22

Scott Harrington

After leaving Mary Anne, I debated going to the hospital or going home and decided to stop home first. I had no good news to share with D.J. or Pete. I needed Stella’s ear. She had a knack for seeing things with clarity when I couldn’t.

I stopped by the café, but they told me she wasn’t in. Parking my car in my driveway, I walked next door, knocked and tried the door. It was locked. A key to her house was on my keyring, but I wouldn’t use it while she was home.

She peeked out the window and opened the door. A glance told me that she had taken the day off. She wore jeans and a sweatshirt with her long hair loose.

Stella leaned back and held the door open wide. “You look terrible. What’s going on?”

Leave it to Stella. She could read me like a book. I told her about Pete’s cancer and about Mary Anne.

“I can’t blame her. She’s filled with bitterness. Plus, she has a lot going on in her own family. But Pete, he’s such a likeable old guy. He’ll be dead in a week if he goes back to the storage shed. I know what’s going on in his head. If he’s at a facility, he can’t get a drink. His bourbon’s more important than the time it would deny him.”

“Obviously, the drinking isn’t good for him, but what does it matter at this point. I say let the old guy have his bottle and be happy.”

“I don’t disagree, but I hate to see him lose the possibility of two more months, and I hate to see him die alone in that old outbuilding. It’ll kill D.J. to watch him go.”

Stella took my hand and wrapped her fingers through mine.

“Scott, I know what’s on your mind, and I’ll help you with whatever you decide.”

I furrowed my brows. “How do you know what’s on my mind when I don’t know?”

She smiled. “You know.”

I leaned back on her sofa and stared at the ceiling. A myriad of thoughts danced in my mind, competing for focus, but Stella could always bring order to the chaos.

“I only have three bedrooms and one doesn’t have furniture. And I’d have to bring D.J. as well.”

“I believe they’ve both slept in worst places than an air mattress in your spare room.”

Tension began to ease, and I sat up straighter. “I suppose it would help me write my story. And I could stop going downtown.”

Stella tapped a finger on my sleeve. “Hey, Clark Kent, put the reporter side of you away for once.”

I smiled at her. “You want me to be Superman instead?”

She grinned “Mr. Fix-it. Here he comes to save the day.”

“I believe that was Mighty Mouse. Get your superheroes straight.”

“I’ll try to catch a few more Saturday cartoons. What can I do to help you?”

I rested my head again, coming to terms with what was about to happen. Stella still held my hand in hers. I gave it a gentle squeeze. “I guess I’m doing this. You can do what you do best—help to keep us fed.”

“I can do that.”

“I’ll pay you. No arguments.” I freed my hand and stood, holding it out to help her up. “Walk over with me, and let’s talk with Tyler.”

We came up with a plan. We’d put Pete in the spare bedroom that Tyler was using, D.J. would camp on an air mattress in the office bedroom without any furniture, and Tyler would use my camping cot in the finished basement. He rather liked that idea since he’d have his own bath, TV, and space. Ginger would stay downstairs with Tyler most of the time to keep her out of Pete’s way.

I hadn’t talked with Pete and D.J. yet, but I suspected Pete would be released tomorrow. So Stella, Tyler, and I set out to move things around to accommodate the change.

“Someone’s phone’s ringing.” Stella said.

“Can’t be mine,” Tyler said. “It’s been shut off for months.”

“Hello,” I answered. “This is he.”

I finished my call and shared the news.

“That was the Pittsburgh Police. Their undercover cop had some success. Two guys have been arrested. Description sounds like Jim, but he must have given you a false name. It should be on the news tonight.” Tyler let out a whoop of delight. “Now I can move forward and try to do something with my life.”

“Like work in my café?”

“Are you kidding?”

“Not kidding. I can use the help and you can have flexible hours while you go to school.”

Tyler’s head shot up in surprise, and he looked in my direction. “We talked about school, but I can’t go yet. I need to work and get my own place.”

I listened in on their dialogue.

She put her hands on her hips. “You can and will go to school. I see you pining over those brochures. There are grants and loans and scholarships. Think big.”

“I don’t know, Stella. I’ve gotta find somewhere to live.”

“You don’t like it here?” I joined the conversation.

Grinning, he said, “I like it here a lot. But I can’t keep mooching.”

“You planning to help with Pete? You planning to keep up the yard work you’ve been doing?”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re not mooching. Let me get Pete settled, and we’ll look into some options next week.” I still held my phone when it rang again. I answered, surprised to hear Caroline’s voice on the line.

“I wanted to thank you again for taking me to that conservatory, and I’d like to show my appreciation by taking you to dinner.”

Caroline showing appreciation? That seemed out of character and brought an amused smile. “Well that sounds great, but I have a few things going on, and I’ll need to be close to home. Could we make that lunch? I could do tomorrow.”

She named the restaurant and time that I should meet her.

“Thanks, Caroline. I’ll see you then.”

Tyler and Stella exchanged a look, and she moved toward the door. “If we’re about done here, I’ve got stuff to do in my own house.”

“Sure, Stel. Sorry if I kept you.”

And with that she left.

Tyler ran his hands through his hair. “Man, that was cruel.”

“What was cruel? What’s with you two?”

“Aren’t reporters supposed to have good intuition?”

“What am I missing here?”

He shook his head. “You’re missing the boat, that’s what.”

He picked up the cot and headed downstairs.

