Love Me or Leave Me. Gwynne Forster

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      He grasped her hand, looked at her ring finger and shook his head as if perplexed. “I hope he knows what a lucky man he is. If I were special to you, I’d do something about it.”

      “Thank you, and thank you for a very lovely evening.”

      He gazed down at her until she had to struggle not to fidget. “Forgive me. That was rude, but you’re so beautiful. Goodbye.”

      She went inside and closed her apartment door. Had she gone out with Oscar Rankin because of her father’s nagging? If so, her libido, or whatever caused her to be attracted to men, proved more reliable than filial regard for her father’s wishes. But why couldn’t she like him? It wasn’t as if he were like Lawrence Parker. She checked her phone messages, didn’t have one from Drake, flipped off the machine and got ready for bed.

      “There’re other men, and I am going to be attracted to at least one of them,” she said aloud. “Drake Harrington is not the only man I can like.” Then, in her mind’s eye, she could see him leaning against the doorjamb of her front door, his height of six feet, four inches nearly reaching the top of the door frame. She pictured him relaxed and lithe, his long-lashed dark brown eyes glittering with some pleasant thought and a smile on his incredibly handsome face. And every time he laughed, really laughed, the look of him reduced her to putty. Mesmerized.

      Maybe it wasn’t intended that such a man should give himself to one woman. “He’s trouble,” Rhoda had said to her the last time they lunched together. “Every woman who sees him will be after him.” However, Drake seemed to have no grandiose notions about himself. And although Rhoda swore that Drake was a stud, that he’d go after any woman who showed an interest in him, she knew better.

      “I’m going to join the Urban League, the NAACP, and I’m going on the next Million Man March,” she said aloud, and then laughed at herself, for she knew she wouldn’t do any of that. She crawled into bed and fought for sleep.

      Several mornings after that, Drake entered the construction site of the Josh Harrington–Fentress Sparkman Memorial Houses in Frederick, Maryland, that honored his late father and uncle. As the project’s engineer, he planned to check the pipes that had been installed up to the first floor, and arrived early so as to complete the inspection before noon that day. A series of strange noises got his attention, and he followed the sounds to an area where boards were measured and cut.

      “What the devil are you doing in here?” he asked a small boy who held pieces of wood that should have been too heavy for him to carry.

      The child stood before him clutching the boards, his body shaking. “I…uh. You’re not going to put me in jail, are you?”

      “This is a hard-hat area. Something could fall on you and kill you. What’s your name?”

      “Pete. Pete Jergens. Are you going to call the police?”

      “No. How old are you?” He noticed that the boy still held the pieces of wood close to his body. “Well?”

      “I’m nine, sir.”

      Hmm. Good manners. Drake took the boy by the arm and walked with him out to the van that bore the legend Harrington, Inc.: Builders, Architects and Engineers. “Get in here. You and I are going to talk.”

      “But can I go home first, sir? My mom will be worried about me, and I have to be at school by eight-thirty.”

      “What are you going to do with that wood?”

      The boy held his head down as if ashamed. “Cook breakfast, sir.”

      He stared at the child. “With wood? You have a kitchen stove that burns wood?”

      “No, sir. We have a gas stove, but the gas was turned off, so we have to cook in the fireplace.”

      His whistle split the air. “Where’s your father?”

      “My dad’s in jail. A man called him the n-word, and he beat him up so bad the man had to go to the hospital.”

      “How many sisters and brothers do you have?”

      “Four. I’m the oldest. Can I go now, sir? Please. I’ll be late for school.”

      “I’ll drive you home. Where do you live?”

      Drake drove the three and a half blocks thanking God that he didn’t grow up in an environment where broken glass littered the streets, cars had to skirt automobile tires, boarded-up houses lined every block and the stench of refuse offended one’s nose. He parked the truck, locked it and walked with Pete to the house.

      “What are you going to do?” the boy asked him.

      “I’m going to get that gas stove turned on.” He imagined that the children were nearly frozen. “Call your mother to the door.”

      “Mom. Mom, can you come here? My new friend wants to see you.” He realized the boy referred to him as a friend so as not to alarm his mother.

      Stella Jergens, a tiny woman little more than five feet and one inch tall, appeared at the door and gazed up at him. “Please don’t punish him for stealing the boards. If we didn’t have them, we would freeze, and I couldn’t cook.”

      “Don’t worry about that. I don’t countenance stealing. But he was trying to help you.” He looked at the boy. “Next time you have a problem like this one, go to the social-service center on Franklin Street.”

      After getting information on the name and location of the utilities company, he gave the woman three twenty-dollar bills and drove Pete to school. “Get some milk and a sandwich,” he said, offering the boy a five-dollar bill, “because you didn’t have any breakfast.”

      “Thanks,” the boy said, “but I can get something to eat at school. What’s your name, sir?”

      “Harrington. Drake Harrington. Those are my buildings you’ve been stealing from. Tell your mother I’ll be by your house around five.”

      “Thank you, sir. I think my mom is happy now. See you later.”

      He drove directly to the utilities company, ordered the gas restored and paid the gas and electric bills for the next six months. Then he went to a local market and purchased coal and firewood for the fireplace, since he didn’t know whether the Jergens family had another source of heat. On his way home, he stopped by their house to find out whether the gas had been turned on, discovered that it had been and asked Stella Jergens if she needed anything for her children.

      “Thank you, Mr. Harrington, but we’re warm now. I can cook, and the money you gave me will last awhile.” She blinked back a tear. “I can’t work because I can’t leave the little ones alone. I’ve been praying so hard. God will bless you.”

      “Thank you, ma’am, but I’m already blessed.” And he knew he was, because he’d never been hungry in his life.

      Pete ran to him. “Thanks, Mr. Harrington. I’m real glad you caught me this morning. I don’t like to steal, but—”

      He patted the boy’s shoulder. “But never do it. There’s always a better way.”

      “Yes, СКАЧАТЬ