“I can’t look at them, Celia,” she said. “Please, darling. Keep them here.”
For months, I’d wondered what I’d do with his clothes, but tonight they had come in handy. I made him a batch of comforting chicken noodle soup and let him sleep on my worn-out couch.
“I’m James,” he said as he was washing his hands in the kitchen sink.
“I’m Celia,” I said, adding the chicken to the soup.
There was a heaviness about James, like life had just beaten him down so many times he couldn’t find the strength to explain.
“Where do you live?” I asked, stirring the pot.
But he just shook his head and sipped on the tea I’d made. When it was time to eat, I set the bowl in front of him, sat with him until he was done, and then went to bed.
I didn’t know whether to lock my bedroom door, but I couldn’t get my mother’s voice out of my head.
“Don’t be stupid, Celia. That man is a stranger, and you’re going to just close your door and sleep? Lock it, dammit!”
So I did. But deep down, I knew James wouldn’t hurt me. He seemed like a gentle bird who had flown into a storm and injured itself. He needed care. And warmth.
The next morning, I made us some eggs and toast and sat down with James.
“Look, it’s not much, but I have some money for you. And a bus ticket. It’s an open bus ticket. It may sound silly, but my mom got it for me when I moved here. It’s in case I need to get out of town in an emergency. It’s for two towns over. You’re welcome to it. It should help to get you somewhere… safe.”
James looked at the money on the table and then stared at me for a long moment.
“One day,” he said quietly. “I’ll repay your kindness, Celia. You’ve done more than you’ll ever know.”
I smiled, thinking that I’d never see him again.
