“That’s wonderful and kind of him.”
He looked around and nodded. “I know you’re far from home, Emma. You don’t hesitate to come knockin’ on my door if you need to know somethin’ or want somethin’. I’ll leave two sets of keys on the kitchen table. Oh,” he said, turning back. “If you want that phone in the kitchen turned on, let me know. You’ll need it to get calls from producers, I’m sure,” he said, smiling. “I’ll put your name in the directory tonight, too. Okay? Any questions?”
“I’m not sure how to get to Mr. Manning’s restaurant,” I said.
“Oh, right. You’re startin’ tomorrow, right?”
“I am.”
“Okay. I’m sure you know it’s called the Last Diner. It looks like one with its booths and long counter. It’s two blocks east and one block north. Probably no more than a ten-minute walk for someone your age. It takes me double that.”
“Thank you.”
He studied me a moment. “You ain’t much younger than my wife was when we first met.”
“My mother wasn’t much older than me when she married my father.”
“Bet your parents weren’t happy to see you leave and go so far, eh?”
“No, not happy.”
He nodded. “Yeah, well, that’s only natural. Don’t lose the love of your family, Emma. No one champions you as much as they do.”
He paused. I could see he wanted to say more, that he wanted to trust me with more personal information.
“Been a widower for close to four years now. Still not used to it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I have two married daughters and five grandchildren, all of whom keep me busy from time to time,” he said.
“That’s very nice. Do they live in New York?”
“No. One, Toby, lives in Massachusetts, and the other lives in Nevada. My oldest grandchild, Jordan, is goin’ to attend college at Columbia next year. He’s the one lives in Nevada. His mother’s not taking his leavin’ home so well. I promised I’d see lots of him, and I’m sure I will.” He leaned toward me like someone about to utter a deep secret. “Until he finds a girlfriend or somethin’,” he added, smiling.
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll never stop coming to see you.”
“We’ll see. Mothers have to be understandin’. Children need the freedom to grow and develop as individuals on their own. Fathers make like it’s easier for them to let go, but it ain’t so.
“Anyway, now you’ve got a future to build. Good luck,” he said, and walked out, leaving the keys on the kitchen table.
I didn’t move.
What he had said caused me to worry even more about how my mother had reacted to my leaving. Most of the time, she was so tight about her feelings. I knew that holding it all inside wore down your heart. I didn’t care what my father had said and threatened. I would call her this week, maybe even tomorrow. She’d be worried that I hadn’t arrived safely. I was sure of that.
I began to unpack. After I hung up my things, I fixed my bedding and then decided that I was too excited simply to go to sleep. I would take a walk around the neighborhood and maybe get a bite to eat. I also thought I might find that supermarket and get some cleaning materials. My mother would call this flat a pigsty for sure, but I didn’t want to say anything that might insult Mr. Abbot.
I picked up one of the sets of keys and headed out and down the stairs. What I felt stepping out of the front door was like what I imagined a newly hatched chicken felt when it stepped out of a cracked egg. The city was still quite in-your-face with its traffic, pedestrians, and bright lights. Didn’t the traffic ever slow down? Or was that description literally right, “the city that never sleeps”?
Although it was a warm June night, I felt a chill. I knew it was just a chill of fear. It will pass, Emma, I assured myself.
Now, the wide-eyed newcomer, I started down the street, my gaze going everywhere. In fact, I was so hypnotized by all the movement around me, the lights and tall buildings, I accidentally bumped into a man. Or maybe he bumped into me. I heard something splatter at my feet and looked down, astounded. He had dropped a paper bag that had a bottle of some whiskey in it, the liquor spilling out around the dampened bag and shards of glass. Some people slowed their walk, and some paused to look.
The man looked disheveled, homeless. His shirt was missing buttons, and his pants were held on with a piece of rope. His gray beard was longer in places and quite untrimmed, hair growing even from the crests of his cheeks. His eyes were red, and when his lips parted, I saw he was missing quite a few teeth. His hair was straggly, dirty, and even knotted.
He bellowed like a wounded dog, sending my heart from a flutter to a drumroll. “You made me drop my bottle!” he screamed. “That’s twenty dollars.”
I gasped and stepped back. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“Twenty dollars!” he cried, and held out his grimy right hand.
“Like hell she will,” a stout man with short rust-colored hair said, and brushed me aside to step beside me. The disheveled man staggered. “Don’t give that guy a penny,” the man beside me said, and to demonstrate I shouldn’t, he pushed my purse back a bit, holding it so the homeless man couldn’t seize it and run. He looked like he was just about to do that. My rescuer was dressed in dark-brown jeans and a T-shirt and had tattoos on both his forearms.
“Let’s see what this is all about,” he said, and leaned down to touch the liquid on the sidewalk. He brought it to his nose. “This is water, you bastard. Move on, or I’ll break your scrawny neck.”
The disheveled man cursed and started away.
“You okay, miss?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“That’s one of them new scams in town. Tourists are fallin’ for it all day. Watch yourself.”
The people who had paused walked on. He started away. I wanted to shout to him, I don’t know your name! but he was already crossing the street and quickly disappearing in the pedestrian traffic. I looked back to be sure the homeless man was gone and then hurried along, walking now as fast as anyone else in New York. Either become one of them, or tuck your tail between your legs and hurry back to Guildford, I thought.
I was still shaking when I found the supermarket. I went in, located the cleaning things I had wanted and a blueberry muffin. That would be my dinner tonight. All I wanted to do was get back and off the streets.
When I reached the cashier, I took my things out of the cart and watched her ring them up. Then I reached for my purse. I was surprised the clasp was undone. How careless, I thought. I opened it and reached in for my wallet.
It wasn’t there.
I could feel the panic flow down my face and seize my heart. I hadn’t taken it out at the apartment, and of course, I had it with me on the airplane.
“Anything wrong?” the cashier asked. There were people waiting behind me.
“My wallet’s gone,” I said. “I think it was pinched.”
She smiled. “Pinched?”
“That means stolen,” a tall man in a jacket and tie two people back said.
“Oh. Well, you’ve got thirty-two fifty-eight here,” the cashier said indifferently. She might as well have said, Pay up, or get out of the way.