“Heard you got a girlfriend.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
EMORY
I nudged the car door shut with my hip as I lugged two grocery bags and my purse from my parking spot, which, fortunately, I found on my block. It was almost eight and the air was muggy, still and thick like soup. All I could think about was a shower, a simple dinner, then a book. It had been a long day in the ER punctuated by a stabbing, a family in a car accident and a guy with one too many personalities. I had two more days to go this week so I was glad, when the ambulance went by with the siren blaring, it was someone else’s turn to patch them up.
The little boy from the other day and an older man were sitting on my steps. He appeared to be in his late fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and wore a full suit that hid the slight paunch of his stomach. In the heat, he somehow looked crisp and cool while I felt rumpled and wilted. My hair was long down my back in a sloppy tail, I had no makeup and I was sweating. The scent of antibacterial soap clung to me. Not the best way to greet guests.
When they saw me approach, they stood. “Take one of the bags from the lady, Marco,” the man directed.
“Hi, Miss Emory!” Marco trilled, grabbing a cloth bag from me with his little hands and wriggled it up and onto his shoulder so it didn’t drag on the ground. In shorts and another T-shirt, this one white, I could see only one Band-Aid on his knee and none on his elbow. We walked side by side up to the steps.
“This is my grandfather,” he said with a wave of his hand as way of introduction.
The man smiled broadly. “Please, let me take your other bag. You must have had a long day and do not need to carry such heavy things.” His voice was deep and had a slight accent.
I let the man take it from me as he was so intent. He didn’t seem like one to argue with.
“Just set them on the steps.” They complied and turned back to me.
“We came by earlier and your neighbor—” he pointed to Simon’s front door, “—said what time you would return, so we waited for you. I hope that is all right.”
Since Simon shared my schedule with this man, they must have talked enough for him to feel comfortable. He wouldn’t have told just any
body my routine. Although, I was pretty predictable.
“I am Angelo Casale, Marco’s grandfather. I wanted to thank you for helping him the other day.”
The boy stared up at me as if I walked on water, and I smiled. “It was no trouble at all. You’re not having fun unless you’ve got a few scrapes.”
“The helmet was a smart and generous gift. I understand it was your son’s when he was smaller.”
I looked from boy to grandfather. Mr. Casale was taller than I and his posture straight. He seemed very polite with me, yet looking in his dark gaze, I saw shrewdness, as if while we were talking, he was assessing me.
“Yes. My son, Chris, is away at college and is much too big to wear it anymore. I thought Marco might get enjoyment out of it.”
“It is a safe thing to do. You are very wise.”
I sighed. “Wise? I’m not sure about that, but I’ve raised a boy, so I know what can happen. We’ve gone through our fair share of bumps and scrapes.”
“No doubt at your work as well,” Mr. Casale added, looking down at the light blue scrubs I wore.
“Yes, that’s true.”
“We won’t keep you as you must be tired, but I would like to offer you a meal from our restaurant as a thank-you.”
I quickly made the connection. “Oh, your family runs Casale’s over on St. Paul.”
I’d never been to the small Italian restaurant, but had heard great things. Friends had tried to get a table weeks out, yet they were always booked. That it was Marco’s family’s place made it something I would have to try, even without a thank-you meal.
“Yes. You will come have a meal and some wine, on the house.”
“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Casale, but I can’t go like this, and I’d need to clean up and—”
He held up his hand to stop me. “Not tonight then, I understand. Tomorrow?”
He was certainly insistent. “I work again tomorrow and Wednesday.”