Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 29018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
He gives me the answer I actually suspected. “I like anything that’s free.”
“Come on.” I kick my head the direction we’ll be going. “Little Soup of Horrors has a great lunch special.”
“Are you grabbing me lunch to try to convince me to stay away from your family?” He skeptically questions. “Worried I’m gonna hurt them? Because I would never hurt them. Fuck, I’d probably hurt someone for even thinking about trying to.”
His protectiveness lifts my eyebrows in shock.
Wasn’t expecting that shit. And it doesn’t feel like a he wants them to be his family kind of thing. No, it’s almost…almost like they already are in a weird way. Like a lost uncle willing to shelter them from harm from anyone and everyone.
“I believe you,” I quietly retort. “Now, you hungry or not?”
This time Jedd doesn’t hesitate to spring to his feet or follow a safe distance behind me.
Memories of being weary of most strangers instantly come barreling to the front of my mind causing the knots in the pit of my stomach to tighten harder.
Grow larger.
Inside the themed restaurant, we’re led to a booth near the back, an action that has me wanting to ask is it really because it’s next on the rotation or if they don’t want the sight of a homeless man being treated to a meal to scare off other customers.
Wanna bet your candy canes that it’s that one?
We settle into the seats just seconds prior to a dainty female warmly greeting us both. While the hostess may have some unspoken disdain, the waitress appears to be different.
She treats us both with respect rather than just the one she rightfully assumes will be paying for the meal.
“Order whatever you want,” I politely insist after requesting water for myself.
Test one.
He orders booze?
He may have an alcohol problem.
“Can I have um…some hot tea?”
Good sign.
“And a hot cocoa,” Jedd quickly adds while I place my now folded coat beside me. “And a glass of water. Lots of lemons. Like a cup full.”
Our waitress, Christina, looks slightly taken back but jots down his order. “Would you like some complimentary bread and butter to start?”
“Yes,” Jedd answers before I can even make my mouth move. “Lots of bread, please.”
“Sure thing.”
Her response is followed swiftly by her exit and his whispered explanation, “Bread keeps a lot longer than people think. Lemons too.”
More memories come rushing back to my brain prompting me to announce, “I remember.”
Even if I wish I didn’t.
The new information widens his eyes in surprise as he slowly nods what he believes to be the reason for our current situation. “Is that why you’re going out of your way to buy me lunch? Guilt?”
“I don’t feel guilty about shit,” I viciously chomp. “I don’t feel bad for changing my fucking life around. Once upon a fucking time, I did what I had to do to survive just like you. Carrying everything I own around in one item. Dumpster tents. Old food. Older clothes. Collecting coins or spare cash and using them to buy something in a convenience store to steal a few minutes of heat or air conditioning.”
His frame shifts in the discomfort of having his life so bluntly laid out.
“The only difference between you now and me then was I got the fuck out of downtown. Hiked out to the suburbs. Eventually, the more upscale neighborhoods. Learned to live off of their greediness and carelessness versus trying to live in the cutthroat warfare that comes from too many people and not enough supplies and resources.”
Jedd releases a grunt of understanding.
“In doing so…in…making a choice not to remain in combative territory…I was…” Thoughts of Jaye’s smiling face and rambling voice upon our first meeting immediately replace the bitterness boiling inside with undeniable warmth. “Presented with a second chance. Given…compassion like I had never experienced before.”
“What happened?”
Answering his question is momentarily delayed by Christina’s returned arrival. She carefully places down everything between us, making polite conversation in the process. My insistence in needing more time is met by a polite, upbeat understanding and a quick dismissal to check on her other tables.
Our waitress isn’t even two steps away before he’s wedging huge hunks from the small fresh baked loaf of bread into his unclean mouth.
He has what looks like all of his teeth. No meth mouth. Also, a good sign.
“Sorry,” Jedd mumbles around the contents. “I’m just-”
“Starving.” My nodding is given at the same time I lift my glass. “I get it.”
He hastily chews what’s already inside and wipes away lost bits of spit with the back of his hand until I casually point to the nearby cloth napkin. My lunch guest surrenders his palms in an apologetic nature and reaches for the material I know he’s contemplating stealing.
I know it because I would’ve done the same. Cloth napkins can have so many fucking functions. Towel. Scarf. Fucking picnic blanket. They’re universal and easy to carry around.