“Hey,” she said. “You watch it.” She gave a fake scowl.
They cleaned their hands with the wipes and left them on their plates. Trucks put the big gloves on Claudia, pulled her hood up, closed her throat flaps, and snapped them in place. He shouldered the duffel bag, and the three of them walked out the door.
They crossed the street to Gerald’s pickup. He got down on a knee so he could be face-to-face with Claudia.
“Well. You sure are a good little bean,” Gerald said.
“And you sure are the nicest old man,” Claudia said.
“Ha. Who you calling old?”
“You!”
“Well, it’s true, I guess. Wish I had your youth.”
“But at least you got your wife at home when the flowers come out.”
Gerald’s lip quivered. He gave Claudia a big hug.
“I’ll miss you and think of you,” he said, his chin on her shoulder. “Listen to your daddy. He’s a strong man. A tough man. He’ll be there for you.”
“Okay,” she said. The two of them separated. Before Gerald could stand, Claudia held a hand out for him to stop. Then she reached in her pocket and pulled out June’s perfume. She opened it up, dipped a little on her finger, and tapped it to both sides of his neck.
“Now you can smell pretty when you get home and remember us,” she said.
Gerald hugged her again. Then he stood, wiped his eyes, and put his hand out to Trucks. Trucks gave Gerald a firm handshake.
“Well, it’s been good getting to know you. I enjoyed our talks. You ever make it back my way, come down the lane and see me. My door’s open to you both. Remember, chin down in the ring, chin up in life. You can thank the Sisters of St. Agnes of Latah County for that one.”
Trucks smiled and stepped back. Gerald got into his big pickup and shut the door. Then he cranked down the window.
“Here,” he said to Claudia. “Open your hands.”
She put her hands out. Gerald dropped the gambling token into her palms.
“A souvenir. Sometimes, you just have to make your own luck. Enjoy Billings. Chins up.”
Gerald smiled, rolled up the window, and started the engine. He waved and took off down the road. Soon he turned a corner, and they were alone again.
Trucks stood still. Claudia flipped the coin. Up in the air. Down on the ground.
Fwup. Cling. Fwup. Cling. Fwup. Cling. Fwup. Cling.
“I wanna get the fish, but it keeps landing on the bird,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“It keeps landing on the bird,” she said again. “I can’t get the fish.”
“Let me see that,” Trucks said.
He took the coin and flipped it in the air. Let it hit the ground. He tried over and over. He gave it back to Claudia, and she tried it over and over too. Always the same result. A trick coin.
“Goddamn meadowlark,” Trucks said.
Fwup. Cling.
OUTSIDE THE BEARTOOTH RESCUE MISSION
Trucks and Claudia sat on a bench facing the street. They were both thinking of Gerald, missing him in different ways.
“We can go in and give it a shot,” Trucks said. “Your choice.”
They watched cars pass. People walked by, sometimes looking over and smiling in that guilty kind of way.
“Maybe here’s better. The last couple times hitching wasn’t good,” she said. “We fell asleep in the snow. And lots of times people don’t stop.”
“Sometimes they’re just busy with their own lives. And a lot of people fear hitchers.”
“Why?”
“The movies and magazines. And society tells them to be afraid.”
“But why?”
“Fear the outcasts. I don’t know. It’s just something society spreads around. Be afraid of what’s different. Reject the things that aren’t like you. You can imagine how many messed-up looks I got when I told people I was a boxer. Some would even take a step back when I said it, like all I knew how to do was hurt people.”
Trucks looked at his hands on top of the duffel bag in his lap.
“Live our way, or else. That’s what society says, Pepper Flake.”
“Or else what?”
“Nothing. Just remember, don’t listen to them. Listen to you. Listen to me. You bring enough tight people into your life and that’s your own little society. You can trust each other. Believe in each other. And I got you now, and that’s enough for me. When I think of it, it’s always been all the people I needed. Just you,” he said.
Trucks looked at her, but she was staring into the street.
