My Journey To You

The snow came down in big, slow flakes, the kind that look soft enough to catch in your hands. Adeline stood behind the counter of the Maple Street Mini Mart and watched it fall through the glass door. The street lamp outside turned each flake gold for a moment before it landed. The road was white. The parked cars were white. Even the little bench by the park gate had a pillow of snow on it. The clock above the cigarette rack said 11:10. Almost midnight. Everyone she knew was home by now, wrapped in blankets, drinking something warm. Families were laughing at the same old jokes. Friends were talking on the phone until they fell asleep. And she was here, in her store jacket, counting boxes of instant noodles for the third time because she had nothing else to do. It's fine, she told herself. Last night. Just one more night. Tomorrow at ten o'clock she had an interview. Her first one since graduating. She had pressed her only good blouse and hung it on the wardrobe door. She had practiced her answers in the bathroom mirror until her own face started to look like a stranger's. If it went well, she would never have to stand behind this counter again. Her stomach tightened just thinking about it. What if I freeze? What if they ask something I can't answer? She pressed a hand to her chest and breathed in slowly, the way her mother had taught her. Then she looked at the door again. The snow was still falling, thick and quiet. No one had come in for almost two hours. No one would, not on a night like this. She made a decision. "Five minutes," she said to the empty store. "Then I'll close." She flipped the sign to BE BACK SOON, took her jacket from the hook, and stepped outside. The cold hit her face like a clean slap, and she laughed out loud. It was a good cold. It smelled of iron and pine and far-off chimneys. Snow settled on her eyelashes. She tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and let it fall on her cheeks, and for a moment the interview, the rent, and the pile of unpaid bills all went silent. She was almost happy. Then she heard it. A sound like the world tearing in half. Metal screaming against metal, a heavy crash, and then the sharp, ugly c***k of something breaking. Adeline's eyes flew open. It had come from the road beyond the park, perhaps fifty steps away. She didn't think. She ran, her boots sliding on the snow, her breath coming out in white clouds. At the corner, she stopped. A black Rolls-Royce sat crooked across the road, its front bumper crushed, one headlight still shining weakly into the snow. In front of it lay a motorbike on its side, its back wheel still spinning slowly. And two men stood in the middle of the road. One was tall. Very tall. He wore a black shirt with the top buttons open, a loose tie hanging off his neck, and gray trousers soaked dark at the knees. He had no coat, though the snow was falling hard enough to settle on his shoulders. His hair was messy, and his face, even from this distance, was the face of someone who had already decided how this would end. The other man, in a leather jacket, was backing away from him with a helmet in one hand. "Stay away from me," the biker said. "You hit my car," said the tall man. His voice was low and steady, and that was what frightened her. It wasn't loud at all. "You ran a red light on a road you knew I was driving. Then you tried to run. Did you think I wouldn't follow?" "It was an accident!" "It was a message. And I'm answering it." The tall man took a step forward. The biker threw the helmet. It hit the other man's shoulder, and he barely flinched. Then there was a flash of silver. A knife. "Back off!" The biker swung it in wide, shaking arcs. "I'll cut you, I swear I will!" The tall man did not back off. He moved forward very smoothly, like a man walking into a room he owned, and the biker panicked and ran. Adeline's heart hammered. Call someone. Call the police. Her phone was in her pocket, her fingers already fumbling for it, when she saw where the biker was running. Toward the park. She had forgotten about the park. Even now, at this hour, in this snow, there were children. She could see them under the single lamp by the swings: three small shapes in bright coats, packing snow into a lopsided snowman. They had been laughing a moment ago. Now they stood frozen, staring at the man with the knife. Two of them screamed and scattered, their boots thumping away down the path. The third was too slow. The biker caught him by the hood of his coat and dragged him up against his chest. One arm wrapped around the small body. The knife came up, and its edge lay flat against the child's throat. Adeline's whole body went cold. Ren. She knew that blue coat. She knew those red mittens. Ren came to the store every Saturday for a strawberry ice cream, even in winter, and counted out his coins on the counter one by one with the seriousness of a banker. "Don't!" The word tore out of her before she could stop it. Nobody heard her. "Leave the child alone," the tall man said. He had stopped walking. He stood twenty steps away, his hands open at his sides. "Come any closer," the biker said, his voice cracking, "and I'll kill him. I swear I will. Don't try me." Ren was crying without a sound. His small face was wet, and his mittened hands gripped the arm that held him. "Oh," said the tall man softly. He started walking again, slowly, one careful step after