Chapter 3 #2
Nalani laughs. “There are no nails, no metal.”
“Well, pick from one of the other nus’s then,” Sofie scoffs.
I can’t help laughing under my breath, “She means lockjaw.”
Nalani hops down from the chipped cement landing like it’s no big deal. “You two are dramatic.”
She heads toward a small feeding system, a hose attached to what looks like a rain collection barrel. She follows the line to check it, curiosity written all over her face.
Sofie’s voice goes high with disbelief. “What in the Beverly Hillbillies is that?”
I lean against the railing, watching Nalani crouch near the feeder.
“That’s genius, is what it is,” I say, just as she empties a bag of salad greens and frozen corn into it.
“Right?” Nalani laughs.
Then a voice calls out from somewhere nearby. Deep, rough, and with a thick New York accent.
“Someone out there?”
Nalani straightens immediately. “Um, yes!”
“You the new girl in four?”
Sofie grips my arm. “Nalani,” she whisper-hisses. “Let’s go.”
“It is,” Nalani calls back, rolling her eyes at Sofie.
“Cleaners do a good job at your place?”
“Are you the property manager?” she asks, stepping closer to the sound of his voice.
There’s a window cracked open just above the rain barrel.
“I suppose so.”
“Ask him when the elevator will be fixed,” Sofie says, loudly enough for the whole neighborhood to hear.
“Looking like midweek,” he answers, proving he heard her. “Just the two of you out there?”
“There are four of us,” Sofie yells back, hopping down beside Nalani like she’s about to throw down with the man through the wall.
“How strong are you?” he asks.
Sofie’s eyes widen. “Oh my God, Lani, let’s go.”
Nalani waves her off. “Pretty strong. Why? You need something?”
“He’s going to kill us and feed us to his chickens,” Sofie mutters, tugging on her sleeve.
“Would love a hand if you got a minute, Nalani,” the man calls out. “And tell Miss Sassy Pants my birds don’t like sour pusses. She’s safe.”
I laugh before I can stop myself. Sofie gasps like she’s offended, and Nalani grins, “Where can I find you?”
“Left of the elevator. Door at the end of the hall.”
“Be there in a second,” Nalani says, already heading back toward the building.
Inside, Nalani moves fast and purposefully.
Sofie stays by the door. “I’m not going down there.”
“Take Savannah. I’ll go with her,” I tell her.
“You’re a mother,” Sofie snaps.
I glance at Nalani. She’s already pushing the door open.
“Mr. Bronski?” she calls.
“Over by the window,” comes the reply. “Took a spill. Must’ve hit my head.”
I hurry toward them and look in. He’s on the floor, half sitting, half sprawled, pale but alert. “Oh, my Lord, are you okay?”
“I appear to still be alive,” he says with a wheezy chuckle. “Arms aren’t what they used to be. Knees are shot. Can’t seem to get myself up.”
“We’ll help you out,” I tell him, moving to his side.
His skin is cool, his pulse steady under my fingers. Together, Nalani and I brace him, lifting carefully until he’s standing and able to shuffle toward his recliner.
“Walkers by the chair,” he says, breathless. “Thought I was strong enough when Gertie—or maybe it was Tootsie—wanted in last night.”
“Your chickens?” I ask.
He nods. “The girls.”
Once he’s seated, Nalani asks, “Mr. Bronski, can I call someone? Maybe get you to a hospital?”
“It’s Paul,” he says. “And I don’t do hospitals.”
“You could be seriously hurt,” I say firmly.
“Only thing they’ll do with me is throw me in one of those old folk warehouses. I’m not going out like that.”
“Do you have family?” Nalani asks gently.
“Patsy and I never had kids.” His voice drops. “She died ten years back.”
My heart squeezes. “I’m sorry.”
He waves it off. “I’ve got one greedy nephew waiting for me to keel over so he can sell the building. That’s family for you.”
“Who takes care of you?” Sofie asks from the doorway, finally finding her courage.