I still didn’t know what their cryptic secrets were and didn’t have time to worry about it. I had to head back to the hospital. I owed D.J. some answers. I wanted some answers myself but had to let it go until we made plans for Pete. At some point, I’d learn the story about Andrew Bassett. Then I’d decide if I could merge his story with mine.

~*~

Alone in his room, Pete still looked weak but continued to be cheerful.

“Well howdee-do there, Scotty.” His voice slogged from the sedation but didn’t appear as weak as yesterday.

“How you doing, Pete?”

“Been better an’ been worse.”

“Where’s D.J.?”

“He went on back to our place to get him some sleep. Said they don’t let ’em stay out in the waitin’ room all night. He’ll be back in the mornin’.”

His hands tremored, his eyes glazed over. Was that the withdrawal, cancer, or sedation?

“Pete, what can I get for you? Anything to eat or drink?’ Even in his weakness, his eyes opened wide. Wrong question.

“Can you sneak me in a little of my evenin’ refreshment?” A twinkle lit his eye.

“Sorry, my friend. Can’t do that. Coffee? Soft Drink? Anything else.”

He waved me off with his hand. “I gotta be gettin’ me outta here. I need to be a’gettin’ home.”

“We’ll see what we can do, Pete. You rest up ’til morning. I’ll be back.”

I left the hospital and headed toward town. I’d hoped to never enter the little shed again, but I had to connect with D.J. tonight. I drove past the gatehouse, stopping for my ticket, and parked my car in the same lot that I’d sneaked into night after night. I pulled into a parking space close to the outbuilding.

Inside, D.J. was reading. He didn’t seem surprised to see me. “Were you at the hospital?”

“Yeah. He’s awake but groggy. Antsy to get out. He asked me if I could bring him some refreshment.”

D.J. grinned. “He tried that on me, too.”

I sat down on an old crate. “I guess I owe you some answers.”

“I’d appreciate that.” D.J. hoisted himself up to a sitting position.

I wouldn’t mention that I’d considered including him in my project. That would spook him away for sure.

“I’m a writer. I’m doing a segment on homelessness. Pete talked from the start, and I figured I’d get a lot of input from him. I didn’t have to ask. He invited me along.”

“So, you’re here to help yourself…not for Pete.” The old glare stole across his face but only lasted a moment. Pete’s illness had moved us past that.

I didn’t have a quick answer. I’d convinced myself of the altruism of the project, even while my goal was an award. No. In truth, the real goal was Charles Harrington’s approval. Still, I felt the need to justify my project, perhaps to convince myself of its worthiness.

“Today I’m here for Pete. The old man has a way of getting to you. I’m looking at the shelters, the government programs, the social programs through churches and non-profs hoping to see what’s there and what could be done better. I want to show that homeless people are real, generate some compassion.”

D.J. looked straight at me without nodding his head or acknowledging my words. “Maybe some people aren’t looking for compassion. Maybe some people want to be left alone.”

“I don’t think that describes Pete. He likes people.”

“Pete tried to make the change when they took his daughter. When he couldn’t do it, he accepted his life. He’s not unhappy. Who else are you writing about?”

Careful… “I have a young kid that’s been talking to me. He’s had a rough life and couldn’t seem to catch a break. Nice kid.”

“That all?”

“That’s all I’ve worked on.”

“Did those investigative skills help you find Pete’s daughter?”

“Yeah. I found her. That’s a no-go. Pete guessed correctly that she wouldn’t see him. She’s pretty bitter. Has a lot of bad memories. And she has her hands full with a small house, pregnant daughter, and a toddler living there now. New baby’s about to come. It’s a definite no.”

“I talked with the social worker. She can have Pete moved to the Veteran’s Administration hospice care facility. Pete said he’ll walk out. Do you think he will?”

“You know him better than I do. What do you think?”

“He’ll walk. He wants his booze more than he wants those two months. One way or the other, he’s out of Allegheny General.”

“I have another option. I have a couple extra bedrooms. Why don’t you two come with me for a little while?”

D.J.’s eyebrows rose with surprise. I caught the look before he went expressionless again—a skill he had mastered well.

“Pete’s whole issue is the bourbon. He’ll walk away from anywhere if he can’t get his hands on it.”

“What’s the harm in letting him have his drink at this juncture of his life? It can’t kill him before the cancer does.”

“True. So you’d let him drink each night?”

“With supervision, so he doesn’t hurt himself or my house.”

“That’s a generous gesture. Probably the best option he has. But there’s no need to take me along. I’m going to have to get along without Pete at some point. Might as well be now.”

“I’d be grateful if you’d agree to come. I can’t always be there and you know Pete best. I don’t know if I can do it without your help.”

“So you’d take a complete stranger into your home?”

I chuckled. “I already have. The kid moved in with me. The street terrified him.”

I wouldn’t mention the drug deliveries that Tyler had once made. Tyler could share that or keep his secret.

“And I don’t worry you at all?”

“How bad can you be when you read that every night?” I pointed to his Bible.

He slid it into his backpack and laid down.

“I’ll think about it and let you know in the morning.”

I had no intention of sleeping here tonight, but it felt awkward leaving D.J. alone.

“You want to come with me tonight? You can help move Pete there tomorrow?”

Without looking up, he said, “I told you. I’ll let you know in the morning.”

I stood from my makeshift seat, went to my car, and drove home. What in the world had I done?