A/N: Oops, I accidentally set the story in America without thinking. I was hoping to wrap it up with a second chapter, but maybe I'll get around to a third one and make it a complete trio at some point...? Sorry for the lack of commitment here - school is keeping me very busy!
He now has one week, less than a hundred dollars, and no plan. He clutches the eviction notice in his hand, finally forcing his mind through the possible options.
His mother lives across the ocean, anxious for news – but he cannot bring himself to pick up the phone and inform her of her son's utter failure. And as for Robert, with his full belly and bleeding heart –
His thoughts swirl around in his head, desperation and despair battling the last remaining remnants of his pride. If only he could disappear, quietly and without leaving behind a single mark…
Footsteps draw near, echoing against the cold, soaring columns of the cathedral and startling him out of his thoughts. He's not sure why he is here at all – he has never entered a church since his father's suicide – but he is at least thankful for the opportunity to rest his legs, weary from hours of aimless wandering. In fact, he is not sure if he will ever have the strength to get up from his seat again.
The footsteps stop just a yard shy of him, hesitant. "May I sit by you?"
He can't be sure, but he recognizes the voice, with its distinctive lilt and tone. It's the woman who helped him at the diner, he thinks, whose hands he pushed away too roughly. He feels a pang of guilt.
"Of course."
She sits next to him, and then stills. Not a word is spoken, and neither budges an inch.
He can feel her presence, however, and it gnaws at him until it occupies him entirely. Is she waiting for him to speak, stubbornly waiting for an apology from him? Or is she simply praying, as one often does in a church, and would prefer not to be disturbed? He imagines he can feel her gaze on him, shamelessly taking advantage of his inability to know for certain – or perhaps she is, like so many others, simply using this short resting period to check her phone.
Suddenly, it occurs to him that he has not had a proper conversation with someone in weeks. He wonders if he has already lost the art of conversation entirely.
She stirs. "What's that in your hand?"
For an instant, he considers crumpling up the notice in his hand, hiding it from view. But he tilts it towards her instead. "They've given me one week to move out."
She does not respond right away. He wonders if he has completely overstepped his bounds, burdening a polite stranger with a heavy truth.
"I'm ever so sorry," she finally says.
"I'll be all right," he quickly replies in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. "Something will turn up." Strange, that he should feel the need to comfort her – but he does feel it, nonetheless.
Her next words are unexpected. "Could I borrow your cellphone?"
He detects a new buoyancy in her voice, which throws him off even further. He hands her his phone. "It's quite loud," he warns her.
"That's fine," she says. As she types, the phone announces each key pressed. Quickly, and almost instinctively, he commits the ten digits to memory.
Then he hears his phone announce each letter of her name. A-n-n-a S-m-i-t-h. He is a little disappointed at the plain nature of the name – he had expected something more elegant, unique. Still, his heart pounding, he carves the memory into his mind as well.
"I can help you, if you'd let me," she says, handing the phone back to its owner. "I'm a social worker."
His heart sinks. Another bleeding heart – another pity case for the social worker.
As if sensing his sudden withdrawal, she sounds more hesitant. "Will you at least let me know when you've settled somewhere?" Then, in a softer voice, she adds, "Else I'll worry."
He smiles, but it does not come easily. "Well, we can't have that."
There is a hint of bitter sarcasm there, and he regrets it immediately. Hastily, he searches for a way to recover. "I'm John Bates," he offers, as though revealing his name might atone for his momentary rudeness.
Unconsciously, he holds his breath for her response.
"I'm Anna. Anna Smith."
This time, her name sounds beautiful to his ears.
