten a meal?
As I helped her from the shower, I asked her that question. Her stomach growled in response. Dammit. Pulling out my phone, I dialed the local meal delivery service and got her set up on their schedule. That took care of her food starting tomorrow, but she still needed to be fed today.
I gave her the brightest smile I could muster, grabbed my bag holding the meager twenty bucks I always carried, and said, “I’ll be right back.”
***
I was nearly an hour late by the time I finished with my last patient, turned in my reports to the physical therapy director, and biked my weary ass home, but my day wasn’t over quite yet. I still had the evening yoga class in Central Park in a couple of hours, but that was fun… and much needed. After my long day, my muscles were tense, and a headache was beginning at the base of my skull. And I was starving. I’d used the last of my cash to buy food for Mrs. Johnson, not leaving enough for myself.
Locking up my bike, I shrugged out of the backpack and rolled my neck a few times, then bent over to touch my toes, stretching my legs.
“Heya, Journey.”
I mentally groaned but took a deep breath before facing Charles Gains Jr., the pervy son of the building’s equally pervy supervisor. “Hi, Charlie.”
“You’re late. Need some help?”
As his dark eyes skated down my body, I wished I’d left my jacket on. As it was, I knew my shirt was sticking to me, and I probably had butt sweat down to my knees, which likely only turned the nasty man on.
Picking up my bag, I hugged it in front of me, my own personal Charlie-proof vest. “Nope, I’m good. Thanks anyway. It’s been a long day, so I’m…” I nodded toward the doorway he was standing in the middle of.
He stepped to the side, but only enough that I needed to turn sideways to get past him, keeping my bag between us as I went. He licked his lips. Ugh. They were thick and red, his tongue a matching color. “Are you hungry? I could fire up the grill, open some wine. Maybe—”
The deafening screech of the fire alarm cut off his words.
Adrenaline shot through me, and I bolted for the steps, the tiredness from only a few minutes ago completely gone. Taking them two at a time, I raced up the stairs. The clomp of Charlie’s boots was somewhere far behind me.
Halfway up to the third floor — my floor — I smelled it. Then I saw it. Smoke. Adrenaline spiked again, and I didn’t know if it was the hormones or terror that pushed me even faster.
3C.
Smoke came from under the door, wisps of it seeping out into the hallway. Dropping my bag, I placed a hand on the wood, the other on the knob. It wasn’t hot, but the door was also locked. I began to pound with one hand as I dropped to my knees to search for the keys in my backpack. “Jasmine!” I screamed.
“I got it.”
Charlie pushed me aside and stuck the key in the knob. The second he turned it, I crashed inside. Smoke filled the room, coming from the tiny kitchen. With a single glance, I saw the problem. The microwave was on fire.
“Jasmine!”
I called for her even as I raced to the cabinet that held the fire extinguisher. Charlie grabbed it from my hands just as I pulled the pin. Foam sprayed, and it was the first time I’d ever been grateful to the man as I left the fire to him and went in search of my sister. There weren’t many places to look in the open space. Living area, bedroom alcove, two closets, and a bathroom.
I found her in her closet, sitting on the floor, her arms wrapped around her legs. Her eyes were wide and terrified, and she burst into tears the moment she saw me.
“I’m sorry,” she said, rocking back and forth. “I was hungry. I didn’t mean to make the fire.”
Sinking down beside her, I pulled her into my arms, holding her tight against me. The sound of sirens grew louder outside. “It’s okay,” I soothed. “It’s my fault. I was late. If I’d been on time, this wouldn’t have happened.”
Jaz stiffened and pulled away, brushing at the tears on her face. “I know how to cook.”
I tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Yes, I know you do. I didn’t mean to say that you don’t. Accidents happen.” Pushing to my feet, I reached out to help her up.
She smacked my hand away, her face turning a familiar shade of petulance. “I can get up by myself.”
She was right. And I was handling this entire situation wrong.
I knew better than to hover, but here I was, hovering like a bee over a delicate flower. Forcing myself to step away, I headed over to one feature in the apartment I really loved. The floor-to-ceiling windows. Shoving them all up so that the smoke could escape, I hoped some of the terrible burned plastic smell would go with it. The sirens were loud now, and as I shoved the last window up, I watched a fire truck come to a halt below me.
