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Charity Begins Next Door: Part 1
Life isn’t fair. So when you fight back, fight dirty.
In 2 parts, Based on the post from Tx Tall Tales. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.
Christmas has always been my favorite time of year. I
married young, and had two perfect daughters, but my marriage was far from
perfect. We had been young and in love. I was entering the community college
and Denise was starting her senior year when we decided to tie the knot. Her
family’s ready acceptance of me was a huge factor - the family I’d never had,
making me feel like a real member of theirs. I can admit it now; I probably
loved being a part of the family as much as I loved Denise.
Our split up was inevitable, two teenagers who knew nothing
about life thinking their infatuation with each other would make everything
else workout. I wasn’t an all-star, super jock, Rhodes Scholar with a 12"
swinging cock. I was just your average student, A and B grades, spending some
bench time on the football team to get my letter, and losing my virginity at 18
to the girl I’d eventually marry.
When times got rough, we didn’t know how to handle it, and
struck out at each other. Her family often stepped in and helped out when they
could, but time after time, the great sex wasn’t enough to make up for the
difference in our wants, needs and ambitions.
In the end, we gave up. Sometimes I think it’s a miracle we
made it through 5 years. Our devotion to our children allowed us to finally see
past our own issues, and work out a remarkably amiable truce, with our girls at
the center. Even though Denise and I couldn’t live together, it turned out we
got along a lot better divorced. We shared our daughters’ time, lived only one
neighborhood apart, and worked together as a team to make our personal
differences have as little impact on our girls as possible.
I had initially shared an apartment uptown, but eventually
bought one of the smallest houses in the same school district, just to make
things easier. It was a lot more than I needed most of the time, but when the
girls stayed with me it felt like a home. And we only lived a couple of miles
apart.
The neighborhood was nice, predominantly younger families,
in older, smallish homes. Most of the people were cordial, kept up their
property, and after a few years I knew many by name and would exchange
greetings at the grocery store, or when out shopping. I had become
suburbanized.
This was our fourth Christmas since the divorce. Denise was
living with Eric, who I wish I could despise, but he was a decent guy with a
great job and lousy taste in sports teams. He doted on my girls without trying
to take my place. It had taken a while, but we’d developed a friendship, which
wasn’t a bad thing.
My child support was pegged at just over $1500, with the
kids on my health insurance. Even though we weren’t married long enough for alimony
to kick in, I was paying another $500 a month just to make the kids’ lives
better. And for me, that was all that really mattered.
The expense had been rough at first, but with little to
concentrate on other than work, my performance skyrocketed. Two promotions in
three years had made the financial aspect much less problematic, but increased
travel had made the ability to be available for the girls less guaranteed.
Denise was good about it, and worked with me. In return I picked up some more
of the girls’ expenses, including music lessons and a piano.
At Least we still had Christmas
Christmas was special. We celebrated Christmas as an
extended family. I’d come over early, and we’d have a big family breakfast and
open all the presents together. I really went all out to make sure the girls
got their favorite items. At six and eight years old, they were still young
enough to have simple wants, and the magic of Christmas was as real as it gets.
The in-laws would come over in the afternoon with more presents and we’d have a
good old fashioned Christmas dinner with all the trimmings. It was nice to be
part of something.
I got a Christmas shut-down at work and Denise didn’t, so we
agreed that they’d stay with me from Christmas to New Year’s, and any time she
could get off, we’d usually work out something to get her time with the kids.
It was understood that I wouldn’t leave town, at least not for more than a day.
Summer was great with the 2 weeks I got to spend with them,
and we’d usually spend it on the beach. Christmas was still different.
Christmas was magical.
I always was given the girl’s wish list, but I’d also start
my shopping in late November for the must have items of the season. And I
wasn’t stingy; I’d buy them all up, just to make sure I didn’t miss any.
Stores, online auctions, Craigslist, I’d use any way possible to get my hands
on the hottest presents. The first two years I’d caught hell from Denise for
buying everything on the list, leaving nothing for them to get. Now I received
a separate list of things I wasn’t allowed to buy.
So it was that I had just finished wrapping my forty-fourth
present, all in glitter Barbie paper for Briana, and in Hannah Montana paper
for Allora. December 5th, my earliest date so far to finish the bulk of my
shopping. Sure, I’d pick up a few more things, including something for Denise
and Eric, but my girls were taken care of. The presents were carefully spread
around my living room, where they’d remain on display until just before
Christmas, when I’d bring them over to Denise’s in a big ceremony.
The call came from Denise’s mother, Sharon. It took me 11
minutes flat to get to the hospital. I was still too late. Denise and Briana
had both died en-route. Eric had passed away only ten minutes before I’d
arrived. But Allora, my perfect little Allora, was fighting for her life, in
critical condition. She’d always been a fighter, would never back down from any
challenge. She’d beat this too, I just knew it.
It was a freak accident, with a car dodging out of the way
to miss a coyote on the road. An 18 wheeler behind the car did his best to
avoid the car in front of him, but ended up fishtailing, and taking out a
suburban in the next lane over. That vehicle crossed the median and hit my
ex-wife’s family van head-on. Six dead already and one little girl still
fighting hard for her dear life.
Sharon and I kept a vigil over the little towhead, and when
the doctors came out after 6 hours and declared the worst was over and she was
in stable condition, we fell into each other’s arms and cried like children.
We stayed by her side, one of us always present, and Sharon
called me when my baby woke up and spoke. For three long days we watched her
slowly heal in the hospital, the worst of her bruises, cuts and contusions
blossoming on the second day, and only just starting to fade again. I’m not a
religious guy by nature, but I found myself on my knees beside her bed, praying
to God to take care of her, and giving thanks for pulling her through this
horrendous disaster.
At 4:18
pm on December 7th, she passed away.
No warning, no reason, she was there, and then she wasn’t.
The doctors suspected a clot. I suspected incompetence.
I finally understood how a person could get so down on
themselves that life might not even feel worth living.
I went home and shut myself off from the world. After a
while I took the phone off the hook. Hell, let’s be honest, I ripped the
fucking wires out of the wall so I didn’t have to listen to one more bleeding
heart tell me they were “sorry for my loss”. The cell phone was easier. I just
turned it off.
Several people from work came by and assured me that I could
take as much time as I needed. They’d bring me food, and news, and would leave
as soon as they felt they’d spent the minimum time required socially by the
situation.
Denise’s family took care of the funeral arrangements. They
attempted to call, and even stopped by for my input. I gave them a check for
$10,000 to take care of the girls, nearly wiping out my savings. What was I
going to spend it on now? I couldn’t bring myself to go to the showing but I
did take a shower and put on a suit for the funeral. It was a bleak day, gray
skies, 20 mile an hour winds threatening to tear the top off of the outdoor
tent. The ground was soggy from rain the previous night. Just perfect.
"Thanks, God. Piss on a guy when he's down. Well, fuck
You too."
I shook the required hands, and kissed the offered cheeks
until I just couldn't take it any longer. All these fake people. Fake emotions.
Tell me how sorry they were then go home to their perfect little families and
eat meatloaf. Fuck'em. Fuck'em all.
Fourteen days. Two solid weeks in that dark house. I
wouldn't turn on any lights. No TV. I didn't bathe, I didn't shave. I sat in my
chair or I lay in my bed and wallowed.
I had a few visitors after the first couple of days, but I'd
rarely let them in, and before long they had the decency to stop showing up.
Only Cathy from next door wouldn't let me sink into complete oblivion. Every
day, at least 3 times a day, she'd check in on me. I wouldn't have let her in,
but she had a key to the back door for emergencies and wasn't afraid to use it.
She'd open the windows a crack, and goad me into getting out
of bed and at least sit in the living room. She'd bring food, which she'd set
in front of me, and refused to leave until I at least tried it. I insisted on
getting my key back, and she handed it over willingly enough. And showed up
again the next day. She'd made copies. Meddlesome bitch. Again, she badgered me
into eating her breakfast.
And she'd talk. God, how that woman could talk! I got tired
just listening.
All the neighborhood gossip, town gossip, political gossip,
school gossip - she was plugged in everywhere and knew it all. Who was doing
what, or whom. Griping about people who still had Thanksgiving decorations up,
or had Christmas blowups in their front yard. Church fiascos and neighborhood
vendettas, she would sit there, drink her tea (or bourbon and coke if the sun
had set) and fill me in.
I didn't care.
It had been two weeks since the accident. I'd lost more than
10 pounds, and really just wanted to crawl in a hole and die. But Cathy
wouldn't let me. She made it her personal mission to cheer me up, get me to
respond, bring me back to life.
Then one day she let me have it with both barrels.
She walked up to me and slapped me across the face. Hard.
"Damn it Alex! Snap out of it! Life is hard. And it isn't fair, but as bad
as you have it, there's always someone who has it worse. Often in your own
backyard if you have the eyes to see it."
"What do you know about it?" I snapped viciously.
"I notice your kids are alive."
"I know my mother died when I was six, and my father
left when I was thirteen, leaving Mike to raise my sister and me. He was
seventeen years old. But he manned-up and did the job the best he could. That's
what I know. Life is hard."
"Life is hard. Life's a bitch and then you die. When
life gives you lemons, make lemonade. When God closes a door he opens a window.
If I hear one more God-damned cliché I swear I'll kill something," I
growled.
"Alex, you got a raw deal. You had two perfect little
girls, and now they're gone. Your past is shattered. Your little bit of
immortality is lost. And as bad as you've got it, I'd remind you others have it
worse, and they just press on. You need to as well," Cathy told me,
kneeling beside me and holding my hands.
The woman barely knew me. A middle-aged mother of three with
grown kids, and a workaholic husband. Her life was her home, keeping it
immaculate and decorated for every holiday and season. Now it seemed I was her
newest project. Why should I matter that much to her? Couldn't she see I didn't
want her help?
"Sure, starving Ethiopians, children in Nigeria dying
of aids, Tibetan monks martyred, it's a tough world. Boo hoo."
"You don't have to look as far as Ethiopia or Tibet.
There are people right here, right on your own block that are really
struggling. Open your eyes. If you don't like the unfairness do something about
it. Even up the odds a bit. Make a difference somewhere. Get back to
living."
Something she said must have gnawed its way down to my
subconscious. I spent my usual 14 hours or so in bed, but when I awoke I was
thinking about her constant comments about someone in my own backyard that had
it worse.
