someplace.”
She seemed to be considering it. I knew I didn’t look like anything out of the Seattle social register, so sincerity was probably the best I could hope for. I leaned in close, crossed my arms against her window, and talked to her through the crack. “Look, miss, you can’t stay out here all night. If you’re broke, I’ll loan you the money for a place…a cheap place, okay?…no strings attached. Call it my good deed for the year, chalk it up to my Eagle Scout days. If you’re worried about me, I can understand that, I’ll slip you the money through the window and give you an address where you can send it back to me when your ship comes in. What do you say?”
“I thought Good Samaritans were extinct.”
“Actually, I’m your guardian angel,” I said, trying for a kidding tone to put her at ease.
“Well, you’ve sure been a long time coming.”
“We never show up until the darkest possible moment.”
“Then you’re right on time.”
“I could spare thirty dollars. You won’t get much of a room for that, but it’s better than sitting in your car all night.”
She leaned close to the crack and studied my face.
“Why would you do something like that?”
“Because you look like you’ve just lost your last friend. Because I know you’ll pay me back. Because once or twice in my life, I’ve been so far down it looked like up to me.”
“Richard Farina.”
I didn’t say anything, but I was surprised she had made that connection.
“That’s the title of a book by Richard Farina.
I said, “Oh,” and pretended not to know it. I’d have to watch that, keep the literary metaphors out of my talk until I saw where we were heading.
“So what do you say?” I asked.
“I won’t take your money…but, yeah, maybe a ride…I could use a ride if you’re going my way.”
“I’m sure I am.”
I told her to stay put and I’d drive up close so she wouldn’t get wet. Then I had her, snuggled in the seat beside me. No wonder monsters like Ted Bundy had it so easy. That thought crossed her mind too and she said, “I guess I’m a sitting duck if you’re some wacko from a funny farm.” She shrugged as if even that wouldn’t matter much. I gave her the big effort, a smile I hoped was reassuring. “Ma’am, I don’t blame you at all for thinking that, I’d be thinking it myself if I were in your shoes. All I can tell you is, you’re as safe with me as you’d be in a police station.”
I hoped this wasn’t laying it on too thick, but it didn’t seem to bother her. “My name’s Janeway.”
Her hand was warm and dry as it disappeared into mine. “Eleanor Rigby.”
I was surprised that she’d use her real name: she probably hadn’t had time yet to get used to being a fugitive.
“Eleanor Rigby,” I repeated. “You mean like…” and I hummed the staccato counterpoint.
She tensed visibly at the melody. For a moment I was sure she was going to get out and walk away in the rain. “You’ve probably heard that a million times,” I said, trying to make light of it. “I imagine you’re sick of it by now.” Still she said nothing: she seemed to be trying to decide about me all over again. “Look, I didn’t mean anything by that. I grew up on Beatles music, it was just a natural connection I made. I sure wasn’t relating you to the woman in the song.”
Her eyes never left my face. Again I was certain I was going to lose her, she seemed that ready to break and run. “We can start all over if you want. My name’s Janeway, and I’ll still loan you the thirty if you’d rather do it that way.”
She let out a long breath and said, “No, I’m fine.”
“And your name is Eleanor Rigby, I understand. It’s a great name, by the way. Really. How’d you come to get it?”
“The same way you got yours, I imagine. I come from a family of Rigbys and my father liked the name Eleanor.”
“That’s as good a way as any.”
Now she looked away, into the rainy night. “This is going to be a lot of trouble for you.”
“Trouble’s my middle name. Which way do you want to go?”
“Get on the freeway and go south. Stay in the left lane. When you see 1-90, branch off to the east, take that.”
