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I'll be fine,” I replied.  “I just want to go home.”  My dress was stained and torn, my entire body ached, I had a massive headache throbbing in my temple from where I'd hit the sidewalk, and on top of all that, my feet hurt. 
    He still seemed uncertain, his expression anxious as he watched me, but didn't press the issue.
    I was touched that he was concerned; it seemed genuinely nice people grew harder and harder to find with each passing day.  “What's your name?” I asked.
    “F-Frankie,” he answered. 
    I forced a smile though my face ached with the effort.  “Nice to meet you, Frankie.  I'm Kathleen.”
    “Nice t-t-to m-meet you, t-t-too,” he stuttered back. 
    With a tired sigh, I laid my head back on the seat and the few miles to my apartment passed in silence.
    When he parked, Frankie jumped out of the car and opened my door.  I eased out of the taxi gingerly, wincing at the pain in my abdomen as I unfolded myself from its confines.  I clutched Blane's jacket to me, shivering as the icy wind blew my hair into my face.  The pretty up-do I'd done earlier was nowhere to be seen, the thick strands having fallen free from their pins.  I sighed, feeling a little like Cinderella after the ball, except Cinderella never got beat up.
    I headed for the stairs and had taken two steps up them before I realized Frankie was following me.  I stopped and turned.  “You don't have to come with me,” I said.
    He shook his head adamantly.  “The man s-s-said t-to help.”
    I was too tired to argue, much less in the freezing cold.  Grimacing, I clutched the stair railing and climbed the flight of stairs to the top floor.  I fumbled in my purse for my keys, opened the door, and collapsed gracelessly on the couch.  I didn't think I'd ever been so grateful to be home. 
    Tigger, my marmalade colored cat who thought himself more human than feline, jumped on my lap.  Absentmindedly, I stroked his soft fur, his purring making his body vibrate under my fingers.
    Frankie fumbled for a minute before locating the light switch and flipping it on.  I squinted in the sudden brightness.  It was my first good look at Frankie and I was surprised at how young he appeared to be.  Tall but lanky, his hair and eyes were both a nondescript brown, his features plain but not unattractive.  Frankie shifted uneasily at my scrutiny.
    “You n-need s-s-some ice,” he said, gesturing jerkily to my face. 
    I lifted my hand to my cheek, realizing it was slightly swollen and bleeding from scraping the asphalt.  Before I could say anything, Frankie had hurried into the kitchen.  It took him a while and I wondered if I’d have to help, but finally he was back and handed me a small bundle of ice wrapped in paper towels.
    “Thanks,” I said, pressing it to the side of my face.  It eased the pain. 
    Frankie shifted from foot to foot as he watched me, shoving his hands in the pockets of his faded jeans.  He wore a t-shirt and thin jacket, his shoes well-worn sneakers.  He reminded me of a lost puppy and I wondered about his family.
    “How old are you, Frankie?” I asked.
    “Twenty,” he answered obediently.
    “Do you live with your family?”
    He shook his head.  “Not anymore,” he said flatly.
    His answer didn't invite more questions so I was at a loss as to what to say when he suddenly blurted, “You l-look l-l-like my little s-sis-sister.”
    My eyebrows shot up in surprise.  “I do?”
    “C-chrissy,” he said.  “I t-t-take c-care of her.”
    “By yourself?”  I couldn't imagine him taking care of anyone – he barely seemed capable of taking care of himself.  I tried not to think unkindly, but Frankie didn't seem to be very bright.  Eager and kind, but not too smart.
    He nodded.  “She's f-f-fifteen.”
    Good lord, he was a child taking care of another child and apparently made a dubious living as a taxi driver in Indy.  My chest tightened in sympathy as I imagined them trying to get by on that