a large Coke.”
When Jerry gets his food, he pats me on the back. “You’re a damn fine young man, Ian.” And then he leaves with his sack of tacos and large soft drink.
I watch him walk out the door, out onto the sidewalk, out into the elements. It’s already started raining, and it’s only going to get worse when those dark storm clouds reach this part of the city.
I order three tacos and a large Coke. By the time I get my food and sit down to eat, the rain is coming down in sheets. My chest aches for Jerry and for others like him who are out there somewhere, with no shelter and empty bellies. As far as I’m concerned, food and shelter are basic human rights. While I’ve never been homeless, I have been hungry, and I know it’s a miserable-as-fuck feeling.
Rico, the kid who works the counter, comes out into the dining room to clear some tables. He stops beside my table. “That was nice of you to feed that guy. I see him out on the street all the time.”
I smile at Rico, but hardly know how to respond. What I did for Jerry is nothing compared to what he needs. Ten tacos will tide him over for a few hours, but then what?
As I finish my food, I check my phone. Besides my brief text convo with my sister, my phone remains silent. I’ve had no messages from Tyler. No checking in. No, ‘Hey, dude, how’s it going? Thanks for last night. You give great head.’ Or, ‘Hey, dude, last night didn’t totally suck for me. We should do it again sometime.’
Nothing. Not a word.
I’m an idiot for thinking someone like him would ever be interested in someone like me.
He didn’t abandon you!
Yeah, right. Then why haven’t I heard from him?
Have you messaged him?
No. Good point. So I send him a quick text.
Hey. Hope ur day is going well. Sorry I missed u this morning. – me
When the rain lets up, I toss out my trash and hit the sidewalk to do some more walking and take some more photos. I come across half a dozen panhandlers and slip them each a twenty-dollar bill. That won’t go far, but at least they’ll be able to eat today.
Hell, I’d like to feed them all.
Twenty minutes pass without a reply from Tyler, and I have to tamp down my growing unease. I pop into a coffee shop for some caffeine. Once I’m done with that, I start walking the streets again, moving deeper and deeper into the rough parts of the city, taking photos of deteriorating buildings and the homeless, with their permission, along with substantial cash donations.
Layla and I both have an affinity for the down and out, the downtrodden, the lost and abandoned. Who knows what might have happened to either of us if we hadn’t been adopted by a loving family? I could have ended up starving and homeless, easy prey, if it weren’t for the Alexanders. We both feel a kindred spirit with these unlucky individuals.
When my phone chimes with an incoming message, my heart stutters. I’m almost afraid to look. I’m afraid I’ll be disappointed if it’s not Tyler.
It’s going well. I didn’t have the heart to wake you. I wanted to, but you looked so peaceful. – Tyler
I catch myself smiling at his message. I’m already so fucked up over this guy, and I haven’t even known him that long.
A moment later, my phone rings, and it’s my shipbuilder calling to confirm they’re ready to replace the blood-stained boards on the deck of my boat. Fortunately, the repairs are manageable, and they’re sending a maintenance crew to the marina today. It helps to be a VIP customer.
And then I get a follow-up text from Tyler.
Can you meet me for lunch around one? – Tyler
Sure. Where? – me
Your place. Order something in? – Tyler
Yes. Absolutely. See you then. Chinese? – me
Sounds good – Tyler
He wants to see me again. I feel stupidly giddy. Until I wonder why he wants to see me. Maybe it’s not good after all.
Chapter 28
Tyler Jamison
The incredible irony of this day is not lost on me. As I sit in my car outside the police station, I think back to the way I treated Shane when I first learned of his involvement with my sister. Beth was working at a medical school library when I found out that Howard Kline was going to be released early from prison.
Howard