Chapter Thirty-Four We Were Twenty
Chapter Thirty-four
We Were Twenty
I knew exactly who the man was as soon as I saw him outside our building. I would have recognized him anywhere. Beau Saint James looked just like George. He was tall and slim. Wore glasses. Had the same dark curls and restless energy.
I was coming back from the grocery store, my arms weighed down with the ingredients for my mom’s crisp.
George had been emailing with his dad and invited him over for coffee the next time he was passing through Toronto.
I could tell he was more nervous and excited about the visit than he’d admit.
I planned to busy myself by making George’s favorite dessert while they talked.
If things went badly, I’d be close enough to intervene.
There were a hundred ways Beau could break George’s heart, and I was bracing for all of them.
So when I saw Beau pacing in front of the entrance, looking at the doors as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to go inside, I marched right up to him, already furious.
He grinned from one side of his mouth and asked what he could do for me.
He had no idea who I was, that I knew more about his son than he ever had or would.
“Are you coming in, or are you going to bail?” I asked him.
His blue eyes narrowed. He smelled of stale cigarettes and aftershave.
“You’re George’s father,” I said. “I’m Frankie. I’m his best friend.”
“The girl next door.” His grin was as uneven as his son’s. “Has anyone ever told you that you have the most beautiful violet eyes?”
“Yes.”
He laughed, but I wasn’t smiling.
“Listen,” I said, “I basically think you’re an irredeemable piece of human garbage; however, George has decided to give you another chance. But you’re walking back and forth like you’re thinking of splitting. So if you’re going to go, then go.”
His smile never left his face. “And if I stay?”
“Then I will pretend not to hate you, and you will pretend to be a decent person for the next hour. But if you upset him, I’ll make sure you regret it.”
“I bet you would.” He tipped his head, assessing me. “All right, lead the way, Frankie.”
The coffee turned into dinner, which turned into Beau staying for three nights.
I guarded George like a mother grizzly, but even I had to admit that George’s dad seemed reformed.
It was hard to picture him as the man who lost his home to gambling debts.
He was respectful toward me and deeply apologetic to George for his years of absence.
He seemed genuinely interested in both of us.
I made the tofu kimchi rice that George loved on the third evening, and the three of us sat around our tiny table, laughing, when his dad asked when we had started dating.
George and I had been sharing a bed so his dad could sleep in George’s room, and it seemed funny that he’d gotten the wrong idea.
That night, George and I lay awake in bed, whispering.
“I think he has an easier time being around me now that I’m an adult,” George said. “He doesn’t have to feel guilty for not taking care of me. Maybe he’ll see me differently now that he can relate to me as a man. Don’t you think?”
There was so much hope in his voice. I wasn’t lying when I said “I do. I think this might be the start of something.”
When we woke up the next morning, Beau was gone.
Only the nip of his aftershave lingered.
We stood in the empty bedroom, speechless.
Then George opened his desk drawer and riffled through the notebooks and loose papers inside, and my heart shattered.
He’d kept the birthday money Mimi gave him for his twentieth in an envelope, and it was missing.
I watched as George crumpled to the floor, put his head in his hands, and cried. I sank down beside him and put my arms around him, fighting my own tears. We must have been there for hours.
George could barely look at me. I think he might have been embarrassed. Maybe he didn’t know how to share his pain, but he didn’t have to carry it on his own. I took his duffel bag out of the closet and started packing.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m taking you home.” We loved the city, but we both felt more relaxed up north. George needed a long walk down Old Stone Road. He needed my mom’s baking and a hug from Mimi.
“You have work tonight,” he said.
“I’ll find someone to cover. We’re going. No arguments.”
“I don’t know how to say thank you,” he said, his voice thick.
“You just did, but you don’t need to. I’ve got you.”
“I know you do.”