* * *
If memory served correctly, Petey's house was on 7th street. Joe headed that direction. The temperatures were warming up slightly; the sun had come out, and reflections from the snow were bright enough to have him squinting. It only took twenty minutes or so, but in that time he saw several yards with children outside building snowmen and having snowball fights.
His mind's eye took him back to a day last winter when the snowstorm had closed the day care and he'd stayed home from the office with Billy. Analisa had braved the roads and gone to work; her paycheck made a bigger difference in their budget than his did at this point, and Christmas was coming. Joe let Billy help make the pancakes for breakfast, and as was their custom, chocolate chips went in because mom wasn't there to say no. After cleaning up the kitchen, the two of them donned their boots, coats, scarves and gloves, and set out to make the biggest snowman family they could possibly make. The snowman-building wore them out, which led to falling on the ground. That, of course, turned into making snow angels, and a game of snowball catch ensued. He could still see Billy's face, nose and cheeks rosy and the smile… oh, the smile. Joe smiled to himself at the vision. They'd finished off their snowman family with a snow baby sister as Billy's way of telling his mother he wanted a sibling, and they'd gone inside to warm up with some hot cocoa and a blanket while they watched Frosty the Snowman on DVD. When Analisa came home that night, she'd ooh'd and aah'd over all of their hard work, and even made mention to Billy that she and his dad would talk about a baby snowman. Later that night, they'd done just that — right before they started trying.
"Hey, Joe!" The voice snapped him out of his reverie. He looked up, and saw Petey running toward him.
"Hey, Petey. How's it goin'?" Joe smiled. Unlike last time, this time his young friend had his boots on, jacket zipped, and a stocking cap on his head.
"Good. We've been building a fort. Its guys against girls in an epic snowball fight. Wanna join? We could use you on our team," he tried.
"Not a chance. Girls scare me." Joe smiled bigger and winked at him.
"Aw, man. Well, come look at our fort anyway, okay?"
"Um, okay." Joe wasn't used to being treated like a regular person anymore; since he'd lost his home and begun living in the underbelly of the beast, he'd been invisible more often than not. He followed Petey toward the empty lot next door to his house and saw the boys were serious about their building skills. "This looks great, guys. I think you've got a shot at winning."
The kids high-fived each other and thanked Joe before getting back to putting finishing touches on their wall.
"So did you hear about the tiger?" Petey's face tilted up, excitement evident. "The news said there was a couple people called in reports of a tiger just a few roads down and that's the way you went when you were walking. Did you see him?"
His heart skipped a beat. It wasn't a dream. "Sorry, little dude, I didn't see him. That's scary for sure, though, a tiger on the loose. Did they say where it came from? Did the zoo leave the door open or is there a circus in town?"
"I don't know anything about a circus. The zoo's like, I don't know, miles away. Someone would've seen it before now, right?"
"Probably. You're pretty smart, you know that?"
"The teachers all think so." He grinned. "It's pretty easy, if you pay attention instead of goofing off."
The other boys called out to him. He looked over.
"Petey, let me return this to you real quick before I let you get back to it." He set his bag down and pulled out the container. "Tell your mom I washed it the best I could, but she might want to run it through the dishwasher just to be on the safe side."
"She's right there, want to tell her yourself?" His miniature mitten pointed toward the back porch of his house, where his mom and a man, most likely his dad, stood watching the activity.
"Yeah, okay, sure," he stammered, thrown off-guard a second time in a matter of minutes. He lifted his hand in greeting. Both of the adults returned the gesture in tandem. Joe took that as a positive and made his way toward the back porch, stopping a few feet shy.
"Good afternoon, Ma'am, Sir. I wanted to return this with my sincere thanks for the wonderful meal your son shared with me yesterday. It was the best meal I've had in a long time." He extended the container toward Petey's mom.
Her smile could have lit the sun. "You're quite welcome, Joe. Petey showed us the shooter marble you gave to him right before he put it on the shelf in a place of honor. That was kind of you."