“You know what I mean?”
“Yeah,” Claudia said. She closed her eyes. “But what about ‘or else?’ Or else what happens if you don’t do what society says?”
“Let’s not talk about it now.”
“Fine.” Claudia looked at Trucks. “Who’s society?”
“Not us,” Trucks said.
“What happens in the shelter?” Claudia asked.
“I guess you don’t remember the times we were in and out when you were younger? Back in Wisconsin?”
Claudia shook her head.
“Not at all?” Trucks asked.
“No.”
“Before we rented the little rowhouse?”
“No.”
“Guess you were too small to remember.”
“I spose.”
“Well, think of it like the children’s home, except there’s all kinds of people, not just kids. A lot of them smell bad. They’ve got it real tough. A lot of them are older men. You know, with the gray beards and dirty skin. You saw them all over the old neighborhood.”
“I remember the bad smells. Maybe I could give them some of the perfume. Would it be good to do that?”
“It’d be kind, Pepper Flake, but I think you should save it for yourself. If you gave it out to every hard case, you wouldn’t have any left.”
“Okay.”
“But the idea’s nice. It’s a good one. Like you. You’re a real good one, you know that?”
Claudia swung her feet under the bench and back. Trucks gave her neck a light squeeze.
“Will we keep moving places?” she asked.
“I don’t know. It’s up to how things go, I guess.”
“Yeah.”
“How do you want them to go?” he asked.
She didn’t say anything. Trucks gently pulled her arm to look at him. He adored Claudia hidden under her hood, the throat flaps tight against her.
“You can answer. It’s okay,” he said.
“I want them to go so you don’t die and I don’t have bad dreams anymore and we never fall asleep on the road. And I wanna meet friends like Suzy and Mary and Connie ’cause they’re far away now and probably don’t miss me like I miss them sometimes. Cause there were a lot of other kids at the home, and they probably play with them now.”
Trucks dug his knuckles into his thigh. He scanned the street. Felt the sting of winter.
“I’ll do all I can to make that happen for you,” he said. “And I hope you know that. And I hope you know I’m trying hard. The things we ask for don’t always happen. Sometimes we get them, and we thank the world for working in our favor. But it’s not often like that for people like us. So remember there are hard times, and those are the usual times. That’s what you’re already used to. And you need to keep getting used to it. But it doesn’t mean we can’t still try for the better times. All the hard times make the better times that much sweeter.”
“I wish it was always the better times,” Claudia said. She leaned back on the bench.
“I’ll do all I can to give you the better. I can’t guarantee anything but my trying. I hope that’s enough.”
They were quiet for a while. The wind was calm. Traffic lights blinked. Cars rolled along. Pedestrians walked quickly past the shelter.
“So we sleep here?” she asked.
“Only if you’re up for it.”
Claudia pulled the gambling
token from her coat pocket. She looked at its copper surface.
“Do you feel better when we stay or when we go?” he asked.
Claudia shrugged. She had a faraway look he couldn’t read.
“It’s hard to know,” she said. “It hurts both ways.”
INSIDE THE BEARTOOTH RESCUE MISSION
“We’ve got eighty-two beds in the men’s shelter and seventy-one in the women and children’s shelter,” said the woman at intake.
“What about meals?” Trucks asked.
“We do three a day at both shelters, but you have to be a guest to take breakfast. Lunch and dinner are for anyone who’s hungry.”
“And the beds? Singles on the floor or bunks?”
“We mostly have bunks, but we do use some fold-away cots when we’re full or for special circumstances. Rarely on both counts.”
Trucks put his hand on Claudia’s shoulder.
“We might be one of those,” he said.
“I’m sorry, but by rule, women and children stay in the same shelter, apart from the men. For safety reasons. Men have their own shelter.”
“I figured that,” Trucks said. “But I can’t be away from my girl. I’m sure you get that. So if we’re gonna stay here, I need you to let us be a special circumstance.”