another. "You thought you could get away with it. You thought you could do this to me, and nobody would find you." "I said stay back!" "You didn't think it through." Another step. His eyes never left the biker's face. "Did you?" Ten steps. Eight. The biker's arm trembled. Six. Four. The tall man was close enough to touch him now. And then, so fast Adeline almost missed it, he moved. His right hand shot out and closed around the blade itself. His bare palm. He ripped it away from the child's throat with one hard pull, and with the other arm he took Ren out of the biker's grip and pulled him into his chest. The biker stared at him, mouth open, unable to believe it. Then he turned and ran. He leaped on his fallen motorbike, kicked it upright, and fled into the white dark. Within seconds the sound of the engine had faded away. And the park was quiet again. Adeline reached them in less than a breath. The tall man was on one knee in the snow, a small boy held tight against his shoulder. Ren was sobbing now, the loud, shaking kind of crying that comes after the fear has finally gone. And on the white ground beside them, bright and terrible, were drops of red. They fell from the man's right hand. One, two, three, sinking into the snow and spreading like flower petals. His fingers were clenched tight around nothing, and blood ran down his wrist and soaked into the cuff of his shirt. "Your hand," Adeline said. Her voice shook. "You're bleeding. You need a hospital. No, wait, first we have to stop the blood, or you'll faint before we even—" He looked up. His eyes were a deep, dark brown, almost black in the lamplight. There was snow caught in his lashes. His face was pale, but there was no fear in it at all. There was something else, something very steady that made her stop speaking mid-sentence. He lifted his good hand, laid one finger lightly against her lips, and said: "Shh." Adeline forgot how to breathe. "I'm fine," he said quietly. "Look after the child first." His finger left her mouth. She stood there for one stunned second, her lips tingling in the cold, her cheeks suddenly very hot. Then Ren made a small hiccuping sound, and she remembered who needed her. "Ren." She sank to her knees in the snow. "Hey. Ren, sweetheart. It's me. It's Adeline from the store." His wet eyes found her face. "A-Addy?" "Yes. Come here." She took him from the man's arms and held him as tightly as she could. His small body shook against hers. She rocked him gently, the way her mother used to rock her, and pressed her cheek to the top of his cold head. Hugging was the best medicine she knew for panic. No words could do what a warm, steady heartbeat could. "Were you very scared, buddy?" A tiny nod against her shoulder. "I know. I know you were. But it's all over now, okay? That bad man is gone. I'm right here, and nothing is going to happen to you anymore." She rubbed circles on his back. "We'll go home soon. I'll take you myself. Is Grandma home?" Another nod. She could hear the tall man behind her, breathing carefully through his teeth. When she glanced back, he was trying to stand, and failing. His left leg wouldn't take any weight. He winced, tried again, and sat back down on the snow with a short, annoyed exhale. "You hurt your leg too," Adeline said. "A little." "That's not 'a little.' You can't even stand." His mouth twitched. "Then who's going to bandage my hand?" Adeline blinked. "I'm sorry?" "Never mind." He looked away. "It's nothing." She looked at the blood on the snow. At the shaking hand he was trying to hide inside his sleeve. At the store behind her, with its yellow window and its small green first-aid box under the counter. "Actually," she said slowly, "you could come to the store. It's right there. I have gauze and plasters and antiseptic. I can clean it, at least, until you get to a doctor. And then I'll take Ren home." He looked at her for a long moment. "All right," he said. "But you'll have to help me." "Help you?" "I can't walk on my own." He said it gravely, as though announcing something very serious. "So you'll need to let me lean on you. My assistant will come and take over, after." "Oh. Of course." She shifted Ren onto her hip. "Put your arm around my shoulders. You're just very tall," she added, mostly to herself, "I'm going to look like a turtle under a mountain." "What was that?" "Nothing!" He gave a short laugh, which turned into a groan. When he finally got upright, he draped his good arm over her shoulders, and she staggered under the weight. He was heavy. And warm, so warm, even in this freezing air, and he smelled of snow and rain and something faintly clean, like cedar. She tried not to notice. "Does this happen to you every day?" she muttered, shuffling forward with Ren in one arm and a stranger in the other. "A car crash, a knife fight, a rescue? Is this a normal Thursday?" "Why are you so curious?" "Because you just grabbed a blade with your bare hand!" "It was the quickest way." His voice had gone slightly breathless. "Ahh. Careful with the leg." "Sorry! Sorry." They went on like that, through the snow, one slow step at a time, his breath at her ear, her shoulder under his arm. Ren watched the man's face over her shoulder with big, wet, curious eyes. By the time they reached the store door, Adeline's arms were burning. She sat him on the stool by the heater and turned on every light in the store. "Stay here. Don't move." "I wasn't planning