Page 7 of The Bodyguard Affair
“That’s great news,” Andi says, her shoulders dipping in relief.
“And how’s my baby boy doing? He still limping?” Ted asks.
“Lars is doing really well. His paw seems healed. He went fora nice run with me this morning. I’ll bring him by tomorrow morning.”
Ted dips his head politely again. “I’d like that. Thank you.”
Andi studies him for a moment. “You sure you’re doing okay?”
He looks down, twisting his hands. “I didn’t make it to the Mission in time for supper.”
She immediately makes a grab for the grocery bags in my grip, gets on hands and knees, and riffles through them on the sidewalk. “I almost forgot, I picked up some of your favorites.” She pulls out the pack of crescents rolls, sliced turkey, three pears, and a box of Wheaties (low sugar).
I thought those items were really random, but I never would have guessed they were for someone else.
Ted’s eyes widen, welling with appreciation as she piles them in one bag and hands it over. He takes it gratefully, clinging to it like a lifeline. “You’re really trying to fatten me up with all this fancy food, aren’t ya?”
“Sure am. It’s going to be a cold winter.”
“Not with you around. You always brighten my day.” He flashes her a broad smile, which she happily returns.
“Have a good night, Ted. See you in the morning.”
Ted dips his head in a nod before eyeing me suspiciously, like he’s just realized I’m here. “This your friend?”
“Yeah. This is Nolan,” she informs him.
He watches me for a beat. I suppose he decides I’m safe, because he gives me an approving nod before waving us off. “Take care of my Andi, now. She’s my guardian angel.”
I have many questions, but my first is, “Who was that?”
“Ted. He lives at the Mission down the street. He’s harmless, by the way. Most of them are,” she adds as we turn into herapartment complex. It’s a redbrick six-story walk-up with an old, rusty fire escape barely hanging on to the side of the building.
“Seems like a nice old guy.”
She swipes her key fob, and we trudge up the creaky stairs. “Oh yeah. He’s hilarious. Reminds me of my grandpa on my dad’s side. I’m temporarily watching Lars since it’s too cold for him to be on the street.”
“He has a dog?”
“Yup. And he takes better care of that dog than housed owners. Gives him most of his food, the comfiest blankets,” she informs me. “That’s actually how we met. Lars started following me home looking for scraps, and then Ted and I got to talking. He was worried about the cold weather at night and said he might have to surrender Lars to the shelter. If he had, he’d never have gotten him back because of Lars’s breed and temperament. They’d have put him down, and that would have broken Ted’s heart. So I offered to keep Lars at my place.”
“That’s really nice of you to do that for someone you don’t know,” I tell her. And I mean that. Not many people would go out of their way for a stranger and their dog.
She lifts a shoulder in an easy shrug. “Everyone falls on bad times sooner or later. The only difference between me and someone like Ted is that I’m lucky enough to have a safety net.”
That statement strikes me as she leads me up all five flights of stairs. I’d never really thought about that before. It’s easy to say it would never be you. But it could be, if you’d been born into certain circumstances. If you’d made a few wrong turns.
Lars is wary of me immediately when we walk in and attempts to hide under the coffee table in the living area, though he barely fits. He’s huge, at least eighty or ninety pounds of solid muscle bythe looks of it, with a short, sandy coat. “Sorry, he’s sketched out by people he doesn’t know after living on the street. Especially men. Are you okay with dogs?”
“I love them. I miss having one around,” I say genuinely.
“You don’t have one of your own, I take it?” she asks.
The closest I ever got to having a dog was whenever my sister and I were sent to live with Aunt Shelly. She had a ten-pound bichon frise, Matilda, who ferociously growled at me and nipped my ankles whenever I got too close. And by the time I’d built enough trust with her, either Mom would come back or we’d get sent to live with another family member. I never stayed in one place long enough to have a dog of my own, though I always dreamed about it.
“Nah, I wish. I’m gone too much with my job. Wouldn’t be fair to the dog.” I bend down to peek at Lars under the table. He lets out a low growl, so I back up to give him some space. I got used to dealing with street dogs while on tour overseas. Most are wary and generally distrusting of humans, unless you give them food regularly.
She watches me, and for a second, I think she’s about to ask what my job is. Then she seems to decide against it, settling for, “Understandable.”
