“There might be a cookie in it for you,” she teased. The first time she had caught him sneaking out of her shed last spring, she’d attacked without thinking, her newfound self-defense skills wielded impulsively, and badly. He’d laughed at her in spite of himself, and she’d frozen in mid-strike, which had made him laugh harder. That had been the beginning.
“I did kind of want to talk to you about something,” he said.
With practiced nonchalance—no sudden or overeager movements, or he shied away—she gestured for him to follow her inside, feeling the corners of her mouth turn up reflexively as he fell into step behind her. It was crazy, she knew this. Casey could be home at any moment, and what would she think if she happened to find her mother entertaining a homeless man in their kitchen, feeding him at their table?
“Mind if I wash up first?” he asked, as he always did.
She nodded and watched as he moved to the kitchen sink, soaping his hands, then his arms up to his elbows, like a surgeon scrubbing in. Soon, the scent of soap replaced the scent she’d come to associate with him. He smelled of outdoors and dirty clothes. It filled up their house as soon as he entered. Once Nicole had come home moments after he’d left and asked about the smell. She’d told her a worker had needed to check the thermostat, the lie coming to her effortlessly.
He took a seat at the table, the same one he always did. The one usually occupied by Steve, which always gave her a sadistic little thrill. Steve would die a thousand deaths if he knew a homeless man sat in his chair, ate at his table with his wife. If he knew the things Bess had shared with this stranger, how natural it had become to talk to him, how she’d come to need the unburdening he offered her. He had, as he always said, nowhere else to be. She was the one with the schedule, the obligations. He had all the time in the world.
He unwrapped the sandwich she’d made and left for him after Nicole and Steve had left that morning. The shed had become his shelter. No one had thought a thing of her installing the dorm-size fridge in the shed. She got thirsty when she gardened. No one knew she’d hidden a bedroll out there, for nights when he needed a place to get out of the cold or rain. At night she’d look down from her bedroom window, the moon shining on the shed, and wonder if he was inside. He came and went at will, so she never knew.
At first it was just good deeds done in kindness, her civic-mindedness in action, something she did as much for herself as for him, like making a meal for a family or volunteering at a shelter. It was her service to humanity, she reasoned; she would do it for anyone. But as their polite exchanges stretched into actual conversations, he had become not just anyone. He’d become Jason, a former resident of this neighborhood who’d abused drugs and thoroughly trashed his relationships.
Though he was clean now, Jason’s family didn’t trust him and wouldn’t allow him to come back home. One cold, dark night, as he had feared freezing to death on the city streets, he’d resolved that if he lived through the night, he’d return to the suburban enclave he’d fled as a young man. It was safer there, he’d reasoned, with more resources. He’d mapped out an existence, stealing food and drinks from garages and outbuildings like hers, sleeping in the same forts he’d once camped out in as a kid. It wasn’t ideal, he knew that, but it also wasn’t forever. He’d made some decisions recently. He was going to make his way back to real life, or at least some semblance of one, he’d quipped.
Of course she’d promised to help make it happen. What else could she do?
He took his last bite of sandwich, chewed thoughtfully, swallowed. She didn’t look at him as he ate, gazing instead at a hummingbird at the feeder just outside the kitchen window. Soon the tiny birds would disappear and she’d have to wait till spring to see them again. Soon it would be winter, and what would he do then? She didn’t like to think about the cold nights ahead.
He took a sip of his water, set down the bottle. At the sound, she looked back at him. Sometimes when she looked at him, she saw the man he could be. The man he would be, with her help. She’d told him he could take a shower there, but he never took her up on it. She resolved not to offer this time.
“You said you had something you wanted to talk to me about?” she asked, prompting him. Sometimes he lost track of his thoughts, he had told her, as if someone had lowered the volume in his brain. She assumed it was from all the drugs. Bess had never done illegal drugs, even as a teenager or young adult. The idea of putting something in her body that wasn’t regulated by the FDA had always made her nervous.
He grinned, and the effect on his face was like a light coming on in a dark room. He had a great smile. But his teeth could use whitening. She wondered if he would take offense to her putting a toothbrush and toothpaste by the bedroll in the shed. She’d just read about a new brand of whitening toothpaste that was supposed to work miracles.
“I applied for some jobs,” he said.
This was good news. This was a positive step. “Wow,” she said, nodding her affirmation as she spoke. “I . . . wow. I never . . .”
His grin stayed in place. “I know. I can’t believe it, either. It feels . . .”
“Good?” she ventured.
He thought it over. “Strange.”
“How did you . . .” She didn’t know how to tactfully ask the question on her mind. She tried to picture him going into a workplace, asking for an application. They would think he was just any homeless man off the street. They wouldn’t want him, because they wouldn’t know him.
“I went to the library, applied online. They have computers you can use for free.”
Pleased with his resourcefulness, she nodded a little too enthusiastically. “That’s so good that they have that,” she said, sounding stupid.
He held up the cell phone she’d gotten him, the prepaid kind. She had one, too, one Steve and her girls didn’t know about, her own private thing. She’d given him the number. “Now that I have this, I have a way they can contact me.” With the beard, she couldn’t tell if he was actually blushing, but she thought she saw his cheeks redden. “I have you to thank for that.”
She ignored his thanks, changed the subject. “You’ll need interview clothes,” she said.
She could tell from the look on his face that he hadn’t thought about that. He looked down at his worn, unwashed clothing. The shirt was a castoff from Steve. Shortly after she had met Jason, she’d convinced her husband to weed out his closet, going on and on about the KonMari method until he did it just to shut her up. She’d told him she’d take the discarded clothes to Goodwill. But first she’d offered them to Jason. She’d been surprised how Jason had sorted through them with care, as if he were purchasing them instead of taking a handout. She had admired the way he’d somehow retained his dignity.
“Do you know your measurements?” she asked, a plan formulating in her mind. She would buy him an interview outfit. Not a suit, of course, that was too much for the kinds of jobs he would be applying for. But some nice pressed khakis, a button-down shirt, a tie. She’d buy a blue shirt to match his eyes, which were now sparkling with excitement. She tried not to make eye contact for too long, looking instead at her hands resting on the table.