Chapter 1

Ben switched on the Weather Channel and looked at the current conditions: Temperature 25 degrees below zero, Fahrenheit. At least, he figured, the forecast had been correct. He pulled on a sweater, boots, overcoat, hat and gloves. Then he picked up a plastic tub containing his car battery and carried it to the parking lot. There, he popped his hood, set the heavy object into its holder and connected the cables.

His engine cranked briskly when he turned the key, but it took a while to ignite. Once running he slammed down the hood and sat behind his wheel to let it warm up. Through his window he could see other drivers whose cars wouldn't start.

He walked to one and rapped on the window. "Would you like a boost?" He rapped again.

A young woman glanced at him and recoiled for an instant. Ben saw her fumble for her window control; then she opened her door.

"Would you like a boost?" he asked again.

"Oh ... Yes, if you don't mind."

"Pop your hood." He looked at her dashboard and pointed to a lever beneath it. She pulled it and her hood released.

Ben lifted it and peered into her engine compartment. "I'll be right over," he said and headed for his own vehicle.

He parked alongside hers, released his own hood, retrieved jumper cables from his trunk and set them in place. "Try it," he said.

She turned her key and her engine cranked.

"Keep cranking," he advised her, "and give it a squirt of gas." Her engine started. Ben slipped off the cables. "Give it a few minutes to warm up," he said. Then he closed her hood and his and walked down the line.

"Need a boost?" he asked another driver.

Ben stopped in his building's outer lobby and with his key he opened his mailbox. Sorting through the contents he saw a letter addressed to M Abernathy, apartment 312 -- the one next door to his. He climbed the stairs and rapped on her door. He rapped again and stooped to slide the letter under the door when it opened.

He straightened. "Hello." The young woman who answered the door regarded him with surprise. He recognized her as the driver he had helped that morning. "I ... I believe this is yours," he said and handed her the letter. "It was in my mailbox."

"Thanks," she said. "You're the one who gave me a boost me this morning."

"That's right. I didn't know we were next-door neighbors. How long have you had this apartment?

"About a month."

"I didn't hear you move in," he replied. "I'm here most of the time -- I work out of my apartment. I wasn't sure the place was even occupied, you're so quiet, Mmm..." He made a come-to-me hand gesture.

"Molly. I'm Molly."

"Molly. I knew your name began with an M." She made a quizzical expression. " ... from your letter -- addressed to M Abernathy. Nice to meet you, Molly. You're so quiet. I'm Ben -- Ben Moore."

"Like Benjamin Moore, the paint?"

He sighed. "Yes, like that -- no relation."

"Do you catch grief over your name?"

"I've caught my share." He regarded the tank top and shorts she was wearing. "Is your place too warm, too?"

"Yes. I can't seem to do anything about it."

"I ended up blocking the heat registers with some cardboard."

"Aren't you afraid of starting a fire?" she asked.

"It's hydronic heat -- hot water. There's no way it can get hot enough to ignite anything."

"Maybe I'll try that." She held up the letter. "Thanks for this -- and thanks for helping me this morning. I'm surprised you could get your car to start."

"I was prepared. When I saw the forecast, I took my battery out and brought it indoors -- to keep it warm. I always do that when it gets so cold."

"Maybe I should try it."

"You have a newer car. If you took out your battery, all your electronics would need to be reset ... clock, radio and so on. That's the beauty of driving an older car."

"You don't have a clock or a radio?" she asked.

"My clock doesn't work and the radio is an old, analog one. At any rate, it's supposed to be cold again tomorrow. If you need a boost, just knock on my door. I'm right next door..." He gestured. "So just..." He made a knocking gesture. "I'll be home."

"Thank you, Ben," she replied.

"Then ... I'll see you," he said and gave her a little wave. He headed back into his apartment.

Knocking on his door awakened Ben. He glanced at his clock -- it read 8:12. "Just a minute," he yelled, threw off the covers and slipped into a bathrobe. He opened his door and saw Molly with boots, coat, gloves, scarf and a knit hat. "Molly -- I'll bet you need a boost."

