Sorry for ruining your New Year’s.” Tim, emerging from the shadows of the hall.
I popped up from his couch. “You’re not. You didn’t. It’s not like I had plans.” Which made me sound like a total loser.
“I thought you’d be out with your friend Sam.”
Was that code for,Why are you still here?“He had to work,” I explained.
“Ah.” A pause. “I’m sorry.”
All this politeness was getting awkward. “No, it’s fine. My aunt always says that whatever you do on New Year’s, you’ll do all year long.”
“Let’s hope not,” he said, very dry.
I grinned. “Well, I think my aunt was making a case for finishing your chores and going to bed early. But I was actually up writing. Or trying to write.”
“Assessments?”
I’d forgotten he was taking classes, too. Executive management something. I nodded. “A short story. Due at the end of the month.”
“What is your story about?”
“Two little girls. On an orphan train.”
“Sorry?”
“Back in the late 1800s, early 1900s, they shipped orphans from New York City out west. They were supposed to find families, but a lot of them were used as free labor on farms.”
“That sounds...”
“Very literary, right?”
“I was going to say depressing.”
“Well, it was sad. Sad and hard. They used to separate siblings.But that’s what I love about writing. I can fix things. I can give them a happy ending.”
His mouth relaxed. Almost a smile. I felt the pull of it in my chest. “Did you ever read that Diggs book?” he asked.
“Not yet.” I searched for another subject. “I made tea.”
“Tea sounds wonderful. Or I should have a bottle of bubbly around.”
“I’ll have tea, too.” I hurried to the kitchen to get it. “Unless you want something stronger.”
“I think there’s been enough alcohol tonight,” he said, following me.
“Will your...” Friend? Were they friends? “Will he be all right?”Are you all right?
“Right enough.” He got out milk. “He’ll sleep it off now. Sugar?”
“Thanks.” I busied myself with the mugs. “Why do you put up with him?”
“We served together in Afghanistan. I owe Charles my life.” A pause, while he stirred his tea. “Quite literally.”
We carried our tea back to his boring square couch. “Does he do this kind of thing often?”
A glint from steel-rimmed glasses. “Get drunk and pick fights, do you mean?”
“Need you to take care of him.”
