Free Courting Disaster by Joanne Pence

Stan said.
    â€œIt’s over,” she murmured. And that, in itself, told him everything he needed to know about that relationship. She continued, “He was a mistake, nothing more. Maybe—” Her voice caught. “Maybe the baby is, as well.”
    â€œNo, don’t think that,” Stan said vehemently.
    Their eyes met. “I don’t, at least not most of the time. But to be alone at a time like this, it isn’t easy.”
    An unfamiliar feeling stirred in Stan’s breast. What was wrong with him? He tried to ignore it. “You’ve got a hospital and doctor lined up, don’t you?”
    â€œMy social worker has lined up a birthing clinic for me.”
    â€œSocial worker?” he asked, confused.
    â€œI’m poor,” she said with a sad smile, then lifted her arms as she looked down at the cheap clothes and shoes she wore. “Or hadn’t you realized that?”
    â€œI’m sorry.” The realization swept over him of how incongruous it was to be having such a conversation with a woman he knew absolutely nothing about.
    He found himself studying her. Her frame was slight yet solid, her jaw firm, her hands strong and capable-looking with square, polish-free nails. He liked everything about her. “I’m concerned, that’s all.”
    Dark eyes held his. “Why?”
    Her question puzzled him because he had no answer. He gazed out at the water. “You’re right. I should keep my mouth shut.” He glanced at her again. “But you do have people who’ll take care of you, don’t you?”
    She smiled shyly. “I know some who might help.”
    He didn’t like the sound of that. “Look, if they don’t help enough, call me. This is my cell phone number.” He took out a small leather-bound notebook and wrote out his name and number. It took him a moment to build up the courage, but then his chest swelled and he blurted out the words, “I’ll help you.”
    â€œStan.” She whispered the name as she read it, then carefully folded the paper and put it in her pocket. “You’re very nice, Stan.” She crumbled up her sandwich’s waxed paper and threw it and the empty water bottle in a trash barrel. “I’ve got to get back inside. My lunchtime is over. Thanks for sitting with me.”
    He stood as well. “Thank you.”
    She started to walk away. “Come back again. I’ll see you another time, I hope.”
    â€œOkay,” Stan said, watching her as she used a key to unlock the back door to the restaurant and go inside. “Hey, wait! What’s your name?”
    The door shut behind her before she answered.

Chapter 7
    Paavo stood on the cement walkway above the beach at Aquatic Park. The sun was going down over the Golden Gate, and he watched the waves roll onto the shore. At sundown the changing temperatures over the water caused a chill wind to blow into the city. He turned up the collar of his sports coat.
    Just above the beach the Maritime Museum looked down upon the scene. He knew it was one of Angie’s favorite “old San Francisco” spots. She often talked of how, when she was a little girl and her older sisters were in school or busy, she and her mother would walk to it from their Marina-district flat. She’d learned a lot about San Francisco history there, insisting that Serefina read descriptions of the displays over and over. Afterward, if the day was warm, she’d play in the sand; if cold, they’d walk out onto Muni Pier and check on the fishermen who dropped their lines into the water.
    A chill rippled down his back and he put his hands in the pockets of his slacks. Thinking of thatreminded him of how troubled he was over Angie and the situation Sal had confronted him with. He and Angie had vowed never to lie to each other. Up to now he’d pretty much kept the vow. Although she stretched the truth—or forgot it now