Again, she didn’t know what to do next. Maybe she should take him up to the station. At least, inside, she could get him to a bench or chair to sit down. “Can you walk?”
“Yes. I—I think so.”
“No. No. Not back there,” he said, refusing to move in the direction of the station. “They done already kicked me out tonight and threatened to lock me up if I return.”
His words hit her strange. “What do you mean?”
He sighed. “Let’s just go the other way.”
With little choice, she did as he asked. It took a while, but the man’s stench finally drifted under her nose. It was a strange, sour body odor that fucked with her gag reflexes. “Where do you want me to take you?” she asked, growing tired as he placed more and more of his weight on her shoulders.
When the old man didn’t answer, she assumed he hadn’t heard her. “Where are you trying to go?”
“Well . . . to be honest. Nowhere in particular,” he said. “Just somewhere I can rest this old body and stay warm tonight. I read in one of the papers that it’s supposed to dip down to nine degrees.”
It hit her. “You don’t have anywhere to sleep?”
“Well—of course I do. These here streets are my home. I got a big open sky as my roof, some good, hard concrete or soft grass as my floor. The rest usually takes care of itself.” He chuckled—a mistake, judging by the way it set off the most godawful cough she’d ever heard.
They stopped when the coughing went on and on. Abrianna swore something rattled inside of his chest.
“Are you all right?” she asked. “Do you need a doctor?”
More coughing. Are his lungs trying to come up?
After what seemed like forever, he stopped, wheezed for air, and then wiped his face. “Sorry about that,” he said, sounding embarrassed.
“It’s okay,” she said, resuming their walk.
“I really appreciate you for helping me out like this. I know I must be keeping you from wherever it is you’re trying to get to. It’s New Year’s Eve and all.”
“No. It’s all right. I don’t mind.”
He twisted his head toward her and, despite the growing dark, she could make out his dark eyes scrutinizing her. “You’re awfully young to be out here by yourself.”
Abrianna ignored the comment and kept walking.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Why?” she snapped, ready to drop him right there on the sidewalk and take off.
“Because you look like my grandbaby the last time I saw her. ’Bout sixteen, I’d say she was.”
Abrianna jutted up her chin.
“She had a beautiful heart, too.” He smiled. “Never could see any person or animal hurting.”
The unexpected praise made her smile.
“Ah, yeah. A beautiful smile to boot.”
They crossed the street to Second Avenue. She’d gotten used to his weight already, appreciated the extra body heat—but the stench still made her eyes water. Did he say that it was going to get down to nine degrees tonight? Abrianna had stolen cash from her house before she’d left, but hadn’t had time to count all of it. Maybe she could get a hotel room—just for the night. After that, she would have to be careful about her finances. Once the money was gone—it was gone. She had no idea on how she and Shawn were going to get more.
Still walking, Abrianna pulled herself out of her troubled thoughts to realize that she and the old man had entered a park—a dark park—away from the streaming holiday crowd.
“Where are we going?” she asked, trying not to sound alarmed.
“Oh, just over there on that bench is fine.” The old man pointed a shaky finger to their right. When they reached it, he dropped onto the iron bench like a sack of bricks and panted out more frosted air. “Whew,” he exclaimed.
“That walk is getting harder and harder every day.”
“You come here often?” Abrianna glanced around, catching a few figures, strolling. “Is it safe?”
“That depends,” he said, patting the empty space next to him.
She took the hint and plopped down. “Depends on what?”
“On your definition of safe,” he chuckled and set off another series of hard-to-listen-to coughs.
Abrianna wished that he’d stop trying to be a jokester. His lungs couldn’t handle it. She watched him go through another painful episode.
At the end, he swore, “Goddamn it.” Then he was contrite. “Oh. Sorry about that, sweetheart.”
Smiling, she clued him in, “I’ve heard worse.”
He nodded. “I reckon you have. Kids nowadays have heard and seen it all long before puberty hits. That’s the problem: The world don’t got no innocence anymore.”
“Doesn’t have any,” she corrected him.
He chuckled. “Beauty and brains. You’re a hell of a combination, kid.”
Abrianna warmed toward the old man.
“Trouble at home?” he asked, his black gaze steady on her.
“No,” she lied without really selling it. Why should she care if he believed her? In a few minutes, she’d probably never see him again.
“Nah. I didn’t think so,” he played along. “You don’t look like the type who would needlessly worry her parents.”
Abrianna sprung to her feet. “Looks like you’re cool here. I gotta get going and find my friend.”
“So the parents are off limits, huh?” He nodded. “Got it.”
She stared at him, figuring out whether he was working an angle. Probably. Older people always did.
“It’s tough out here, kid.” His eyes turned sad before he added, “Dangerous too.”
“I’m not looking for a speech.”
“Fair enough.” He pulled in a deep breath. “It’s hypothermia season. Do you know what this is?”
“Yeah,” Abrianna lied again.
“It means that folks can freeze to death out here—and often do. If you got somewhere safe to go, then I suggest you go there tonight. I’d hate to see someone as pretty as you wind up down at the morgue.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Yeah? Have you ever done it before?”
“You sure do ask a lot of questions,” she said.
“Believe it or not, you’re not the first person to tell me that—bad habit, I suppose. But I’ve gotten too old to change now.”
“What about you?” Abrianna challenged. “Aren’t you afraid of freezing to death?”
He laughed, this time managing not to choke over his lungs. “Oh, I wish—but the devil don’t want nothing to do with me these days. I keep expecting to see him, but he never comes.”
“You talk like you want to die.”
“It’s not about what I want, little girl. It’s just time, that’s all,” he said quietly.
Abrianna didn’t know what to say to that—but she did know that she could no longer feel her face. “Well, I gotta go.”
He nodded. “I understand. You take care of yourself—and if you decide to stay out here—trust no one.”
She nodded and backpedaled away. It still felt wrong to leave the old guy there—especially if that whole freezing-to-death stuff was true. At that moment, it felt true.
The hotels were packed—or wanted nearly three hundred dollars for one night. That was more than half of Abrianna’s money, she found out. At the last hotel, she agreed to the figure, but then they wanted to see some sort of ID. The front desk woman suggested she try a motel in another district—or a shelter.
An hour later, Abrianna was lost. Walking and crying through a row of creepy-looking houses, she had no idea where she was or where she was going.
Suddenly, gunshots were fired.
Abrianna ran and ducked down a dark alley.
Tires squealed.
Seconds later, a car roared past her.
More gunshots fired.
The back window of the fleeing muscle car exploded. The driver swerved and flew up onto a curb, and rammed headlong in
to a utility pole.
Bam!
The ground shook and the entire row of streetlights went out.
No way the driver survived that shit. Extending her neck around the corner of a house, Abrianna attempted to get a better look at what was going on, but at the sound of rushing feet pounding the concrete, she ducked back so that she could peep the scene. She counted seven guys running up to the car. When they reached the driver’s side, a rumble of angry voices filled the night before they released another round of gunfire.
Holy shit. Abrianna backed away, spun around, and ran smack into a solid body.
The pockmarked Good Samaritan materialized out of the shadow. “Hey there, little girl. Remember me?”
Abrianna screamed....
Shereé Whitfield is a mom, television personality, socialite, fitness enthusiast, and fashion designer. She is best known as a cast member of The Real Housewives of Atlanta. Shereé is also an executive producer of the WE tv series Selling it In the ATL, which follows seven diverse female professionals who are changing the face of real estate in Atlanta. The show began airing November 2015. After fans rallied for her return, Shereé joined season 8 of RHOA.
Follow Shereé on Twitter @IamSheree and Instagram
@ShereeWhitfield.
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