Falter (18 page)

I glanced at Gavyn, hoping he wouldn’t mention anything that had happened in the last fifteen minutes. Layla didn’t need to know anymore about me than she did. Who knows what she’d do with the right information.
 

His gaze roamed over my apprehensive expression while answering Layla, “Nevaeh fell off the last few steps, and I ran to make sure she was okay. We were letting her rest a bit longer before trying to get her up.”

Her face was shrouded in suspicion and disbelief. “Uh huh… well, you have a phone call at the front. Some guy says he wants to talk to the manager.” She scanned me over, examining me for threats to her ego more than for injuries.
 

I clumsily scooted off Gavyn’s lap and stood up with a minor twinge in my knee where I’d hit the floor. I grimaced and inhaled sharply, letting the pain show to help Layla quiet any assumptions.
 

Gavyn reached for the handrail and pulled himself up in one quick sweep. “Are you coming to get something to eat?” His lovely, green eyes asked me to follow him more than his question did.

I glanced at the top of the stairs, thinking of George. “Yeah. I think I’ll get something for George too—some soup maybe.”
 

Layla rolled her disapproving eyes and locked her arms across her chest. “Whatever,” she answered before turning on her heel with a flair of attitude and heading toward the café. I followed her out limping for effect.
 

Just as I started to pass the kitchen door, Gavyn’s hand tugged softly at my side and directed me out of the hall. He skipped past me to pick up the phone, then nudged his chin towards some big copper pots on the stove.

I moved to a cupboard and pulled two bowls out, then ladled a heaping portion of soup into each bowl. Arranging the food on a tray I retrieved from the drying rack, I remembered to grab some crackers and hot tea.
 

I walked toward the pantry around the corner, stalling at the door for a moment, and stared into the darkness. A developing fear of the unknown coaxed the hairs on my neck to stand up. Putting on my “big-girl panties”, I swallowed and went in anyway.
 

It took me a minute to find the light string hanging from the ceiling. I cringed at the unease stirring around me. The light flickered on and I jumped back, choking on a gasp. A face was glowering at me.
 

My heart returned to its usual rhythm when I recognized who it was.
 

Layla.
 

She scowled at me with disdain. Again, my heart quivered from the pure anger that hovered around her like a black cloud. I wasn’t exactly sure what to say to her anymore. She was like Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde. The unsettling silence between us lasted long enough to make me fidget.
 

Just as I was about to say something, though I wasn’t sure what, she spoke. “I know what you’re doing. I get it. He’s a sexy, successful man. His gift helps, too. But I want him, and I’m willing to fight for him.” She looked down at her feet, almost like she was questioning her next words, but she continued, “They want him really bad. They told me if I get him to join us, I can have him as my partner.” She looked back at me with such ice in her eyes that I wanted to cower under a rock. Her long, thin fingers wrapped around a tomato on the shelf next to us, picked it up, and held it in front of my face. “So leave him alone,” she commanded, squashing the fruit in her hand. She opened her fist, dropped the mess of skin on the floor, and licked the red, runny juice sliding down her fingers.
 

Layla’s lips curled into a deviant smirk as she pushed past me, ramming her shoulder into mine as she left the pantry.
 

My rigid body was anchored in place by the shock of Layla’s threat. I massaged the sore spot where she shoved me with one hand and slowly reached for the tea bags and crackers with the other.

Composing myself, I headed into the kitchen. I grabbed two mugs from a stack on the counter, filled them with hot water, and then dunked the tea bags in the steaming liquid. I had to get back to George. Layla’s actions were not my top priority right now. Even if they did make me think twice about Gavyn. And what the hell was she talking about? What gift did he have? Who wanted him?
 

I was almost to the stairs when I heard footsteps behind me.
 

“Nevaeh.”
 

I turned slowly, gripping the edges of the tray tightly so I didn’t spill hot tea and soup all over me. Gavyn slowed as he approached my side.
 

“Look, don’t worry about coming back down to help. It’s already closing time, and you need to tend to George. We’ll be okay without you for tonight.” He looked at the tray I was holding and started rearranging the items on it. “If you put the heavier things closer to you, it’ll be easier to carry.”
 

I couldn’t help but smile at his obsessive compulsive type actions. “Yes, boss.”

He grinned. “Oh, Nevaeh?...Try not to fall down the stairs again,” Gavyn joked, jogging toward the cafe.

I climbed the stairs, crept into the apartment, and inched over to the coffee table. I sat the tray down, eyeing George’s sleeping form. A pile of fresh blankets lay on the leather chair. I assumed Gavyn left them before he came to my rescue.
 

I went to Gavyn’s bathroom, retrieved a washcloth from the cabinet, and then to the kitchenette where I filled a bowl with warm water. Sitting my gathered items on the edge of the coffee table beside George, I sighed and stifled back the tears stinging my eyes.

The layers of blankets were drenched with sweat. I peeled them off him and dipped the rag into the water, then wrung it out. Blotting the ick from George’s face, neck, and arms, I prayed he would suddenly get better. The old man moaned under my touch and smiled with appreciation, but never fully woke up.
 

I gently placed the clean blankets on him, one by one. Episodes of coughs and gasps for air came and went as he drifted in and out of sleep. I finished cleaning him the best I could without moving him too much.

Kneeling on the floor at his side, I watched his sick body work double time to keep him alive. “George?” I whispered.

