An old man, maybe 80, sat on the bench with water soaking through his coat, clutching a snuff box with both hands like it was the one thing he cared about keeping dry. I drove past him. Then I kept seeing him in the rearview mirror. I pulled over so fast that the cake tipped sideways.
I grabbed the umbrella and ran to him.
“You’ll get sick out here,” I said.
He looked up slowly. His face was lined in that weathered way some men get after too many winters and too few easy years.
“The shelter turned me away,” he said simply.
“You’ll get sick out here.”
“Do you have anywhere else?”
He shook his head. I didn’t think twice.
“Come on,” I offered.
He blinked. “Miss, you don’t know me.”
“No,” I said. “But I know rain when I see it.”
The man got into the car, thanked me softly, and said his name was Walter.
He barely spoke on the way home. I handed him a towel, and he used it carefully, first on his face, then on the snuff box, and then on his hands.
“Miss, you don’t know me.
At the house, Walter hesitated at the door. “You sure?”
I unlocked it and stepped aside. “I’m sure for tonight.”
Mrs. Carter arrived with Briana and Tom and stopped dead when she saw Walter.
“He’s my guest,” I said before she could ask.
Tom just smiled and said, “Woohoo! We’re having cake!”