I cataloged each person on my block, in my head, and nobody
really had it that bad. Sure, Neil, three doors down had lost his job, but his
wife was still working, and he was looking. The Harris's on the corner had a
boy in Iraq, but as far as I could tell he was still Ok, and they had three
more at home. The Martins, one down from the corner, fought all the time, and
even had the cops called in on them once but they were still together. What did
Cathy mean?
I expanded the radius of consideration to include the blocks
surrounding us. Then it hit me. Across the alley in back, two houses past
Cathy's own. Six months ago. Barry Morrison had driven into an empty field
behind the local middle school and eaten a bullet. I didn't know much about the
family - I just knew there was one.
When Cathy came over, I had showered off the top two layers
of grime and sweat, and was drinking a Coke in the living room.
"Good morning, Alex, beautiful day outside. Why don't
we go out on the porch?"
"The Morrisons. Tell me about them."
She placed her mug of tea in the microwave, warming it up,
then walked out my front door and sat in one of my rocking chairs out front.
Irritated, I followed, and sat in the chair beside her.
"The Morrisons?"
"Sandy and her daughter Erica. You won't see much of
her; she's working two jobs trying to keep the house over their heads. They're
still fighting with the insurance company over payment. Suicide clause won't
pay under two years. He had insurance for years, but just around two years ago
he changed the terms. She's been trying to sell the house, but it's underwater,
and nobody's buying."
"How's the little one?"
"Erica's not doing so well. She's seeing a counselor
twice a week, and hardly speaks anymore. The school's talking about holding her
back," Cathy explained. She sounded sad.
"Do we know anything more about why he did it?"
"No crimes, he wasn't fired, no embezzling, it's not
clear what it was about. Apparently he'd been depressed for quite a while, but
the underlying situation is still a blank as far as I know."
"Harsh on the family, going out like that," I told
her, finding the whole idea hard to grasp.
"To say the least. The poor woman is worn to a
frazzle."
"And how does this all matter to me?" I asked.
"It doesn't. It doesn't have to matter to anybody.
They're on their own. Alone."
"No family help?"
"Not that I know of. If they're around, we don't see
much of them, that's for sure."
"Cathy, how the hell do you know all this stuff?"
I had to ask.
"People just like to talk to me. I'm a very good
listener," she told me with a big smile.
We sat quietly enjoying the crisp air, finishing our drinks.
"You're a good neighbor too, Cathy. Thanks," I
said softly.
"That's what neighbors are for," she said,
reaching out and patting me on my arm.
That's what neighbors are for.
Cathy brought me dinner again and I realized I was starving.
She beamed at me when I finished the whole platter.
"Let's go for a walk, Alex. You could use a stretch of
the legs."
It had gotten chilly, and we bundled up a bit. She took the
lead and we walked down the block and turned up the neighborhood. We headed
back up the next block and she regaled me with the entire history and habits of
the inhabitants of each place we passed. She might have been a good listener,
but I had to wonder when she ever was quiet long enough to hear anything.
It was obvious when we got to Sandy Morrison's place. The
"For Sale" sign was a dead giveaway. The unkempt yard and overgrown
bushes indicated a lack of care for months. It couldn't help with the sales
prospects. The door paint was faded, and there were no Christmas lights or decorations
set up. I thought the Realtor wasn't earning their commission, letting the
place show like this. Through the window I could see a desktop Christmas tree,
maybe two feet tall, lit up all in white.
Strangely, Cathy stopped speaking before we got to the
house, and didn't speak again until the end of the block. "Sad," was
all she said.
We took a round-about path back to my house, and our
conversation had returned to the safety of weather concerns, community issues,
and such, carefully skirting any discussion of the Morrisons.
I was feeling the chill after the walk, and invited Cathy in
for a cup of coffee, Irish fortified if she so desired.
We drank our coffee in front of my gas fireplace, warming
our old bones. Damn that neighbor of mine, and her good intentions! She'd not
only gotten me to think of something other than my own misery, and the
unfairness of it all, but she had me thinking about those poor girls behind me,
and what they must be going through. Damn it! It wasn't fair.
I guess I still wasn't ready for pleasant company. Angry at
the world, I threw my mug at the wall, shattering it, and leaned over with my
head in my hands, doing my best to hold back the tears. Big boys don't cry.
Cathy stood and ran her fingers through my hair for just a moment
before leaving out the back door. Kind enough to leave me alone to wallow in my
misery a little longer.
December 22nd. Just three days until Christmas.
When Cathy came over that morning, I was already up and
dressed. I had my working duds on and coffee and bagels ready.
"You're up early," she commented, helping herself
to the java.
"It's almost 10," I reminded her. "Not so
awfully early."
She laughed. "Seems to me anything before noon is quite
early as of late. Got plans?"
I nodded. "Thought I'd head over to the Morrison's and
see what I can do about the outside of the house. Clean it up a bit. Make it a
little more presentable if they're really planning on selling it."
"That's mighty neighborly of you."
"It'll give me something to do. I need to get out of
this damned house."
After our coffee, she walked with me across the alley, all
my yard-work gear in a wheelbarrow. The grass was dormant, but long, and the
bushes were out of control. I didn't notice when Cathy left, but she returned in
a few hours with some sandwiches for lunch, insisting I take a break.
I'd finished the bush trimming and had mowed the lawn,
bagging the trimmings. I was just finishing the edging when she appeared. I
took a break, and listened to her chatter about the neighborhood activities,
and how sad it was that in the past few months nobody had offered to do as much
as I had.
"I guess we victims of fate need to stick
together."
"It already looks 100% better. If you want to work in
the backyard, I have a key to the gate."
"It figures you would."
"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked.
"It just doesn't surprise me. I bet you've been helping
out when you could."
She sighed. "Not too much. She's too damn proud.
Doesn't want any help from anybody."
I shook my head. "Now you tell me. She'll probably call
the police on me."
"So what if she does? You know you're doing the right
thing. I'll bail you out if need be."
I let her unlock the back gate, and saw I had my work cut
out for me. The back yard was worse than the front. The fence needed work as
well, some boards were broken and loose, and one whole section was sagging.
Luckily, my tools were only a couple of hundred feet away, across the alley,
and I was soon at work, determined to finish before the residents arrived home.
The biggest problem was one of the fence posts which had
rotted out at the bottom. A new post and some quick-setting cement, solved that
problem. Within an hour I'd be able to reattach the fence crossbeams to the new
4x4.
I turned to see a young girl, maybe 7 or 8 years old,
watching me from the porch. Crap.
"Just thought I'd fix your fence, before it falls down.
I hope you don't mind."
She just shook her head.
She stood there watching me, and I felt ill at ease. I was a
stranger. She shouldn't be talking to me. I should probably leave. "I'm
just going to clean up here and head back home. I can finish up later when your
mother's home."
I straightened up my clothing a bit, wiping my hands on my
pants. "I'm Alex Reed. I live across the alley," I explained,
pointing down a few houses.
She nodded.
She reminded me so much of my own daughter, right around
that age. Her hair was the same length, blonde, but not quite as light as
Allora's.
Allora. My perfect little Allora. I closed my eyes, seeing
her in that hospital bed, bruised and bandaged, fighting for her life. Her hair
tucked under the bandages, the few strands that stuck out dark from sweat. Her
body so small in that antiseptic white bed. My Allora.
Gone.
It felt like somebody had wrapped a band around my chest,
and pulled it tight. I couldn't breath. I turned away from Erica, so she
wouldn't have to see me lose it. She'd suffered enough already. I felt the
tears rise, unbidden, and I started for the gate. I had to get out of there.
I barely made it as far as the driveway. It was too much. I
closed the gate behind me and crumbled to the ground, seated with my head
between my knees, my hands covering my head. It was Christmas, damn it!
Christmas! My girls were supposed to be with me, shaking their presents and
trying to guess what was in them. Instead Allora and Briana were gone. Their
lives snuffed out before they could see anything of the world, before they
could find their place, before they could fall in love. No shaking presents. No
stomach aches from eating too many holiday sweets. No late night parties to
drive me crazy with worry. No learning to drive. No struggling to find the
right college. No bringing a boy home for the first time. No cramming for
tests. No Spring Breaks. No proms. Nothing. Ever again.
I was sobbing, and the little girl who had lost her father
was standing on the driveway beside me, her hand resting on my shoulder, while
I made a fool of myself.
"Erica! You know your mother doesn't want you out if she's
not at home. You should go back inside. Mr. Reed will be all right, he's just
tired. Go on now." Cathy had me by the arm, and was doing her best to get
me back on my feet. "C'mon Alex, not here. Let's get you home."
I knew she was right. I stood up, wiping my eyes on my
sleeve. "I'll be alright. Just give me a minute." I pulled myself
together, took a couple of deep breaths, and stood straight. "I'm Ok.
Seeing her was just a little too much, too soon. But I'm fine now. I need to
clean up here, and put the fence back together."
"Alright. I'll help."
It only took us a few minutes to clean up and cart the bags
of yard trimmings out to the rear curb. I ran all the yard tools back to my
house, and returned to finish the fence work. I braced the new post with a
couple of 2x4's and reattached the two panels. Cathy's help made it a lot
easier. When we were done we both stood back and looked over the yard. Much
better.
"I'm going to go inside and fix Erica her after-school
snack. It's about all that Sandy will let me do. Why don't you come with
me?"
"I don't know if I should. Sandy doesn't know me. She
may not want me in her house when she's not there."
"Never mind that. She'll be fine. Just come in a
moment. It'll only take a few minutes."
I followed her inside, through the glass sliding door. Erica
was sitting on the floor watching TV. I didn't even look that way. I was afraid
that seeing the wrong TV show would dredge up more painful memories.
"Where can I wash my hands?" I asked Cathy.
She pointed to a door. "In there."
I headed to the bathroom. "Don't use the toilet. That
one doesn't flush anymore."
I could hear the running water in the commode. I washed my
hands and wiped them on my shirt. There was no towel in the bathroom. Then I
took the top off the tank and examined inside. Nothing complicated. The chain
that connected the stopper to the handle extension was missing. Lifting the
rubber stopper, I saw it was under the lip, the cause of the running water. I
reattached the chain, and tested the flushing. Worked fine.
"Fixed. The chain was just off."
Cathy nodded, and returned to making a grilled cheese
sandwich. Briana loved grilled cheese. But you couldn't cut the sandwich, and
you had to remove the crust. I wouldn't be cutting the crust off of sandwiches
anymore.