The woman thought for a moment. She looked between Trucks and Claudia.
“She’ll be just as safe staying in the women and children’s shelter. We’ve got wonderful staff here all hours of the day and night and an on-call minister.”
“She’s safe with me. There’s no exception to that. Let her stay in the men’s shelter on one of the bottom bunks. Give me one of those fold-away cots. We can put it beside her. I know they’re small. I know what they feel like. I’ve slept on them so many times I couldn’t even count.”
“These are set rules, sir. I’d love to help if I could.”
Trucks smoothed Claudia’s hair, revealing her hearing aids. Then he pulled her against him. “We don’t wanna be out in the cold again tonight,” he said.
Trucks squeezed Claudia. She made a pathetic face.
The woman thought hard. Then she stood.
“I’ll go talk to my manager and see what we can do.”
“Thank you so much. It’s all I’m asking.”
A few minutes later the woman came back with some paperwork.
“You’ll have to sign some extra forms,” she said.
“All right.”
“Please put the bag on the counter. I need to go through it, check it in, and keep it in holding if you’re staying the night.”
Trucks lifted the duffel bag and set it on the counter. The woman unzipped every pocket. She went through the bag, sifting the food and toiletries.
“I don’t see any weapons in here. Now, please answer honestly: are you carrying?”
Trucks thought about his fists. How lethal they could be.
“No,” he said.
“Sign this form, please.”
He signed the form.
“Do you do any drugs or drink alcohol?” she asked.
“Not in a long time.” Trucks looked over at Claudia. “You haven’t picked up drinking, have you?”
Claudia shook her head. The woman didn’t laugh.
“We’re a sober shelter and offer all services by the kindly grace of God. No alcohol or drugs are allowed on the premises. If you break the rules, you get a strike. Depending on the severity of the strikes, you could be offered another or get suspended from shelter premises for a period determined by the actionable events, sometimes permanently. Please sign here.”
Trucks signed.
“Breakfast is at eight, lunch at noon, and dinner at five. You can eat at either shelter. For her sake, you might want to eat at the women and children’s shelter. Commingling is fine during daylight hours. Also, we provide a nondenominational chapel service at both shelters. While attendance is voluntary and not required to receive care here, we do urge all of our guests to go in, have a look and a listen, and be open to feeling the power and the presence of God. Whether or not you’re a believer, you’ll still have the privilege of hearing some lovely sermons and get a chance to speak with supportive and loving people.”
“That’s nice,” Trucks said. “It sounds good. And how about the showers?”
“You’ll have to take her over to the other shelter for a shower.”
“I figured,” Trucks said.
“We offer towels, shampoo, soap, cotton swabs.” She looked Trucks over. “Razors. Looks like you haven’t shaved in a while. It might be nice, relaxing, if you want to shave.”
“I suppose I should,” Trucks said.
The woman tied a tag to the handle of the duffel bag with 37 written on it.
“Every time you come in, we need to go through your bag to look for weapons, alcohol, drugs, and other miscellaneous things, okay?”
Trucks nodded.
“Now, do you want to check the bag in here and leave it with us, or are you taking it out with you for the day?”
“I suppose we can leave it here.”
The woman handed Trucks a wooden token with 37 burned into the grain.
“This is your token to get the bag back. If you lose the token, all you have to do is supply proof that you are who you say you are by identifying key points from this form. Please fill out the rest of it as clearly as possible, write out each of your names at the bottom, and sign.”
At the bottom, he wrote: Ezzard and Pearl Kadoka. Then he signed his false name.
ANOTHER LESSON IN NEED BORROWING
Trucks held Claudia’s hand tight as they walked through the streets. He wanted to keep her close. Keep her safe in the city. Snow was everywhere. Bare tree branches shook overhead. They looked sick, all skinny and gray. Trucks and Claudia passed building after building. Their red bricks faded. Most awnings the same. A shade of green or a washed-out blue.