“Yeah?” He responded wearily with his eyes closed.

“George, I think it’s time we get you to a hospital. Or maybe I can find a doctor who makes house calls.”
 

“Honey, I ain’t goin’ to no hospital. And I ain’t havin’ a doctor come here.” He wasn’t yelling or getting defensive like I expected he would. His answer was final, yet gentle. He simply stated that he didn’t want help.

“But, George, you’re not getting any better. You can’t keep thinking you’re going to get well because of what Archard said.” My hands balled into a fist, wanting to pound my anger and fears away on Archard’s chest. My shoulders drooped in defeat, knowing that he wouldn’t change his mind—no matter what I said or did. “I need you to get well for me, and that requires going to the hospital,” I whined.

His exhausted eyes opened and focused on mine. He smiled lovingly, “Nevaeh, I taught you everything I know, which ain’t much. I know in my heart you’ll be taken care of. Besides, you are a grown woman now.” George exhaled a frail breath. “I’m tired of living this life, baby girl. I was shown a whole new life, one where I wouldn’t have to struggle to live. With the daughter and wife I lost a long time ago. The guilt that I’ve carried for years has been taken from me, and I’m okay accepting the forgiveness given to me now.” He lifted his weak hand up and caressed my face tenderly, as a father would a daughter.
 

I held his hand to my cheek and nestled into it, not wanting him to let go. I sat silent in my defeat, trying to think of ways to make him go to a doctor.

“I can move on now. I can see my family. You don’t need me anymore.”

“What do you mean? I do need you, George. Please don’t leave me.” My eyes squeezed shut, denying that any of this was happening, willing me to wake up from the nightmare. The tears broke through. I couldn’t imagine my life without this man. “Stay,” I begged. His hand eased back down against his body, and he fell back asleep with an apologetic smile.

I thought about what he said, feeling confused and abandoned. Leaning back on my heels, I wiped my arm across my face and sniffled back the tears. There had to be a way to fix this.

I was surprised to hear him talk of his family from before. He didn’t mention them very often, it was too painful. There was never a need to push the subject. Over the years, I learned he once had a nasty drinking habit that was attributed to horrible things he experienced as a child.
 

George tried to straighten up when he met his wife and was successful for the most part. He told me that they had a young girl, seven I think, and they were a picture-perfect family. Occasionally, though, he would have a drink or two without his wife knowing.
 

One day was a particularly rough day for him. He had a few whiskey and cokes before heading home to pick up his girls for dinner. On the way to the restaurant, it started raining heavily. Because he’d been drinking, his reflexes were slow to react when he hydroplaned. George lost control of the car and ran off the road. The car slid into a tree with such impact that his wife hit her head on the dashboard, and his kid was thrown from the car. By the time he woke up, they were both dead.

After that, the drinking consumed him again. He lost his job, his belongings, and he didn’t have any of his own family to rely on for help. That was the beginning of his life on the streets.

I watched George sleep as I played his horrible story in my head, imagining the hurt he carried inside for so long. I wished that we’d talked about that part of his life more. Maybe the guilt wouldn’t have been so bad for him.

He’d always told me I was his second chance. He quit drinking the day he found me under the dock. He believed an angel led him to me so he could repent for what he’d done by taking care of me. For whatever reason, he found me, and I’m glad he did. George
is
my family, blood or not.
 

Nausea soured my stomach at the thought of losing him, of living without him. I stood and stretched my legs, pulling the blankets up to his chin before sinking into the leather chair next to him. My eyes wandered around the dimly lit apartment, noticing how the blue glow of the moon and stars emphasized the heavy shadows extending from the darker corners.

I watched, feeling unsettled, expecting one of the eerie shadows to move or shift shapes. The uncomfortable silence around me didn’t help my distress. I kept waiting to hear some nonexistent, strange voice in my head give me crazy demands.
 

My stomach broke the silence, growling insistently. I picked up the soup and sipped from the side of the bowl.
Drinking
soup was strange for most people, but for me, it was habit—and would remind me of George when he was gone.
 

The first time he showed me how to drink soup, I was young and my mouth was too little for the bowl. The soup leaked from around my lips and dripped down my chin. George laughed with delight and did the same to mock me, spilling his soup onto a thick beard. We giggled at our messes over a rare warm meal. Memories like that would forever stay with me.
 

A small replica of a grandfather clock chimed from Gavyn’s bookshelf. It was only ten, but it felt like one in the morning. Fatigue settled over me when I saw the time as if my exhaustion was in sync with the clock. I listened for music coming from the jukebox in the café but couldn’t hear any. I figured Gavyn would be up soon.
 

Not sure that I wanted to be awake when he came up, I set the bowl down and closed my eyes, forcing my body to relax. It just didn’t seem like the right time for us to talk about whatever was going on between us. And frankly, I didn’t have the energy to deal with it.
 

I wanted to escape into a deep sleep and pretend nothing was out of the ordinary in my life, that all was well in my little reality. I pictured George happy and healthy, sitting with me in our usual alley. I pictured my life without voices and scary faces, and I imagined meeting Gavyn in another time and place as I fell asleep.

I woke with a sudden jolt. The table lamp was off. Through hazy eyes, I scanned the dark room. My attention focused on the yellow, back-lit face of the grandfather clock across the apartment. The small pendulum swung back and forth, ticking with the passing seconds. It said 2:20 in the morning.