I took a deep breath, and went to examine the front door.
"Cathy? I'm going to head home and get my sander and
some paint. This door needs some help desperately."
"Go ahead. Sandy won't be home until late, and if we're
going to get in trouble for the yard and the fence, we might as well make it a
trifecta."
Fifteen minutes later, I was running the battery powered
hand-sander over the door, removing the worst of the existing paint. I didn't
have too much to do, it was already mostly bare. I had brought over three
possible paints to use, all of which I knew were approved by the homeowner's
association.
"What color paint do you think I should use?" I
asked Cathy.
"Let's ask Erica." She returned in a few seconds
with Erica at her side. "We're going to paint the front door, Erica. What
color would you like?"
We had a choice of off-white, light blue, and a dark brown.
She pointed to the light blue, then seated herself nearby to watch.
I had already removed the hardware. I taped the hinges and
bottom kick-plate, laid out my drip cloth, and started applying a coat of
paint, top-to-bottom. I looked over at the young girl watching me so intently.
I saw the tree beside her, so small and bare, with one little package
underneath it.
Christmas trees shouldn't look like that.
They should be big, full of decorations, all sorts, each one
with its own story. Handcrafted special ornaments, with pictures of your family
members. Popsicle stick ornaments with the Elmer's glue showing. Lights
blinking in an assortment of colors, candy canes and tinsel, and an angel on
top. There should be presents around the bottom, stacked and scattered, so many
you can't even get near the tree.
It was the first year I didn't have a tree.
We'd normally go out as a family and visit one of the Boy
Scout tree lots, picking the biggest, fullest tree we thought could fit in my
living room. Then we'd decorate it together, Christmas songs playing in the
background, and sipping eggnog. We'd spend an eternity untangling the lights,
replacing the bulbs that wouldn't work, and replacing the metal hangars on the
decorations that needed them. It was an all day affair.
Not this year. Not ever again.
I realized I'd stopped painting, and I was staring. A long
drip of paint from my brush was running down the door. The little girl looked
at me, almost as if she understood.
"Would you like to help?" I asked.
She looked around, as if to ask if I was talking to her.
"Yes, you."
She shyly nodded yes. I reached over to my bucket of painting
supplies and pulled out a small brush. I pointed to the inlaid panels on the
bottom half of the door. "You can paint here, around the edge of the
panel. It needs to be done with a detail brush like the one you have. Get into
the cracks."
She nodded, dipped her brush, and started painting straight
down the panel edge, doing a good job.
"That's perfect. Just like that." I went back to
work completing the top half, and had to work around her, sometimes leaning way
over to paint above her. She saw what I was doing, and I saw the mischievous
heart of a little girl for a moment when she started backing away from the
door, making me lean further and further over.
"Hey!" I said in mock outrage. "You're doing
that on purpose!"
When she giggled, apparently ignoring me, and continuing
with her painting effort, I felt a small leap in my heart. It was nice to hear
her giggle.
"When you're done with the painting, and done torturing
me, you can paint around the edges of the two hinges and the kick-plate. If I
won't be in your way."
Little Erica nodded, and continued her careful painting,
working slowly and deliberately around the perimeter before moving onto the
hinges.
I found myself kneeling beside her, painting the bottom-half
of the door, while she detailed the trim. We switched places so I could work on
the side near the hinges while she completed the bottom trim.
"Not bad," I commented, holding out a drip bucket
for her to dump her brush in. I sealed up the paint can, peeled off the trim
tape, and stood back to get a look at the results. A little girl stood beside
me, her blonde hair a poignant reminder of all I'd lost. I took a deep breath
to compose myself.
"Not bad at all. Think your mother will like it?"
I looked down at her while she thought it over. A smile
slowly spread across her face. She nodded twice.
I put my hand down for a fist bump, just like I would with
my girls. She shrank away for a second, then glanced up at my face for a second
before making a tiny fist and bumping her knuckles against mine.
We were enjoying the last of the natural light as dusk was
settling in. Cathy walked out and stood beside us, giving her approval.
"The blue is perfect. Great choice Erica."
Erica stopped admiring her work, looked at Cathy, and
blinked like she was just seeing her for the first time. She looked up and down
the block, then walked back into the house and planted herself in front of the
TV.
"Ready to call it a day?" Cathy asked.
"Yeah. Best get while the getting is good." I
packed up my paint supplies and in just a couple of trips hid any trace that
I'd ever been there. Except of course for the door, yard and fence. Oh, and the
toilet, although that really didn't count for much.
Back home I cleaned up and sat down pondering what I'd just
done. I had mixed feelings, a little guilt creeping in for taking liberties
with someone else's house. But thinking about that little girl, and what she
must be going through, made anything I could do to help worthwhile.
Thinking was dangerous. I realized I hadn't been very nice
to the people who had tried to help me. I decided to rectify that if possible,
and found a new phone cable for my phone and plugged it in. Picking it up I
heard a dial tone. Good.
I made a list of phone calls, and went to work. Calling,
one-by-one, my friends, neighbors and co-workers, I apologized for my behavior
and thanked them for their concern. To a one, they blew off my boorish
behavior, and promised they'd be there for me if I needed anything.
I stopped, with just a few calls remaining, wondering where
those people were for Sandy and Erica, who seemed to need it far more than I.
I picked up the phone and dialed Denise's family. I knew it
was going to be tough. I apologized for leaving the funeral arrangements to
them, and thanked them for all they had done. Speaking to Dan was difficult,
but my conversation with Sharon almost did me in. The time we'd spent in the
hospital, watching over Allora came up, and I had to take a break for a bit to
get my emotions under rein, while I listened to Sharon sob. Even after the
divorce we'd remained friendly, and I was glad that we'd had each other on that
fateful watch. I promised I'd stop by in the next couple of days, she insisted
there was some paperwork that needed taking care of.
My last call was to Steve, my roommate for three years in
college, and best friend in the world. I had hung up on him twice that first
day, and it was haunting me. He'd left more than a dozen messages on my
cell-phone voicemail. Plus, I had ulterior motives.
The phone rang several times and went to the answering
machine. I felt like a weight had lifted, I wouldn't have to face him.
"Steve, Alex here. I'm sorry I..."
"Alex, I'm here, don't hang up, I'm here. Let me turn
off this damned machine. Hold on." I heard some rustling and the echo of
our voices disappear. "Jesus, Alex. You're killing me."
"Sorry. It hit me so hard; I just couldn't listen to
one more well-wisher."
"I understand."
He would understand. His father had passed away while we
were in our last year of college, and he took it hard. Started drinking heavy,
cutting classes, and chasing anything with boobs. I took care of him as much as
I could, going so far as to collect his homework and projects, even talking to
his professors. He'd been slow to pull it together, but eventually came around.
Five years later, less than a year out of law school, it was
his mother. I had flown out and spent a week with him. I knew it would be hard
- he was an only child, and he had few relatives, and none he was close to. He came
out of that funk bitter, and it cost him his girlfriend - no loss there. We'd
been as close as brothers, hell, probably closer. We still were.
Steven understood.
I opened my soul to him, and stayed on the phone for ages. I
heard him send his wife off to bed, while I vented. It was a much needed
cathartic outpouring that left me exhausted.
"What can I do? Anything, you know it. Should I fly
down?"
As much as I'd love to see him, it had been nearly a year,
he was a family man now, and it was Christmas. "No. Stay with your family.
I'm doing better, and if I need to I can call."
"Of course."
"I also wanted to say I was sorry."
"Sorry?"
"Sorry that I couldn't do more for you when you lost
your parents. I never really experienced losing anyone like that, and couldn't
comprehend what you were going through."
"Shut the fuck up. You were there for me, buddy.
Always. When nobody else was. I'll never forget that. Enough said. Don't need
to be getting sappy over it."
I couldn't help but chuckle. "Alright. By the way,
there's one other thing you might be able to do for me."
"Anything. That's what friend are for."
That's what friends are for.
The pounding on my front door was not unexpected. Ten
o'clock at night might be a little of a surprise, but the knock wasn't.
I went to the front door, and looked out through the glass
beside it. A woman stood there. I had a fairly good idea of who it was.
I opened the door. "Mrs. Morrison?"
She glared at me and nodded.
"Come in, please. Can I get you a cup of tea, or coffee?"
I turned and walked into the house, leaving the door open. I walked to the
kitchen, and poured myself a cup of coffee. I turned to see her standing in the
archway to the living room.
She looked ready to burst, but I watched her breath deep and
run her hands through her short hair. She looked young. Too young to be going
through the hell she was currently experiencing.
"I don't want you around my house or my daughter,"
she finally snapped.
"I understand, and I'm sorry I interfered." I
walked past her and sat down in the living room. "I can't explain it. I
had to do something to get out of this house, and when Cathy told me about your
situation I guess I got carried away."
She stared at me, and crossed her arms. "Don't mention
her name. I could kill her."
I smiled. "Believe me, I understand that. She's been in
my house every day, 3 or 4 times a day, meddling in my life."
"Meddling is right," she snapped. She walked over
and sat on the loveseat across from me. "Listen. I appreciate the thought.
And I'm sorry for your loss." She smirked. "Ha, listen to me. Sorry
for your loss. Crap."
She leaned back. "We're doing fine. I don't need your
help, I don't know you from Adam, and I don't want you around my daughter when
nobody's around. Jesus, you painted my frickin' front door blue! A little
presumptuous, don't you think?"
I smiled. "I would have picked the wood tone. Blue was
Erica's choice, one of the four approved colors according to our Stalinist
homeowner's association."
She leaned back, rolling her eyes up. "Don't remind me.
If the bastards send me one more notice about yard and fence maintenance, I'll
rip their lungs out." She seemed to calm down for a second, maybe
realizing that those notices would no longer be coming. "I know. I should
be thankful but I don't need a stranger meddling in my life. Understood? No
more doing things for me."
"I didn't do it for you. I did it for that little girl.
You don't know me. I don't know you. Agreed. I don't know what happened to you
and your family or why. Not really. What I do know is that girl of yours
doesn't deserve the hand she's been dealt. That's all I could think. I just
wanted to help where I could."
She looked angry. "I'm sorry you lost your daughters. I
am. But Erica is MINE. My daughter. My responsibility. Not yours."
"You are right. She's no responsibility of mine."
"That's right. I don't know you. We live three doors
down and in two years you've never spoken a word to us. Six months we've been
on our own. I certainly don't need you poking your head in now. I don't know
you, I don't want to know you, and I'm not sure I'd like you if I did."