"Hi, Joe, I'm Petey's father. You can call me Mike," he said and held his hand out to shake. Joe shook it, and Mike continued. "This is Shelly, my wife. She makes one heck of a mean turkey dinner, doesn't she?" His eyes sparkled when he looked at her. True love lived here.
"That she does, Mike. Your son is a respectful young man. He…" Joe cleared his throat and blinked several times in quick succession to clear the tears that threatened to overflow. "He reminds me of my own son."
Several girls in Petey's age range came out of the next house down and squealed as they ran behind their own wall, and the game began.
Mike and Shelly looked at each other, then back at Joe. An unspoken conversation took place in less than a second. "Joe, would you like some coffee?" Shelly said, turning toward the sliding glass door. "I've just put a pot on. It should be ready any second." Without waiting for his answer, she continued back into the house.
Joe looked to Mike, who said, "She doesn't take no for an answer, that much I can tell you." Motioning him inside, Mike held the door open and followed behind.
The warmth enveloped him as soon as he stepped through. It was as if the door represented a portal to another world, one where he used to live but now was not permitted. The pale yellow walls added to the homey feel, while the smell of fresh coffee and cinnamon rolls invaded his senses. "You have a lovely home." He worked to overcome his discomfort.
"Thank you." It didn't used to be this difficult to meet new people, Joe thought. The couple of years living in solitude had obviously taken its toll.
With three mugs in one hand and the coffee pot in the other, Shelly moved to the dining room table. "Let's have a seat in here. I'll be able to keep an eye on the kids and run referee duties if things get out of control." One wall in front of the table held a large picture window with a great view of the game currently in progress. She moved back toward the kitchen. "Do you take cream or sugar?" she asked.
"Cream if you have it, thank you." At least he hadn't forgotten his manners. His own mother would roll over in her grave if he forgot those.
Shelly came back to the table with a tray: cream, sugar, spoons, plates, a pan of cinnamon rolls, butter, and knives. "Help yourself." She busied herself fixing her own cup of coffee while Mike did the same.
The aroma of the warm rolls assaulted him and had he not already taken a seat, he surely would have melted into a puddle. He flicked his eyes to Mike. He nodded, motioning for Joe to go first. Didn't have to offer again, Joe chose two for his plate, added butter, and watched the steam rise. As the butter melted he poured cream into his coffee.
The trio sat there in what turned into a comfortable silence while they finished off the rolls. Shelly refilled all three mugs. "You have a son?" she asked quietly.
Joe bowed his head and stared down into his cup, not really seeing the coffee at all. He nodded. "I do. Did."
"I'm so sorry." Her voice was full of compassion for his loss of family; people she'd never even met. A woman and child who were everything to Joe, and he was someone she'd only met a few minutes ago. A tear formed in his eye, spilling over before he could stop it.
"What happened?" Mike's curiosity had him asking.
"Billy and my wife, Analisa, were killed in a car accident two years ago. She was taking him to school and a semi crossed the median. The police told me they never had a chance. The coroner said they were killed instantly. I lost everything that day. My wife, my son, and with the depression that came, my job, h
ome, car, everything."
Shelly reached over and patted his arm. She had no words, but offered the comfort of human touch. She looked pointedly at her husband, then back out at the children.
"What did you do before? For your job. What kind of work did you do?" Mike asked.
"I was an artist. I designed tattoos. I didn't ink people; they told me what they wanted, and I drew what they said. We worked on the design together until it was exactly what they envisioned, and then I turned them and their creation over to the tattooist."
"The company didn't give you time off for grieving?" Mike couldn't understand any boss who wouldn't give some leeway for a death in the family, especially like what Joe had experienced.
"Oh, no, Lexi told me to take all the time I needed. The day came when I got the call saying they couldn't keep the business open without me, and it was failing. I was the only one people wanted to work with for their designs, and the tattooists that were on staff didn't have the vision to create from words. She'd hired another designer, but his work wasn't like mine. By the time she called, I'd been off work for three months. The word was out that I wasn't available, so customers were all taking their business to another shop. It was too late. My grief had taken its toll on me, my bank balance, and by extension, Lexi's business. She had to close the doors."
