“If we can’t get you a cab,” Ezekiel said, “I know where we can go.”
“Why didn’t you mention that earlier?”
“Are you ready to make a run for it?”
Honoree nodded. “Lead the way.”
“We’ll be indoors and out of this weather in another block,” Ezekiel shouted over his shoulder. “Hang on!”
He grabbed her hand and took off at a run, with her at his side. She tried to keep up, but his long legs hopped quickly over pools of water and mud while her short strides struggled to keep from falling in.
Inpatient or frustrated by her slow pace, he lifted her off the ground with an arm around her waist. Her legs barely touched the ground until they reached the doorstep of another storefront.
“Come inside.” Keys in hand, he unlocked the door, entered, and pushed the light button on the wall. “Come on. It’s dry as a bone here. I promise.”
She took his hand, and he led her inside. “Where are we?”
“The Bailey Brothers Auto Body Shop,” he said proudly. “Wait a moment. I’ll get some towels.” He took off toward the rear of the shop.
Motor oil, rubber tires, and gasoline hung heavily in the air. A series of shelves, a wall of cabinets, a double door led to what had to be a garage.
Cold water dripped from her hair. She wiped her cheek, but her clothing, her skin, were soaked.
“This place looks familiar,” she said out loud.
Ezekiel reappeared with an armload of towels, handed her one, and kept the other two for himself. “Your father used to come here back when he took care of my father’s automobiles.”
“I remember.” She looked down at her ruined coat. Her silk blouse clung to her curves, and her cotton chemise was see-through. “I need to change.”
He tilted his head toward the rear of the shop. “Jeremiah keeps a set of overalls and some extra shirts in the back.”
“Jeremiah?” He was the middle brother, close to her age, while Ezekiel’s youngest brother, Marcus, was just shy of fourteen years old. At that moment, there were questions about family and such she hadn’t asked, but neither had he. “How are your brothers—and your mother?”
Ezekiel spoke solemnly. “My brothers are alive. Jeremiah is here in Chicago with me. Marcus is in New York City with my mother.”
“I’m sorry about your father.” Mr. Bailey had died right after the family had left home, according to a newspaper article a year later.
“I’m sorry to hear about your mother.”
“She’s not dead. She just left me. That’s all.” She started to ask him how he knew, but he was already explaining.
“That’s what I mean. I’m sorry she left.” He whirled toward the rear of the store. A moment later, he returned with a pair of overalls and two button-down cotton shirts.
She held the trousers up by the waistband. “Oh my Lord. These are taller than I am.”
Ezekiel shook his head, the smile on his lips growing wide. “Sorry. Marcus’s clothes would’ve worked better. He’s much smaller. Not a giant like his big brothers.”
Still, holding up the trousers in front of her, she looked from the pants to him. “I can roll up the cuffs.”
“Too much fabric to roll up. I’ll find a pair of Marcus’s coveralls.” He looked uneasy, holding the extra clothing in his hands.
“While you’re doing that, where’s the java? You have any? I can make us a pot.”
“Sure do.” He set off down the short hall. “The kitchen—and the java—are back here.”
Honoree followed Ezekiel to the rear of the shop, passing by several rooms and peeking inside as she did. One had a printing press for Ezekiel’s policy betting slips, she wagered, and another was a storage room filled with crates and a large chifforobe. The last one held two narrow beds with a stack of blankets and pillows lying on top of unmade mattresses.
“Where would you like to change?” Ezekiel asked. “The Palmer house or the Ritz?”
