Page 53 of The Singing Trees
He mumbled something under his breath and stomped around the corner and up Congress Street, moving so quickly that he lost his breath and broke into a cough. That didn’t slow him down, though.
When they reached the two cars, he went straight to the front bumper of his Plymouth and shook his head. He raised his hand to his forehead and lifted his eyes to the sky, saying either a prayer or a string of curses—she wasn’t sure.
After quite possibly the most uncomfortable minute of her life, Walt lowered his head. “I’ve had this car for eighteen years,” he finally said with abundant frustration, his Polish accent becoming stronger with each word. “It has barely any miles on it. I just so happened to take it out of the garage for a spin this morning. Never once has this had so much as a scratch and now this. Now you come along.”
“I don’t know what to say, Mr.Burzinski, but I’ll pay for it—one way or another. They can fix that pretty easily, right? It’s just a—”
“Who in the world issued you a driver’s license? You kids these days. Don’t even know how to park a car.”
She stared at the damage she’d done, wondering if she was ready to handle the city. Even in between the beeping horns and loud chatters of those passing by, there was a constant noise here. A hammering over there, a screeching tire there, a machine kicking on down the street. “I’ve been learning for a while now. The parallel parking thing gets me, though.”
“Clearly,” he said, bending down and running his hand along the scratch.
She apologized again, thinking this accident had cost her not only a good bit of her money but also her chance for a place to live. Had it also been a sign that she’d made a mistake leaving Thomas? Or was this punishment for dragging him along in the first place? She didn’t want to cry, but the tears and apologies came all at once.
“Oh, don’t do that.” He took her note off the windshield and crumpled it.
She wiped her cheeks. “I can write you a check right now.”
“How am I to know how much it will cost? Did you see a crystal ball in my shop?”
“Do you have a mechanic?” she asked, thinking Mary Cassatt would find a way through this. So would Sharon Maxwell.
“Oh, I’ll take it from here, and yes, I’ll get my car to him straightaway.”
She dared to ask through her tears, “Does this mean you won’t rent me the place?”
He let out a loud cackle and then a big sigh. “You aren’t one of those people that breaks everything they touch, are you? Do I need to worry about you burning my building down?”
“Not at all. I was nervous coming here. Moving to Portland has been my dream for as long as I can remember, and I...ugh.”
“Oh please. Really, you must stop that. I’ll still rent you the place, but I’ll expect you to find a job posthaste. You owe me quite a lot of money.”
“Absolutely. Thank you so much.” A thread of hope worked its way into Annalisa’s frustration and sadness.
“I’m just glad to find someone who won’t annoy me with noise. You artist types are always so quiet.” He glanced at the bumper of his car one more time and then looked at the Beetle. “My guy will be able to make your friend’s car look good as new. It’ll cost you, but such is life. Now let’s go take a look at the place.”
She put her hands together in prayer. “Thank you so much. I love your car, by the way.”
He moved his head ever so slowly until he was looking at her. No words were needed. He read right through her compliment.
Chapter 18
ONWARD ANDUPWARD
Walt opened up a door that led into the stairwell and ushered Annalisa inside. A set of mailboxes hung on one of the white concrete walls that could have used a touch-up.
He moved slowly, and it took them a long time to wind their way up the steps. “A woman by the name of Eleby lives in the other one on the third floor. She keeps to herself. A little scattered, I think.” His voice echoed.
“Scattered?”
He fell into a coughing fit and paused on the steps.
“Are you okay, Mr.Burzinski?”
He waved her off and started up again. “Yes, yes, yes, I’m fine.” A few steps later, he said, “Scattered...I think that’s a good word for her.”
Annalisa smiled as they went down the hall to the apartment. He swung open the door and invited her in. To her delight, the small one-bedroom apartment was clean. As she breathed in the space, she felt like she was walking into the rest of her life. The walls were white and refreshing. The old furniture—the cracked leather sofa, the dated fabric chairs, and the wobbly table—would do.
