Tempting Fate

by Brinda Berry

  I ignore his statement. “We’re going in? Can’t you order it to go?”

  “I don’t eat in my car. Ruins the upholstery.”

  My gaze travels to the stained seat where I sit, my muddy and rumpled clothing the cherry on top. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I wave my hand across my body in a declaration of how ridiculous his statement is.

  He smirks. “No. Not kidding.”

  “I can’t go in there. Look at me.”

  “And I won’t be able to eat in a car.” His eyebrows dip and he looks at the restaurant door.

  “You go ahead. I’ll wait here.” I fold my arms over my miserable stomach. I’m already mortified at looking like he picked me up from the side of the road—and since he did exactly that, shame fills me.

  I’m a pitiful charity case.

  “Wait here.” Collin looks at me for fifteen seconds after saying it like I might flee the minute he leaves the car. He hops out and disappears.

  The afternoon summer sun filters into the car and heats the air. Collin took his keys when he left and the window’s rolled up. I crack the door open.

  My best plan for escape self-destructed faster than a house doused with gasoline. I’d planned to use my car as a temporary place to sleep until I could get far away.

  Tears blur my vision in the first bout of self-pity I’ve allowed myself since leaving home. I inhale and sit straighter. Feeling sorry for myself isn’t going to get me anywhere.

  The sound of footsteps approaching the car surprises me. Collin gets in and starts the engine. A blast of warm air blows from the air conditioning vents. It’s still cooler than the inside of the car and goose bumps prick up on my skin.

  I turn away from Collin and wipe my hand under my eyes.

  “Man. I’m sorry. I should’ve left the car running. It’s a sauna in here.” He clears his throat. “The heat is brutal.”

  “I thought you were going to eat.” I refuse to look at him in case he can see I’ve been crying.

  He shoves a heavy, white bag onto my lap. “Here.” Then, he places two paper cups into the cup holders between us.

  “You brought me food?” The lump is back in my throat.

  “Well, yeah. And I should’ve asked you what you wanted. I got us the same thing.”

  My hunger ignores my embarrassment at having to take something else from this guy. I open the bag and find a salad, a chicken sandwich, and a baked potato. “This is all mine?”

  He’s watching me and not opening his own container of food. “Umm … hmm. Eat up. But first, here.”

  He produces a package of wet wipes from the console and hands me one. I don’t argue and clean my hands. My mouth waters and my hands shake as I dig out the package of plastic utensils and a napkin.

  I’m completely absorbed in the wonderful sensations of mayonnaise, fresh lettuce, and tomatoes. My taste buds do a river dance each time I take a bite. I stop chewing. I’m halfway through my sandwich before I glance over at Collin.

  “You have twenty dollars, no car, no food. You’re not telling me a specific destination where I can take you.” Collin deliberately opens his own white bag and pulls out the baked potato container. He looks around the car as if he doesn’t know what to do with his food.

  “I only need to find a place to stay for tonight. I was going to sleep in my car, but well … it’s probably been towed by now.”

  “Yeah. I’m sure it’s gone.” He doesn’t say anything for almost a full minute. “I don’t know how to help you. What can I do?”

  I consider my choices. I’m out of a car, out of money, out of resources. I’ve never been to a shelter before, so I don’t know what they will want from me. With my hunger pains temporarily satisfied and my sense of self-preservation on high alert, I put the rest of the sandwich inside the bag. Maybe I can keep it cool and eat it later.

  “Veronica?”

  “I’ll go to a shelter. Please.” I have no choice.

  He seems satisfied with this answer and removes the lid from the potato container. “They’ll help you. Everything will be fine.”

  “You ever been to a shelter?”

  “Well, no. But I’m sure they are terrific people there.”

  I nod. “If you think so.” For some unknown reason, I trust his judgment. He may be a stranger, but he has a kind heart. My earlier imaginings of what could be in his trunk were plain silly.

  “I’ll find one after we eat. If I can figure out how to manage my food without a table. I don’t know why anyone would eat in their car.”

  “You never eat in here?” One corner of my mouth lifts before I can suppress it. “Not even a burger and fries?”

