Free Inconsolable by Ainslie Paton Page B

the night with him. He doesn’t like to be touched.”
    â€œSo you tried.”
    â€œNo. Oh shit. Nat. No. I left my wallet there and he brought it back. I’m going to drive him home.”
    â€œTo his cave, which you’re trying to evict him from?”
    â€œYes, we have a deal.”
    Nat jammed her hands over her ears. “La, la, la, la. Don’t tell me if I can’t know this.” She dropped her hands. “You’re messing with me?” She glared. “No, you’re not, are you? His shirt hardly has any buttons. If those boardies were any more faded you’d see skin. He’s not your friendly Friday night fuck, he really is your destitute cave-dwelling bum.”
    â€œNat, stop, please.” How could she see the details of other people so clearly and not know she was still only wearing one earring?
    â€œMe, stop. What are you doing? You can’t hang around with him like he’s a normal guy.”
    â€œI’m not.”
    â€œYou’re just driving him back to his cliff top hideaway with its billion dollar views like a chauffeur service then.”
    â€œI’m buying him something to eat and driving him home.”
    â€œOh my God. Foley. You’re going on a date with a homeless dude.”
    They stared at each other. Of course it wasn’t a date. That was ludicrous. Nat moved. She put her hand to the doorknob. “I’m going to talk to him. This is not a secret anymore.”
    Foley planted both hands around Nat and pushed on the door. “No, you’re not.”
    Nat was half turned with her elbow up. It poked in Foley’s chest. They were locked awkwardly against each other, like in a bad TV sitcom. Neither of them were giving in.
    Nat jostled her arm against Foley’s sternum. “He came to my home. Open game. If he won’t talk, I won’t harass him, but he’s a story and you can’t protect him from me anymore.”
    â€œNat, please.”
    â€œHe brought your wallet home. Oh, be still my beating heart. You talked to him all night, didn’t you?”
    â€œNo. He hardly says anything. I’m taking him home. He’s troubled. Please, please, don’t do this.”
    Nat took her hand off the knob, and put her back to the door. She bopped Foley’s nose. “So long as you remember that.”
    Foley pushed her away from the door. “It’s impossible to forget.”
    Nat moved past her then spun back. “Oh, the groceries.”
    Foley opened the door and poked her head out. “Sorry about—” The groceries were stacked neatly against the wall and Drum was gone. “Shit.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œHe’s gone.” She turned back to find her wallet, her bag, her keys, snatching them up.
    Nat grabbed her arm. “Foley, let him go.”
    â€œNo. He probably heard every word.”
    She fled into the hall and hit the stairs at a run.
    How far could a pissed off man on foot in bad weather get?

8: Falling
    A saner man, a man who enjoyed walls and refrigeration, a decent bed and a bathroom that wasn’t chained at night, would’ve known what a crazy idea it was to go to the house of a woman who annoyed the crap out of him and he couldn’t stop thinking about.
    A man more in control of his faculties wouldn’t have stood there, eyes bugging out of his head when that woman opened the door wearing what barely passed as clothing.
    All that bare tanned leg, the slice of flat belly when she reached to stop the door closing. Dear God.
    But he wasn’t a saner man. He was troubled, like she’d said. Not normal. He didn’t need to hang around to hear more. And he certainly didn’t need a chauffeur.
    He dumped the grocery bags against the wall and got out of there. On the street he paused. The sky was dark, a purple underbelly. There were a couple of ways he could go. Uphill would hurt more but it was the most direct route and the