The old lady next door had said she would help. She took the cat without question. She tried to cheer Sugar up with the gift of a plant. This man, Bertie, belonged to her somehow and she would be glad to take him back.
Sugar put her hands on her hips and considered Bertie, shivering under a raggedy old towel, his face pale and sweaty. Even if she could get him on his feet, she would have to endure his heavy embrace all the way over to the old lady’s door. People would see them together. Oscar would hear it from someone.
“Oscar won’t be welcoming you to dinner, that’s for sure,” Sugar told him.
Bertie groaned.
“Well, I can’t leave you here either. Oscar will want to know where you came from.” She approached and poked him with her toe. “He punishes me when he finds dust. He can’t find you or he’ll kill me.”
Sugar squatted and thrust her hands under Bertie’s armpits. At first tug, she doubted herself. She wrestled him into a sitting position, shushing his moans. She felt a wave of strength and confidence wash over her as she pulled him into a standing position. He leaned against her, his full weight pressing into her, his head on her shoulder.
She thought of the path outside the back fence and then dismissed it. She felt guilt just for considering the idea of dropping her uninvited guest on the hard gravel. She felt him take a deep breath beside her and her head swirled with the realization that she controlled now whether he lived or died.
Sugar guided Bertie into the apartment and steered him through to the small bathroom where the cat had unrolled the toilet paper. This was her bathroom, the only place she was allowed to keep her toiletries, tucked away in the tiny cabinet, not to be seen. The storage closet that stood in the same place where the shower stood in the upstairs bathroom included a compartment just large enough for a man curled into a ball.
“You stay completely quiet,” Sugar told her charge. “I can get you out tonight, after Oscar is asleep. It’s the best I can do.”
Bertie peeled away from her and heaved into the toilet.
“Better keep that to yourself after Oscar gets home,” Sugar advised. “Or wait until he goes upstairs to change or after dinner when he goes up to watch t.v. in the loft.”
“Lady,” Bertie gasped. “I can’t…do it.”
“You will. Just think about how it would feel to get clubbed with an iron. That always works for me.”
