Page 29 of Accidentally Mine
“Young man!”the old woman called to him, and Brent halted as the doors parted for us to exit.“I want to thank you properly.”Scurrying over to us, she didn’t stop until she was toe to toe with Brent.He was at least two feet taller than her, so he stooped, clearly expecting her to hug him.Instead, she pulled his head down and kissed him smack on the lips.“Thank you.That was such a nice thing you did.”
“No problem at all, ma’am,” he said, untangling her hands from behind his neck.“Can we drop you somewhere?”
“Oh, no.I’m just in the apartments next door but thank you again.”
“Have a good day.”
Ernest had popped the trunk, so I started to empty my bags into the cavernous space.The old lady pushed her cart down the concrete indention in the curb, elbowing me as she passed.“Hold on to that one, sweetie.He’s a keeper,” she said, not quietly enough.
As she wheeled her cart away, Brent appeared next to me and closed the trunk.“Apparently, I’m a keeper,” he murmured, scratching endearingly at the back of his neck.
“So I’ve been told.”I laughed, throwing my head back like I hadn’t done in ages.
We got back into the car, and Ernest said in a thick Boston accent, “Where to now?Packies for some beer?”The last word came out likebehr.
It reminded me so much of my dad that my heart hurt.My father was definitely apahk tha cahkind of talker too.I’d missed that so much.I hesitated.I was still in an emotional state about losing Dad, especially after not seeing him for so much time, and now I was worried whether I was trusting where I shouldn’t.
Suddenly uncomfortable, I said, “If you want, you can really just take me to the T station.I’m sure you have things to do.”
For a strange second, Brent looked at Ernest with a question in his eyes, like he couldn’t remember if he had things to do.
But Ernest just snickered.“Like what?When you let him go, he’ll just go back to his bachelor pad, put on his smoking jacket, and continue his life of leisure.Let the boy help you.”
I raised an eyebrow at him, and turned to Brent, who wore a vague smirk of humiliation on his face.“How very Hugh Hefner of you.”
“Minus the broads,” Ernest added.“So not very Hugh Heffner at all, I’d say.The guy is a bit of a stiff, but he is a wicked sweet gentleman.”
“Thanks,” Brent mumbled, crossing his arms, then added under his breath, “pisser.”
“Where to?”Ernest asked.
I laughed and realized I hadn’t laughed this much in one day since I left Boston.The address was on the tip of my tongue, but I held back.Pulling myself together, I sighed and looked him in the eye.“Look, Brent.I really appreciate this.But I can’t let you come to my house.First of all, I have no idea who you are.Second, my aunt would probably lock you in a closet and never let you leave.”
“Ah.The porn addict.”He shot me a look.“How old is your aunt?”
“Sixty-four.”
He let out a smooth, rumbling laugh.“What about me makes you think I can’t take care of myself in the company of a sixty-four-year-old woman?”
“Because that old lady over there charmed you hook, line, and sinker.And she’s nothing compared to my auntie.”
His eyes glimmered.“Porn addict.Takes a keen interest in younger men.I think I’ve got to meet this woman.We might be a match made in heaven.”
“I hope you like the inside of a closet,” I mumbled.
“Bring it,” he said, rubbing his hands together, ready for the challenge.
Ernest was still standing on the street outside the grocery, waiting for an address.Finally, I gave in and told him.
“Ah.A Southie girl,” Ernest called fondly as he opened the door for us, and we climbed in.“Wicked pissa.I’m a Southie boy.Born and raised.”
“Couldn’t tell from the accent.”They were probably about the same age, so I said, “You might know my aunt.Marie Monroe.She was born and raised there too.”
His lips moved in the frame of the rearview mirror as he put on his seatbelt.“I do not.But should I?Is she hot?And did you say she has a thing for porn?I like her already.”
My eyes widened as Brent covered his mouth with his head before reaching over the seat and give Ernest a light smack on the back of the head.“Cease with the comments.Just drive.”Ernest seemed less like Brent’s employee and more like his dirty old grandpa.“Don’t mind him,” Brent muttered to me.
We drove under the highway viaducts and over the trainyard, into South Boston, then down Broadway.I could tell that Ernest was, indeed, a Southie boy, because he didn’t need directions or GPS.We pulled up to Aunt Marie’s house on the narrow street, and of course, there was no parking.I hopped out before anyone could get the door for me and went to the trunk.
