Where the Streets Have No Name

Never pick up strangers from the side of the road.

Ever.

No matter the circumstances.

Up until this moment, Amelia followed the rule. But something about this particular person made her stop, pull onto the side of the road just outside of Dundalk, Ireland, and offer assistance.

Tall and broad and muscled, the man fit the description of an ancient Celtic warrior. The defeated slouch in his shoulders stole her attention. Amelia spent a few days a week back home helping out with various local charitable outfits and she saw many people with the same posture as this man.

She looked his clothing over; a tattered navy blue sweater better suited for a younger or smaller man, grit embedded into the fabric of his jeans, rips and tears from the rear waistband down to the frayed hems at his heels. Under his clothes was a body hardened by bulges of muscle. Each step he took, she saw him flex, watched the strain of his shirt over his shoulders.

In the time she spent studying him, the man never once turned around. He walked at a too-slow pace for a man his size. He seemed almost completely dejected. Emotion pinched in her chest. What brought a person down so low?

Her own heart broke into irreparable shards the moment she lost Poppa. The only man she ever loved was nothing more than a million memories and a handful of ashes filling an urn in the back seat of her rental car.

Maybe this man lost someone dear to him. While she held herself together to see to Poppa’s last wishes, she imagined the man walking on the side of the road gave up completely.

Amelia honked the horn once and waited. He paused, dropped his head lower, and continued on his trek. His feet dragged on the pavement, heavy with…what, grief?

What’s with this guy?

She tapped the horn once more and he repeated his actions.

Determination squared her shoulders. If she had any purpose in life, this might be it, and Hell be damned if she’d let him suffer alone. Amelia shoved open the door, narrowly avoiding a car that whizzed past. Checking the way was clear, she hopped out, shut the door, and started after him.

“Hey!” Amelia called out. “Stop!”

He did, hesitating mid-step for just a second before letting his foot touch the ground again. He didn’t speed up his escape but kept the same crestfallen pace.

“Wait up!”

Amelia ran to catch up with him, snaring the toe of her sneaker on the uneven pavement. The ground came at her quick and unexpected. The sting on her palms from slapping against the pavement was nothing compared to the bone-jarring pain in her knee. A string of expletives shot from her lips on an exhaled breath as she tried to push herself up.

“You’re mad, you are,” a deep, growling, and accented voice said from above her. “Bloody mad. Take my hand.”

Dusting away the few bits of rock and dirt stuck to her palms, she accepted the stranger’s large, warm hand. He pulled her up like she weighed no more than a large bag of flour. On her feet, she cringed at the sharp pain in her right knee when the slightest amount of pressure was applied.

The man dropped his shabby bag and helped her to stand with both of his arms. “Why are you coming after me? Want your pound of flesh, is that it?”

Thoroughly confused, Amelia gazed up into the face of a furious man, who looked as though he could use about a week’s worth of sleep. “I-I’m sorry? Flesh? Wha– I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just pulled over to see if you needed a ride somewhere.”

His irate mask faltered. “A ride?”

“Yeah. I mean, I never pick people up on the side of the road like this, but…” She shrugged, tearing her gaze from his dark, guarded eyes. “You looked like you could use one.”

“So, you weren’t just…” His expression changed to skeptical. “…following me?”

“I was trying to get your attention.” She laughed, looking back up. “You ignored my honking so I called out to you. Anyways, it seems now I’m in need of some assistance.” Amelia put some pressure on her right leg and winced.

“But”– His brow furrowed –“don’t you know who I am?”

“Look, if you’re a local celebrity, I’m sorry for not recognizing you. This is my first time in the country and I haven’t even been here for a full twenty-four hours yet.”

“No, I uh, I’m no celebri– never mind. Let’s get you back to your car.”

“Thanks,” she said.

He stood stock still for a moment. Wariness clouded in his eyes. A thousand expressions danced over his granite features.

Then he bent at the knees to retrieve his bag, slinging it over one shoulder. He walked around her until he reached her back. Amelia held her breath. Did she do the right thing by stopping? Had she read him correctly? Or was this a monumental mistake?