The driver glanced over his shoulder. “Where to?”
“Broadway.” He handed the cabby a slip of paper with the address. “You know where that is?”
“Sure do.” The man returned the slip, and with barely a glance over his shoulder, pulled away from the terminal.
Luke sank back and took a deep breath. Not long now, he thought, willing away his anxiety. The city looked dreary in the fading daylight, and apprehension enveloped him as they headed toward it.
Open fields and woodland groves were interspersed with warehouses and homes—an odd mix, Luke thought. They neared Seattle, and department stores, eateries, theaters, clubs, and office buildings replaced open ground. Streets, like dark rivers, cut through the city, flowing up and down steep hills. Gazing at passing buildings, Luke wondered where Mattie lived.
The cab driver dove in and out of traffic, occasionally muttering at a reckless driver or pedestrian. More than once a horn blasted as the cabby cut off traffic while maneuvering.
“I'm in no hurry,” Luke finally said, gripping an armrest.
“No? Well, I am. It's been a long day, and I've got a sweet wife waiting for me at home.” The stout driver grinned at Luke in the rearview mirror.
Luke smiled but wished the man would keep his eyes on the road.
“So, you got friends here?” the cabby asked, his eyes turning forward just in time to see a car cut in front of them. He swerved, and without even touching his brakes, glided into the next lane.
Luke's foot pressed hard against the floor of the taxi. “Yeah. A friend.”
“Any family?”
“Nope.” Luke stared at the road, and each time he thought the driver ought to brake, punched the floor with his foot.
“You got a girl? You look like you're home on leave.”
Wishing the man would pay more attention to his driving and less time meddling, Luke answered curtly, “I'm here to see a friend.”
“Where you from?” the driver asked, seemingly unaware of Luke's irritation.
“Alaska, originally. But I was at Pearl Harbor when it was bombed.”
The driver swung his head around. “Man! You're lucky to be alive! I'm proud to meet you.” He reached over the seat and offered Luke his hand.
Still keeping his eyes on the road, Luke shook the man's hand and thought he'd be lucky to live through this ride. “Hey! Watch out!” he hollered, then tumbled sideways as the driver veered to keep from rear-ending a line of congested traffic.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “But it's not every day I meet a real war hero.”
“I'm not a hero,” Luke said, resettling himself on the seat. “Just a sailor.”
“Well, I'm rooting for you guys, and so is the rest of the country. God bless you.”
“Thank you,” Luke said, feeling remorse at his earlier displeasure and display of annoyance.
When they finally pulled to the curb, Luke climbed out, relieved to be free of the car. He dug into his pocket for the fare. “How much?”
“For you? Nothin'. Just take care of yourself.” The driver saluted and drove away.
Gripping his bag, Luke turned and stared at a five-story brick building. Rows of small windows looked down on the street. He retrieved Mattie's address and glanced at it. “Number 403,” he said, tucking the paper back into his pocket and heading for the front steps. He opened a single door and stepped into a small entry with a narrow hallway stretching out straight in front of him. A staircase leading up was on his left, and rows of metal mailboxes crowded the wall to his right. He started up the steps.
By the time he reached the fourth floor, he was slightly out of breath. Tenants here must be in good shape, he mused and walked down the hall a short distance, stopping in front of room 403. He stared at the door. What if she wouldn't see him? He almost wished he hadn't come. At least that way he wouldn't have to face rejection.
Taking a steadying breath, he rapped on the door. His spine straight and shoulders back, he waited. No one answered. He knocked again. Still, no answer.
“Now what?” he asked, glancing up and down the corridor. “I wait,” he answered himself, returning to the staircase. He set down his duffel bag and sat on the top step.
Luke waited a long while. Residents moved past. Some acted as if he didn't exist; others eyed him suspiciously. An old woman gasping for air shuffled by. She smiled at him as she stepped onto the landing and rounded the staircase, then plodded up the last flight of stairs. A little while later, she tottered down, this time gazing at him. Three steps later she stopped, turned, and stared at him. White wisps of hair splayed out from her head like a halo, and watery blue eyes met his. She pursed her lips and pressed a hand to her chest. “My, oh my. All these steps are almost too much for an old woman like me.”
“Can't you move to a different apartment?” Luke asked as he stood up.
“Heavens sakes, no. They're just never available.” She smiled and her eyes crinkled. “I like to think that I'm a few steps closer to heaven.” She chuckled. “I probably am—I'm sure I'll keel over one of these days just from the exertion.”
“Of course you won't,” Luke said, uncertain of an appropriate response.
She peered at Luke. “You waiting for someone?”
“A friend.”
A hint of suspicion touched her eyes. “And who might that be?”
“Mattie Lawson. You know her?”
“Oh, yes. She's such a dear thing.” She frowned slightly. “I'm not so sure about her roommate, Meryl. I'm afraid that girl has a lot to learn about life.”
“Meryl?”
“Meryl Raison. Don't get me wrong. She's a fine person, just a bit spoiled and full of vinegar.”