"Welcome to the club."
"Club?"
"I'm not sure I like me either. I'm sorry, alright? Now
I'm tired. You can let yourself out."
She got up and stomped her way to the front door, closing it
sharply behind her.
That had gone better than I'd expected.
December 23rd. I got up early, cleaning up, even shaving. I
had errands to run. Cathy showed up in my kitchen while I was preparing
breakfast.
"At least neither of us is in jail," were her
first words.
"Not yet."
"You did a good thing. Don't forget it."
"I know. Still she was right. We should have asked
permission."
"The hell we should! She'd never have given it."
"Then maybe we should leave her be."
"If a person was drowning, and they couldn't yell for
help, wouldn't you still throw them a life preserver?"
"A little overly-dramatic, don't you think?"
"No. She's going down for the third time, and is in
complete denial. By the time she accepts the fact she needs help it could be
too late." She looked me over. "You clean up nicely. What are you up
to?"
"I need to run some errands, see a few people, stop by
work, some other stuff."
"Don't overdue it," she said, still in her 'caring'
mode. "Need some company?"
"Thanks, I appreciate the offer. I can handle
this."
"Ok, you have my number. Give me a call if you need
anything."
The office visit was painful. I stopped in, thanking my
bosses for their understanding, visiting a few friends and letting them know I
appreciated their concern. The way they looked at me just drove home how alone
I was. I was glad to get out of there.
I made a visit to the florist and picked up a trunk-load of
Christmas cacti. I drove around to everyone I could think of, expressing my
gratitude, and leaving the pretty plants behind. I used the same corny line
with each one, comparing my 'prickliness' the last couple of weeks to the
plant's spines. I left a few plants on doorsteps with a note. By mid-afternoon
I felt I'd done my part.
I stopped by Denise's parent's house, and Sharon greeted me
at the door with a hug before she broke into tears. After she'd soaked my shirt
she brought me in.
"There's something you need to know, Alex."
She sounded odd, and I wondered what was up.
"Denise left a will. She left you the house and the
lion's share of her insurance, to take care of the girls if anything happened
to her."
I was stunned. It was so unexpected. "I... I don't know
what to say."
Sharon reached out and patted my hand. "It's not what
I'd expected, but if you think about it, it makes sense. What are you going to
do?"
"I guess I'll sell the house. I certainly don't need
two houses."
"She had mortgage insurance, it'll be paid off. You could
rent it out, you know. Earn some steady income off of it."
It was too much too fast. I couldn't think straight.
"I'll have to think about it. I just wasn't expecting anything like
this."
"I understand." She held my hand. "How are
you doing?"
"Better. Not good, but at least I can get out of
bed."
"We're here if you need us. You know that, right?"
"Yes. Thank you. After the girls, you were the best
thing that came out of our marriage."
"We love you too. Don't forget it."
"I'm sorry I was so useful about the funeral
arrangements, I don't think I could have handled it without you," I
confessed.
"Don't even think about it. That's what family is
for."
That's what family is for.
My day wasn't quite complete. A few more calls and I was
putting things in motion I wasn't sure I should, but I couldn't resist.
Around dinner time, I ventured next door. Cathy's husband
John answered the door. "The hermit has left the cave. Good to see you out
and about." He shook my hand, letting me in. "Cath - Alex is
here."
Cathy came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a
dishcloth. "How'd your day go?"
"Not bad. A few surprises, but I survived."
"We're about to eat. Care to sit down with us?"
"Maybe. When do you think Sandy will be getting
home?"
"Probably nine-ish, would be my guess. Why?"
"Just want to talk to her if I can."
"You have time for dinner then?"
"Sure."
By 8:30 I was enjoying a cigar with John, sitting out in
their driveway, trying to figure out what our football team's chances were of
going anywhere in the playoffs. We were strategically positioned so I had a
view of the Morrison's driveway.
When Sandy drove up, I excused myself from John and jogged
across the alley.
"Sandy, can I talk to you a moment?"
She looked ready to chase me off, but after a few awkward
seconds she crossed her arms, leaned back against the car and raised her
eyebrows.
"Again, I'm sorry I entered your house without your
permission. I know that was wrong. All I can say is I wasn't really thinking
straight."
She rolled her eyes. "Anything else?"
"Yes. I know you told me you didn't need my help, but
there's someone I'd like you speak to. I have a friend that's a lawyer, and
he's willing to check into your insurance situation pro bono. Like you and me,
he's suffered a few losses in life, and he'd like to help you if he can. If
you'd just give him a call, he'll see what he can do."
I could see she wanted to say no, but was torn. She gnawed
on her bottom lip, which I saw were chapped. She looked exhausted. I pulled out
his card and held it out to her. "It'll only take a couple of minutes. It
can't hurt."
She finally nodded and took the card from me. "Is that
it?"
"One last thing. I'm headed over to my ex-wife's house
tomorrow to clean out the refrigerator, and to get rid of her tree. It's my
responsibility now. I was going to ditch the tree; it's one of those pre-lit
artificial ones which I never could stand. I thought, if you don't mind, and
it's not interfering too much, I could bring it by here and you could take if
off my hands. Otherwise it's going to the dump." I spit out the words
quickly before she could find too much fault with me.
She seemed resigned to allow me to interfere, at least this
much. She sighed and finally spoke up. "Alright. That would be nice. Now
if that's all, I'd like to go in now. My feet and back are aching and I have to
get up early tomorrow."
"That's all. You can call Steve tonight if you'd like,
he's a night owl and is expecting your call. Good night."
I took off quickly before she could change her mind about
anything.
I had recruited Cathy's help over dinner the night before,
assuming things went Ok with Sandy, and by noon we were back at the Morrison
house, knocking on the door.
Erica let us in, and we hauled our goodies in after us. I
had the tree folded up and left it on the front doorstep while we made room for
it in the living room. After I'd put it in place, I hauled in a large plastic
crate of Christmas decorations, and encouraged Cathy and Erica to get to work
making the tree look 'festive'. Right on schedule my weekly cleaning crew
showed up and I put them to work giving the entire house a thorough cleaning. I
had felt guilty chasing them away the last few weeks, and had begged and
cajoled them into doing me this one favor, on Christmas Eve of all days. The
team of four went to work like whirling dervishes, storming through the rooms
in pairs leaving sparking chrome and sweet smells in their wake.
We only had a few hours if Cathy was right, and I had one
more big task lined up. The Chem-Dry carpet cleaners were running a little
late, but showed up not long after the cleaning crew had finished with the
living and dining rooms, and I had moved most of the furniture into the
hallways and kitchen. They went right to work, and had the downstairs completed
in a little over an hour. While they worked at that, I spent the time
decorating the front yard and the house with Christmas lights. I hoped that
Sandy liked traditional multi-color displays. I wasn't all that fond of the
'all-white' look, and was using my own lights to decorate her house. By the
time I had finished I was sweating up a storm, and was getting nervous about
the time.
The carpet guys left first, reminding me to let the carpet
dry for another hour before returning the furniture to its place. The cleaning
crew followed shortly after, and I'd rewarded them nicely, tipping them an
extra $100 for coming out on Christmas Eve. I moved indoors, with the lights
complete and lit up, to find a Christmas wonderland awaiting me.
Cathy and Erica had done an amazing job, using what I had
brought over and getting the Morrison's decorations out of the attic and
putting those to use as well. You could hardly tell it was the same house.
"You ladies have done an incredible job!" I
announced, standing in the doorway.
Cathy looked a little disheveled but very pleased with
herself. "Let's finish up quick. I have to get home; John's going to kill
me."
I'd promised her we'd be done by 4:00 and it was already
nearly 5:00. She was holding a Christmas Eve open-house and was expecting half
of the neighborhood over that evening. She only had a couple of hours left to
finish her own preparations. I gave her a hug for all of her effort and shooed
her off, while I started hauling the furniture back into place, working at a
frenzied pace to get done before the unsuspecting benefactor got home.
Erica followed behind me, arranging all the lamps, baskets
and knick-knacks, and adding additional holiday decorations as we went. With the
last of the furniture in place, I turned and gave her a high-five.
"This is all our secret, right? If your Mom asks, the
Christmas elves stopped by to help clean up. You did a great job, Erica."
She smiled and held her arms out to me. I leaned down and
gave her a hug.
"Thank you," she whispered, just before she let go
and disappeared up the stairs.
I felt a lump in my throat. Whether it was fear of being
caught by her mother, or the joy of hearing her speak her first words to me, I
couldn't be sure.
By eight o'clock, Sandy still hadn't shown up on my
front-doorstep with a shotgun. I guess she was going to wait until after
Christmas to eviscerate me over meddling where I didn't belong.
I didn't care. I felt good, the best I'd felt in two weeks,
thinking about that little girl celebrating a real Christmas. Kids should have
Christmas.
I had cleaned up and decided to make an appearance next
door, as I'd promised, when I got a call from Steve.
"Hey-ho, Stevorino."
"Only my Grandma gets to say that, asshole."
"Merry fuckin' Christmas to you too." I teased.
I heard him chuckle. "Merry Christmas is right. At
least for your neighbor."
"How's that?" I asked, suddenly interested.
"The insurance creeps were just stalling. They don't
have a leg to stand on. The only change to the policy was upon their advice
after an annual policy review by their own agent. A little legal pressure was
all it took. It's not a lot, less than $300K, but she'll be getting her check
next week."
"Steve, you're the man. I take back all those nasty
things I said about you."
"Shit, they're probably true. If anybody would know,
it'd be you."
"All kidding aside. You're a life saver."
I knew he hated any hint of seriousness. I could almost hear
him blushing over the phone. "Hey, that's what friends are for,
right?"
"That's right. And I couldn't ask for a better
one."
"Ditto. Asshole."
"Shit. You had to go and spoil it. Listen, I gotta run.
Give your family my love and have a great Christmas. I'll give you a call next
week."
"You got it. And Darla sends her love. She made me say
that. Don't get any ideas."
"Got it. Give her a kiss for me. Scratch that. I'll
come out after the holidays and give it to her myself. When are you going to be
out of town next?"
"Funny guy. Start anything with her, and I'll make you
keep her and the credit card bills."
"Ouch. You win," I had to laugh. "Thanks
again."
"Merry Christmas. Hang in there buddy."
"You too."
