as he played. Ricky saw that the child wore a hearing device in one ear.
The woman looked up and saw Ricky standing on the walkway.
“Hello,” he said. “Is this your house?”
She nodded, folding the paper in her lap and glancing toward where the child was playing. “It is indeed,” she said.
“I saw the sign. About the room,” he said.
She eyed him cautiously. “We usually rent to students,” she replied.
“I’m sort of a student,” he said. “That is, I hope to be working on some advanced degrees, but I’m a little slow because I have to work for a living, as well. Gets in the way,” he said, smiling.
The woman rose. “What sort of advanced degree?” she asked.
“Criminology,” Ricky replied off the cuff. “I should introduce myself. My name is Richard Lively. My friends call me Ricky. I’m not from around here, in fact, only recently arrived here. But I do need a place.”
She continued to look him over cautiously. “No family? No roots?”
He shook his head.
“Have you been in prison?” she asked.
Ricky thought the true answer to this was yes. A prison designed by a man I never met but who hated me.
“No,” he said. “But that’s not an unreasonable question. I was abroad.”
“Where?”
“Mexico,” he lied.
“What were you doing in Mexico?”
He made things up rapidly. “I had a cousin who went out to Los Angeles and got involved in the drug trade, and disappeared down there. I went down trying to find him. Six months of stone walls and lies, I’m afraid. But that’s what got me interested in criminology.”
She shook her head. Her tone of voice displayed she had some large and immediate doubts about this abrupt outlandish tale. “Sure,” she said. “And what got you here to Durham?”
“I just wanted to get as far away from that world as possible,” Ricky said. “I didn’t exactly make a great many friends asking questions about my cousin. I figured it had to be someplace far away from that world, and the map suggested it was either New Hampshire or Maine, and so this was where I landed.”
“I don’t know that I believe you,” the woman answered. “It sounds like some sort of story. How do I know you’re reliable? Have you got references?”
“Anyone can get a reference to say anything,” Ricky replied. “It seems to me that you’d be a lot wiser to listen to my voice and look at my face and make up your own mind after a bit of conversation.”
This statement made the woman smile. “A New Hampshire sort of attitude,” she said. “I’ll show you the room, but I’m still not certain.”
“Fair enough,” Ricky said.
The room was a converted attic area, with its own modest bathroom, just enough space for a bed, a desk, and an old overstuffed armchair. An empty bookcase and a chest of drawers were lined on one wall. It had a nice window enclosed by a girlishly frilly pink curtain, with a half-moon top that overlooked the yard and the quiet side street. The walls were decorated with travel posters advertising the Florida Keys and Vail, Colorado. A bikini-clad scuba diver and a skier kicking up a sheet of pristine snow. There was a small alcove off the room which contained a tiny refrigerator and a table with a hot plate. A shelf screwed into the wall contained some white, utilitarian crockery. Ricky stared at the efficient space and thought it had many of the same qualities as a monk’s cell, which is more or less how he currently envisioned himself.
“You can’t really cook for yourself,” the woman said. “Just snacks and pizza, that sort of thing. We don’t really offer kitchen privileges…”
“I usually eat out,” Ricky said. “Not a big eater, anyway.”
The owner continued to eye him. “How long would you be staying? We usually rent for the school year…”
“That would be fine,” he said. “Do you want a lease?”
“No. A handshake is usually all we require. We pay utilities, except for the phone. There’s a separate line up here. That’s your business. The phone company will activate it when you want. No guests. No parties. No music blaring. No late nights-”
He smiled, and interrupted her, “And you usually rent to students?”
She saw the contradiction. “Well, serious students, when we can find them.”
“Are you here alone with your child?”
She shook her head with a small grin. “There’s a flattering question. He’s my grandson. My daughter is at school. Divorced and getting her accountant’s degree. I watch the boy while she’s working or studying, which is just about all the time.”
Ricky nodded. “I’m a pretty private guy,” he said, “and I’m pretty quiet. I work a couple of jobs, which takes up a good deal of my time. And in my free time, I study.”
“You’re old to be a student. Maybe a bit too old.”
“We’re never too old to learn, are we?”
The woman smiled again. She continued to eye him cautiously.
“Are you dangerous, Mr. Lively? Or are you running away from something?”
Ricky considered his reply, before speaking. “Stopped running, Mrs…”
“Williams. Janet. The boy is Evan and my daughter whom you haven’t met is Andrea.”
“Well, this is where I’m stopping, Mrs. Williams. I’m not fleeing from a crime or an ex- wife and her lawyer, or a right-wing Christian cult, although you might allow your imagination to race ahead in one or all of those directions. And, as for being dangerous, well, if I was, why would I be running away?”
“That’s a good point,” Mrs. Williams said. “It’s my house, you see. And we’re two single women with a child…”
“Your concerns are well founded. I don’t blame you for asking.”
“I don’t know how much I believe of what you’ve said,” Mrs. Williams responded.
“Is believing all that important, Mrs. Williams? Would it make a difference if I told you I was some alien from a different planet sent here to investigate the lifestyles of the folks of Durham, New Hampshire, prior to our invasion of the world? Or if I said I was a Russian spy, or an Arab terrorist, just a step ahead of the FBI and would it be okay if I used the bathroom to concoct bombs? There are all sorts of tales one can weave, but ultimately all are irrelevant. The truth that you need to know is whether I will be quiet, keep to myself, pay my rent on time, and generally speaking, not bother you, your daughter, or your grandson. Isn’t that really what is critical here?”
Mrs. Williams smiled. “I think I like you, Mr. Lively. I don’t know that I trust you all that much yet, and certainly don’t believe you. But I like the way you put things, which means you’ve passed the first test. But how about a month’s security and first month’s rent and then we’ll do things on a month-to-month basis, so that if one or the other of us feels uncomfortable, we can bring things to a quick conclusion?”
Ricky smiled and took the old woman’s hand. “In my experience,” he said, “quick conclusions are elusive. And how would you define
The smile on the older woman’s face broadened some, and she maintained her grip on Ricky’s hand. “I would define
“Clear enough, Mrs. Williams,” Ricky said. “I think we have an agreement.”
“I thought so,” Mrs. Williams replied.
Routine came as quickly to Ricky’s life as the fall did to New Hampshire.
At the grocery store he was swiftly given a raise and additional new responsibilities,
