She circled the same block six times before she found a parking spot and maneuvered the van into it.
I’d lived in New York my entire life and had never been in this neighborhood. It was rundown, littered with trash and people hanging out on the street.
We passed an occasional BMW or Mercedes, but Lexie’s VW stuck out as the nicest vehicle in the area. A beacon to be stolen or vandalized.
Lexie and Eric didn’t seem to notice the less than optimal surroundings. I catalogued every building, wondering why I’d never looked at property here and what the potential was for revitalizing the area. Though a lot of times that meant making housing that was once affordable out of reach for the current residents.
I shoved my hands in my pockets.
I never wanted to take away anyone’s home. Ultimately, I wanted to make it better, although I wasn’t sure I had succeeded in that endeavor. Years ago, I’d driven by a building we'd purchased and seen a woman carrying an overflowing box out. Her child had been right behind her with a little blue suitcase in tow. Once we'd renovated, I never remembered seeing them again. At odd times, I wondered what had become of them.
What had I accomplished? Besides making an exorbitant amount of money?
Lexie and Eric waved at a couple of the young people hanging out in front of a building.
“Let me help you, Mrs. Brooks.” Eric rushed to grab a shopping bag from an elderly woman’s hands.
“Thank you, dear,” she said shakily as she ambled toward a dimly lit doorway.
Lexie hurried to unlock the door and held it for Mrs. Brooks and Eric to pass. I followed, dismayed at the state of disrepair.
Did Beau know they lived here?
They stopped at a first-floor apartment, and Eric followed Mrs. Brooks inside before quickly emerging. The two of them tromped up three more flights of stairs. The wood was worn, probably here before any of us were born.
They didn’t seem to notice the stained walls or the missing stair rails. In fact, they happily chatted as if this were perfectly normal and fine.
I thought about the private elevator to my penthouse. How it was cleaned multiple times a day. Spotless. Shiny. In tip-top condition.
I had a basketball court, for goodness’ sake. And yet, I often found reasons to complain about my apartment building, block, and other tenants. But had I ever stopped to help a neighbor? Noticed someone in need?
For the first time in my life I was embarrassed by my wealth. My ignorance.
The feeling was foreign.
I didn’t flaunt what I had. Far from it. Because none of it mattered. I had the court because I enjoyed the game and had the ability to have one. It wasn’t to impress others or make me feel like I was someone. There were only a handful of people who knew I had it.
And even if I had wanted it to show off, wasn’t that my prerogative? I’d earned it.
There were scrapes around the doorknob where Lexie’s keys had knocked the wood. The letter D was missing a nail and hung crooked.
They didn’t invite me inside, simply expecting me to follow, which I did.
I froze just inside the doorway.
The sofa had cookbooks and magazines scattered around two open spots where Lexie and Eric probably sat. There was a TV that looked to be at least fifteen years old. Rabbit ears sat on top of the VCR.
The coffee table had two half-full glasses of water on it along with some mail and an apron.
I swung my gaze to the right.
Dishes overflowed from the kitchen sink. Every stove eye had a pot on it. There were boxes with the Dog Love logo on it stacked on the floor.
Colorful dresses and tops and bow ties hung over the barstools.
A bike leaned against the wall.
A laundry basket stuffed with towels sat to the side of the hallway that I assumed led to their bedrooms.
The apartment was a disaster. A far cry from the two put-together individuals.
But something about it felt like a home.
I was torn between wanting to escape and stepping deeper into the room.
“Would you believe we had a hectic morning?” A hint of red crept up Lexie’s neck.
“It’s always like this,” Eric volunteered. “We barely have time to breathe.”
She looked like she wanted to disappear as her brother spoke the truth and undoubtedly parroted her words.
“What exactly are you so busy doing?”
“Are you going to shut the door?” Lexie snapped.
I twisted to find that I had in fact hardly moved into their space. If I shut that door, I’d be secured in their world. I wasn’t sure that was where I wanted to be. And I definitely wasn’t sure I wanted to eat ice cream. Do they have any clean bowls and spoons?
I’d always kept my place tidy despite having a housekeeper. I resisted the urge to clean the clutter. This was their lives. I had no right to judge their mess.
I shoved the door closed and locked it.
“We have the dog food business. Plus, we volunteer at the old folks’ home, clean the parks once a month, take a Bob Ross painting class on Thursdays, and help Mrs. Brooks with anything she needs.” Eric looked at Lexie. “What did I forget?”
“We work on the van.”
I jerked my gaze to her, and she nodded.
“It took us four years to save the money and figure out how to do stuff,” Eric said proudly.
For some reason, I thought she’d purchased the van in that condition. Knowing she and Eric had restored it . . . was impressive.
“That’s . . .” I searched for an adequate word.
“Amazing,” he said helpfully.
“Absolutely.” These two were so unexpected. Quite the pair.
“Hey! Let me show you my toolbox.” He raced off before I could respond.
“He’s really proud,” Lexie said, pulling down a few bowls from the cabinet.
“As he should be.”
She didn’t need to defend his excitement to me. If I’d restored a car or done half the things Eric rattled off, I’d be proud too.
I had one activity.
Work.
Not exactly an amazing feat.
When I did lend a helping hand to others, it came in the form of writing a check. I didn’t get down and dirty because I simply didn’t have the time.
Lexie, Eric, and I had something else in common. We were so busy we could barely breathe.
I shouldn’t have taken so much time away this afternoon. I definitely shouldn’t be here now. But that wasn’t necessarily about the lost minutes away from work.
“Are you feeling better?”
Lexie dropped the lid off the container of ice cream and flashed a withering look in my direction. She seemed all right, but I was compelled to ask. For a few minutes today, she’d been vulnerable. I didn’t want her to carry the panic attack with her overnight.
“I’m fine.”
“Does that happen often?” I pressed as I strode toward her.
“No.” She scooped ice cream in a bowl. “Does evading arrest happen often to you?”
I wanted to laugh but stuffed it down. The subject wasn’t funny, but her audacity was amusing.
“No.”
“Will you be able to stay out of prison?”
I gripped the bowl she handed me. “If all goes well.”
She pointed. “Don’t eat any until Eric gets back. He’d be disappointed to miss your first bite.”