To be continued in part 2, Based on the post from Tx Tall Tales for Literotica
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By Steamy Stories
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Life isn’t fair. So when you fight back, fight dirty.
In 2 parts, Based on the post from Tx Tall Tales. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.
Christmas has always been my favorite time of year. I
married young, and had two perfect daughters, but my marriage was far from
perfect. We had been young and in love. I was entering the community college
and Denise was starting her senior year when we decided to tie the knot. Her
family’s ready acceptance of me was a huge factor - the family I’d never had,
making me feel like a real member of theirs. I can admit it now; I probably
loved being a part of the family as much as I loved Denise.
Our split up was inevitable, two teenagers who knew nothing
about life thinking their infatuation with each other would make everything
else workout. I wasn’t an all-star, super jock, Rhodes Scholar with a 12"
swinging cock. I was just your average student, A and B grades, spending some
bench time on the football team to get my letter, and losing my virginity at 18
to the girl I’d eventually marry.
When times got rough, we didn’t know how to handle it, and
struck out at each other. Her family often stepped in and helped out when they
could, but time after time, the great sex wasn’t enough to make up for the
difference in our wants, needs and ambitions.
In the end, we gave up. Sometimes I think it’s a miracle we
made it through 5 years. Our devotion to our children allowed us to finally see
past our own issues, and work out a remarkably amiable truce, with our girls at
the center. Even though Denise and I couldn’t live together, it turned out we
got along a lot better divorced. We shared our daughters’ time, lived only one
neighborhood apart, and worked together as a team to make our personal
differences have as little impact on our girls as possible.
I had initially shared an apartment uptown, but eventually
bought one of the smallest houses in the same school district, just to make
things easier. It was a lot more than I needed most of the time, but when the
girls stayed with me it felt like a home. And we only lived a couple of miles
apart.
The neighborhood was nice, predominantly younger families,
in older, smallish homes. Most of the people were cordial, kept up their
property, and after a few years I knew many by name and would exchange
greetings at the grocery store, or when out shopping. I had become
suburbanized.
This was our fourth Christmas since the divorce. Denise was
living with Eric, who I wish I could despise, but he was a decent guy with a
great job and lousy taste in sports teams. He doted on my girls without trying
to take my place. It had taken a while, but we’d developed a friendship, which
wasn’t a bad thing.
My child support was pegged at just over $1500, with the
kids on my health insurance. Even though we weren’t married long enough for alimony
to kick in, I was paying another $500 a month just to make the kids’ lives
better. And for me, that was all that really mattered.
The expense had been rough at first, but with little to
concentrate on other than work, my performance skyrocketed. Two promotions in
three years had made the financial aspect much less problematic, but increased
travel had made the ability to be available for the girls less guaranteed.
Denise was good about it, and worked with me. In return I picked up some more
of the girls’ expenses, including music lessons and a piano.
At Least we still had Christmas
Christmas was special. We celebrated Christmas as an
extended family. I’d come over early, and we’d have a big family breakfast and
open all the presents together. I really went all out to make sure the girls
got their favorite items. At six and eight years old, they were still young
enough to have simple wants, and the magic of Christmas was as real as it gets.
The in-laws would come over in the afternoon with more presents and we’d have a
good old fashioned Christmas dinner with all the trimmings. It was nice to be
part of something.
I got a Christmas shut-down at work and Denise didn’t, so we
agreed that they’d stay with me from Christmas to New Year’s, and any time she
could get off, we’d usually work out something to get her time with the kids.
It was understood that I wouldn’t leave town, at least not for more than a day.
Summer was great with the 2 weeks I got to spend with them,
and we’d usually spend it on the beach. Christmas was still different.
Christmas was magical.
I always was given the girl’s wish list, but I’d also start
my shopping in late November for the must have items of the season. And I
wasn’t stingy; I’d buy them all up, just to make sure I didn’t miss any.
Stores, online auctions, Craigslist, I’d use any way possible to get my hands
on the hottest presents. The first two years I’d caught hell from Denise for
buying everything on the list, leaving nothing for them to get. Now I received
a separate list of things I wasn’t allowed to buy.
So it was that I had just finished wrapping my forty-fourth
present, all in glitter Barbie paper for Briana, and in Hannah Montana paper
for Allora. December 5th, my earliest date so far to finish the bulk of my
shopping. Sure, I’d pick up a few more things, including something for Denise
and Eric, but my girls were taken care of. The presents were carefully spread
around my living room, where they’d remain on display until just before
Christmas, when I’d bring them over to Denise’s in a big ceremony.
The call came from Denise’s mother, Sharon. It took me 11
minutes flat to get to the hospital. I was still too late. Denise and Briana
had both died en-route. Eric had passed away only ten minutes before I’d
arrived. But Allora, my perfect little Allora, was fighting for her life, in
critical condition. She’d always been a fighter, would never back down from any
challenge. She’d beat this too, I just knew it.
It was a freak accident, with a car dodging out of the way
to miss a coyote on the road. An 18 wheeler behind the car did his best to
avoid the car in front of him, but ended up fishtailing, and taking out a
suburban in the next lane over. That vehicle crossed the median and hit my
ex-wife’s family van head-on. Six dead already and one little girl still
fighting hard for her dear life.
Sharon and I kept a vigil over the little towhead, and when
the doctors came out after 6 hours and declared the worst was over and she was
in stable condition, we fell into each other’s arms and cried like children.
We stayed by her side, one of us always present, and Sharon
called me when my baby woke up and spoke. For three long days we watched her
slowly heal in the hospital, the worst of her bruises, cuts and contusions
blossoming on the second day, and only just starting to fade again. I’m not a
religious guy by nature, but I found myself on my knees beside her bed, praying
to God to take care of her, and giving thanks for pulling her through this
horrendous disaster.
At 4:18
pm on December 7th, she passed away.
No warning, no reason, she was there, and then she wasn’t.
The doctors suspected a clot. I suspected incompetence.
I finally understood how a person could get so down on
themselves that life might not even feel worth living.
I went home and shut myself off from the world. After a
while I took the phone off the hook. Hell, let’s be honest, I ripped the
fucking wires out of the wall so I didn’t have to listen to one more bleeding
heart tell me they were “sorry for my loss”. The cell phone was easier. I just
turned it off.
Several people from work came by and assured me that I could
take as much time as I needed. They’d bring me food, and news, and would leave
as soon as they felt they’d spent the minimum time required socially by the
situation.
Denise’s family took care of the funeral arrangements. They
attempted to call, and even stopped by for my input. I gave them a check for
$10,000 to take care of the girls, nearly wiping out my savings. What was I
going to spend it on now? I couldn’t bring myself to go to the showing but I
did take a shower and put on a suit for the funeral. It was a bleak day, gray
skies, 20 mile an hour winds threatening to tear the top off of the outdoor
tent. The ground was soggy from rain the previous night. Just perfect.
"Thanks, God. Piss on a guy when he's down. Well, fuck
You too."
I shook the required hands, and kissed the offered cheeks
until I just couldn't take it any longer. All these fake people. Fake emotions.
Tell me how sorry they were then go home to their perfect little families and
eat meatloaf. Fuck'em. Fuck'em all.
Fourteen days. Two solid weeks in that dark house. I
wouldn't turn on any lights. No TV. I didn't bathe, I didn't shave. I sat in my
chair or I lay in my bed and wallowed.
I had a few visitors after the first couple of days, but I'd
rarely let them in, and before long they had the decency to stop showing up.
Only Cathy from next door wouldn't let me sink into complete oblivion. Every
day, at least 3 times a day, she'd check in on me. I wouldn't have let her in,
but she had a key to the back door for emergencies and wasn't afraid to use it.
She'd open the windows a crack, and goad me into getting out
of bed and at least sit in the living room. She'd bring food, which she'd set
in front of me, and refused to leave until I at least tried it. I insisted on
getting my key back, and she handed it over willingly enough. And showed up
again the next day. She'd made copies. Meddlesome bitch. Again, she badgered me
into eating her breakfast.
And she'd talk. God, how that woman could talk! I got tired
just listening.
All the neighborhood gossip, town gossip, political gossip,
school gossip - she was plugged in everywhere and knew it all. Who was doing
what, or whom. Griping about people who still had Thanksgiving decorations up,
or had Christmas blowups in their front yard. Church fiascos and neighborhood
vendettas, she would sit there, drink her tea (or bourbon and coke if the sun
had set) and fill me in.
I didn't care.
It had been two weeks since the accident. I'd lost more than
10 pounds, and really just wanted to crawl in a hole and die. But Cathy
wouldn't let me. She made it her personal mission to cheer me up, get me to
respond, bring me back to life.
Then one day she let me have it with both barrels.
She walked up to me and slapped me across the face. Hard.
"Damn it Alex! Snap out of it! Life is hard. And it isn't fair, but as bad
as you have it, there's always someone who has it worse. Often in your own
backyard if you have the eyes to see it."
"What do you know about it?" I snapped viciously.
"I notice your kids are alive."
"I know my mother died when I was six, and my father
left when I was thirteen, leaving Mike to raise my sister and me. He was
seventeen years old. But he manned-up and did the job the best he could. That's
what I know. Life is hard."
"Life is hard. Life's a bitch and then you die. When
life gives you lemons, make lemonade. When God closes a door he opens a window.
If I hear one more God-damned cliché I swear I'll kill something," I
growled.
"Alex, you got a raw deal. You had two perfect little
girls, and now they're gone. Your past is shattered. Your little bit of
immortality is lost. And as bad as you've got it, I'd remind you others have it
worse, and they just press on. You need to as well," Cathy told me,
kneeling beside me and holding my hands.
The woman barely knew me. A middle-aged mother of three with
grown kids, and a workaholic husband. Her life was her home, keeping it
immaculate and decorated for every holiday and season. Now it seemed I was her
newest project. Why should I matter that much to her? Couldn't she see I didn't
want her help?
"Sure, starving Ethiopians, children in Nigeria dying
of aids, Tibetan monks martyred, it's a tough world. Boo hoo."
"You don't have to look as far as Ethiopia or Tibet.
There are people right here, right on your own block that are really
struggling. Open your eyes. If you don't like the unfairness do something about
it. Even up the odds a bit. Make a difference somewhere. Get back to
living."
Something she said must have gnawed its way down to my
subconscious. I spent my usual 14 hours or so in bed, but when I awoke I was
thinking about her constant comments about someone in my own backyard that had
it worse.