  He smiles at my amusement. “No. I’m particular about where I eat. Also, I don’t like crumbs on things. “

  “Crumbs.” I repeat the word while shaking my head. “You get crumbs on your table. What’s the difference?”

  “When I finish a meal, I wipe down the table.” He says this like it should make perfect sense to me.

  Because he may be the nicest guy I’ve met in my life—though, granted, I don’t get out much and lived in the smallest bump in the road in all of America—I let it go.

  “I like things clean,” he says as I stare at the baked potato caddy he balances in one hand.

  “Ah.” I brush some errant breadcrumbs from the seat into my palm.

  “It’s okay for now. I’ll have the car detailed tomorrow.” He makes a brisk bobbing gesture with his head. “Don’t worry about it. It’ll come clean.”

  I smooth my muddy T-shirt. I’m probably the messiest thing that’s been inside his car in forever.

  I can’t wait to find this homeless shelter and let him get on with his day. He’s a nice guy … a little bizarre with the crumbs comment, but we all have our quirks. He’d be wise to get rid of me and my trouble fast. My eye twitches at the thought.

  I’m one huge crumb.

  3

  Collin

  Next item on the Rescue Veronica Agenda is finding a homeless shelter. I access my cell phone’s browser and search for anything nearby. I had no idea there’d be so many of them.

  “You have a preference on how many days you’ll need to stay?” I ask.

  She gives me a blank look. “One,” she finally answers.

  “Oh. I thought you didn’t have anywhere to go.” I’m confused now. Maybe I heard her wrong.

  “One night and then I need to leave. I don’t want to go somewhere they think they can force me stay.”

  “No one’s forcing you. Listen. You can stay a night and maybe you’ll change your mind. This would be a good place to get yourself back on track. They’d probably let you stay for weeks.”

  “This is a mistake. I can sleep outside. It would be exactly like camping. I have some friends I can stay with later.” Veronica rubs her fingers across her lips. “Thanks for everything. Really.”

  She opens the door with one hand and grabs her duffel bag with the other. I grab for her arm without thinking. She makes a small hurt animal sound that startles me. We both look down at my fingers closed around her forearm. I’d forgotten about the purple mass of bruises I’d seen earlier.

  “I’m sorry.” I release her arm.

  “We’ll check one out. If you don’t want to stay, we’ll find another,” I say.

  Veronica gets back into her seat and pulls the door shut.

  I navigate to the first one on my cell phone list. It’s a Victorian-style home in need of repair. A sign on the door says ‘Out of Business’ in large block letters and a giant cobweb covers the front window.

  The second one on the list is only a couple of miles away. It’s a utilitarian brick building with a high chain-link fence surrounding the yard. Veronica leaves her duffel bag in the car as if she’s declaring she hasn’t committed.

  “They forgot the razor wire on the top,” she says, glancing at the fence as we open the gate.

  “Probably electrical.”

  She snorts. “Most l
ikely.”

  A sidewalk leads us to a door with a metal sign announcing a requirement for visitors to register. At the entrance, we step around a puddle of water dripping from an air conditioning window unit.

  An elderly woman with a cane greets us at the door. “Come in. How can I help you?”

  “Can you tell me how this works?” Veronica glances around. “I need a place to stay for the night.”

  The woman nods. “I see. We’re a short-term facility, but there’s a waiting list. You can fill out paperwork, and we’ll determine your eligibility. Then we can give you a call when there’s an opening.”

  I take a step forward and hold out my hand. “Hi. I’m Collin Cordova. This is an emergency for Veronica. She only needs to figure out something for tonight. You don’t have even one bed?”

  “No, we don’t. Let me get you some paperwork.” The woman turns her back on us and hobbles to the desk where she picks up a clipboard.

  “Thanks, but no thanks.” Veronica is out the door before the shelter employee turns around. I catch up to her midway down the sidewalk.

  “Hold on,” I say and gently place an arm on her shoulder.