to." She set Ren on the counter with a packet of biscuits. "Ren, wait for me here, okay? We'll go home as soon as I finish helping this gentleman. Don't open the door for anyone." Ren nodded and clutched the biscuits. Then she dropped to her knees beside the stool and took the first-aid box from under the counter, and for the first time she got a proper look at the wound. It was worse than she'd thought. A deep line ran across his palm, from the base of his index finger to the heel of his hand. The skin around it was torn and white. Blood welled up with every heartbeat, thick and dark. "This needs stitches," she said quietly. "Later." "You can't wait too long." "I said later." His tone was not harsh. It was only tired. "Please." She looked up. He wasn't glaring at her. He was watching her face with a strange, plain attention, and his dark eyes had gone wet at the edges. She thought it was the pain. It made him look young, almost boyish, and a little helpless. Puppy eyes, she thought, and then felt silly. "Okay," she said gently. "But it's going to hurt. I'm sorry in advance." "I'm James," he said abruptly. "James Wilder. You can call me James." "Adeline." "Adeline." He tested it, as if the name tasted of something. "Ahh!" he hissed as she pressed a folded pad of gauze into his palm. "Hold that, hard. Harder. Yes." She worked quickly, the way she had learned after years of scraped knees and kitchen accidents. She poured antiseptic over a cotton pad. The sharp, clean smell of Savlon filled the little store. "This will sting." "I can take—ahhh!" "I told you." "You did not tell me it would be like fire—" "Shh," said Adeline, and then froze, realizing what she had said. His eyes lifted to hers. For a long second neither of them moved. Then one corner of his mouth curved up, very slightly. "That's mine," he said. "What?" "Shh. I said it first." Adeline's face burned. She bent her head over his palm again so he couldn't see it, and wound a strip of gauze around his hand, round and round, firm and even. Her fingertips brushed his skin. It was warm, with the faint roughness of someone who worked with his hands, even though everything else about him said he didn't have to. She could feel him watching her. Not her hands. Her face. The curve of her cheek, the strand of hair that had fallen across her eyes. He watched the way a person watches something unexpected. "Do you always do this?" he asked quietly. "Do what?" "Take care of strangers." "You're not a stranger anymore," she said without thinking. "I know your name now. And besides, you saved Ren." She tied off the bandage in a neat knot. "Doesn't matter who you are. Anyone would do the same." "No," James said. "They wouldn't." The heater hummed. Snow ticked against the glass. Somewhere, in the quiet, Ren crunched a biscuit. She taped down the gauze and sat back on her heels. "There. That should hold until you see a doctor. Keep your hand above your heart. And don't grip anything." "I'll try." "Don't try. Do it." He smiled. It was the first real smile she had seen on his face, small and crooked and a little startled, as if he hadn't used it in a long time. "Yes, ma'am." His phone buzzed on the counter. He glanced at it and sighed. "Your assistant?" Adeline asked, standing. "Yes. He's outside." He looked at the screen with an expression that would have curdled milk. "He's been 'five minutes away' for twenty-five minutes. He let this whole situation get out of hand. He'll be fired by morning." "Isn't that a bit harsh?" "He's the reason I was driving alone at midnight with a man chasing me." James's jaw was tight. "I'll deal with him." "Okay. Just don't deal with him too loudly." "Fair enough." She picked up her jacket, wrapped Ren in his scarf, and lifted him into her arms. "We're going home now, buddy." At the door, her hand on the cold handle, she hesitated. "Are you going to be all right here?" She turned. "Or will someone else come after you?" "I'll be fine." His voice was gentle. "Go. It's late, and the streets are empty. Get him home." "Okay." She pushed the door open. Snow blew in, swirling around her ankles. "Be safe," James said. Adeline looked back. He sat on the stool with his bandaged hand on his knee and his tie hanging loose, the light of the little shop falling across his face. His eyes were dark and clear and fixed on her, and she had the odd feeling that he was memorizing something. "You too," she said. It took twenty minutes to walk Ren home. His grandmother opened the door in her bathrobe, took one look at the boy, and burst into tears. Adeline explained as gently as she could, and left before the questions got too hard. By the time she was back at the store, the snow had slowed. The street was quiet. The Rolls-Royce was gone. She pushed the door open. The store was empty. The stool was back against the wall. The floor was clean, with no drops of blood, no wet footprints. The first-aid box was closed on the counter, its lid straight, as though no one had touched it. Everything looked exactly as it had that morning, as it did every night. Adeline stood in the middle of the shop and turned slowly in a circle. Had it really happened? She lifted her fingers to her lips. She could still feel the weight of one cold finger there. Shh. There was only one thing left behind: the smell of Savlon, sharp and clean, lingering in the warm air. Outside, the last of the snow drifted down onto the empty street.