Tender Hearts

Picking Up the Pieces

Tom watched her as she slept and covered her with a knit blanket when she began shivering. She'd cried, the whole time telling him about what happened between herself and Chas, until she was completely exhausted. He'd stood and taken the arm chair, letting her curl up on the sofa. She seemed so delicate, so fragile, he was nearly afraid to touch her for fear that she would shatter into a million pieces and be gone forever.

She slept through what was left of the afternoon. When the sun had thoroughly heated everything up and the air was heavy, Tom wished he could join her, but he didn't want to scare her and there was nowhere else to sleep, so he sat quietly and contemplated until it was near the time he was scheduled to work.

He didn't want to leave her alone, but he needed to work. "Evie," he whispered in her ear after he stood up and rubbed his legs, "I've got to get to the club."

Evie only smacked her lips in response, so he decided to leave her a note. In his large, scrawly handwriting, he wrote her name on the outside and propped it up on the makeshift table where she was sure to see it.

Before he left, he made a sandwich and ate it, chugging down a glass of water from the tap to wash it down after. Frank was due to pick him up and take him to the club any minute and Tom was afraid of waking Evie. His entire pre -work routine was sped up so he could intercept the man and keep him from knocking on the door.

Hearing the telltale rumbling of Frank's truck on the street below, Tom shot one more quick glance at Evie's sleeping form before leaving the apartment and closing the door as silently as he could. He was careful to lock the door and, as he turned around, came face to face with Frank as he bounded up the steps.

"Well, this is different," Frank said as he approached. "I was hoping we could kick back a couple drinks before heading off."

Tom shook his head. "Not today," he replied. "I've got a guest asleep on the sofa."

Frank smiled knowingly. "Is it a woman?" he asked. He could tell he was right by the glint in Tom's eyes. "You dog," he chided, punching Tom gently in the arm. "Was it good?"

"It's not what you think," Tom answered. "She's in trouble and she's staying here for... I don't know." He didn't want to talk about it any more. A part of him thought that if he told anyone else she was there, she'd evaporate, proving only to be a figment of his imagination. The other part wanted to shout from the rooftops that she was there, even if she wasn't his.

"Is this the chick from the other night?" Frank asked. Again, Tom's face was a dead giveaway. With a scowl, Frank groaned, "I really don't want to have to tell you, 'I told you so,' later. "

"You won't have to," Tom replied. He was silent as he followed Frank back to the truck, sullen as they drove to the club, despite Frank's friendly ribbing and attempts at conversation.

"What the hell is your problem?" Frank finally asked, annoyed. He parked the truck behind the club and held his hands on the wheel after shutting it off.

Tom moved to get out, only to be blocked by Frank's log of an arm.

He squirmed, but it was no use. "Alright," he conceded, "I'm worried about her." Again, he tried to escape, but it was only after he shot a steely gaze at Frank that the man let him go. "I should have just called in sick," he groused as he got out of the truck, not letting his friend add anything else to the conversation.