Smith acted like he had places to be, dancing around and grumbling under his breath while they waited for the older woman to show them what to do and what to pack where.
But he remained quiet and seemingly patient in her presence.
“I swear, my Andy was a packrat.”
Behind her, Smith was nodding, and Evan thought he readNo shitfrom the man’s big mouth.
“But he always liked to surround himself with things that mattered. See this?” She held up a jar of pebbles. “These are from every vacation we ever took together. I wanted refrigerator magnets. Andy collected pebbles. He swore he could feel each one and recall the exact memory of our time together.”
She pointed to a few boxes of newspapers. “And those are from when friends and family made the news. Our daughters have done some amazing things during our lifetime.”
“Where are they, if you don’t mind me asking?” Evan handed the newspaper boxes to Smith.
“Oh, they wanted to come help, but I told them not to bother. I knew it would get too emotional with them here. I’m moving out to be with them as soon as we get these items to my sister’s.”
Smith spoke up. “How are you shipping your stuff to your new place?”
“Well, my daughters all live in New Jersey, so once I settle out there, I’ll have to figure out how to get my things there.” Mrs. Rassom looked so frail, her eyes teary. “Andy had always planned to go with me, you know. That was our dream, to move out and be with our daughters and grandchildren together. But he had to finish putting our things in order here.” She gave a watery laugh. “Worked his last day on a Friday. Died conveniently on a Saturday morning. Never missed a day of work in all his seventy-two years.”
Smith frowned. “He was still working? Man, that sucks.”
Mrs. Rassom chuckled. “He used to say that too.”
Smith shifted the box in his arms. “Well, when you’re ready to move your stuff to New Jersey, you call and let me know. Vets on the Go! just does local moves, but I know a guy who’s good and cheap, and he’ll make sure all your stuff gets to where you want it in one piece.”
“Thank you, young man. That’s sweet of you.”
Smith nodded and walked away.
The rest of the move went smoothly, and Evan enjoyed spending his time with Mrs. Rassom. Though the lady and his mom had to be close in age, his mother seemed worlds younger.
She also wasn’t dealing with the recent tragic loss of her husband and had a new love to put some spring in her step. He smiled, remembering how impressed he’d been by Jerome and how his mother had blushed and stammered in her new boyfriend’s presence.
“Hey, slacker, hurry the hell up. I know you’re weak and all, but this table’s getting heavy.”
Evan ignored Smith’s insults and helped him with the solid-oak table. Mrs. Rassom’s possessions, while not exactly high-class, were of exceptional quality. Solid woodworking and attention to detail seemed crafted in every piece of furniture. When Evan had learned her husband had made all their stuff, he’d been beyond impressed.
“Careful,” Smith cautioned before he could. “Her old man made this. We don’t want to mess it up, Einstein.”
Evan grinned. Smith could say and do all he wanted, but at heart he was a softie. He had imaginary teatime, comforted old guys when no one was watching—though Evan had seen Smith hand the homeless man ten bucks and walk quickly away to escape the man’s heartfelt thanks—and offered to help out an old woman because he cared.
They grunted with the effort to lift the table up into the van despite the loading ramp. Because no way two guys could lift her furniture if they had to hand it up to someone to pull in the truck.
Panting, Evan asked, “So who’s this coast-to-coast mover you know?”
Smith let out a loud breath. “Fuck, that was heavy. Eh? Oh, some dude I met when I came back. He owns his own truck, moves crap for people on the side when not making deliveries for some company. He’s solid and has a heart. He’ll move her for cheap because he owes me a favor.”
So instead of calling on the favor for himself, Smith would use it to help out a sweet old lady who’d just lost her husband.
“You know, for a huge dick, you’re not that bad.”
Smith cracked a rare smile. “Well, you’re not lying. You did say huge.”
“Boys,” Mrs. Rassom called. “I have cookies and tea for you.”
Smith jumped down from the truck. “Come on, Evan. Don’t make Mrs. Rassom wait.”
Evan joined them for tea and cookies, astounded to see Smith pouring on the charm and being sincere about it.