I cataloged each person on my block, in my head, and nobody
really had it that bad. Sure, Neil, three doors down had lost his job, but his
wife was still working, and he was looking. The Harris's on the corner had a
boy in Iraq, but as far as I could tell he was still Ok, and they had three
more at home. The Martins, one down from the corner, fought all the time, and
even had the cops called in on them once but they were still together. What did
Cathy mean?
I expanded the radius of consideration to include the blocks
surrounding us. Then it hit me. Across the alley in back, two houses past
Cathy's own. Six months ago. Barry Morrison had driven into an empty field
behind the local middle school and eaten a bullet. I didn't know much about the
family - I just knew there was one.
When Cathy came over, I had showered off the top two layers
of grime and sweat, and was drinking a Coke in the living room.
"Good morning, Alex, beautiful day outside. Why don't
we go out on the porch?"
"The Morrisons. Tell me about them."
She placed her mug of tea in the microwave, warming it up,
then walked out my front door and sat in one of my rocking chairs out front.
Irritated, I followed, and sat in the chair beside her.
"The Morrisons?"
"Sandy and her daughter Erica. You won't see much of
her; she's working two jobs trying to keep the house over their heads. They're
still fighting with the insurance company over payment. Suicide clause won't
pay under two years. He had insurance for years, but just around two years ago
he changed the terms. She's been trying to sell the house, but it's underwater,
and nobody's buying."
"How's the little one?"
"Erica's not doing so well. She's seeing a counselor
twice a week, and hardly speaks anymore. The school's talking about holding her
back," Cathy explained. She sounded sad.
"Do we know anything more about why he did it?"
"No crimes, he wasn't fired, no embezzling, it's not
clear what it was about. Apparently he'd been depressed for quite a while, but
the underlying situation is still a blank as far as I know."
"Harsh on the family, going out like that," I told
her, finding the whole idea hard to grasp.
"To say the least. The poor woman is worn to a
frazzle."
"And how does this all matter to me?" I asked.
"It doesn't. It doesn't have to matter to anybody.
They're on their own. Alone."
"No family help?"
"Not that I know of. If they're around, we don't see
much of them, that's for sure."
"Cathy, how the hell do you know all this stuff?"
I had to ask.
"People just like to talk to me. I'm a very good
listener," she told me with a big smile.
We sat quietly enjoying the crisp air, finishing our drinks.
"You're a good neighbor too, Cathy. Thanks," I
said softly.
"That's what neighbors are for," she said,
reaching out and patting me on my arm.
That's what neighbors are for.
Cathy brought me dinner again and I realized I was starving.
She beamed at me when I finished the whole platter.
"Let's go for a walk, Alex. You could use a stretch of
the legs."
It had gotten chilly, and we bundled up a bit. She took the
lead and we walked down the block and turned up the neighborhood. We headed
back up the next block and she regaled me with the entire history and habits of
the inhabitants of each place we passed. She might have been a good listener,
but I had to wonder when she ever was quiet long enough to hear anything.
It was obvious when we got to Sandy Morrison's place. The
"For Sale" sign was a dead giveaway. The unkempt yard and overgrown
bushes indicated a lack of care for months. It couldn't help with the sales
prospects. The door paint was faded, and there were no Christmas lights or decorations
set up. I thought the Realtor wasn't earning their commission, letting the
place show like this. Through the window I could see a desktop Christmas tree,
maybe two feet tall, lit up all in white.
Strangely, Cathy stopped speaking before we got to the
house, and didn't speak again until the end of the block. "Sad," was
all she said.
We took a round-about path back to my house, and our
conversation had returned to the safety of weather concerns, community issues,
and such, carefully skirting any discussion of the Morrisons.
I was feeling the chill after the walk, and invited Cathy in
for a cup of coffee, Irish fortified if she so desired.
We drank our coffee in front of my gas fireplace, warming
our old bones. Damn that neighbor of mine, and her good intentions! She'd not
only gotten me to think of something other than my own misery, and the
unfairness of it all, but she had me thinking about those poor girls behind me,
and what they must be going through. Damn it! It wasn't fair.
I guess I still wasn't ready for pleasant company. Angry at
the world, I threw my mug at the wall, shattering it, and leaned over with my
head in my hands, doing my best to hold back the tears. Big boys don't cry.
Cathy stood and ran her fingers through my hair for just a moment
before leaving out the back door. Kind enough to leave me alone to wallow in my
misery a little longer.
December 22nd. Just three days until Christmas.
When Cathy came over that morning, I was already up and
dressed. I had my working duds on and coffee and bagels ready.
"You're up early," she commented, helping herself
to the java.
"It's almost 10," I reminded her. "Not so
awfully early."
She laughed. "Seems to me anything before noon is quite
early as of late. Got plans?"
I nodded. "Thought I'd head over to the Morrison's and
see what I can do about the outside of the house. Clean it up a bit. Make it a
little more presentable if they're really planning on selling it."
"That's mighty neighborly of you."
"It'll give me something to do. I need to get out of
this damned house."
After our coffee, she walked with me across the alley, all
my yard-work gear in a wheelbarrow. The grass was dormant, but long, and the
bushes were out of control. I didn't notice when Cathy left, but she returned in
a few hours with some sandwiches for lunch, insisting I take a break.
I'd finished the bush trimming and had mowed the lawn,
bagging the trimmings. I was just finishing the edging when she appeared. I
took a break, and listened to her chatter about the neighborhood activities,
and how sad it was that in the past few months nobody had offered to do as much
as I had.
"I guess we victims of fate need to stick
together."
"It already looks 100% better. If you want to work in
the backyard, I have a key to the gate."
"It figures you would."
"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked.
"It just doesn't surprise me. I bet you've been helping
out when you could."
She sighed. "Not too much. She's too damn proud.
Doesn't want any help from anybody."
I shook my head. "Now you tell me. She'll probably call
the police on me."
"So what if she does? You know you're doing the right
thing. I'll bail you out if need be."
I let her unlock the back gate, and saw I had my work cut
out for me. The back yard was worse than the front. The fence needed work as
well, some boards were broken and loose, and one whole section was sagging.
Luckily, my tools were only a couple of hundred feet away, across the alley,
and I was soon at work, determined to finish before the residents arrived home.
The biggest problem was one of the fence posts which had
rotted out at the bottom. A new post and some quick-setting cement, solved that
problem. Within an hour I'd be able to reattach the fence crossbeams to the new
4x4.
I turned to see a young girl, maybe 7 or 8 years old,
watching me from the porch. Crap.
"Just thought I'd fix your fence, before it falls down.
I hope you don't mind."
She just shook her head.
She stood there watching me, and I felt ill at ease. I was a
stranger. She shouldn't be talking to me. I should probably leave. "I'm
just going to clean up here and head back home. I can finish up later when your
mother's home."
I straightened up my clothing a bit, wiping my hands on my
pants. "I'm Alex Reed. I live across the alley," I explained,
pointing down a few houses.
She nodded.
She reminded me so much of my own daughter, right around
that age. Her hair was the same length, blonde, but not quite as light as
Allora's.
Allora. My perfect little Allora. I closed my eyes, seeing
her in that hospital bed, bruised and bandaged, fighting for her life. Her hair
tucked under the bandages, the few strands that stuck out dark from sweat. Her
body so small in that antiseptic white bed. My Allora.
Gone.
It felt like somebody had wrapped a band around my chest,
and pulled it tight. I couldn't breath. I turned away from Erica, so she
wouldn't have to see me lose it. She'd suffered enough already. I felt the
tears rise, unbidden, and I started for the gate. I had to get out of there.
I barely made it as far as the driveway. It was too much. I
closed the gate behind me and crumbled to the ground, seated with my head
between my knees, my hands covering my head. It was Christmas, damn it!
Christmas! My girls were supposed to be with me, shaking their presents and
trying to guess what was in them. Instead Allora and Briana were gone. Their
lives snuffed out before they could see anything of the world, before they
could find their place, before they could fall in love. No shaking presents. No
stomach aches from eating too many holiday sweets. No late night parties to
drive me crazy with worry. No learning to drive. No struggling to find the
right college. No bringing a boy home for the first time. No cramming for
tests. No Spring Breaks. No proms. Nothing. Ever again.
I was sobbing, and the little girl who had lost her father
was standing on the driveway beside me, her hand resting on my shoulder, while
I made a fool of myself.
"Erica! You know your mother doesn't want you out if she's
not at home. You should go back inside. Mr. Reed will be all right, he's just
tired. Go on now." Cathy had me by the arm, and was doing her best to get
me back on my feet. "C'mon Alex, not here. Let's get you home."
I knew she was right. I stood up, wiping my eyes on my
sleeve. "I'll be alright. Just give me a minute." I pulled myself
together, took a couple of deep breaths, and stood straight. "I'm Ok.
Seeing her was just a little too much, too soon. But I'm fine now. I need to
clean up here, and put the fence back together."
"Alright. I'll help."
It only took us a few minutes to clean up and cart the bags
of yard trimmings out to the rear curb. I ran all the yard tools back to my
house, and returned to finish the fence work. I braced the new post with a
couple of 2x4's and reattached the two panels. Cathy's help made it a lot
easier. When we were done we both stood back and looked over the yard. Much
better.
"I'm going to go inside and fix Erica her after-school
snack. It's about all that Sandy will let me do. Why don't you come with
me?"
"I don't know if I should. Sandy doesn't know me. She
may not want me in her house when she's not there."
"Never mind that. She'll be fine. Just come in a
moment. It'll only take a few minutes."
I followed her inside, through the glass sliding door. Erica
was sitting on the floor watching TV. I didn't even look that way. I was afraid
that seeing the wrong TV show would dredge up more painful memories.
"Where can I wash my hands?" I asked Cathy.
She pointed to a door. "In there."
I headed to the bathroom. "Don't use the toilet. That
one doesn't flush anymore."
I could hear the running water in the commode. I washed my
hands and wiped them on my shirt. There was no towel in the bathroom. Then I
took the top off the tank and examined inside. Nothing complicated. The chain
that connected the stopper to the handle extension was missing. Lifting the
rubber stopper, I saw it was under the lip, the cause of the running water. I
reattached the chain, and tested the flushing. Worked fine.
"Fixed. The chain was just off."
Cathy nodded, and returned to making a grilled cheese
sandwich. Briana loved grilled cheese. But you couldn't cut the sandwich, and
you had to remove the crust. I wouldn't be cutting the crust off of sandwiches
anymore.