I manhandled the screen up and stuck my head out, waving. “It’s okay,” I shouted to the first fireman who appeared. “The fire is out.”
He gave me a little salute but headed into the building anyway. Seconds later, boots clunked up the steps. I went to the door to greet him after placing a fan by the kitchen window, hoping to force some of the smoke outside.
I often tried to imagine what my father had looked like, and if I could have picked one out of the universe of men, I would have wanted him to look like this man who stepped through my open door geared up to face what others wouldn’t. Tall, dark, and handsome, yes. But more importantly, my dad would have a smile on his face and a competence to his step. He’d be like this man, able to handle whatever came his way. Although from learning about my mother and the type of woman she became, I doubted she would have screwed around with anyone as noble as a fireman. In reality, my biological sperm donor was probably dead or rotting away in prison.
“What’s the problem?”
I directed him to the kitchen so he could see for himself. The fire was indeed out, but now I could see the damage that was done. The microwave was completely destroyed and there was a tiny bit of fire damage to the cabinet over it. The ceiling was singed a little yellow, but overall, it could have been much worse.
Charlie puffed his chest out when confronted by the much more handsome man, still holding the now empty fire extinguisher. “I took care of it. Easy peasy.”
The fireman turned to me. “What were you cook—”
“Holy hell and damnation. What’s going on in here?”
I groaned. Charles Sr., Charlie’s father, was standing in my door. “It’s under control,” I told him, raising my chin to keep from shrinking away from the hatred that emanated from the man.
The building supervisor’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “Control? This doesn’t look like control to me!”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Jaz step from the closet. The tears had been replaced with a stubborn expression I knew too well. Jazzy hated Charles. She didn’t like Charlie too much either, but the elder Gains, with his harsh looks and words, was on my sister’s shit list… well, he was the only name on her shit list. Jazzy got along amazingly well with everyone else.
“Who did this?” Charles demanded, his face a dark, mottled red.
The fireman stepped in, holding a blackened lump of something I couldn’t recognize in one thick glove, a familiar label in the other. “It appears to be a container of macaroni and cheese. Most likely, someone forgot to add the water. You’d be amazed at how often this happens.”
I smiled my thanks at the kind man, but Charles wasn’t ready to forgive so easily. “Water? Who in the hell would forget to add water?” He whirled around, spotting Jasmine. “Except the mongoloid.”
Fury ignited in my chest, fueled by the enormous love I had for my sister. “Don’t you dare call her that!” I stepped closer to him, my finger in his old, hairy face. “Ever.”
He took one step back, then held his ground, his finger coming up to meet mine. “Your damn sister is a nuisance, I tell you. Dangerous too. Bout damn near burned down the entire place, nearly killed us all.” His eyes narrowed. “If she can’t follow the rules, then you’re both out of here. I could rent this place for twice what yer paying, and I wouldn’t have to worry about some retard destroying everything I—”
Smack!
Fire shot through my hand and up my arm, the sensation hitting my brain before I was even aware of what I’d done. I’d just slapped another living creature. Committed an act of physical violence. Even if my palm wasn’t burning, the spreading stain on his cheek was proof.
I’d never hit anyone in my life, and this was a terrible time to break that trend. This was my landlord. The same greedy landlord who had been looking to get me and Jasmine off the “government rent controlled gravy train,” as he’d called it since Mee-maw died.
“She hit me!” he roared, clutching at his face. “I’m calling the police. You and the retard are out of here.”
The fireman stepped in, sliding me a look. “I didn’t see anything. What I witnessed was you verbally abusing this young lady and her sister. I’ll be adding that to my report of this incident.”
Charles Sr. sputtered, his face turning an even more mottled purple. Would I be forced to give the bastard mouth-to-mouth if he had a stroke or the withered organ in his chest finally decided to quit beating? “The mongoloid belongs in a home. Not a nice place like—”
“I’m not a mongoloid!” Jazzy yelled, as mad as I’d ever seen her. “I’m just chromosomally challenged, which is better than being an asshole any day!”
