Page 72 of The Cartographer

I’m guessing Allie feels doubly like shit. Not only is his sister injured and will likely lose her job and needs to find housing ASAP, but he’s in no position to help, especially with his new job. He can fill in for a night at the bar, but there’s no way he’d last much longer. He’s a terrible bartender.

And with the kids… I can understand why he’s freaking out too.

I could tell him everything’s going to be okay. That I won’t let anything happen to any one of them. I’ll find them a place to stay while they look for a new one. Hell, I’d be happy to buy them a place closer to me so Allie wouldn’t have to drive across the bay all the time. It would have enough room for him too. He won’t take it, though. I know he won’t, and I don’t want to start a fight right now. That’s the last thing he needs, to be getting irritated with his overbearing…whatever I am to him.

“Hey,” I say, laying a hand on his thigh just above his knee and squeezing until he looks at me. “One thing at a time. Let’s make sure she’s getting taken care of properly, and then we’ll deal with the rest.”

He doesn’t argue with my use of the plural, and I’m relieved. At least he’ll let me help that much. I put both hands back on the wheel because city driving requires attention and precision, and I start to run through my mental Rolodex. Do I know anyone at Bay Memorial? San Francisco Mercy, Oakland General, yes, but Bay Memorial—I don’t think so. That’s okay. Allie won’t want me to pull strings anyhow, and I could still talk a fish into buying a bottle of water in the middle of a monsoon.

Nodding, he looks so lost. Let’s see what other problems I can solve.

“Where are the kids?”

“With a friend Kendra called. They can’t stay, though. She works night shift, and she’s gotta be there at eleven.”

“Anyone else you could call?” I venture. I bet he’s wishing his mom were here. This is what grandmas show up for. Hell, I’d callmymother if she weren’t on the other side of the country. She loves kids. But our mothers are in Philadelphia, New York. Why is it transporters haven’t been invented again?

“No. The neighbors…I don’t trust them. My friends…well, I don’t trust them either.” He gives me an embarrassed smile because that sounds fucked up, but I know what he means. He knows them in a certain context, and it doesn’t include handing over those kids, probably the people he loves most in the world.

“Does the sitter have the car seats?”

“Yeah, that’s how she got them to her house.”

I hesitate because I don’t know how he’s going to feel about this. It’s worth a shot, though. This is a problem I can solve. Easily. “If it would be helpful, I could call Matthew. The sitter could bring them to my place, and he can stay as long as you need him to. He’s good with kids. Maybe the sitter could put them to bed before she leaves, but if they’re too wired to sleep, he can stay up with them.” Matthew’s learned a thing or two from me, and he has his own naturally occurring air that seems to put people at ease. Plus, get him in the right mood, and he’s an utter goofball. We’ll probably come home to a sock puppet show. “He could call either one of us if there’s an issue, and it would be easy to keep the kids in the loop if there are things they need to know.”

Hart eyes me skeptically. “He’d do that?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“He wouldn’t mind?”

“Honestly, he’d be more irritated if you didn’t accept his help than if you did.” Which is precisely where I am right now, but I won’t say that.For the love of god, let me help you.

Allie rolls his lips between his teeth and nods. “Yeah, all right. If you think he really won’t mind.”

Five seconds later, Matthew’s picking up his phone.

“Matthew, I’m in the car with Hart. You’re on speaker. His sister’s been injured in a fire at her place, and we’re going to see her at the hospital. In the meantime, the kids are with a sitter, but she needs to get to her job soon.”

There’s no hesitation on the other end of the line. “Where should I go and what time do I need to be there?”

Allie gives him the information and, when we hang up, gets on the phone with the sitter to give her my address and Matthew’s information. By the time we’re pulling into the hospital garage, I’ve taken care of one slice of Allie’s worry pie. I drop him off at the entrance so he doesn’t have to tap his foot through me finding a parking spot. He practically vaults out of the car, and I brace myself for a slam of the door that never comes. When I glance through the still-open passenger-side door, I see Allie bent over and hovering.

“Thank you.”

The earnestness and gratitude fills my heart, and I have to swallow around the lump in my throat. “It’s entirely my pleasure. Now go see Kendra.”

He drops a quick nod before shutting the door and jogging to the entrance. I watch him go, waiting until he’s through the automatic doors, and then I pull away to find a parking spot.

*

I grab aseat in the ER waiting room and occupy myself with my phone while I wait to hear something from Allie. Always emails that need triaging, half of which I only glance at before sending to Matthew. It’s only scheduling.

Around ten-thirty, my phone rings and it’s Matthew. The kids are asleep in a guestroom upstairs, and the sitter left after introducing the kids to him. Everything’s fine. “You have Hart’s cell in case they wake up and they’re freaking out, right?”

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