"That's no good." Mike shook his head.
Shelly patted his arm again. "Joe, I've got a roast about to go in the pressure cooker, and it's too big for the three of us to eat by ourselves. Would you like to stay for dinner?"
"Yeah, you'd be doing me a big favor. If you stay, I won't be eating it every way imaginable for the next week." His wife shot him a look. He winked at her.
To Joe, it felt like a sincere offer, not pity. "I'd like that."
"Thanks, man. Hey, how are you on cars? Want to see my '67 Mustang?"
"You have a '67 Mustang? Is it all original?"
The two stood and Mike led the way to the garage. "Almost. I've got a taillight cover left to find, and an ashtray before it'll be fully restored to original."
They'd been married long enough that Mike knew the look shared between him and his wife was an unspoken agreement. They would help Joe get back on his feet, if he wanted it. He wasn't on the streets because of a drug habit he couldn't kick or any other self-imposed reason. The tragedy that befell his family was a shame and shouldn't have happened. They would offer him a hand up and a way out, and let him take it from there.
After they'd gone into the garage and closed the door, Shelly went to the freezer and pulled out the larger of the two roasts she had there. The hamburger in the refrigerator she'd taken out earlier for spaghetti would hold for tomorrow's dinner. Tonight, she'd do it up right with all the fixins and feed Joe a good and proper meal.
By the time they came back in, she had the roast on, the dishes cleared, and was standing at the kitchen window watching the kids. Looked to her like the boys were getting as good as they were giving; the girls had good arms on them. They'd been outside long enough to get chilly and would be happy to see hot cocoa, so she made enough for all the kids while the men talked cars.
When she opened the door and stepped outside, the kids came running. They gathered around the porch, filling it to capacity, and discarded their sloppy wet mittens and gloves to take the offered cups. Their chatter and laughter filtered through the closed glass door.
"I never got tired of hearing Billy laugh." The wistful tone of Joe's voice told Mike he was reminiscing, seeing a film play in his head. "Petey has a laugh kind of like his was. Infectious."
"He's a great kid. I couldn't have asked for better. Yeah, that laugh gets me to smile every time, too."
Sheila came back inside with Petey hot on her heels. "Joe! Mom says we're having roast for dinner. Are you gonna stay? She makes the best roast ever."
"Yep, little dude, your mom already asked me. How could I say no to the best roast ever?"
Petey clapped his hands together. "Yay, now there won't be leftovers," he smiled and high-fived his dad.
"Alright, you two. I only made that casserole one time. I promised not to make it again." She shook her head and turned away, but not before a smile played across her lips. "Young man, you've got about half an hour left outside before you need to come in and clean your room."
"Aw, mom…" he started, then checked himself. Christmas was coming, and Santa was watching. He sighed. "Okay. Half an hour, bye," he said as he turned and shot back out the door to enjoy every second of it before play time was over for the day.
"Joe, if you'd like to wash up before dinner, there are clean towels on the shelf in the bathroom, and a robe on the back of the door. I'll wash your clothes for you, if you like."
"That's very nice of you, thank you." A hot shower sounded wonderful. He'd been taking spit baths in bathrooms for a good while now; a real, honest to goodness hot shower might help his aching ribs, as well.
"The bathroom is down the hall, first door on the left. The light switch is on the left, inside the doorway. If you'll set your clothes outside the door, I'll get them in the washing machine quick."
He nodded and made his way down the hall, leaving his bag of worldly goods next to the sliding door in the kitchen where he'd set it when he came in. He didn't think twice about trusting them; they didn't need anything from him, and they were the kindest family, feeding him and letting him get cleaned up properly. Surely they were angels.
Their bathroom was spacious; the shower was separate from the bathtub, there were two sinks, and the shelf of towels was actually a closet filled to the brim with fluffy towels and matching wash cloths in every color of the rainbow. He chose one of each from their respective stacks.
Slipping the bottle of pain reliever from his pocket, he shook out two pills and downed them with the rest of the water from the bottle Thomas had given him. The pill bottle he set on the counter and his clothes he piled in the hallway before closing the door and turning on the shower.
