“Just wear the ones I came in with,” he said.
My eyebrows came together as I frowned. I went to his closet and inspected his clothes.
“Ben, you can’t wear these clothes. They are filthy and covered in dried blood!”
“They’re fine,” he said.
“What about neighbors? Could one of them swing by your house and get something fresh for you to wear? Bring you home?”
“Live out in the country. Closest neighbor is a mile away. Never met them,” he said.
No family, friends or neighbors.
Eff.
I dropped the clothes and faced the window. Even though I had just met the man, Ben’s situation was really getting to me. I should leave it be and get on with my rounds. Ben’s clothing and transportation dilemmas were not my problems to solve. He had a plan, albeit a poor one, but it was a plan that would get him home. The man had managed to stay alive for seventy-eight years; surely he could manage a trip home from the hospital. I had enough of my own problems to worry about. I didn’t need to take on Ben’s too.
But something about him called to me and I had to do more. He didn’t have anyone close that he could count on and I knew that feeling all too well. I couldn’t count on anyone else to be there for me either.
So when I turned around from the windows toward Ben, I knew that on top of my own problems, I was going to pile on Ben Coppersmith’s.
“Are those your keys?” I asked Ben, nodding to the set on his bedside table.
“Yeah.”
“Good. Hand them over and then write down your address,” I said, holding out my hand.
He blinked twice and shook his head. “Huh?”
“I need your address and those keys to get into your house. That way, I can go there tomorrow morning and get you some clean clothes to wear home. Then I’ll be back here to deliver said clothes and take you home.”
With his mouth hanging open, he stayed quiet.
“Now other than your keys, address and directions to your place if it’s hard to find, is there anything I need to know before I head out there tomorrow? Pets? Alarm system? Gate code?” I asked, shaking my outstretched hand.
We stared at each other for a few moments until the shock on his face was replaced by a warm softening around his eyes.
“Appreciate you offering to do such a nice thing for me, girl. But we just met fifteen minutes ago. You’ve got better things to do than cart around an old man. You don’t even know me,” he said.
“Are you a serial killer?” I asked.
“Uh . . . no,” he replied.
“Criminal of any sort?”
“No.”
“An asshole?”
“Probably been called that once or twice in my day.” He grinned.
“Well, okay. You were on your own if you’d have said yes to being a serial killer or a criminal. But an asshole I can deal with. Just try and keep a lid on it and we’ll be fine. Now how about those keys?”
Ben and I had become fast friends.
From the day I took him home from the hospital to the day he died, he had been my surrogate grandparent.
My mother had finally lost her battle with breast cancer about six months before I had met Ben. Growing up, it had always just been Mom and me. Until the day I’d found out I was pregnant, Mom had been my whole world. Rowen had just turned one and I had been struggling to care for her while dealing with the loss of my mother. Ben had come into my life when I needed him most. When I’d never felt so alone.