“You must be the sour puss,” he says with a grin.
“I mean, do you blame us for being a little freaked out?” she fires back.
“Sofie,” Nalani hisses.
He laughs again. “She’s not wrong.”
“You know what’s wrong, Paul?” she presses, stepping closer.
“Sofie.” Nalani snaps.
She keeps going. “If you don’t get someone in here to check on you, you’re going to die, and it’s not mildew people will smell in this hallway—it’ll be you.”
“Oh my God, Sofie, stop.” Nalani gasps
Sofie folds her arms. “No, I won’t, because if he doesn’t get someone in here to look after him, you’re going to come in here one day, and it’s not mildew you’ll be smelling in the hallway—it’ll be him.”
“Sofie!” Both Nalani and I gasp.
She keeps on going. “Why would you rent this place to a young woman who—”
“Go,” Nalani warns her.
Paul shakes his head. “She’s not wrong. This place used to be a stunner.
Our pride and joy. After Patsy died, three of my buddies and I chopped it up and made it into apartments.
All I have since she passed. Then I had a stroke, and that little shit tried to ship me off.
Nobody wants to work anymore, and when you do find someone, the minute they get paid, they stop coming to finish their jobs.
I have a girl who cleans once a week, and now you can order anything you need online.
” He looks around the room. “Got a cleaner once a week. I order what I need online. It works.”
“So, you never leave?” I ask softly.
“I could,” he says. “But people are assholes, so why bother?”
“He’s not wrong,” Nalani mutters.
Sofie gasps. “Oh no, you don’t. You’re not going back to being that girl again.”
“I mean,” Nalani starts, “to be fair, I was always that girl.”
Paul grins at her. “Jesus, kid, is she the best you’ve met?”
Sofie glares. “I want the elevator fixed. The front lock repaired. And why are chickens roaming around here?”
“Oh my God,” I sigh. “I am so sorry.”
Paul waves her off. “No, it’s fine. The elevator was supposed to be fixed, but my guy has a bad case of the gout, and the city guys come in here, and the rooster gets ousted. He’s eleven. My wife loved the birds.”
“Your other tenants don’t complain?” Sofie asks.
“Haven’t had tenants in here since they wanted to take the rooster.”
“So, why did you rent it to Nalani?”
“Didn’t know the advertisement was still up, and she liked the hen house.”
“Love the hen house,” Nalani admits.
“You need to get checked out,” Sofie demands.
“My guy will come check me out.”
“Your elevator guy?” she snaps at him.
He turns and looks at Nalani. “You need to get out more.”
Sofie snips, “Paul, where’s your guy’s number? I’m not leaving here until I have confirmation you have a medical professional coming to check you out.”
“Not sure where my phone ended up, but I’ll hop right to it.”
She starts riffling through his things, and Nalani steps forward to intervene. He takes her hand and stops her.
“We’re going to lunch, and when we get back,”—Sofie plugs his charger in and sets his phone on the small table beside him— “I want to see proof.”
“Can we get you anything?” Nalani asks, completely frustrated.
Me? I’m actually entertained, and pretty darn proud that I trusted my gut; these two, and even Paul, are good people.
“A bottle of water from the fridge would be good.”
Sofie stomps toward his fridge and opens it, as Nalani moves to grab his walker closer to him.
“Thanks, kid.”
“No problem.” She grabs his phone. “Can I text myself, so I have your number, and you have mine?”
“I think it’s in there, but sure.”
Sofie opens the lid to the water bottle and hands it to him. “When was the last time you drank anything?”
“Not sure, but I’m good.” He grabs a remote and hits a button to recline his chair.
Nalani grabs a blanket from the chair beside him and hands it to him. “Get some rest.”
“Plan on it. Thanks, kid.”
“And call a doctor,” Sofie says … again.
“Will do,” he yawns out.
“Swear if you don’t, I’m stealing your chickens.” She threatens, and I bite back a laugh as Nalani drags her out the door.
