—Mr. Chetan, I want to ask you something if you don’t mind.

—No problem, Mrs. Ramdin. Sorry, Miss Betty.

In the fifteen minutes between dropping the boy to his school and reaching ours, Miss Betty chatted nonstop. The husband had died so it was only she and the boy. Well I knew that already. Things were tight. The house was old but big. She inherited it from her grandmother and it’s paid for but she doesn’t have much cash. A lodger would be income and company. If I knew anybody suitable I should let her know. A mature, single woman would be ideal. I said I would keep my ears open.

* * *

    On the Wednesday, I found her in the staff room taking a break. Normally I eat lunch at my desk but today I eased up beside her at the long dining table.

—Miss Betty.

She looked up from the chow mein noodles she was eating.

—Miss Betty, we could talk for a minute? When you’re finished your lunch.

She shifted her chair to face me.

—You eat already?

I nodded and sat down. Sadly, my story wasn’t that unusual in a country clocking forty murders a month. Henry’s Pharmacy on Cipero Street is my landlord’s business. Bandits came in broad daylight. They knocked him down, buss his head with a gun, and tied him up. It was he and his wife there. I never asked but I pray the men them didn’t interfere with her. That happened Easter time and made the papers. Not front-page news because nobody died but it was still in the first section. They took it hard and now they’re selling up. Everything’s going—the pharmacy, the house, two cars, furniture—the whole jahaji bundle. Fort Lauderdale is already home to their grown children and that will be where they settle. I’ve been renting the little apartment downstairs their house for the last four years. Now I’ve got to move. Everything I see that I like, I can’t afford. What I can afford, I don’t like. Maybe Miss Betty’s place could be a temporary thing until I find what I want.

—I know you prefer a lady and that makes sense. So, if you say no I will understand. But I promise you will hardly know I’m there. You can ask my landlord. All the years I was there we lived easy easy. Not a single quarrel passed between us.

—Well look at that. When I said that word to you the other day I didn’t know nothing nothing about you looking for a place. It’s true I would prefer a woman but you wouldn’t be a bother. Nobody in this office has a bad word to say about you. Not one body. Anyhow, pass later nah and we go talk.

—Thanks, Miss Betty. I appreciate that.

    —Mr. Chetan, I know you’re teaching math but you don’t have to be so serious all the time. You and me are roughly the same age. Neither of us reach forty yet. Calling me Miss Betty makes me sound like an old lady.

—I don’t mean you’re old, Miss Betty. It’s a respect thing. Leave me nah.

—Well I only hear people calling you Mr. Chetan so I suppose that is what you want me to keep calling you?

I gave her my sweetest smile. In this situation it was best to stay quiet. Let her figure it out.

—God is love, yes. I didn’t have time to say crick crack, monkey break he back for a piece of pomerac, and boom, the room gone.

Crick crack, look at that. By that evening everything was settled. Moving is next Saturday.

* * *

Two trips and we moved everything into Miss Betty’s house. Her car trunk was chinky for so. One big suitcase and it was nearly full. Lucky thing I wasn’t bringing any of the two-three pieces of old furniture I had. Massy had a Rainy Season Blowout. I said to myself, Chetan, when last you buy something for yourself? I went to town. New bed and an armchair were the main items. Wherever I move to after this, I will need my things. While waiting to pay, I saw a cute desk so that passed in the rush too. Normally Massy takes a week to deliver. Don’t ask me why but they catch a vaps and dropped off everything the same day. When I told Miss Betty new furniture was coming she wanted to help me choose. No disrespect but when you’ve lived alone it’s hard to take people interfering and this woman looks like she could well interfere. I am going to have to keep my distance or next thing you know she’s running my life. If it was woman I wanted, I would’ve got myself a wife long time. And, of the things I want in life, a wife does not even make the list.

As we turned in to the yard with the final carload of my stuff, her son, Solo, was waiting by the black wrought-iron gate. Miss Betty had barely parked when the child was trying to open the trunk.

    —Mr. Chetan. Mr. Chetan. I can lift up this suitcase. I can do it.

The suitcase was nearly as big as the child. It probably weighed more.

—Leave it, son. Let me do it and you help your mom take things from the back seat.

Miss Betty declared she was leaving the gentlemen to sort out everything and going to take a five minutes. Solo put himself in charge of settling me into the house. I was trying to unpack but the boy kept calling me. Could he show me his room? Two minutes later he wanted to explain how to operate the TV. I had barely packed a drawer when he demanded I inspect the kitchen. What to do? He was only being friendly. Solo showed me everything—down to turning on the water heater if there wasn’t enough hot water in the pipe. He was a completely different child from the morning they had stopped to give me a drop. A right little chatterbox.

—Mr. Chetan, is that the last box you’re bringing up?

—Yes. You stay. There’s nothing else to bring. Ouch. Oh jeez-and-peas that hurt!

I had stumped my so-and-so toe on the sharp edge of the concrete step. Books tumbled out the box I was carrying. A flashlight went clanking down the steps. Solo rushed to help.

—You all right, Mr. Chetan? You all right?

—My toe. Damn. That nail going to turn blue. I hit it and then the flashlight dropped on top it.

The boy ran after the flashlight and scooped up the books.

—You want ice to put on your toe?

—Don’t worry. I’ll manage.

—These steps are very dangerous. My daddy fell down these same steps and died. Right here.

—For true? Right here?

—I don’t remember anything because I was small but I know he fell down.

    —I’m sorry.

—Sometimes he used to drink, get drunk and fall down.

—You mustn’t say that about your father.

—But Mammy told me that happened.

I hoped Miss Betty wasn’t listening. Her window was open so unless she was sleeping hard she must have heard. Children these days.

—I’m sure your father was a good man.

—Just please be very very, very, very careful on the steps. Okay? Especially if you come home drunk.

—You’re not going to see me drunk. I take my Carib or a Stag now and then but I’m not a drinker. And Solo, you must be careful on the step too. If I knew about your daddy’s accident I wouldn’t have let you run up and down with boxes.

—I’m accustomed to the steps. Nothing will happen to me.

He bent down and picked up a large plastic bag.

—A boy in my class said he does thief Carib beer from the fridge and drink it in the backyard.

—I hope you never do that.

—Mammy said that is the one thing she will give me licks for. I can do anything but that.

It took the both of us till evening to put everything in place. Of course I could have done it all much faster but Solo refused to leave my side. I didn’t mind and, although this boy’s blabbing nonstop, half the time he’s muttering to himself. At dinner Miss Betty acted like she hadn’t heard what Solo said about his father. Still, it bothered me. People like to run their mouth—especially when it’s nothing to do with them. No, I wouldn’t want that for these two. About half past eight I asked Solo please, let’s knock off for the day. What wasn’t put away could wait.

—Solo, you can help me again but not too early. It’s Sunday tomorrow.

—Okay. I won’t come in your room and wake you up then.

—Before you go come let me whisper something in your ears.

He smiled and came close.

    —You mustn’t go around telling people that your father used to drink. It doesn’t sound nice especially since he’s passed. And it will make your mom cry.

He leaned into my ear and whispered back,

—My mammy won’t cry for that.