I was raised Presbyterian, and when I was seventeen we went on a trip to San Francisco for two weeks. We worked with the homeless population there, feeding them, praying with them, hearing their stories. It completely healed me of my ‘fear’ of homeless people and all the taboo surrounding them. They were real people in shitty situations and most of them were so starved for conversation, they just wanted someone to talk to.
“My wife died. Ashton’s mom. Breast cancer just ate her up from the inside out.”
Oh God. My face fell, I hadn’t expected that answer, I’d been so shocked I actually dropped a few of my markers. The first I thought of was poor Ashton. He lost his mother, then in a way his father. Is that who he goes to grief counseling over? His mother? Is that why he needed a new heart? It was a silly thought; the heart didn’t actually break from sadness. Right?
Could this family’s story be any more tragic? I suddenly felt like an asshole for only losing one person I loved.
“I always liked drinking, but losing her all those years ago threw me over the edge,” he said, and took a long swig from his drink.
Years ago. So it couldn’t be the woman Ashton lost a year ago.
“I’m sorry.” My voice was small and I suddenly realized that my loss of Colin, although awful, was at least quick and painless. I didn’t think I would have been able to watch cancer eat away at him.
He put the bottle to his lips and gulped down a few more swallows. “Over fifteen years without her and I can still recognize the smell of her shampoo when I walk down the grocery aisle.”
Fuck. That was utterly sad and depressing. Why was Ashton letting his dad live on the street? Why not up in my spare apartment?
I decided to push my luck and ask, “How long have you been on the streets?”
He shrugged. “Four, maybe six months. Family tried to ‘intervention me,’ I drank so much that night I wound up in the back of the sheriff’s car.” He smiled weakly, remembering times past.
I frowned. “Oh.”
Clearly Ashton had tried everything and I was an idiot for suggesting rehab last night.
Wayne stumbled past me. “He’s a good kid.” He started to walk down the street.
“Wait. Wayne! Need a place to sleep?” I yelled after him.
He just shook his head and waved me off.
A frown pulled at my lips, but I’d have to let that one go. I could only save one person at a time, and Wayne seemed too lost in his emotional demons.
Chapter 9
Ashton
Millie’s social media pages were shut up like Fort Knox. City, state, and age. That was it. I’d overheard her and Wayne talking out front as she wrote some ridiculous menu for a bar I still wanted to sell. I’d seen the moment she realized Wayne was a lost cause. It was like a veil slipped over her eyes and she gave up on him. I was glad to see it, glad she didn’t see my old man as another project to fix.
I’d just closed the bar and Millie was cleaning down the kitchen while I sat behind the bar, rubbing a tight spot in my chest as I stared at Jenna’s handwriting.
Brunch at Wayne’s
* Will have organic, gluten free, and vegan options.
* Craft Beer?
* Avocado Toast?
* Comfort food with hipster flair.
*Gran’s pecan pie.
My throat tightenedand I had to clear it a few times as it became hard to breathe. This is what Jenna wanted for Wayne’s Place, and then on the one-year anniversary of her death, Millie comes along wanting all the same things.
Coincidence?
Maybe Jenna sent Millie. Maybe I should take the woman seriously…
