Supposedly, Charles is Enrique's cat. Allegedly, he's got a problem with stealing people's things and hiding them.
I've never seen the cat, but when I confront Enrique about it, he just says Charles is a recluse and I'll see him eventually.
He's probably right, because it hasn't even been three days since I arrived here.
But that doesn't help because I need to make my first solo adventure into town and I cannot find my keys anywhere. I suppose, I'll have to ask Enrique about it later. It can't be Enrique taking my things, though, because he left before my keys went missing. I think.
The clock on the wall ticks on, reminding me that I have to get going if I want to be back in time to eat dinner before midnight. I guess I'm walking. Charles really is just looking after my health, I'm sure.
The sun sears down on me in a way I've never experienced before, and of course my sunglasses have also gone missing, so I'm sporting a very old hat I found in the back of the entry closet. Enrique must not be a hat guy. But it does the trick.
Mostly. I'm still left wondering which way is up after I make a turn onto what I assume will be main street but instead end up on a winding narrow street that I recognise only because of the house with a large silver and red flag affixed to the front porch.
I wonder what sports team she's supporting today.
"You doing all right, dear?" The woman's accent sounds Scottish or maybe Irish. I've never been very good at accents.
"Yeah, I think so," I start. "Actually, no. I'm lost. Somehow I got turned around trying to find main street or... umm, what's it called again? I forget which animal it is."
"Banff Avenue," she says, watering a purple flower that sits on her front step. "Would you like me to take you there?"
"Oh, no. I don't want you to go out of your way for me. I just want to find the store. I was supposed to go with... my friend. But he's got to work late and I want to get there before it closes."
"It's really no trouble. I'm heading in myself to get some fresh turnips. Sue said they were coming in today."
I have no idea who Sue is or whether or not I should be trusting the woman I've just met, but following someone around in the open air seems safe. I'm going to risk it. "Sure. I'd love to walk with you."
"Beautiful," she sings. "Let me get my bag."
The bag she is speaking of is not a small purse like I'm carrying but a cloth bag that looks like it could easily hold everything I took with me to Vegas.
"Do you need a bag?" she asks when she notices I'm empty-handed.
"No, I'll be fine with whatever they have at the store."
"Oh, we can't have that. I'll find you a small one. Just a minute."
I would try to stop her, but it's exceptionally obvious that she is not going to take no for an answer, and I do really prefer having something reusable, but I couldn't find any in Enrique's house. Which isn't saying much because I can barely find the bathroom.
Okay, maybe it isn't Enrique's fault I haven't met Charles. Or maybe Charles isn't real and Enrique's just trying to make me feel better about how often I lose my stuff.
"Here we are," the older woman says, interrupting my thoughts. "It's got a nice Banff bear on it for you."
She's right. It's actually a really nice bag. "Thanks, but I can't take this from you," I say when I finally catch up to her near the corner. "I'll come by to bring it back tomorrow."
"It's my gift to you," she says, stepping out into the street despite an approaching car. I have to chase after her to avoid being hit. "But if you want to stop by tomorrow and help in the garden I wouldn't say no to some strong young hands."
I was not anticipating that when I offered to bring the bag back. Who could have expected that when offering to return a bag?
"No need to say yes, my dear. If you're busy."
"I'll see what my work schedule looks like and then let you know."
I have every intention of saying no. But her face tells me she knows that's what's going to happen. Maybe I'll have to prove her wrong.
* * *
It turns out the woman's name is Mrs. Maeve Gallagher, widow. That's how she introduced herself after I fumbled over my own name. Because what is my name? But Maeve, as she insists I call her, was as unphased as she ever was, abandoning me the moment we enter the store to check on Sue and her turnips.
She disappears so fast I have no chance to thank her for saving my skin, and I'm feeling a little guilty. So guilty, in fact, that I do a whole lap of the store before I leave. I even check the turnips one more time on the way out but there is no sign of her. I'll have to go see her at some point and make an effort to fit in here. I won't know if I can do it until I try.
It's only once I'm a block away from the store, shifting my borrowed bag from one shoulder to the other, that I realize I've fallen right into the old woman's trap. I'll have to go help with her garden. She's craftier than I gave her credit for.
I only lose my way two times on the way back to Enrique's house, silently cursing myself for not having brought my phone with me so I could use the map. Finally, it is nearly dark outside when I open the front door and step inside.
In this light, the house casts shadows, uninviting as it is dark. I have to fumble around to find the switch but finally I manage to illuminate the modern kitchen and get my ingredients ready to make spaghetti.
Of course he has a gas stove. Because it would be too easy if he had a stove I could use.
Turning the knobs looks dangerous and I can't remember how to turn the gas hood on, so I set about chopping all the ingredients so at least I can be ready to cook when Enrique comes to make sure I don't burn down his massive house.
My eyes are watery from the onions when the door finally opens to reveal an exhausted Enrique.
"Hey," I call out. "I can't get the stove to work."
"You didn't have to cook for me," he sighs, dropping his bag onto the floor.
"I kinda did," I return. "Because you weren't home and there was no food in the house."
"You don't have to worry about me, Bianca. I can do it. I've been keeping myself alive for years with no one's help."
What the heck is that supposed to mean? I put the knife down on the counter and step back, resisting the urge to put my hands on my hips. Only to protect my clothes from onions. Not for him.
"And I've been keeping myself alive for years I just didn't have to argue with a stupid gas stove to do it so could you please help me eat. I've had a long day."
He brushes past me and turns the stove on. Bless him for resisting the urge to point out how simple it is, because I know I would have.
"Thanks," I mumble, watching his back disappear as he heads up the stairs to his bedroom.
I'm in the middle of sauteing my onion and beef when he reemerges at the top of the stairs clad in plain purple pyjamas.
"You all right?" I test the waters when he gets to the bottom of the stairs. "Because..."
"I know. I'm sorry. This is new to both of us. I shouldn't expect you to know how everything works on your first week."
Does he mean the stove or how he runs his house? I don't have the courage to ask so I just smile. "Thanks. I'm not used to living with anyone either. Maybe right when you got home wasn't a great time to complain."
"You didn't even complain, you just asked me how the stove worked. I don't know what's going on. I'm just stressed, I guess."
I should ask what's stressing him, but I just nod and return to browning the meat before pouring in the tomato sauce and diced tomatoes.
"It smells really good." He offers the olive branch and I accept.
"Thanks. It might be the only thing I can make well. So, if you work late all the time, you might have to get used to my spaghetti."
He slouches into the bar stool and rests his head in his hands. "We should probably get used to your spaghetti," he sighs. "Not that I'm complaining about that part, just work is busy this time of year and they gave me another class that I wasn't prepared for which means... You don't want to hear this."
I actually kind of do.