The fireman laughed, covering it with a cough behind his hand, and love flooded through me as I looked at my sister. The tears that had been taunting me all day pricked my eyes again as I gazed into her moon-shaped face. She came closer, and I linked my fingers through hers.
She was wearing makeup, a pale shade of blue eyeshadow that almost matched the color of her almond-shaped eyes. A shimmering pink gloss covered her lips and also gave a glow to her cheeks. She had started playing with makeup over the past year, ever since she met Jesse Bowman, a fellow Down Syndrome friend at her new school.
She also paid more attention to her clothes, getting a little too risqué to her big sister’s overprotective eye. But she was eighteen now. Officially an adult. And while some people in society might’ve seen her as a burden, as slow, as challenged, I only saw her as the funny sister whose heart was bigger than most.
The sister I loved with every piece of me.
The sister I’d spent the past eighteen years with… in this apartment.
Our home.
The place the horrible Charles Gains was trying to make us leave.
My hands began to shake, and this time, it was Jasmine who comforted me. She squeezed my fingers. “My sister doesn’t hurt people,” she said, her voice tender and sweet but also protective and strong. “She helps people.”
Charles Sr. whirled around to look at his son, who was still holding the fire extinguisher, his eyes huge in his scruffy face. “You tell ‘em what you saw, boy.”
Charlie stared at him, then looked at me, clearly torn by his loyalty to his father and his desire to get on my good side, and hopefully in my pants. “I might have heard a smacking sound, but I wasn’t looking, so I can’t be sure.”
Charles cursed and took another step toward me. “You’re paying for the damage. The microwave, the cabinets, the ceiling, the countertop. I’ll get an estimate by noon tomorrow. And don’t forget that rent is due on Friday.”
Forget?
How could I ever forget?
Rent was like a weight I carried on my back every day. I schooled my face into the most neutral expression I could manage. “You’ll be paid.”
The finger was back in my face. “And I’ve been doing my research. You might be rent controlled, and you might…” he snarled a look in Jazzy’s direction, “have that stupid disabilities law protecting the retard, but—”
“Enough!”
I jumped as the new voice barked into the room. Beside me, Jazzy jumped too. Charles Sr. whirled to face the newcomer at the door and immediately began to sputter, his face growing pale. “M-m-m… Mr. Sommerfield, sir. I d-d-didn’t know you were c-coming t-today.”
It was like a storm, a great mountainous storm entering my apartment, so violently savage was the man’s face as he walked farther inside. My breath caught in my chest and the hair rose on my arms. I didn’t know who this was, but he was intimidating, almost dangerous… and so very, very attractive.
“I expect that’s true, that you didn’t know I’d be here, Mr. Gains,” the man said, his voice low, dangerously so. “Just as I didn’t expect anyone under my employ would treat my tenants with such blatant and highly inappropriate disrespect.”
The elder Gains lifted one hand to place a palm on his still reddened cheek, and with the other hand, pointed at me. “She hit me.”
Dark eyes met mine and the entire universe changed course. Everything about this big, intimidating man seemed to soften. His eyes. His lips. The hands that had been in tight fists at his sides. They all softened as he gazed down at me, took another step closer. The whisper of what was probably the finest Italian silk was the only sound of his movement.
I was frozen… but only on the outside. On the inside, my heart and lungs had picked up speed, my entire core fluttering. I opened my mouth, wanting to defend myself, my sister.
Jazzy did it for me. “He’s a bad man,” she said, tightening her arm on mine.
The man — Mr. Sommerfield, my building’s owner, apparently — blinked and turned his focus off me and onto Jaz. He smiled, and the universe changed course yet again. The smile was gentle, barely curving his lips, but it caused his eyes to soften further, now resembling melted chocolate with ripples of caramel swirling close to the black pupils. “Yes, I heard. And I’m sorry for that.”
