Noah waved the offer away. “Nah.” He picked up the notebook. “I know where you live. And I have the Cannondale as collateral.”
Billie hopped down from the stool, wincing when she landed.
She’d walked the bike to his shop; going home the same way would cause further damage to her ankle.
“Tuesdays are slow,” he began, “but even if they weren’t, we’re practically neighbors. I’ll be leaving in a few minutes, so why not let me drive you home?”
Billie stiffened. “I appreciate the offer, but—”
“It looks like you stuffed a bowling ball into your sock. I’d bet my bike your doc told you to stay off it, keep it elevated. And iced down.”
“As a matter of fact, he did.” She exhaled a sigh of frustration. “So okay, I’ll take you up on your offer. Thanks.”
Noah had never been good at accepting help, either, and these past three years had only heightened his mistrust of people.
“My pickup is out back,” he said, aiming a thumb over one shoulder. “Give me a minute to load Alyssa into her car seat, and I’ll drive around front so you won’t have to traipse all the way through the shop and into the side alley.”
By the time he turned off the TV, secured Alyssa in her child safety seat—promising to make her favorite for supper—then flipped the store’s Open sign to Closed, locked the door and double-parked in front of the shop, fifteen minutes had passed.
“Sorry, got a little waylaid,” he said to Billie. While she slid into the front seat, he checked the locks on the Today’s Specials bikes in the rack outside the shop.
Alyssa leaned forward as far as the seat restraint would allow. “Does your ankle hurt much?” he heard her ask.
Billie sat stiff and straight, facing forward, even as he got into the driver’s side, as if being around his daughter was an imposition.
“No. Not much.”
“I twisted my ankle once, jumping on my bed. Is that what happened to you?”
“I fell off my bike.”
“Oh. Did your elbows get all busted up, too?”
“Broken,” Noah corrected. He put the car into gear. “Sounds more ladylike than busted.”
“But...I’m just a kid. Why do I have to talk like a lady?”
“Because I said so.”
As he turned onto Main Street, his daughter said, “My name is Alyssa. What’s yours?”
“Billie.”
“But...but Billy is a boy’s name.”
“Only if you spell it B-i-l-l-y. I spell it B-i-l-l-i-e.”
“There’s a boy in my class,” she said, “and his name is Billy— Daddy! Look!” She pointed across the street. “Isn’t that little white dog the cutest thing ever!”
If he ever said yes to getting a dog, it sure wouldn’t be a yippy ankle-biter like that one. “Uh-huh,” he said. When he’d been forced to leave her favorite doll at the airport, Noah had soothed her tears by promising to replace it with a kitten. Mouser was nice enough, as cats go, but certainly not the in-your-face pup Alyssa had always dreamed about.
“If I had a dog,” she said now, “it would be big, with a happy face. Like the one you had when you were a little boy, ’member, Daddy?”
“I sure do.” How could he forget the gentle giant that had been more sibling than pet?
Alyssa giggled. “Tell Billie his name.”
“Cash.” He didn’t know why, but he felt obliged to explain. “My dad named him Cash Money, because he’d been abused before we adopted him, and cost a fortune at the vet’s.”
Noah glanced over at her, and for a moment there she looked mildly interested. Then she pointed left, and he realized the route had captured her attention, not the story.
“You just passed my street,” she said.
Now it was Noah’s turn to groan, because it meant driving up to Hamilton Street to make a U-turn in the post office parking lot. Halfway there, traffic on Main Street slowed, then came to a grinding halt. While drivers around him raised their hands and muttered, Noah gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles ached. Trapped at a dead stop between parked cars and the constant flow of traffic heading east, he and Alyssa—and Billie, too—might as well have bull’s-eyes painted on their foreheads.
He held his breath. Checked the side mirrors. Glanced over his shoulder, looking for what, he didn’t know. Facing front again, he peered into the rearview mirror.
“What’s wrong, Daddy? You look...scared.”
“Nah. Just frustrated. You know how I get in traffic.”
He watched the concern drain from his daughter’s face, and just that fast, she was back on track.
“Oh, yes. Daddy hates traffic jams,” she said to Billie. “Sometimes he even gets so mad about it that he says bad words!”
Billie chuckled quietly, then pursed her lips and looked out the passenger window. Noah shook his head. What a weird time to miss Jillian. On second thought, it wasn’t weird at all. His wife had been so easygoing and easy to love. He didn’t need an Einstein IQ to figure out why the few women who had inspired a second glance since her death had done so: they’d been gorgeous, smart and outgoing— just like Jillian. He blamed loneliness for his knee-jerk, momentary attraction to Billie back at the shop.
“Did your mom think you were going to be a boy?” Alyssa asked. “Is that why she named you Billie with an i-e?”
A second, then two passed before she answered. “My granddad’s name is Bill.”
Alyssa clapped her hands. “Oh, I get it! Your mom wanted to name you after him, but when a baby girl popped out, it was too late to pick a new name!”
“It’s not my real name. It’s just what everybody calls me.”
If she didn’t want to share the name printed on her birth certificate, that was okay with him.
Traffic eased up, and so did Noah’s tension. They drove in silence for several blocks, until Alyssa noticed the Firehouse Museum. The next couple minutes were filled with what she remembered about its interior, where old firefighters’ uniforms and helmets, tools and dozens of model-sized fire engines had been displayed behind red velvet ropes or inside glass-shelved cases.
“Have you been there, Billie?”
“No.”
“Maybe we could go together.”
Noah glanced over at Billie, whose eyes were wide with surprise...and indecision.
“The museum is open on Saturday. Can we go then, Daddy, and show Billie all the neat stuff inside?”
“We’ll see.”
Alyssa thought that over while Billie shot him a half smile that said “thanks.” For sparing her from having to say no? Or for stalling the visit until she could walk around better?
“Oh! Daddy?”
Noah glanced at his daughter in the rearview mirror again.
“Do you mean we should wait until Billie’s ankle is okay?”
He nodded. “That would be a good idea.”
Alyssa leaned forward in her seat. “How long before it’s better, Billie?”
The woman turned slightly, and only long enough to say over her shoulder, “A week, maybe two.”