The Hero's Redemption

by Janice Kay Johnson

  She crossed her arms and scowled. “Where are you staying?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “You have to be miserable!”

  “Getting wet is nothing.”

  She huffed and he half expected to see steam coming out of her ears. “It’s not nothing! What if you get sick?”

  “I won’t—”

  “Why don’t you want me to know where you’re staying? Do you think I’ll come knocking on your door or something?”

  He wished. “No.” A brief hesitation later, he surrendered. “I’m camping out. It’s spring, not that cold. It’ll do until I can afford a place.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Do you have a tent? A sleeping bag? A camp stove?”

  In another few days, he might be able to outfit himself.

  “I guess the answer is no,” she said.

  Yes, it was.

  They stared at each other, Cole making sure no emotion broke cover.

  She turned her back on him, appearing to study the tools hanging on the wall. “There’s an apartment upstairs.”

  “I can’t—”

  “It’s crappy,” she went on, as if he hadn’t spoken. “But it’s dry, and there’s electricity, and I think the plumbing works.”

  “I can’t accept—” The words died on his tongue when she swung around to glare at him.

  “Do you know how much I hated seeing you walk away in the rain?”

  Something did crack then, not in the shell he’d perfected but deep inside him. It was a strange, wrenching experience.

  Why would she care?

  “Here’s the deal. Once I finished with the house, I intended to get the apartment remodeled. If you’ll eventually do the work, I’ll take that in lieu of rent. We both benefit.”

  He couldn’t look away from her. The freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks were pronounced with her color high. He wanted to touch them. He wanted a lot of things he couldn’t have.

  Would it be painful to look out the window at night and see a light in her bedroom window, her shadow moving behind the curtains? Maybe. But if he had a place here in town, he could walk to the library, or any other place open evenings. Perhaps make some friends.

  “I’ll take a look,” he said abruptly.

  “I’ll get my keys.”

  He finished constructing the sawhorses while she was gone, only able to accomplish it because nailing a few two-by-fours together didn’t demand much concentration. When Erin returned, he followed her to the outside staircase and up to a small landing, where she fumbled getting a key in the lock and opening the door. Had she noticed this staircase needed replacing, too?

  He stepped inside and studied the space. It was furnished, although thrift stores would probably say no, thanks to the sofa with sagging cushions and a television that might qualify as an antique. The kitchen at one end was small but complete, including a table with two chairs. She stayed by the door when he stuck his head in the bedroom—double bed, closet, dresser. He went into the tiny bathroom. Water ran when he turned the faucet handles. Ditto in the shower, although the spray was more of a dribble. Would there be any hot water? He could live without, but—Damned if it wasn’t warming up.

  Cole went out to find her opening and closing the kitchen cupboards.

  “I’ll grab some cleaning supplies.”

  “I’ll clean,” he insisted.

  “No. I can’t do your work so it’s only fair. In fact, there isn’t much I can do while it’s raining. Paint inside, maybe, but I’m still deciding on colors.” When he didn’t argue, she said quietly, “Let me do this.”

  Kindness from strangers was easier to accept than from a woman he was getting to know. Even so, after a moment, he nodded and said hoarsely, “Thank you.”

  She couldn’t have any idea that this shabby apartment looked like paradise to him. A space he’d have to himself. Being able to shower without listening to every word spoken around him. Staying constantly aware of who was nearby, maintaining a state of readiness. He could keep a light on all night if he wanted. He wouldn’t have to hear snores and grumbles and occasional shouts, remain aware that guards were checking in on him.

  If she intended to rent out the apartment in the future, it would need work. The impulse might have been charitable, but he wouldn’t have to feel indebted to her. She’d been careful that way, he thought, treating him like a man who deserved his dignity.

  She gave him the key, which he tucked carefully in his pocket. How long since he’d had a key that opened any door?

  “Will you let me drive you to pick up your stuff tonight?”

  Cole’s instinct was to refuse help he didn’t absolutely need, but she knew his real circumstances now. “I don’t have much.”

  “Why should you have to walk?” she asked simply.

  He dipped his head, choking a little on another “Thank you.” As he returned to work, Cole realized that this gave him an address that would satisfy his parole officer. If the job was going to last even a few weeks, it would be enough, at least for now. Except that meant the parole officer would be calling Erin, which Cole hated.

  Live with it, he told himself, locking down the angry sense of outrage and humiliation he’d felt from the minute the jury foreman had said, “Guilty as charged.”

  * * *

  THE DRIZZLE NEVER did let up. Working in the apartment, Erin heard the on-and-off buzz of the circular saw in the garage below. She started with the kitchen, scrubbing the sink, the stove and the inside of the refrigerator, which—to her astonishment—hummed when she plugged it in. She cleaned the countertops, the interior of the cheap cabinets, the floor. She vacuumed the sofa and wiped cobwebs from corners with a broom. The television didn’t come on. She’d have to see that cable service was hooked up for the apartment, anyway. Cole wouldn’t be happy to have her buying a new TV, but if she offered a furnished apartment down the line, she’d have to include one, so why not now?