I took a deep breath, and went to examine the front door.
"Cathy? I'm going to head home and get my sander and
some paint. This door needs some help desperately."
"Go ahead. Sandy won't be home until late, and if we're
going to get in trouble for the yard and the fence, we might as well make it a
trifecta."
Fifteen minutes later, I was running the battery powered
hand-sander over the door, removing the worst of the existing paint. I didn't
have too much to do, it was already mostly bare. I had brought over three
possible paints to use, all of which I knew were approved by the homeowner's
association.
"What color paint do you think I should use?" I
asked Cathy.
"Let's ask Erica." She returned in a few seconds
with Erica at her side. "We're going to paint the front door, Erica. What
color would you like?"
We had a choice of off-white, light blue, and a dark brown.
She pointed to the light blue, then seated herself nearby to watch.
I had already removed the hardware. I taped the hinges and
bottom kick-plate, laid out my drip cloth, and started applying a coat of
paint, top-to-bottom. I looked over at the young girl watching me so intently.
I saw the tree beside her, so small and bare, with one little package
underneath it.
Christmas trees shouldn't look like that.
They should be big, full of decorations, all sorts, each one
with its own story. Handcrafted special ornaments, with pictures of your family
members. Popsicle stick ornaments with the Elmer's glue showing. Lights
blinking in an assortment of colors, candy canes and tinsel, and an angel on
top. There should be presents around the bottom, stacked and scattered, so many
you can't even get near the tree.
It was the first year I didn't have a tree.
We'd normally go out as a family and visit one of the Boy
Scout tree lots, picking the biggest, fullest tree we thought could fit in my
living room. Then we'd decorate it together, Christmas songs playing in the
background, and sipping eggnog. We'd spend an eternity untangling the lights,
replacing the bulbs that wouldn't work, and replacing the metal hangars on the
decorations that needed them. It was an all day affair.
Not this year. Not ever again.
I realized I'd stopped painting, and I was staring. A long
drip of paint from my brush was running down the door. The little girl looked
at me, almost as if she understood.
"Would you like to help?" I asked.
She looked around, as if to ask if I was talking to her.
"Yes, you."
She shyly nodded yes. I reached over to my bucket of painting
supplies and pulled out a small brush. I pointed to the inlaid panels on the
bottom half of the door. "You can paint here, around the edge of the
panel. It needs to be done with a detail brush like the one you have. Get into
the cracks."
She nodded, dipped her brush, and started painting straight
down the panel edge, doing a good job.
"That's perfect. Just like that." I went back to
work completing the top half, and had to work around her, sometimes leaning way
over to paint above her. She saw what I was doing, and I saw the mischievous
heart of a little girl for a moment when she started backing away from the
door, making me lean further and further over.
"Hey!" I said in mock outrage. "You're doing
that on purpose!"
When she giggled, apparently ignoring me, and continuing
with her painting effort, I felt a small leap in my heart. It was nice to hear
her giggle.
"When you're done with the painting, and done torturing
me, you can paint around the edges of the two hinges and the kick-plate. If I
won't be in your way."
Little Erica nodded, and continued her careful painting,
working slowly and deliberately around the perimeter before moving onto the
hinges.
I found myself kneeling beside her, painting the bottom-half
of the door, while she detailed the trim. We switched places so I could work on
the side near the hinges while she completed the bottom trim.
"Not bad," I commented, holding out a drip bucket
for her to dump her brush in. I sealed up the paint can, peeled off the trim
tape, and stood back to get a look at the results. A little girl stood beside
me, her blonde hair a poignant reminder of all I'd lost. I took a deep breath
to compose myself.
"Not bad at all. Think your mother will like it?"
I looked down at her while she thought it over. A smile
slowly spread across her face. She nodded twice.
I put my hand down for a fist bump, just like I would with
my girls. She shrank away for a second, then glanced up at my face for a second
before making a tiny fist and bumping her knuckles against mine.
We were enjoying the last of the natural light as dusk was
settling in. Cathy walked out and stood beside us, giving her approval.
"The blue is perfect. Great choice Erica."
Erica stopped admiring her work, looked at Cathy, and
blinked like she was just seeing her for the first time. She looked up and down
the block, then walked back into the house and planted herself in front of the
TV.
"Ready to call it a day?" Cathy asked.
"Yeah. Best get while the getting is good." I
packed up my paint supplies and in just a couple of trips hid any trace that
I'd ever been there. Except of course for the door, yard and fence. Oh, and the
toilet, although that really didn't count for much.
Back home I cleaned up and sat down pondering what I'd just
done. I had mixed feelings, a little guilt creeping in for taking liberties
with someone else's house. But thinking about that little girl, and what she
must be going through, made anything I could do to help worthwhile.
Thinking was dangerous. I realized I hadn't been very nice
to the people who had tried to help me. I decided to rectify that if possible,
and found a new phone cable for my phone and plugged it in. Picking it up I
heard a dial tone. Good.
I made a list of phone calls, and went to work. Calling,
one-by-one, my friends, neighbors and co-workers, I apologized for my behavior
and thanked them for their concern. To a one, they blew off my boorish
behavior, and promised they'd be there for me if I needed anything.
I stopped, with just a few calls remaining, wondering where
those people were for Sandy and Erica, who seemed to need it far more than I.
I picked up the phone and dialed Denise's family. I knew it
was going to be tough. I apologized for leaving the funeral arrangements to
them, and thanked them for all they had done. Speaking to Dan was difficult,
but my conversation with Sharon almost did me in. The time we'd spent in the
hospital, watching over Allora came up, and I had to take a break for a bit to
get my emotions under rein, while I listened to Sharon sob. Even after the
divorce we'd remained friendly, and I was glad that we'd had each other on that
fateful watch. I promised I'd stop by in the next couple of days, she insisted
there was some paperwork that needed taking care of.
My last call was to Steve, my roommate for three years in
college, and best friend in the world. I had hung up on him twice that first
day, and it was haunting me. He'd left more than a dozen messages on my
cell-phone voicemail. Plus, I had ulterior motives.
The phone rang several times and went to the answering
machine. I felt like a weight had lifted, I wouldn't have to face him.
"Steve, Alex here. I'm sorry I..."
"Alex, I'm here, don't hang up, I'm here. Let me turn
off this damned machine. Hold on." I heard some rustling and the echo of
our voices disappear. "Jesus, Alex. You're killing me."
"Sorry. It hit me so hard; I just couldn't listen to
one more well-wisher."
"I understand."
He would understand. His father had passed away while we
were in our last year of college, and he took it hard. Started drinking heavy,
cutting classes, and chasing anything with boobs. I took care of him as much as
I could, going so far as to collect his homework and projects, even talking to
his professors. He'd been slow to pull it together, but eventually came around.
Five years later, less than a year out of law school, it was
his mother. I had flown out and spent a week with him. I knew it would be hard
- he was an only child, and he had few relatives, and none he was close to. He came
out of that funk bitter, and it cost him his girlfriend - no loss there. We'd
been as close as brothers, hell, probably closer. We still were.
Steven understood.
I opened my soul to him, and stayed on the phone for ages. I
heard him send his wife off to bed, while I vented. It was a much needed
cathartic outpouring that left me exhausted.
"What can I do? Anything, you know it. Should I fly
down?"
As much as I'd love to see him, it had been nearly a year,
he was a family man now, and it was Christmas. "No. Stay with your family.
I'm doing better, and if I need to I can call."
"Of course."
"I also wanted to say I was sorry."
"Sorry?"
"Sorry that I couldn't do more for you when you lost
your parents. I never really experienced losing anyone like that, and couldn't
comprehend what you were going through."
"Shut the fuck up. You were there for me, buddy.
Always. When nobody else was. I'll never forget that. Enough said. Don't need
to be getting sappy over it."
I couldn't help but chuckle. "Alright. By the way,
there's one other thing you might be able to do for me."
"Anything. That's what friend are for."
That's what friends are for.
The pounding on my front door was not unexpected. Ten
o'clock at night might be a little of a surprise, but the knock wasn't.
I went to the front door, and looked out through the glass
beside it. A woman stood there. I had a fairly good idea of who it was.
I opened the door. "Mrs. Morrison?"
She glared at me and nodded.
"Come in, please. Can I get you a cup of tea, or coffee?"
I turned and walked into the house, leaving the door open. I walked to the
kitchen, and poured myself a cup of coffee. I turned to see her standing in the
archway to the living room.
She looked ready to burst, but I watched her breath deep and
run her hands through her short hair. She looked young. Too young to be going
through the hell she was currently experiencing.
"I don't want you around my house or my daughter,"
she finally snapped.
"I understand, and I'm sorry I interfered." I
walked past her and sat down in the living room. "I can't explain it. I
had to do something to get out of this house, and when Cathy told me about your
situation I guess I got carried away."
She stared at me, and crossed her arms. "Don't mention
her name. I could kill her."
I smiled. "Believe me, I understand that. She's been in
my house every day, 3 or 4 times a day, meddling in my life."
"Meddling is right," she snapped. She walked over
and sat on the loveseat across from me. "Listen. I appreciate the thought.
And I'm sorry for your loss." She smirked. "Ha, listen to me. Sorry
for your loss. Crap."
She leaned back. "We're doing fine. I don't need your
help, I don't know you from Adam, and I don't want you around my daughter when
nobody's around. Jesus, you painted my frickin' front door blue! A little
presumptuous, don't you think?"
I smiled. "I would have picked the wood tone. Blue was
Erica's choice, one of the four approved colors according to our Stalinist
homeowner's association."
She leaned back, rolling her eyes up. "Don't remind me.
If the bastards send me one more notice about yard and fence maintenance, I'll
rip their lungs out." She seemed to calm down for a second, maybe
realizing that those notices would no longer be coming. "I know. I should
be thankful but I don't need a stranger meddling in my life. Understood? No
more doing things for me."
"I didn't do it for you. I did it for that little girl.
You don't know me. I don't know you. Agreed. I don't know what happened to you
and your family or why. Not really. What I do know is that girl of yours
doesn't deserve the hand she's been dealt. That's all I could think. I just
wanted to help where I could."
She looked angry. "I'm sorry you lost your daughters. I
am. But Erica is MINE. My daughter. My responsibility. Not yours."
"You are right. She's no responsibility of mine."
"That's right. I don't know you. We live three doors
down and in two years you've never spoken a word to us. Six months we've been
on our own. I certainly don't need you poking your head in now. I don't know
you, I don't want to know you, and I'm not sure I'd like you if I did."