  She jerks out of my grasp. “No homeless shelter. You’re a very nice guy. I’m not your problem.” Her weak smile, only a hint that tips one corner of her mouth, makes me uneasy. It tells me how destitute she is. She doesn’t belong in this place or any other shelter. We’re wasting our time because I can’t abandon her.

  “You can come home with me. For tonight. You can sleep on my sofa.” What the hell am I doing?

  She stares at me with a look I can’t interpret. Fear? Horror? Shock? Perhaps a mixture of all three?

  “Come on. Get in the car. I can’t let you take off walking. It’s going to be dark soon and where do you think you’ll go?” I shake my head and close my eyes for a second. Only a second because I have the feeling she’ll run off if I don’t insist.

  “What’s in your trunk?”

  “My what?”

  “Chainsaw? Garbage bags? Bleach?”

  I can’t help but grin, which probably reserves my spot in the murderer category. “You checking my supplies list?”

  “I’m a girl.”

  “You must watch a lot of crime drama.”

  She taps her fingers across her lips while looking at the traffic milling by on the highway. “I was taught to stay away from strangers.”

  “The creep back in the bus station is the type you should be worried about. Not me. Come on.”

  She doesn’t make eye contact. She studies her sneakers.

  “Hey,” I say. “I’m going to call someone to vouch for me. Murderers don’t like witnesses.”

  Her gaze flits to me and her mouth smashes to suppress a smile. “Okay. A girl. Call a girl, but not your mother. Your mother might lie to protect you.”

  My cell phone rings at that moment and I study the display. “Gotta take this. Just a second.”

  Veronica leans on the open door and looks away like she’s not listening.

  “Hey, bro,” I say. “What’s up?”

  “Wanted to see if you were going to be around tonight. I’m at the store picking up steaks. Thought we’d grill. Maybe shoot some pool,” Jordy says.

  I turn away from Veronica. “Listen, I’m bringing someone home. I’ll talk to you about it when I get there.”

  “You have a date? It’s about fucking time. I was starting to think you had a problem with chicks.”

  “It’s not a date. It’s … umm … well, a friend,” I say, at a loss for how to explain the incidents of the day.

  “Whatever, man. It always starts out that way.” Jordy chuckles. “Oh, he says, we’re just friends.”

  “I have to go. I’m heading home.” I glance up at Veronica. My gaze pulls to her battered arms as if by magnetic force. Only the outsides are bruised. She’d been defending her face or body. “Later, bro.”

  I put the phone down and then remember I was supposed to call a girl. This poses a slight problem. I have exactly one female friend. If she doesn’t answer, I’m not sure who to call.

  I speed-dial Malerie. “Mal. I need a favor. Could you give me a … well … a character reference? My new friend Veronica would like to speak to you.”

  Veronica takes the phone from me and walks away from the car.

  In this moment, I feel like the kid I was in fifth grade. Girls whispered things I wished I could hear. I was always far too interested in females and what made them tick.

  I spent my high school years wondering what made them so attractive. So beguiling. So irresistible.

  Not anymore. Not after my ex taught me what some girls do behind your back.

  Veronica returns to the car and holds the phone out to me. I mentally compare her to the women I’m around most of the time. She looks so bedraggled. I notice a leaf tucked into her hair behind her right ear. Now that I’ve seen it, I can’t quit staring at it and itching to pull it out.

  “She says I can trust you.” Veronica slides into the passenger seat. “But I’m still warning you. No funny business.” She folds her arms as I close the door.

  I run around to my side of the car. It’s a relief to slip into the driver’s seat with a plan in mind. I place my phone in the holder on the dash, wait for the traffic to clear, and head toward home. “What did Malerie say?”

  “Not much.” Veronica shrugs. “She your girlfriend?”

  I give an amused smile. Malerie’s a firecracker and clearly in love with her boyfriend. “No.”

  “Sister?”

  “Not hardly.” I slow the car past some road construction. “We’re friends. Nothing else.”

  “Um-hmm,” she says in a disbelieving tone. “She likes you.”

  “Yeah. She does.”

  “Maybe she wants to be your girlfriend.”