  The bedroom didn’t take long, except for mopping the vinyl floor. She bundled up the rag rug, curtains and mattress pad and started a load in her washing machine at the house. Exploring Nanna’s linen closet, she found a set of worn but soft flannel sheets in the right size. She’d have to buy a bath mat to replace the one she’d thrown away, but had plenty of towels to supply the apartment.

  She persuaded a reluctant Cole to accept a sandwich, pop and potato chips for lunch. When she suggested he come inside to eat, he said, “I’m wet and dirty.” Carrying their meal, she trailed him to the garage, where she hopped up on the workbench and he sat on a pile of lumber. Instead of pushing him to talk, she reminisced about her grandparents and long-ago visits. He didn’t seem to mind.

  By the time he was ready to call it a day, he’d built the framework of her new porch with pressure-treated beams and four-by-fours resting on the original concrete blocks. He agreed she should make another trip to the lumberyard in the morning.

  “This costing more than you expected?” he asked, not quite casually. He pulled the seat belt around himself.

  Erin started the engine, eager for the heater to kick in. “No, if I’d had to hire a contractor, I’m betting the job would’ve cost a whole lot more,” she said frankly. “In fact, I’m bumping up your pay.”

  He shook his head. “Not when you’re letting me stay here, too.”

  “That’s a separate deal—”

  “No.” Completely inflexible.

  She put the gearshift in Reverse, but kept her foot on the brake. “Has anybody ever told you how stubborn you are?”

  “Could be.”

  “Hmph.”

  Giving him a suspicious, sidelong look, she could swear she saw the corner of his mouth lift. Even the idea that he’d smiled made her heart feel weightless. Which was dangerous territor
y. Falling for an ex-con because he had gorgeous blue eyes, sculpted cheekbones and awe-inspiring muscles would be incredibly stupid. Always law-abiding, she’d been the quintessential good girl and was now an educated woman, a college professor.

  Had been a college professor. Every time she thought about returning to the classroom, she hit a concrete wall. Couldn’t see through it or around it. She’d had no success imagining what she might do instead, either. To keep her heart from racing and panic from prickling her skin, she reminded herself that there was no hurry. She wasn’t spending any more money working on the house than she would have paying her former mortgage. She could afford a year off before she had to worry about the future and still have investments, thanks to the inheritance from her parents and Nanna’s savings, too. By then... But she hit the same blank wall when she tried to see any future.

  “Where to?” she asked abruptly, refusing to turn her head to meet his scrutiny.

  “County park on the river.” Erin nodded, remembering summer picnics there. Grandpa had taken her fishing, too, an enthusiasm she never came to share. Were his fishing pole, waders and tackle box still in the garage? She hadn’t paid attention to anything that wasn’t immediately useful.

  The drive passed in silence, as so much of her time with Cole did. It was restful, except...she increasingly found herself wondering about him. What had this quiet, hardworking, patient man done that had earned him ten years in prison? Her mind balked when she tried to picture him committing any of the obvious crimes.

  He had her pull into the day-use area at the park, and he disappeared into the mist clinging to the old-growth trees preserved by the county. He returned with a canvas duffel bag, which he deposited behind the seat. Erin opened her mouth but managed to close it before she said something stupid like, That’s all?

  He hadn’t even had a sleeping bag. Horrified, she pictured him lying on the ground. At most he had a blanket of some kind in that bag—but if he did, it meant he didn’t own much of anything else.

  And wouldn’t take anything more from her. She’d have to keep biting her tongue. She’d lose him if she tried to make him an object of charity.

  And no, she wouldn’t let herself examine what she meant by “lose him.”

  “Okay if we stop at the grocery store?” she asked when they were close to town.

  She felt his swift glance. “Sure.”

  He followed her inside and picked up a basket, separating from her right away. Erin tried not to mind as she filled a cart with perishables. When she carried her bags out, he was already waiting with two grocery bags of his own. They stowed them together in the back of the Jeep. During the short drive, she struggled for a conversational opener and came up short. The first words she spoke were when she pulled into the driveway.

  “It would be nice to park in the garage someday.”

  “You might want an automatic opener before you try that.”

  “No kidding. I’d never realized how heavy a garage door could be.”

  “The rails might be rusted,” he said thoughtfully. “I’ll take a look.”

  “You’re a handy guy, aren’t you?”

  He grunted and got out. The only other words he had for her were “Good night.”

  * * *

  HE COULDN’T BELIEVE everything she’d done in the apartment. Cole was uneasily aware of how personal it felt, knowing she’d been thinking of him when she cleaned, hung a pair of thick towels in the bathroom and made the bed. Every so often his nose picked up some unidentifiable perfume in the air that had to be hers.

  Earlier, he’d hauled the old TV down to the garbage can. She’d said, “I’ll replace it,” in a tone that told him not to argue. Being able to choose what to watch would be a novelty. Maybe he could pick up a DVD player at a thrift store. Tomorrow night, he might walk to the library. If he couldn’t get a card yet, libraries usually had donated books for sale. He’d start checking out garage sales, too. Erin got the local weekly and the Seattle Times, both of which she recycled. She wouldn’t mind if he took them from the recycling bin. Lying on the lumpy sofa, stockinged feet propped on one of its arms, his head on the other, he thought about going downstairs right now and digging out a few papers, but couldn’t work up enough interest to make the effort. After a meal and a hot shower, he felt too good. Too relaxed. Too safe.

