Raymond backed away.
“I was just . . . I’m looking for the Luis Velez who used to help an old blind lady over on the west side. Just to make sure he’s okay. I didn’t mean any trouble for anybody.”
Clearly that was not you, he thought. He wisely did not say it out loud.
The man stepped even closer, his energy heavy with threat. His goal seemed to be to intimidate Raymond. And it was working well. Raymond fell into full-on panic mode, the fear exploding in his chest like fireworks. Like electrical charges. He did not run because he thought it might be dangerous to move.
“Do I look like a guy who helps little old ladies cross the street?” Luis asked, his voice quiet and steady.
Raymond wasn’t sure how a quiet voice could be so scary. But this Luis’s voice was. Everything about him was. Fear surrounded Raymond like a cloud that sinks down to the ground to envelop everything underneath it.
Raymond said nothing. There was no safe answer to that question. He just froze there, statue-still. In his head he spoke to a God he wasn’t even sure he believed existed. Tried to make a last-minute deal. Then he concentrated on something like beaming himself away. Not that he thought he could. But he wanted—needed—so badly to be gone from here. It was hard not to imagine it happening.
Meanwhile Luis was regarding his face with something like amusement.
Luis leaned in even closer to Raymond, leaving only a few inches between their noses. Raymond could smell onions on the man’s breath. He was almost outside his body now with the panic. He vaguely, distantly, wondered if this was what it felt like to go into shock.
“Boo!” Luis Velez said.
Raymond jumped backward. Stumbled. Landed on the filthy concrete on his back, smacking his head on the curb.
Luis laughed.
Raymond scrambled to his feet and ran away.
They sat on the hard plastic bench of a subway car together, Raymond and Mrs. G. Close together, because he was still a little bit afraid. He still felt trembly inside from his experiences earlier that morning. He felt as though he were still running in some way. No fight or flight to choose from. Only flight.
He closed his eyes for just a moment, feeling the distinctive rocking motion of the train. He could see the lights flash on and off through his closed eyelids. Then he opened his eyes again.
There were only a small handful of people on the car with them, and each kept his or her distance and paid no attention to Raymond or Mrs. G.
“This is so lovely,” she said. “This is so sweet of you to do this.”
“When’s the last time you ate food you didn’t have to cook yourself?”
“In my home, not all that long ago. Luis would bring me takeout every now and again, just for a treat. But in a restaurant . . . I swear I can’t even remember, Raymond, it was that long ago. Definitely not since my husband died. When he was alive we would go out to eat on our anniversary. Every year. And he would order a cake or some special dessert and have the waiter or the waitress bring it to our table and sing happy anniversary to us. But he’s been gone a little over seventeen years now. So this is some fairly ancient history I’m recounting to you.”
“I’m sorry,” Raymond said.
“You shouldn’t be. You weren’t even born, so it couldn’t possibly be your fault. We will speak of something else. Tell me. How was your morning?”
“Terrible.”
“Anything you care to share?”
“Not really. Just nothing went right. I was standing in front of a brick wall, and I just kept revving up and smashing into it.”
As he listened to his own metaphor, he touched the back of his head, gently feeling the spot where he had smacked it on the curb when he fell. A lump was forming there. It was tender.
“I definitely don’t recommend that,” she said.
“Sometimes it’s hard to figure out how to avoid it.”
Mrs. G had a watch with a crystal that lifted up, allowing her to touch the minute and hour hands. The hours were marked with raised blue dots. Raymond watched her check the time.
“It’s after noon,” she said. “Maybe they won’t be serving brunch. Maybe they will be serving lunch when we get there.”
“They serve brunch all day on Sunday.”
“You have eaten there before.”
“Yeah. It’s not far from where my dad lives.”
“You don’t have to pick up the check, you know,” she said. “I can help.”
“No. I told you. It’s on me. I told you I came into some money.”
“Well, I promise I won’t order the very most expensive thing.”
“It’s a flat price for brunch. But then there are all these different things you can choose from. I already know how much it will cost. I can cover it.”
“Well, it’s very sweet. I thank you for it.”
They rode in silence for a time. Mrs. G was looking up and around, as if reading the ads. But of course she could not have been. Raymond wasn’t sure what she was doing. Maybe listening. Maybe watching the changes in the light.
“What does he do, your father, to be able to afford to live in Midtown Manhattan?”
“He’s a dentist.”
“That explains it,” she said. “Yes indeed.”
Raymond helped her ease into her seat at the restaurant table, while the waiter carefully pushed the chair in behind her. Then the waiter handed them each a menu and hurried away.
Mrs. G set her menu down beside her plate and clapped her hands several times in sheer delight. Quickly. As if she simply could not contain her excited energy. She wore a beaming smile.
“Oh, this is so wonderful!” she said, loudly enough that a couple at the next table looked over and smiled. “It must seem very silly to you. Maybe even pathetic. To be so jubilant about a meal in a restaurant.”