Page 23 of Home Game

I caught up with Zoey and together we slowly walked out of the ER. I had no idea why I had shown up back here, but I was here and I would help her as best as I could. Maybe I could help her fill her prescription and get her some new clothes before safely delivering her to the shelter. Or if she preferred, I could put her up in a hotel for a couple weeks. That was probably the better plan.

“I’m parked over here.” I motioned towards the parking lot.

She was moving slow. I could tell by her labored breath she was in a lot of pain, but other than that, she didn’t let on.

I held open the passenger door and refrained from helping her in. She gasped as she pulled herself into the seat. Pain made her face white and pinched.

I pulled out of the parking lot. “So, where do you need to go?”

“I’ll show you.”

We didn’t speak, other than her giving me the occasional direction. We pulled into an industrial part of town and then she pointed at a 24-hour diner that looked like it belonged in a horror movie. Food poisoning or Hepatitis B guaranteed with your meal.

“Can you pull around back?”

I did as she directed and put the vehicle in park. “Is this where you work?”

She slid out of the vehicle and turned to look back at me. “Thanks for the ride.”

“I’m not going to leave you here.”

That damn blue eye just blinked at me and then she was walking gingerly across the parking lot. I watched as she slowly bent beside the steps. And then she stood up and looked around. She walked around to the other side of the steps. Then she staggered over to the garbage bin and lifted the lid. She was looking for something. Now she was frantically scouring the ground.

I got out and walked over to her.

“What are you looking for?”

“My bag. I left my bag here. And it’s gone.”

I looked around the dirty parking lot. Garbage and crap littered the ground.

“Is this where it happened?” This place was a complete dump. What had possessed her to come out here in the middle of the night? Had she been buying drugs? Is that how she got attacked? Had a drug deal gone bad?

“My bag. It was under the steps. He attacked me and I ran. I didn’t have time to get my bag,” she sounded frantic. Hobbling faster around the yard. Looking behind the garbage bin. Beneath it.

“Zoey.”

She dropped to her knees and put her face in her hands. To my utter horror, I realized that she was weeping.

“Zoey,” I knelt beside her. “Hey buddy. It’s okay. Everything in that bag can be replaced.”

“No, it can’t,” her voice was a thin sad wail.

“We can go shopping. And buy whatever you need. I can get you a better bag. More clothes. We can replace whatever you lost.”

“It had pictures of my mom and dad,” her voice sounded anguished.

Oh fuck.

She was inconsolable. She cried like her world was ending. She knelt there, holding her face in her hand, while her entire body shook with grief.

I was terrible with tears. I had no idea what to say or do. But I wasa farm kid from Saskatchewan and when something was hurt, we helped. I picked her up. She felt so tiny in my arms. I carried her back to the vehicle. She curled up into a ball and her shoulders shook.

I got in beside her and drove back to my place.

The drive was silent, except for the occasional sniffle from her side of the car. Eventually, she lifted her head and looked around. “Where are we?”

“I’m taking you back to my place.”

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