“What is wrong with—”
My phone rings, and I see Kyle’s name and quickly move down the hall and around the corner, Savannah’s seat in the other hand.
“Hello?”
“Well, good morning to you too,” he says, his tone slick and smug. “Took you long enough to pick up. I was starting to think you were avoiding me again.”
I close my eyes. “You never answered my message last night.”
“Yeah, because I figured we’d talk like adults instead of texting like teenagers,” he says, laughing under his breath. “You made it to New York, okay?”
“Yes,” I say, curtly.
“Good,” he replies, stretching the word into a sigh. “Then you can stop pretending this is such a big deal. You wanted to do the right thing. So, let’s do it. Let’s meet. I want to see her.”
I swallow hard. “Kyle, you didn’t want to be involved. You agreed to that. Agreed, it was better for everyone if I told her I used a donor.”
“Yeah, well,” he says, his voice shifting — sharp now, defensive. “That was before I saw her face. Before I saw that post.”
I feel my pulse in my throat. “You saw a picture, Kyle. That doesn’t erase the last several months.”
He laughs, bitter. “You really think I could just keep pretending she doesn’t exist? That’s cruel, even for you.”
“For me?” I echo, trying to keep my voice steady. “I told you. I didn’t want anything from you. No money. No name. No drama. You got exactly what you wanted.”
“I didn’t know what I wanted back then,” he shoots back. “You dumped all that on me over the phone. What was I supposed to say? ‘Sure, I’ll be a dad to a baby of a woman I barely know’? You weren’t even asking — you were telling me.”
“I was giving you the chance to decide,” I say. “You did.”
He exhales loudly. “You’re twisting this. You always twist things to make me look bad.”
“I’m not twisting anything,” I say quietly. “I’m stating facts.”
There’s a pause. I can almost hear him running a hand over his face, that impatient exhale I used to think meant he was overwhelmed—not realizing it meant he was done listening.
“I just want to meet her,” he says, suddenly calm. “One hour. No lawyers. No drama. Just me getting to hold my kid.”
“She’s not a prop, Kyle,” I say, my voice soft but firm. “You don’t get to play dad for an afternoon to ease your guilt.”
“I’m not guilty,” he snaps. “I’m trying to step up. You should be grateful for that.”
“Grateful?” I repeat, my heart pounding. “For what — months of silence and you demanding that I meet you in New York?”
He doesn’t like that. His tone hardens. “Don’t start. You’re lucky I didn’t go straight through my lawyer. I’m giving you the chance to do this civilly.”
“By threatening custody?” I whisper.
“I’m not threatening shit, I want to meet my kid.”
“This was a bad idea. You’re not in a place in life where you can be consistent, Kyle, and I am not—”
He cuts me off. “Consistent?” He laughs. “You barely know me, Claudia. You spent a couple of months in my bed, and now you think you’re an expert on my life?”
“I know who you were when it mattered,” I say.
He exhales sharply, tired of the fight. “You’re impossible. I’m done arguing. Three o’clock. Washington Square. Bring her.”
“That’s not—”
“I’ll pay for your cab,” he adds, like that’s some kind of olive branch.
I bite down the instinct to tell him what he can do with his money. “Fine. Three.”
He doesn’t respond to that. Just hangs up.
The silence after the click feels heavier than it should.
Nalani whispers, “You okay?”
“Yeah.” My voice cracks, but I cover it with a half-smile. “I’m good.”
“Bullshit,” Sofie says softly, but with that teasing edge she uses when she’s trying to lighten the mood. “Let’s go eat. My treat.”
I shake my head, still clutching the phone. “No, I’ll—”
“Too late,” she says. “I called dibs.”
Nalani looks between us, the tension still hanging in the air.
When I don’t say anything, Sofie arches a brow. “What?”
I finally huff a short, humorless laugh. “Who the hell are you?”
She grins. “The person who’s about to get you a pancake bigger than your problems.”
And just like that, she walks toward the door — and I follow, because anything’s better than sitting in this silence thinking about what’s waiting for me at three.