Swift Thrift came into view. A sign on the glass door said all items with a yellow dot were half off. Trucks had asked the woman at the shelter where he could go for secondhand clothes. The shelter had a few bargain centers at opposite ends of town, but Swift Thrift was closer. He wanted to buy Claudia a change of warmer clothes. She’d only had her pajamas since they started. They’d gotten washed at Gerald’s, but Trucks wanted her to have more layers. Still, they couldn’t add much to their possessions. It always had to be light. Simple. Quick. Things with no emotional attachment. Easy to get rid of if it had to be done.
Trucks opened the door. A bell dinged when they came in. It threw him off for a second. He walked Claudia over to the clothing section and found a small rack of children’s clothes.
“It smells like old blankets,” she said. “Like a whole bunch of old stuff.”
“Thrift stores all smell the same.”
“It’s weird.”
“It is. Now pick out a few sweatshirts and pants.”
“Anything I want?” she asked.
“Only the tags with the yellow dots,” he said.
He pulled a shirt off the rack and showed her the tag.
“See how this one’s got a yellow dot?”
“Yeah.”
“Find ones like this. Forget about the others.”
“Why?”
“The ones with the yellow dots are the special secret clothes for the day. It’s like a game to see if you can find the secret ones.”
“Okay.”
“So look for the yellow dots.”
She started sifting through T-shirts.
“Not those. Look for thick sweatshirts. Anything that’s gonna keep you warm. You can’t wear T-shirts in winter, you nut.”
“But I like these. Feel,” she said.
Trucks felt the material.
“It’s nice,” he said, “but we’re not getting those. Try the others on down the rack.”
He pointed to the long-sleeve shirts.
“Fine,” she said, and walked over.
“And some pants. Look
at the pants too.”
“Okay.”
Trucks saw an appliance and kitchenware section.
“I’m gonna head over that way.” He pointed, but she wasn’t looking. “Hey,” he said.
“What?”
She kept sifting.
“Look at me.”
She looked over while holding the sleeves of two shirts.
“I’m going over there real quick. Don’t leave this area.”
Claudia nodded.
“Tell me.”
“Okay. I won’t leave,” she said.
Trucks walked off. He spent the next few minutes going through spatulas and picking up dented metal toasters. Screwdrivers and clothespins lay on shelves with spoons and toothpicks. He looked inside ceramic teapots and held fine cheese graders, whisks, ramekins. Things he’d never use. Still. It made him think about what it would be like to have a place with Claudia. Their own space in a new town. Just them. All the bullshit a thousand miles away where it couldn’t reach them anymore. Where it couldn’t beat them down. A new life. A do-over.
Trucks looked at Claudia to make sure she was still browsing. She had a few T-shirts draped over her shoulder. That stubborn kid. At least she was going through the pants now.
He looked around. An older employee helped a customer at the register. The customer was buying antique soda bottles. She had half a dozen on the counter. Trucks turned away. He noticed hockey sticks hanging from pegs on a distant wall and walked over.
He ran his finger along one of the hockey sticks. The sleek finish of the wood. He found old baseball gloves, tennis balls in a shoebox, partially deflated soccer balls. There were faded cones for drills, a stack of discs, multicolored golf tees in a shot glass.
Then he saw them in the corner. Like an old leather beacon calling him home. A pair of faded boxing gloves beaten to hell. Hung by their laces. He walked over and put his face into the gloves. He inhaled. There was nothing he missed more than that smell. The musty leather. The hint of sweat. The evidence in dark residue spots all over the gloves. He reached up and took them from the peg. Felt the leather, no longer crisp. But there was still a softness to those old, withered gloves.
If someone asked, he’d probably say he could remember his first pair. It’d be a lie. He never had a first pair of boxing gloves. His first pair changed with every training session. Drawn from a community pile in a weathered box shared by several guys in that old gym back in Klakanouse. The grip molding to the hands of each man. Shifting by the day. By the night. The sweat and blood and cuts bonding them within that leather casing.
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