  “No, she doesn’t. Why’d you think that?”

  “She was more worried about me doing something to you than the other way around.”

  I laugh. “Mal is okay. She’s a little protective of the people in her life.”

  Veronica nods. “Like a sister would be.”

  “I guess. I don’t have siblings.”

  We’re silent for the rest of the drive. I run the scenario of how the next half hour will go. I’ve never brought anyone home, much less someone who is clearly a stranger, most likely homeless, and definitely on the run from something.

  Jordy meets us at the door of the house as if an alarm went off signaling our arrival. His eyes widen, but he has the good manners to keep his mouth shut.

  I set Veronica’s duffel bag next to the sofa. “Veronica, this is Jordy. Jordy, Veronica.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she says and ducks her head. Her flushed face makes me want to punch Jordy for his assessing appraisal of her.

  The tension in the air is a living, breathing animal and circles the three of us. I clear my throat and raise one eyebrow at Jordy. “My friend Veronica and I ran into each other this morning. We got caught in the storm. I’m going to let her get cleaned up before dinner.”

  “Oh, yeah. That storm was a trip.” Jordy moves aside. “Nice to meet you, too.”

  “Go to the top of the stairs and turn right. Bathroom’s…” I take another look at her. “You can put something of mine on, and we’ll throw yours in the laundry.”

  “You don’t have to wash my clothes.” Her voice is proud. The uneasiness she’d shown earlier in meeting Jordy is gone.

  “No problem. Come.” I don’t wait for her to answer.

  She follows me up the stairs and waits at the door to my bedroom.

  “This is my bathroom in here. You’ll have to walk through my room.” I nod at the opposite door. “Here’s something to put on.” I grab a T-shirt and pair of gym shorts and offer them.

  She eyes the clothes like I’ve asked her to wear a stripper’s getup.

  “Be quick. We’re having steak. I’ll be out back on the deck when you’re done. Clean towels are in the cab
inet. I don’t really have any female toiletries, but use anything you want.”

  Her lips part and she hesitates. I know she wants to say something. But she doesn’t. She only takes the bundle from me and walks past.

  Downstairs, Jordy meets me at the bottom of the stairs. “So, is she from here or Chicago?”

  I shrug. “Nope.”

  Jordy rubs his jaw. “She looks like hell. Did you notice there’s a leaf in her hair? You sure you don’t have sunstroke? She’s not exactly the type of girl you could get. You should let me fix you up.”

  “Back off.”

  Jordy and I have gotten along since the day I moved in, but I have a definite urge to stuff a raw steak down his throat to shut him up. He’s a man whore and needs to feel a little empathy for somebody like Veronica who doesn’t have Daddy’s money.

  So she doesn’t wear Prada or Gucci. She has more important things to worry about—like a place to sleep for the night.

  “Maybe a giant piece of hail pinged you on the head during the storm.”

  I move around Jordy and head to the deck. “I’m now ignoring you. Steaks. Where?”

  The raw steaks are on a platter in the kitchen, so I grab it along with the grill utensils and go. We have an agreement. I do all the cooking since my roommates seem to only know how to burn food. Jordy strolls straight to the fridge, snags a beer, and follows me outside.

  I sigh. I’d always pictured homeless people as old guys with a paper bag holding their daily bottle. Never do I imagine someone Veronica’s age.

  The heat of the day is lessening and a tree shades the area where the grill is positioned. Jordy relaxes on a lounger and nurses his beer while I start the grill and arrange the steaks.

  “Yo. Throw one on the grill for me.” Dylan, my other roommate, opens the French doors leading to the deck.

  “Got you covered,” Jordy answers. He looks from me to Dylan. “Tell him about our dinner guest.”

  “You’re making a big deal out of this.” I stab a T-bone steak with the grill fork and move it to a cooler spot on the grill.

  Dylan grins. “Guest?”

  The French door swings wide, and Veronica stands hesitantly in the opening. Her blonde hair is wet but combed. Her freshly-scrubbed face is a little pale. My clothes swallow her frame, making her look frailer than she has all day—which I didn’t think possible.