Charles Sr. cleared his throat, his face going back to mottled red. “Section 27-2009 of the housing code clearly states that a tenant can be evicted...” he looked pointedly at Jasmine, “no matter the head smarts, if there is willful or grossly negligent conduct and causes substantial damage to the dwelling units, or if that behavior interferes with the comfort and safety of another person.” His hateful eyes narrowed into slits. “And this one, Mr. Sommerfield, should be in an institution, not out here endangering normal folk like—”
“Enough.” The word was a growl, and it caused my insides to tighten. Not in fear. But with something else. Something unfamiliar and primal. Something I’d never felt before. And was totally inappropriate.
The older man stomped his foot. “But, Mr.—”
The mask of contained fury on my building owner’s face caused a shiver to whisper its way up my spine. “You’re fired, Mr. Gains.”
I gasped. Jazzy cheered. The fireman chuckled, and Charlie Jr.’s hand smacked over his own mouth. Charles Sr. just turned redder. “You can’t do—”
“As a tenant-at-will, I’m unfortunately required to give you thirty days’ notice before your eviction. You’ll receive written notice from my attorney today. You will return all building keys and belongings immediately, and you hold no management role in tenant affairs from this moment on. Is that clear?”
I shivered. I would never want to be on the bad side of this man. Yet at the same time, I felt protected. Not that I needed protection. I could do that just fine myself.
Charles Sr.’s jaw worked, the muscle popping in and out as he glared at his boss. Former boss. “This is just a mistake. A misunderstanding.”
“What about me, Mr. Sommerfield?” Charlie Jr. piped in, the fire extinguisher still in his hands. “I didn’t do nothing wrong. I put out the fire and everything. I work hard around here.”
Mr. Sommerfield’s head canted to one side, and his eyes moved as if he was reading the lines of a spreadsheet. “Are you on my payroll?”
“N-no, but I help out. I do most of the work, anyway. I could take over for Paw and—”
Sommerfield lifted a hand, silencing the stammering man. “You have the right to apply for the open position when it posts tomorrow, and your work experience and credentials as well as a background check will be carefully evaluated as any applicant’s would be.”
Charlie visibly deflated at the words “background check,” the fire extinguisher dropping to his side. “Um, okay.” He looked at me imploringly, clearly hoping I’d be his champion. Fat chance of that.
“I’m calling my lawyer,” Charles Sr. railed, some of the life coming back into him by reddening degrees. He really did look on the verge of a heart attack. Stroke. Something deadly.
Mr. Sommerfield pulled a small card from the pocket inside his suit jacket. “Have your attorney connect with mine. In the meantime, you will leave this apartment and go about the business of relinquishing your role as building supervisor.” When no one moved, Sommerfield growled, deadly and deep, “Now.”
I gave myself a mental shake, and on adrenaline fatigued legs, walked toward the door, pushing it fully open. Jazzy came up beside me and waved her arms in a “the exit’s this way” gesture that almost made me smile. Almost.
Charles Sr. reacted first, turning on his heel and stomping past me, muttering things I was glad I couldn’t hear under his breath.
The fireman was next, carrying the ruined microwave in his arms. “I can dispose of this for you.”
I gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you for your help. It’s very much appreciated.”
He nodded. “Sorry you needed it. Don’t let them stiff you on the expenses. Damage isn’t bad. Couple hundred at most.” His radio squawked, and he nodded again. “Gotta go. Good luck to both of you.”
His clomping boots on the stairs were still echoing in the apartment by the time Charlie set down the fire extinguisher and headed toward the door. “When I’m in charge, I can take real good care of you, you know,” he said in a low voice. “Just like I did today.” When he licked those fat lips again, it took everything inside me not to cringe. From the corner of my eye, I saw Sommerfield taking a step in our direction.
“Thank you, Charlie, for your help today, but I think we’ll be all right.”
He reached out and stroked my arm. I stiffened. Beside me, Jasmine stiffened too. “Let me help you, Journey. I’ll take care of you. Real good care of you.”
Jazzy kicked him in the shin. “Leave my sister alone!”
I grabbed her arm, linking hers through mine. “Jazzy… please. I can take care of this myself.”
She apparently didn’t kick the man hard enough to hurt with the soft ballerina flats she favored, but he was furious nonetheless. For a second, I saw his father in his eyes. He was better at hiding his base nature, but there was something scary… almost evil, malevolent… lingering behind his façade.