"Yes, I do ... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get you out of bed."

"It's all right. I'm usually up by now, but I was working late last night."

"I shouldn't have disturbed you."

"It's all right -- I told you to knock if you needed a boost. I won't let you down, Molly. Give me a minute to get dressed ... Come in, come in -- I won't be long."

He headed to his bedroom where he pulled on jeans, a tee shirt and sweater. Then he slipped his bare feet into his boots, pulled on his coat and grabbed his gloves. "Keys?" he muttered and patted his coat pocket. "There's my battery," he said, pointing to the plastic tub by his front door. "I'll get my car started and give yours a boost." He picked up the tub. "Pull the door shut, please."

He headed down the corridor with Molly by his side. "You said you were working," she said. "What sort of work do you do?"

"I'm a writer," he replied.

"What do you write?"

"Everything -- articles, books ... novels, memoirs, biographies ... fiction, non-fiction -- you name it. I'm sure you've read my stuff."

She pondered. "Ben -- I don't want to sound not well read, but I don't recall seeing anything with your name on it."

"You won't. I'm a ghostwriter ... a book doctor. Some celebrity will sell his memoirs to a publisher and they discover he can't express himself worth shit. I get called in to make his stuff readable."

"Who have you ghost-written for?" she asked.

"Now that I can't tell you -- I'm bound by confidentiality agreements. I'm sure you'd be appalled at who can't write to save their lives." He set down the battery while awaiting the elevator. "I normally take the stairs but not while carrying this sow."

"Does your work keep you busy?"

"Oh, yeah. For me it's a perfect job. I can take or refuse as much work as I want. I set my own hours, I work out of my apartment and I can work in my underwear if I so choose." The elevator doors opened and he picked up the battery.

"It sounds like lonely work."

"It suits me," Ben replied. "I'm somewhat of a loner."

"I guess I am, too."

"There's a difference between being alone and being lonely, Molly. I'm alone a lot, but I'm almost never lonely."

Molly held the front door for him and he carried the battery out into the cold. "Man -- it feels colder today than yesterday." He reached his car. "Can you do me a favor and pop the hood?"

"You don't lock it?"

He shook his head. "That's another advantage of driving an old beater. No one wants to steal it." He pulled open his hood, set down the battery and hooked up the cables.

"Okay," he said, "why don't you wait by your car? I'll be along shortly."

Ben heard scratching at his door. He opened it and saw Molly crouched down. "Molly?"

"Oh. Hi..." She handed him an envelope. "I was trying to slide it under the door but there wasn't enough clearance."

"What's this?" He began to open it.

"It's a thank-you for helping me. You really did go beyond the call of duty -- especially this morning when I got you out of bed."

"It's not a problem, Molly." He pulled the card from the envelope. "This is sweet..."

"You also saved my butt the past two days. I had important meetings at my office and I would've been toast if I missed them. If I called Triple-A I probably would've had to wait hours."

"I'm happy to have been of service, then."

"There's also an invitation in there," she said, pointing to the envelope. "As a way of saying thank-you, I thought I'd invite you for a home-cooked dinner tomorrow. I was thinking about what you said about the difference between being alone and lonely. I mean ... I've been in this town for a month and it would be nice to have some company. Unlike you, Ben, I have found myself lonely on occasion."

"Tomorrow is Saturday. I'd love to accept your invitation, Molly. What time?"

"Say, six? You know where I live."

"See you then."

"Okay. Great." She turned to leave, stopped herself and gave him a wave. "See you."

Ben rapped on Molly's door. He rapped again and it swung open. "Hi," he said.

"Ben -- come in." She regarded his shorts and tee. "Is your place too warm again?"

"Yes, and it's warming up outside ... which makes it even warmer inside. I think it reached ten degrees today ... balmy."

"So we're both dressed for a hot summer's day." She modeled her shorts, tank and flip-flops. He handed her a paper bag.

"What's this?" She withdrew a bottle of wine.

"My mama taught me never to arrive empty-handed. I didn't know what's on the menu so I brought a rosé -- it goes with everything." He regarded her. "You do drink, don't you?"