Pieces of Me (2 page)

I could feel the heat coming through the bottom of the box. “Yeah, thanks,” I said. He tossed me a napkin-wrapped roll. Inside were a plastic fork, knife and spoon.

The lasagna was hot, spicy and cheesy. It was so hot it burned my tongue, and it was so good I didn't care.

“Somebody sent this back?” I asked Q.

“Yeah, apparently the server forgot to mention there's spinach in it.” He shook his head. “It's vegetable lasagna. What did they think was in it?” He took another bite and then held up one hand, fishing in his jacket for something with the other. I froze, ready to drop the Styrofoam box and bolt if I had to. Q pulled out a small, stubby bottle of water and held it out to me. It was icy cold, the outside wet with condensation.

After the lasagna, there was a slice of chocolate cake to share. “What's wrong with that?” I asked, leaning over to look at the cake covered in plastic on a paper plate.

“The frosting is smudged,” Q said.

“Now I know you're lying.”

He shook his head. “Swear to God—not the Holy Rollers version of God either—I'm not making it up.”

“But that's such a waste,” I said. I licked the last of the tomato sauce off my fork and speared a bite of the cake. That thing about “melts in your mouth”? It did. I'd never eaten anything so good. It was creamy and chocolaty and sweet, with a touch of dark-chocolate bitterness. I slid down the bench a bit closer to Q and got another bite.

We took turns, a bite for him, a bite for me, until there was nothing but a smear of frosting on the bottom of the plate. Q held it out to me. “Here,” he said. “No point in wasting that.”

I scraped every last bit of chocolate off the cardboard and then licked the fork clean. I was pretty sure Q didn't care about my table manners.

He pulled the top of the paper bag open again. It made me think of one of those little cars at the circus that ends up having about six or seven clowns stuffed inside. This time Q took out a smaller brown bag and offered it to me.

I shook my head. “No thanks. I'm full.”

“Take it,” he said. “It's just biscuits—cheese ones, and I think raisins, or maybe cranberry. They'd be okay for breakfast.”

“What are you going to have?”

He pulled out a second bag. “There's plenty.”

I took the food, setting it next to me on the bench. “Does this much get thrown out every night?” I asked.

“Pretty much,” Q said as he gathered up our garbage. “Sometimes less, sometimes more.”

I rubbed my hands together. They were getting cold again. “But it's such a waste. There are people down there at the shelter that are hungry—children. Old people. Would it be so hard to take it down to them instead of just tossing it all in a Dumpster?”

Q stretched his long legs across the space between us. “Can't,” he said.

“Why?”

“Health department rules. All this food was already served to someone. They can't give it to anyone else.”

I folded my arms across my chest for warmth. “What? They figure people spit in it or something?”

“Sneezed on it. Breathed on it,” Q said. He got up, walked over to a big Dumpster by the back wall of the hotel and stuffed our trash inside. He came back across the pavement, stopping at the open end of the smoking shelter. “You have anywhere to sleep tonight?”

Here it was. The catch. I should have known. I stood up. “I knew there was no such thing as a free lunch,” I said. “Or a free dinner.” I fumbled in the pocket of my jeans and pulled out the last five dollars I had. I held it out to Q along with the bag of biscuits. “Here,” I said. “I'm not having sex with you.”

Q took a step backward and held up one hand. “Whoa! Who said anything about sex?” he said.

“You did,” I said.

“I asked you if you had somewhere to sleep. I didn't say you had to sleep with me.”

I was still holding out the money and the bag.

“I'm not taking that,” Q said. “I had way more food than I could eat. I just wanted to share it. That's all.” He dropped his hand. “I'm not a whore, Maddie. I don't trade sex for lasagna or somewhere to sleep.” He looked at me like I'd disappointed him in some way. Then he turned and started for the front of the building.

I felt like a piece of crap, standing there with my hand out offering him money. Still, he wouldn't have been the first guy who had expected sex because he shared a bite of his sandwich. I'd had enough close calls to know that. But Q really did seem different. I grabbed my pack and took off after him before I really even thought about it. I caught him just as he reached the sidewalk. “Q, I'm sorry,” I said. “It's just that nobody does stuff like this unless they're trying to take advantage of you in some way. At least nobody I know.”

“You do,” he said. “I saw what you did after you gave that kid your scarf. I saw you give that old lady your sandwich.”

I shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another.

“I wasn't really hungry,” I said softly.

He grinned. “Yeah, 'cause there's so much gourmet food out here.”

I grinned back. “Caviar and champagne every night.”

Q kicked an empty paper coffee cup and sent it skittering down the sidewalk. “Look Maddie, I don't have sex with people I don't know. It's not something that should be bought and sold. It's…it's a covenant between two people.” He made a face. “I sound like the Holy Rollers, don't I? ‘Your body is a temple. Save yourself for marriage.' ” His tone turned mocking.

“You don't sound anything like them,” I said. “Trust me.”

“I do,” Q said. “And you can trust me, Maddie. I don't do the casual sex thing.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

He let out a breath. “Here's the deal. I have this car. It doesn't work so well, but it's good for sleeping in and keeping my stuff. There's a bunch of people with
RVS
and campers who stay the night in the lot at All-mart—the store doesn't care. I was there last night, and I'm going back. You can have the front seat. I swear I'm not going to try anything, but we can rig up some kind of wall between the front seat and the back, if it makes you feel better.”

Last night, I'd slept in a half-built house, wrapped up in a blanket and insulation. The two nights before that, I'd been in an abandoned building downtown. I studied Q's face. His eyes met mine. They didn't slide off my face the way most people's did when they were lying.