“Get out.” The sharp bark of sound was like a bullet in the room. The hair stood up on my arms as Mr. Sommerfield moved closer to me and Jaz.
Beside me, my sister reared back her leg to kick him again, but Charlie let me go and moved through the door, tossing a furious look over his shoulder at me.
“The keys!” I shouted, unable to stand the thought of him being able to enter my apartment after this. Charlie stopped and turned, his face glacial, and worse, a bit of madness peaking from his eyes.
Mr. Sommerfield stepped in front of us and held out his hand. “Why are you carrying the keys?”
The color drained from Charlie’s face. “I-I—”
“Is this a duplicate set? Is there a second?”
He still couldn’t speak so I answered for him. “Yes. I’ve seen them both with a key ring. One with a blue tag. The second with red.”
Rage worked its way up Charlie’s face again, beginning with the tight pop of his jawline, working up to his lips, his flared nostrils, and finally, his eyes.
Mr. Sommerfield extended his hand farther. “Now. I’ll take your set now and your father’s set on my way out. Don’t make me ask again.”
With slow movement, Charlie reached into his pocket. The jingle of the keys were the only sound. With equal slowness, he dropped them into Grant’s hand. He stepped to the side and cast another look at me before turning and tromping down the stairs, each footstep nearly vibrating the entire building.
I exhaled deeply and leaned back heavily against the wood of the door.
“He’s a bad man.”
I looked over at Jaz, saw the worry on her face. Mr. Sommerfield turned to face us and addressed Jasmine, “Do you think he’s as bad as his father?”
Jaz shook her head, looking nearly straight up at the tall man who towered a good foot and a half over her short frame. There was a world of wisdom in her almond-shaped eyes. “No. He’s worst.”
“Why’s that?” Sommerfield asked.
Jaz looked at me, nodded once like she was answering some internal question as well as the one posed directly to her. “Because he pretends to be good.”
I shivered. She was right.
“Then I won’t be taking him up on his offer to take his father’s vacated position.”
Jaz crossed her arms over her chest, a look of satisfaction on her face. “Good.”
The alarm on my phone went off, making me jump. Damn. I was nervous. Which wasn’t exactly shocking considering all that had taken place in the past five minutes. I pulled my phone from my pocket and silenced the reminder that I had a yoga class to teach in an hour.
“Thank you, Mr. Sommerf—”
“Grant.” He stretched out a hand. “Please call me Grant.”
The second my palm touched his, I felt my entire body grow warm, while something deep and carefully hidden inside me stirred to life. Desire.
It surprised me so much, I yanked my hand away, scrubbing my palm against the leg of my pants. “Grant. I’m Journey. Journey Walker. Thank you for your help. Your timing couldn’t have been more perfect if it had been scripted into a movie.”
The soft smile that changed his face so much reappeared, but this time it was wide enough to partially show a set of white teeth. There was a small chip on the left front tooth, giving him a little boy air that was incongruous to the rest of him. A thin white scar zigzagged from the left side of his mouth, only to be hidden behind a trimmed beard, and I wondered if it covered more scars behind its thick growth.
I wanted to find out. I wanted to thread my fingers through the hair, touch his warm skin beneath. Wanted to run my tongue over the scar. Wanted to—
“Oomph.” I grasped my side where Jasmine elbowed me and blinked myself back into reality. “Why’d you do that?”
Jaz shook her head like I was an idiot. “Because you were being rude. Grant asked you a question.”
I gave an embarrassed laugh and looked up at him. I was average in height. Five-six in my bare feet, but the top of my head barely came to Grant Sommerfield’s chin. “I’m sorry. Was lost in thought. It’s been an eventful past few minutes.”
That smile. That chipped tooth. “It appears so. I was asking about where you and your sister…” He looked at her with raised eyebrows, and I loved that he addressed her directly instead of talking around her like so many people tended to do.
“Jasmine,” Jazzy added helpfully. “But you can call me Jaz. Everybody does.”
Grant held out a hand to her. “It’s very nice to meet you, Jaz.” He looked back to me. “The fire didn’t appear to do much damage, but I’d imagine the smoke will have settled into your furniture and belongings. You’ll want a deep cleaning.”
