Page 13 of The Wrong Sister
“You didn’t have enough for yourself the last time you bought me this jacket.” He pats his chest. “But you did it anyway.” He waves his hand in the air. “Just take the damn thing, kid.”
I accept it with a laugh. “Thank you.” After the first bite, I moan. “Damn, Jeff. That’s the best sandwich on the whole planet.”
“That,” he lifts his index finger in the air, “is the taste of freedom when you have nothing else to lose and can enjoy asimple thing like a warm meal. Not everyone can experience that.”
“I think you’re onto something there, Jeff,” I say, taking a hefty bite and savoring it this time.
I’ve known Jeff for a while now. Something like two years. He helped me when I was about to get mugged or worse. He stood up for me, scaring the guy away, and since then we’ve become sort of friends. He lives around the corner—literally. He said he’s been on the streets for many years now, but he used to be a jazz singer at a popular New Orleans club I actually visited when I was a kid.
Sometimes I bring Jeff food or clothes, and he brings his company. When I moved to New York from Rhode Island, it felt like it was a city of possibilities. No one warned me that the city comes with a side of total loneliness in a crowd. So I enjoy my time with Jeff when he decides to gift me with his presence.
“What are you going to do now?”
“Going back to my parents with my tail between my legs,” I explain, finishing my food. I shouldn’t have been rushing and should have savored it longer.
“It can’t be that bad.”
“Oh, it can. Years ago, I left in the middle of the night like a thief. It took me a whole year to call them for the first time. So yeah, I don’t think the forgiving will be simple.”
He winces. “Probably not. But what’s the worst thing that can happen? They’ll just brood a bit and get over it.”
I chuckle sadly. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”
“Why?”
“The condition for me getting any money from them is marrying a man of their choice.”
He rears back and starts laughing. “That’s like some ancient stuff from a different century.”
“Yep,” I sigh. “So is my family.”
My phone pings with a message.
Couldn’t send you a picture of the booking. Something’s wrong with your phone. Your flight leaves at 8:20 p.m. from JFK. You have a 5 hour layover in Cali and then you need to take a boat from Bora Bora. Don’t be late. Father has an announcement to make. See you.
Boat from Bora Bora. Not paid upfront. A boat.
“Jeff?” I turn to him. “Where can I get some cash?”
“Sell your feet online,” he replies with a shrug.
“Good idea. I should have thought about that before,” I mumble to myself. “But what if I need it tonight? Where can I get it?”
“I can give it to you.”
I blink. “You can?”
“Yeah.”
He digs under his jacket, then under his other jacket. And finally, under his shirt and produces a plastic bag with cash. Then he finds a one-hundred-dollar bill and gives it to me. I hesitate to accept it, so he shakes the money in the air.
“Take it, kid. Some rich dude gave it to me a few days ago, and I didn’t know what to do with that. He’s been rushing past me every single day, and then he just suddenly decided to pause and enjoy life. Who knows with these rich folks.” He shrugs, pushing the money toward me again. “If it’s not faith, I don’t know what that is.”
I carefully take the money, feeling my voice breaking. “Thank you. I will return it to you.”
“Yeah.” He waves me off. “Go get your life back.”
I check the time—it’s thirty past four. It might take me forever to get to the airport from here, hopping from bus to bus.