If he tried anything, I was going to cut him up good with that piece of glass in my pocket, but for some reason I didn't think he would. “As long as you don't try to save me from my sins,” I said.

“Did I forget to mention there will be a small service?” he joked as I fell into step beside him. “Just a little hellfire and damnation and a few hallelujahs.”

“Well, if there's just a little, I guess that's okay,” I said. I couldn't keep a straight face.

He caught my smile and gave me back one of his own. I'd forgotten how good it felt to just talk to someone. I hoped I wouldn't be sorry when tomorrow came.

two

I wasn't. Q and I walked up the hill to the All-mart. In the side parking lot, there were maybe eight or nine campers—a couple of big
RVS
, some fifth wheel trailers being pulled behind an
suv
or a half-ton, and even an old camper van. There was a white Honda Civic in between the camper van and a huge brown
RV
. I figured the car belonged to the
RV
people, but Q headed across the parking lot toward the Civic. He unlocked the passenger side and then went around to the driver's door.

The inside of the car was a faded gray color, and it was very clean. “That seat goes all the way back,” Q said. “I'd give you the back but I don't exactly fit over there.”

I looked at the backseat. I was surprised Q's long legs even fit there. I'm five foot six inches, and I was guessing he was more than half a foot taller.

“I've got a blanket we can hang up between the front and the back to give you a little privacy,” he said.

“You don't have to do that.”

“I know,” he said. He reached behind my seat and pulled up a large piece of folded cardboard. “This goes up against the windshield. It keeps a lot of the light out.”

There were lights on in the
RV
next to us. “You parked here on purpose, didn't you?” I asked. “So it would look like your car went with that
RV
.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I saw them this morning. I'm pretty sure they knew I slept in the car, but they were cool about it.” He pointed over at the department store. “We can use the washroom in there right before they close. I'll get you a couple of blankets.”

Q got three blankets from a box behind the backseat, stretched a cord between the two clothes hooks just behind the car doors and draped one of the blankets over it, dividing the car into two tiny halves.

“You don't have to do all this, Q,” I said.

He climbed back into the front seat. “You didn't have to give that woman your sandwich,” he said.

“Is that what you do?” I asked. “Go around rewarding people who don't want all their lunch?”

He held out both hands, palms up. “Busted.”

“Seriously, why are you doing this?” I had one hand around my backpack and the other behind me on the door handle. I could be gone in seconds, if I needed to.

Q leaned his head back against the headrest. “You're right, you know,” he said.

“About what?”

“There's an awful lot of people who are just out for what they can get. And they're not all on the street. Sometimes I just want to be around someone who's not that way.” He turned his head to look at me. “That's all, Maddie.” He stared out the windshield. The silence spread around us, but it wasn't uncomfortable.

“How long have you been on your own?” I said finally.

He didn't answer right away, and I wasn't sure he'd even heard me. “Months,” he said after awhile. “I kinda lose track. What about you?”

I shifted the bag on my lap. “A few weeks.”

“What's your plan?” He turned his head back toward me again. “You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.”

I leaned back in the seat. “I don't know exactly. Get some money. Get a room. Get a job, maybe go back to school.”

He nodded, like that sounded good to him.

“What about you?”

He reached up and pulled off the knit cap, running both hands through his dark, curly hair. “Pretty much like you. Get some money. Only I want to live in the country, grow my own food. Be independent.”

“That sounds good,” I said.

He tossed the hat up onto the dash. “Yeah. Feels like a long way away sometimes, though.” He sat up abruptly and reached between the seats into the back, grabbing something off the floor.

“What is that?” I said. It looked like a cross between a flashlight and one of those hand-crank food processors they advertised on late-night infomercials.

“It's a radio,” Q said. “Hand-powered.” He turned the handle, and it made a faint whirring sound. After he'd cranked it for a minute or so, he adjusted the volume and set the radio up next to his hat. “Is oldies stuff okay?” he asked. “It's the only station I can get here.”

“Very okay,” I said. My dad had loved old rock 'n' roll music. He died when I was six, but it made me feel closer to him when I heard any of those old songs.

Q and I listened to the radio, taking turns cranking the handle. About nine thirty, we went into the mall to use the washrooms. I brushed my teeth and waited until no one else was around to wash my face. Then I stared at my reflection in the wide mirror. Was I crazy spending the night with a guy I didn't know in a tiny Honda Civic? Except Q didn't feel like a stranger. I'd slept in worse places, I reminded the face looking back at me. And it was only for one night.

I pulled the elastic out of my hair and brushed it loose around my shoulders. And I didn't look at myself anymore.

Back in the car, Q showed me how to tip the seat back. “Are you sure you'll have enough room?” I asked.

He patted one thigh. “Oh yeah. Didn't I tell you? These things come off at night. I just fold them up into their own convenient carrying case.” His lips were twitching.

I punched him lightly on the arm. “I'm serious.”

He let the smile loose. “Yes, Maddie, I have enough room.” He got out the driver's door, tipped the seat forward and climbed into the backseat, pulling the car door shut behind him.

I got the one blanket I had out of my backpack and wrapped myself up in it and the other two Q had given me. I could hear him moving around in the backseat.

“Did you lock your door?” he asked.

I felt behind me to check. “Yes,” I said. There was more movement, then nothing. I stretched out in the seat. It was a lot more comfortable than I'd expected, a lot better than a filthy floor in an old building, that was for sure, and with the cardboard screen covering the windshield and the blanket wall between the front and backseat, it felt kind of cozy. I didn't want to think about it, but it almost felt…safe.

“Good night, Maddie,” Q whispered from the backseat.

“Good night,” I whispered back.