Love Me or Leave Me. Gwynne Forster

Sparkman Memorial Houses in Frederick, Maryland, that honored his late father and uncle. As the project’s engineer, he planned to check the pipes that had been installed up to the first floor, and arrived early so as to complete the inspection before noon that day. A series of strange noises got his attention, and he followed the sounds to an area where boards were measured and cut.

      “What the devil are you doing in here?” he asked a small boy who held pieces of wood that should have been too heavy for him to carry.

      The child stood before him clutching the boards, his body shaking. “I…uh. You’re not going to put me in jail, are you?”

      “This is a hard-hat area. Something could fall on you and kill you. What’s your name?”

      “Pete. Pete Jergens. Are you going to call the police?”

      “No. How old are you?” He noticed that the boy still held the pieces of wood close to his body. “Well?”

      “I’m nine, sir.”

      Hmm. Good manners. Drake took the boy by the arm and walked with him out to the van that bore the legend Harrington, Inc.: Builders, Architects and Engineers. “Get in here. You and I are going to talk.”

      “But can I go home first, sir? My mom will be worried about me, and I have to be at school by eight-thirty.”

      “What are you going to do with that wood?”

      The boy held his head down as if ashamed. “Cook breakfast, sir.”

      He stared at the child. “With wood? You have a kitchen stove that burns wood?”

      “No, sir. We have a gas stove, but the gas was turned off, so we have to cook in the fireplace.”

      His whistle split the air. “Where’s your father?”

      “My dad’s in jail. A man called him the n-word, and he beat him up so bad the man had to go to the hospital.”

      “How many sisters and brothers do you have?”

      “Four. I’m the oldest. Can I go now, sir? Please. I’ll be late for school.”

      “I’ll drive you home. Where do you live?”

      Drake drove the three and a half blocks thanking God that he didn’t grow up in an environment where broken glass littered the streets, cars had to skirt automobile tires, boarded-up houses lined every block and the stench of refuse offended one’s nose. He parked the truck, locked it and walked with Pete to the house.

      “What are you going to do?” the boy asked him.

      “I’m going to get that gas stove turned on.” He imagined that the children were nearly frozen. “Call your mother to the door.”

      “Mom. Mom, can you come here? My new friend wants to see you.” He realized the boy referred to him as a friend so as not to alarm his mother.

      Stella Jergens, a tiny woman little more than five feet and one inch tall, appeared at the door and gazed up at him. “Please don’t punish him for stealing the boards. If we didn’t have them, we would freeze, and I couldn’t cook.”

      “Don’t worry about that. I don’t countenance stealing. But he was trying to help you.” He looked at the boy. “Next time you have a problem like this one, go to the social-service center on Franklin Street.”

      After getting information on the name and location of the utilities company, he gave the woman three twenty-dollar bills and drove Pete to school. “Get some milk and a sandwich,” he said, offering the boy a five-dollar bill, “because you didn’t have any breakfast.”

      “Thanks,” the boy said, “but I can get something to eat at school. What’s your name, sir?”

      “Harrington. Drake Harrington. Those are my buildings you’ve been stealing from. Tell your mother I’ll be by your house around five.”

      “Thank you, sir. I think my mom is happy now. See you later.”

      He drove directly to the utilities company, ordered the gas restored and paid the gas and electric bills for the next six months. Then he went to a local market and purchased coal and firewood for the fireplace, since he didn’t know whether the Jergens family had another source of heat. On his way home, he stopped by their house to find out whether the gas had been turned on, discovered that it had been and asked Stella Jergens if she needed anything for her children.

      “Thank you, Mr. Harrington, but we’re warm now. I can cook, and the money you gave me will last awhile.” She blinked back a tear. “I can’t work because I can’t leave the little ones alone. I’ve been praying so hard. God will bless you.”

      “Thank you, ma’am, but I’m already blessed.” And he knew he was, because he’d never been hungry in his life.

      Pete ran to him. “Thanks, Mr. Harrington. I’m real glad you caught me this morning. I don’t like to steal, but—”

      He patted the boy’s shoulder. “But never do it. There’s always a better way.”

      “Yes, sir. Can I come by the place and see you sometime? I bet you can help me with my arithmetic. I like it, but I don’t have time to study. I have to help my mom.”

      “I’m not always there, but if it gets rough, you may call me.” He gave the boy his cell-phone number. “Never mind the money. You may call collect. Be a good boy.”

      “Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir.”

      He drove home glad that it was he and not his foreman who caught the boy. Jack would have called the police immediately. The man had no compassion for those less fortunate. And he wondered what miracles Stella Jergens would work in order to make sixty dollars feed six people “awhile.”

      “It’s just you and me tonight,” Henry said to Drake when he got home. “Tara’s in the school play, so Tel took them out for dinner before the performance.”

      “Yeah? In that case, don’t cook. Let’s you and me drive into Frederick and eat at Mealey’s or some place like that. No dishes to put in the dishwasher and no pots and pans to scrub. What do you say?”

      Henry removed his apron and threw it across a kitchen chair. “I never knock me self out doing nothing I don’t have to do. Be ready in half an hour.”

      As a child, Drake had followed Henry from room to room in that big house, occasionally panicking when he couldn’t find him, and after his father’s death, Henry became even more precious to him. As the Jaguar sped along Route 15 in the direction of Frederick, he imagined that he would never be the same if the time came when Henry wasn’t there for him to understand him, jostle and needle him, and to offer his quaint form of love…

      “Have you decided you’re not having anything else to do with Pamela?”

      “No. Why do you ask?”

      “The way Alexis was talking, I figured you was planning to self-destruct. I don’t waste me breath giving a man advice about a woman, ’cause he ain’t gonna take it no way. But whatever it is you’re after, you’re gonna get it, ’cause you don’t mind hard work and you treat people right. Just be sure to get your taste of heaven while you’re conquering the world. Otherwise, heaven ain’t gonna be there. Or if it is, you’ll either be too old, too worldly, too set in your ways, or all of those to appreciate it when you get it—that is, if you can let yourself accept it.

      “And mark my word, caring for babies and toddlers when you’re fifty years old can’t be no fun. Tell me something, son. Did she say she’d wait while you discover yerself?”

      “Stop being facetious, Henry. She didn’t promise to wait. And before you ask, I don’t like it, but she’s a grown woman and she doesn’t need my permission to date other men.”

      “And if she got any sense, that’s just what she’ll do.”

      “Alexis