"Welcome to the club."
"Club?"
"I'm not sure I like me either. I'm sorry, alright? Now
I'm tired. You can let yourself out."
She got up and stomped her way to the front door, closing it
sharply behind her.
That had gone better than I'd expected.
December 23rd. I got up early, cleaning up, even shaving. I
had errands to run. Cathy showed up in my kitchen while I was preparing
breakfast.
"At least neither of us is in jail," were her
first words.
"Not yet."
"You did a good thing. Don't forget it."
"I know. Still she was right. We should have asked
permission."
"The hell we should! She'd never have given it."
"Then maybe we should leave her be."
"If a person was drowning, and they couldn't yell for
help, wouldn't you still throw them a life preserver?"
"A little overly-dramatic, don't you think?"
"No. She's going down for the third time, and is in
complete denial. By the time she accepts the fact she needs help it could be
too late." She looked me over. "You clean up nicely. What are you up
to?"
"I need to run some errands, see a few people, stop by
work, some other stuff."
"Don't overdue it," she said, still in her 'caring'
mode. "Need some company?"
"Thanks, I appreciate the offer. I can handle
this."
"Ok, you have my number. Give me a call if you need
anything."
The office visit was painful. I stopped in, thanking my
bosses for their understanding, visiting a few friends and letting them know I
appreciated their concern. The way they looked at me just drove home how alone
I was. I was glad to get out of there.
I made a visit to the florist and picked up a trunk-load of
Christmas cacti. I drove around to everyone I could think of, expressing my
gratitude, and leaving the pretty plants behind. I used the same corny line
with each one, comparing my 'prickliness' the last couple of weeks to the
plant's spines. I left a few plants on doorsteps with a note. By mid-afternoon
I felt I'd done my part.
I stopped by Denise's parent's house, and Sharon greeted me
at the door with a hug before she broke into tears. After she'd soaked my shirt
she brought me in.
"There's something you need to know, Alex."
She sounded odd, and I wondered what was up.
"Denise left a will. She left you the house and the
lion's share of her insurance, to take care of the girls if anything happened
to her."
I was stunned. It was so unexpected. "I... I don't know
what to say."
Sharon reached out and patted my hand. "It's not what
I'd expected, but if you think about it, it makes sense. What are you going to
do?"
"I guess I'll sell the house. I certainly don't need
two houses."
"She had mortgage insurance, it'll be paid off. You could
rent it out, you know. Earn some steady income off of it."
It was too much too fast. I couldn't think straight.
"I'll have to think about it. I just wasn't expecting anything like
this."
"I understand." She held my hand. "How are
you doing?"
"Better. Not good, but at least I can get out of
bed."
"We're here if you need us. You know that, right?"
"Yes. Thank you. After the girls, you were the best
thing that came out of our marriage."
"We love you too. Don't forget it."
"I'm sorry I was so useful about the funeral
arrangements, I don't think I could have handled it without you," I
confessed.
"Don't even think about it. That's what family is
for."
That's what family is for.
My day wasn't quite complete. A few more calls and I was
putting things in motion I wasn't sure I should, but I couldn't resist.
Around dinner time, I ventured next door. Cathy's husband
John answered the door. "The hermit has left the cave. Good to see you out
and about." He shook my hand, letting me in. "Cath - Alex is
here."
Cathy came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a
dishcloth. "How'd your day go?"
"Not bad. A few surprises, but I survived."
"We're about to eat. Care to sit down with us?"
"Maybe. When do you think Sandy will be getting
home?"
"Probably nine-ish, would be my guess. Why?"
"Just want to talk to her if I can."
"You have time for dinner then?"
"Sure."
By 8:30 I was enjoying a cigar with John, sitting out in
their driveway, trying to figure out what our football team's chances were of
going anywhere in the playoffs. We were strategically positioned so I had a
view of the Morrison's driveway.
When Sandy drove up, I excused myself from John and jogged
across the alley.
"Sandy, can I talk to you a moment?"
She looked ready to chase me off, but after a few awkward
seconds she crossed her arms, leaned back against the car and raised her
eyebrows.
"Again, I'm sorry I entered your house without your
permission. I know that was wrong. All I can say is I wasn't really thinking
straight."
She rolled her eyes. "Anything else?"
"Yes. I know you told me you didn't need my help, but
there's someone I'd like you speak to. I have a friend that's a lawyer, and
he's willing to check into your insurance situation pro bono. Like you and me,
he's suffered a few losses in life, and he'd like to help you if he can. If
you'd just give him a call, he'll see what he can do."
I could see she wanted to say no, but was torn. She gnawed
on her bottom lip, which I saw were chapped. She looked exhausted. I pulled out
his card and held it out to her. "It'll only take a couple of minutes. It
can't hurt."
She finally nodded and took the card from me. "Is that
it?"
"One last thing. I'm headed over to my ex-wife's house
tomorrow to clean out the refrigerator, and to get rid of her tree. It's my
responsibility now. I was going to ditch the tree; it's one of those pre-lit
artificial ones which I never could stand. I thought, if you don't mind, and
it's not interfering too much, I could bring it by here and you could take if
off my hands. Otherwise it's going to the dump." I spit out the words
quickly before she could find too much fault with me.
She seemed resigned to allow me to interfere, at least this
much. She sighed and finally spoke up. "Alright. That would be nice. Now
if that's all, I'd like to go in now. My feet and back are aching and I have to
get up early tomorrow."
"That's all. You can call Steve tonight if you'd like,
he's a night owl and is expecting your call. Good night."
I took off quickly before she could change her mind about
anything.
I had recruited Cathy's help over dinner the night before,
assuming things went Ok with Sandy, and by noon we were back at the Morrison
house, knocking on the door.
Erica let us in, and we hauled our goodies in after us. I
had the tree folded up and left it on the front doorstep while we made room for
it in the living room. After I'd put it in place, I hauled in a large plastic
crate of Christmas decorations, and encouraged Cathy and Erica to get to work
making the tree look 'festive'. Right on schedule my weekly cleaning crew
showed up and I put them to work giving the entire house a thorough cleaning. I
had felt guilty chasing them away the last few weeks, and had begged and
cajoled them into doing me this one favor, on Christmas Eve of all days. The
team of four went to work like whirling dervishes, storming through the rooms
in pairs leaving sparking chrome and sweet smells in their wake.
We only had a few hours if Cathy was right, and I had one
more big task lined up. The Chem-Dry carpet cleaners were running a little
late, but showed up not long after the cleaning crew had finished with the
living and dining rooms, and I had moved most of the furniture into the
hallways and kitchen. They went right to work, and had the downstairs completed
in a little over an hour. While they worked at that, I spent the time
decorating the front yard and the house with Christmas lights. I hoped that
Sandy liked traditional multi-color displays. I wasn't all that fond of the
'all-white' look, and was using my own lights to decorate her house. By the
time I had finished I was sweating up a storm, and was getting nervous about
the time.
The carpet guys left first, reminding me to let the carpet
dry for another hour before returning the furniture to its place. The cleaning
crew followed shortly after, and I'd rewarded them nicely, tipping them an
extra $100 for coming out on Christmas Eve. I moved indoors, with the lights
complete and lit up, to find a Christmas wonderland awaiting me.
Cathy and Erica had done an amazing job, using what I had
brought over and getting the Morrison's decorations out of the attic and
putting those to use as well. You could hardly tell it was the same house.
"You ladies have done an incredible job!" I
announced, standing in the doorway.
Cathy looked a little disheveled but very pleased with
herself. "Let's finish up quick. I have to get home; John's going to kill
me."
I'd promised her we'd be done by 4:00 and it was already
nearly 5:00. She was holding a Christmas Eve open-house and was expecting half
of the neighborhood over that evening. She only had a couple of hours left to
finish her own preparations. I gave her a hug for all of her effort and shooed
her off, while I started hauling the furniture back into place, working at a
frenzied pace to get done before the unsuspecting benefactor got home.
Erica followed behind me, arranging all the lamps, baskets
and knick-knacks, and adding additional holiday decorations as we went. With the
last of the furniture in place, I turned and gave her a high-five.
"This is all our secret, right? If your Mom asks, the
Christmas elves stopped by to help clean up. You did a great job, Erica."
She smiled and held her arms out to me. I leaned down and
gave her a hug.
"Thank you," she whispered, just before she let go
and disappeared up the stairs.
I felt a lump in my throat. Whether it was fear of being
caught by her mother, or the joy of hearing her speak her first words to me, I
couldn't be sure.
By eight o'clock, Sandy still hadn't shown up on my
front-doorstep with a shotgun. I guess she was going to wait until after
Christmas to eviscerate me over meddling where I didn't belong.
I didn't care. I felt good, the best I'd felt in two weeks,
thinking about that little girl celebrating a real Christmas. Kids should have
Christmas.
I had cleaned up and decided to make an appearance next
door, as I'd promised, when I got a call from Steve.
"Hey-ho, Stevorino."
"Only my Grandma gets to say that, asshole."
"Merry fuckin' Christmas to you too." I teased.
I heard him chuckle. "Merry Christmas is right. At
least for your neighbor."
"How's that?" I asked, suddenly interested.
"The insurance creeps were just stalling. They don't
have a leg to stand on. The only change to the policy was upon their advice
after an annual policy review by their own agent. A little legal pressure was
all it took. It's not a lot, less than $300K, but she'll be getting her check
next week."
"Steve, you're the man. I take back all those nasty
things I said about you."
"Shit, they're probably true. If anybody would know,
it'd be you."
"All kidding aside. You're a life saver."
I knew he hated any hint of seriousness. I could almost hear
him blushing over the phone. "Hey, that's what friends are for,
right?"
"That's right. And I couldn't ask for a better
one."
"Ditto. Asshole."
"Shit. You had to go and spoil it. Listen, I gotta run.
Give your family my love and have a great Christmas. I'll give you a call next
week."
"You got it. And Darla sends her love. She made me say
that. Don't get any ideas."
"Got it. Give her a kiss for me. Scratch that. I'll
come out after the holidays and give it to her myself. When are you going to be
out of town next?"
"Funny guy. Start anything with her, and I'll make you
keep her and the credit card bills."
"Ouch. You win," I had to laugh. "Thanks
again."
"Merry Christmas. Hang in there buddy."
"You too."
To be continued in part 2, Based on the post from Tx Tall Tales for Literotica
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