I turned to study the small apartment, and for the first time, I didn’t see the floral sofa as cozy but as the old, threadbare piece of furniture it really was. Didn’t see the two twin beds crammed into the alcove as space efficient. But I refused to be ashamed of our meager belongings. I was proud of how well we did live. Proud that I made enough money to allow us to live in this place. And I knew I’d do better in the future. I was already on the path of making it so.
“I teach a yoga class in an hour, so I’ll let the place air out while I’m gone, then wash down the walls, floors and fabrics when I get back.”
Grant’s brow furrowed, and he took in the scrub pants I wore, the cotton jacket on the floor where I’d tossed it next to my bag. Murray Hill Home Health was stenciled on the front. Journey Walker, PTA underneath.
He met my gaze. “Allow me.”
I blinked. Had the smoke inhalation dimmed my ability to think and process? “Allow you to do what?”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Allow me to secure alternate living arrangements for you and Jasmine for a few days while I have a crew come in and take care of those details for you.”
I felt more than saw Jasmine’s head swivel to look at me. Felt more than saw the bright smile beaming from her face.
But I couldn’t accept his charity. “Mr. Sommerfield, I couldn’t possibly—”
“Grant.” His voice was quiet but determined.
I licked my lips, felt Jaz tugging on my arm. Giving in, I faced her, and as I expected, the smile was incredible, eating up every inch of her sweet face. “He’s a nice man. Listen. You work too much.”
My heart squeezed. “Yes, Jazzy, he’s a very nice man, but I can clean and—”
“What kind of living arrangements?” Jaz asked Grant, her eyes shining. But she also had the mulish expression I’d come to know too well.
Grant stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Well, the Westin is nearby, if you’re worried about—”
“Does it have a swimming pool?” Jazzy’s voice was filled with excitement now, and I could feel the protests draining from my body.
“Hmm… I don’t think so, but the Marmara does.”
Jazzy clapped, rising up and down on her tiptoes. “I love to swim. Journey does too. And I’ve never stayed at a hotel before. This will be so much fun.”
Rooted to the spot in which I stood, I tried to find a way out of this. We lived well. The apartment was small, but we didn’t need bigger. We always had enough food to eat and enjoyed trying out new recipes together, and we occasionally ordered out as a treat to ourselves. We had memberships to the local Y and access to the pool and facilities there. That pretty much ate up our luxury money. With Jazzy’s school tuition and art supplies, the camp she was going to this weekend, my bank account was strained. Even so…
“I don’t know, Jaz. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience Mr. Sommerf—”
“Grant.” It was nearly a growl this time.
I blew out a breath. “Grant.”
“And it’s no inconvenience. I happened to be in the area today for a meeting with my building supervisors, ironic as that is. I saw the fire truck outside and decided to stop, see if I could be of assistance. My agenda was to see which buildings needed improvements or updating.” He nodded into the direction of our kitchen. “Your apartment could provide me the template for the others.”
I narrowed my eyes. Was he just making this up on the spot? I couldn’t tell.
Before I could ask, he went on, moving farther into the space. His hand traced the back of the worn sofa before he turned to me and Jaz again. I stiffened, feeling as if it was being judged. It might be old and extremely uncomfortable, but Jaz and I had cuddled on it for uncountable hours with Mee-maw. It was precious to me. I lifted my chin, daring him to say something negative. He said it anyway.
“I’m not sure this fabric will survive the deep cleaning needed to remove all the smoke.”
Okay, so it wasn’t exactly negative, and it wasn’t untrue, but the criticism hurt anyway. I swallowed. “It’s important to me.”
“I see.” His hand touched the fabric again and goose bumps raced up my arms, almost as if he were touching me. “What if I can find a way to honor the memory but also provide you and Jasmine with something more functional? Would you be open to that?”
The tears that had been threatening me all day welled in my eyes again. I blinked hard to force them away. “Why?” I shook my head, not understanding. “Why would you do all this for us?”
The whisper of silk resumed as he walked to stand in front of us again, the oxygen in the room growing heavier, thicker with his approach. “Because I want to.”
“Why?”