  This is temporary. He shouldn’t have needed the reminder. He’d become accustomed to living one day at a time, not letting himself think even a week ahead. If a man couldn’t live without hope, he didn’t survive a long prison term in his right mind.

  Not that Cole was certain he had.

  Happy just to be clean and comfortable, he dozed for half an hour, rousing to decide he might as well go to bed. He’d been looking forward to that ever since he saw it made up with baby-soft flannel sheets, a wool blanket and a beautiful old quilt. More luxury.

  He turned off lights as he went, brushed his teeth and stared at himself in the mirror. For a second, he almost didn’t recognize the face looking back at him. He still saw a death’s head instead of the face he’d once known, but...less so. Despite the rain, he’d acquired the beginnings of a tan since he got on that bus out of Walla Walla. His hair hadn’t grown very much—he ran a hand over the stubble—but maybe a little.

  It was the eyes, he thought, leaning closer to look. They weren’t empty anymore. Someone was at home in there. He wasn’t sure he liked it, but he felt again, and not only rage and despair. He’d have to watch that, not let his emotions get out of hand.

  Finally, he turned out that light, too, and walked across the dark bedroom to the window that looked toward the house. He could tell from the shiny reflection that Erin had washed the inside glass, and the curtains smelled fresh. With one pulled aside, he found that he could indeed see the golden square of an upstairs window that had to be Erin’s bedroom.

  Cole stood there longer than he should have, both grateful and disappointed not to see even a shadow of movement or the silhouette of the slim, womanly body.

  * * *

  THEY WORKED IN harmony the next morning, Cole appearing relaxed. He didn’t go so far as to waste a smile, but once, when she was returning for another load of debris to toss in the Dumpster, he raised his chin up, to guide her gaze to the roof of the house. Bright eyes in a furry face looked back at her. A squirrel. The tail gave an agitated jerk, and the squirrel vanished.

  Erin chuckled. “I hope his food stash didn’t get thrown out with the porch.”

  “I’d have seen that.” Cole placed another nail and swung the hammer.

  Smiling, she went back to her job. With his strength, he would have finished it a lot faster, but she couldn’t have done a single, useful part of what he was doing. Transferring the pile of splintered, rotting boards to the Dumpster was at her skill level.

  At lunchtime, he refused her offer of a bowl of chili and went up to the apartment. Probably to have something like a bologna sandwich, but she understood his need to be self-sufficient.

  It didn’t seem worth heating anything just for herself. With little appetite despite her labors, Erin cut a few squares of cheese and ate them with crackers, calling it good. When he came out, she was already at work.

  His stony face sent a chill through her.

  “I need to buy a phone,” he said, “but I’m wondering if I can use yours to make one call.”

  “Of course you can.”

  Still with that utter lack of expression, he looked at her. “He’ll want to talk to you. I’m...due to check in with my parole officer.”

  “Oh. I see.” Did he expect trouble?

  “Do you mind if I give him this address?” he asked stiffly.

  “It is your address as long as you live in the apartment.” She pulled her phone from the kangaroo pocket of her sweatshirt. “Here.”

  He too
k the phone but didn’t move, only stared at it. Erin had started to turn away to give him privacy, then stopped. How long had iPhones been around? Would he ever have used a smartphone of any kind? If not... God, it probably looked like a slab of polished stone to him.

  She turned again, careful not to meet his eyes. “Push this button to wake it up.”

  Without a word, he continued to follow her instructions, his jaw clenched so tight muscles quivered. He took a business card from his pocket and tapped out the numbers, then said a gruff, “Thanks.”

  Guessing how hard it had been to say that much, Erin nodded. She went to get one of the yard waste bins, rolling it up the driveway to the first heap of cuttings. Cole had walked a few feet away and stood with his back to her, talking.

  She succeeded so well in ignoring him, she gasped and jumped six inches when he touched her shoulder.

  “Mr. Ramirez.”

  Taking the phone, she willed her heartbeat to slow down. She aimed for a brisk tone. “Mr. Ramirez? This is Erin Parrish.”

  “Ms. Parrish. I’m Mr. Meacham’s parole officer. He tells me you’ve rented him an apartment.”

  “That’s right. He’s also working for me.”

  “So he says.”

  “He’s currently rebuilding the front porch on an old house I inherited. Unfortunately, my grandmother didn’t maintain the house or yard very well, so they both need a lot of work that’s beyond my skill level. Cole’s doing a great job.” Wow, listen to her. Bouncy, upbeat. Would she be more believable if she scaled it back? Still, she had to finish. “We came to an agreement that he’ll stay in the apartment above the garage in return for working on that, too, once he has the time and I buy the materials.”

  “So you’re satisfied with his work?”

  Hadn’t she said so? But skepticism was probably part of his job description. “Yes.”

  “Were you acquainted with Mr. Meacham before his prison term?”

  “No, I overheard him applying for a job in town, and thought he might be willing to take on short-term work for me.”