“Hi, Miss Emory!” Jackson trilled, grabbing a cloth grocery bag from me with his little hands, wriggling it up and onto his shoulder, so it didn’t drag on the ground. In shorts and another T-shirt, this one white, I could see only one Band-Aid on his knee and none on his elbow. We walked side by side up to the steps.
“This is my grandfather,” he said with a wave of his hand as way of introduction.
The man offered an easy smile. “Please, let me take your other bag. You must’ve had a long day and don’t need to carry such heavy stuff.” His voice was deep and raspy, but his words thoughtful.
I let the man take it from me as he was so intent. He didn’t seem like one to argue with.
“Thank you. Just set them on the steps.” They complied and turned back to me.
“We came by earlier, and your neighbor—” he pointed to Simon’s front door, “—said what time you would return, so we waited.”
Since Simon shared my schedule with this man, they must have talked enough for him to feel comfortable. He wouldn’t have told just anybody my routine. Although, I was pretty predictable.
“I am Quake Baker, Jackson’s grandfather. I wanted to thank you for helping him the other day.”
Quake was quite the name, and I had to assume it was a nickname. A biker name?
The boy stared up at me as if I walked on water, and I smiled. “It was no trouble at all. You’re not having fun unless you’ve got a few scrapes.”
“The helmet was smart and generous,” he added. “Heard it was your son’s when he was small.”
I looked from boy to grandfather. Mr. Baker was close to six feet, his posture straight. He seemed very polite with me, yet looking in his dark gaze, I saw shrewdness, as if while we were talking, he was assessing me. I didn’t think he was this thoughtful with everyone.
“Yes. My son, Chris, is away at college and is much too big to wear it anymore. I thought Jackson might get enjoyment out of it.”
“He left his at home and did some extra chores as punishment. Motorcycle, bicycle, a brain bucket’s a must. You’re a smart lady.”
I sighed. “Smart? I’m not sure about that, but I’ve raised a boy, so I know what can happen. We’ve gone through our fair share of bumps and scrapes.”
“No doubt at your work as well,” Mr. Baker added, looking down at the light blue scrubs I wore.
“Yes, that’s true.” I wondered how much about me Simon had shared and how much he’d dug up on his own.
“Won’t keep you as you must be beat, but I’d like to buy you a meal from our restaurant as a thank you.”
“Restaurant?”
“The Double-B Diner.”
I quickly made the connection. The place had been around for as long as I could remember. Since it was on the other side of town, I’d never eaten there.
“Have a meal, coffee, on the house.”
“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Baker, but I can’t go like this, and I’d need to clean up and—”
He held up his hand to stop me. “Call me Quake. Not tonight then, I understand. Tomorrow?”
He was certainly insistent.
“I work again tomorrow and Wednesday.”
Jackson remained quiet as we spoke, watching us both earnestly.
“Then I’ll get the food to you,” Mr. Baker… Quake, said with a nod. “I’ll have dinner packaged and brought here tomorrow night. Then no cooking after another long day. Don’t even have to go out when all you want to do is put your feet up.” He picked up one of the bags of groceries and started up the steps. “Jackson.” He pointed to the other bag, and the child grabbed it and followed. I had no choice but to follow as well.
I doubted he would take no for an answer, so I agreed to his offer with a thank you.
The crunching of glass had Quake stopping, lifting his foot. “What’s this?”