His nostrils flared, his eyes skating over my features. He didn’t appear to be a man many people questioned. “The man under my employ was cruel to you and Jasmine. If nothing else, allow me this as an apology.”
Jaz tugged on my arm and whispered loudly, “Mee-maw always said that an apology was through actions, not words.”
My sister was right. Mee-maw did say that.
“How long do you think it’ll take?” I asked, and Jasmine began bouncing on her toes again, feeling my capitulation coming.
Grant smiled. He clearly felt my surrender coming too. “Today’s Tuesday, so by the weekend, I’d imagine.”
The bouncing beside me stopped. “Awww… I’m leaving for art camp on Saturday morning. I’ll miss the whole reveal thing.” She began chanting, “Move that bus. Move that bus.” Home improvement shows were her favorites.
Grant’s smile grew wider. “Then how about we do the reveal thing on Friday evening? I’ll make sure it’s done by then. Not sure about the bus, but it could be fun.”
Jazzy clapped, the bouncing starting up again. “This is the best day ever!”
I met Grant’s gaze, my stomach tightening as he looked back at me. “Thank you.”
The smile melted from his face, his expression growing serious. “You’re welcome. After your yoga class, check in at the Marmara. In addition to a reservation, I’ll have them provide laundry service. Just pass over your clothes and they’ll remove any lingering smoke.”
I shook my head, unable to believe this was happening. “That easy?”
His expression didn’t change. “Yes. That easy.”
“And I can swim!”
The tension broke, and we both smiled at Jasmine’s enthusiasm. “Yes, you can swim,” I said, taking her hand, “until you’re pruney.” I exhaled a long breath. “Thank you… Grant. I accept with a grateful heart both the room and the offer to restore the apartment.”
His pupils dilated, and he murmured, “Grateful heart.”
For a second, I wondered if he was mocking me, but on closer inspection, I didn’t think so. I jumped when the alarm went off on my phone. Forty-five minutes until yoga class. I needed to shower, change clothes, fill the empty pit in my stomach, and still bike to Central Park in that amount of time. But I didn’t want to leave the exact space, this exact proximity to this man who did such funny things to my insides.
Which was stupid.
This was the owner of my building, doing something nice because he probably felt sorry for me and my sister. The cleaning and renovation or whatever he did was probably all going to be a tax write-off. Heck, the hotel room would probably be a write-off too. Charity write-off at that.
Standing straighter, I let go of Jaz and pulled myself together. “Thank you again, Mr. Sommerf—”
“Grant.”
I smiled, but it felt tense and forced this time. “Grant. Thank you for everything. I do need to get ready for the yoga class, then Jaz and I will relocate to the Marmara while you do whatever you think is best.”
“And you trust me to do what I think is best?”
I met his gaze, was lost in it for a moment. Then I swallowed, lifting my chin just a little more. “Yes.”
And I did.
His head dipped into a single nod, the gesture almost reverent. “I’ll go and make arrangements then. Good evening to you both.”
Then he was gone, and Jazzy was jumping around the apartment, clapping, smiling, singing while I made us both sandwiches then showered quickly and changed into my yoga clothes. We’d pack the rest of our things after the class.
“Your bra is in my drawer again.”
Not looking up from tying my shoes, I asked, “Sure it’s mine?”
She snorted. “Yeah, since I couldn’t fit one of my boobs in it, I’m pretty sure.”
I snatched it from her hands. “Not all of us can be as boob blessed as you.”
She gave me her best model pose, making me smile. Grabbing my keys and making sure Jaz had her bike helmet, I touched Mee-maw’s sofa for what might be one of the last times. On the anniversary of her death, I was saying goodbye to something else that was connected to her.
Time marches on.
That was another saying of hers. She was right. She had always been right.
As Jaz and I got on our bikes to head to the Central Park classes, we marched on too.
“Hey, Journey.”
I glanced over at Jaz as we stopped at a cross street, waiting for a light. “Hmm?”
“We need a sugar daddy.”
A laugh shot out of me, but when I looked at her, she appeared to be serious. Just then, the light turned green. “Why stop at one? Let’s at least get two.”
Jazzy laughed and began peddling. “Two it is.”