Steam filled the room. Joe stepped in, and the water flowed over him, pummeling the knots out of his muscles that he hadn't even realized were there. He lathered up and scrubbed layers of dirt from his body, then stood under the water until his fingers and toes were wrinkly. The shampoo smelled clean and fresh; luckily, nothing was scented with overpowering smells like rose or lilac. It smelled nice.
While Joe was in the shower, Shelly started his clothes washing and sat down with Mike. "How can we help him? Do you think there's a position open at the shop that he would be good for?" The shop she referred to was Mike's architectural design firm. He'd built it from the ground up, and they'd been lucky enough to continue on through the housing collapse as well as both times the stock market had crashed in the last few years. Mike's business sense had kept the business afloat, and even better, the shop had flourished.
"I've been thinking about that. One of the guys put his two weeks' notice in last Monday, and we've put the ad for his position in the newspaper. With Joe's background in artistic design, I'm willing to bet he would be able to pick it up rather quickly."
"Perfect timing. I've been thinking, too. There are those bags of clothes I've cleaned out of the closets and haven't taken down to donate yet. I wonder, he looks about the same size as you. I think some of the clothes in those bags would fit him."
"He'll need some office-casual clothes if he wants the job. Are there some of those in the bags?"
"Yes. There's a little bit of everything. Oh, I've got an idea. Let me get some clothes from the bags, and see if he'd rather wear them than the bathrobe. I'll get them, you set them outside the door, okay?"
"Sounds good. Let's take this slow, though. We can talk with him after dinner, see if he's even interested in our help. We don't want to overload him. You have a tendency to do that sometimes."
She waved the words off. "I know, you're right. At least we'll know if your clothes would fit him, and even if he doesn't want our help with a job, he'll still be able to take some cloth
es with him."
"You're right, there. But Shelly…"
"I know. Don't worry. You can do the talking."
They continued to discuss, their heads close together, voices low.
When Joe finished his shower, he toweled off and put on the robe. It was dark blue and engulfed him. It was also the softest thing he'd ever felt. He found several combs in a new package in the drawer, as well as several disposable razors. After running a comb through his hair, he took a few minutes to shave. It had been so long, he'd forgotten what his face looked like without a beard and moustache. Though now he could really use a haircut.
He opened the door to find a stack of folded clothes in the hallway. These were clothes he didn't recognize, but were clean and dry. Picking them up, he closed the door again and changed. They fit surprisingly well.
Joe combed his hair back against his head, doing the best he could to make it look presentable. There wasn't much else he could do, so he opened the door and headed back down the hall. There wasn't anyone in the dining room or kitchen. The kids were gone from the backyard, having left a wide swath of destruction in their path. Snow was trampled down and built back up all over the yard. This is what childhood happiness looks like, he thought.
Voices floated on the air. Joe followed the sound to what he imagined was the family room. The three sat around a table, working on a jigsaw puzzle. He stood in the doorway, watching them. Petey was the first to notice.
"Whoa, Joe, you shaved your beard. Help us with this puzzle, okay?"
Mike and Shelly looked up, both smiling. "Come on in, you look great. I meant to tell you there were razors and things in the drawer, if you wanted to use any. Glad you found them." Though Shelly didn't say it out loud, she was secretly glad she'd thought of the clothes bags.
"We thought you might want to put on clothes instead of Shelly's pink bathrobe." Mike grinned, waiting for the smack he knew was coming from his wife. He didn't have to wait long.
"Oh, you. It's not my robe in the bathroom, it's yours. Anyway, Joe, do they fit okay?"
"They fit fine, thank you again. For everything. I feel like a new man." Joe smiled, a dimple creasing his cheek visibly for the first time. He was a handsome man, even more so when he smiled.
"Great. They're yours. I'm going to check on dinner." With that, Shelly left the room. She had a hard time keeping good ideas to herself, but was doing well so far.
Dinner preparation noises came from the kitchen. "Sounds like we've got about five minutes, guys. Petey, why don't you set the table? Joe and I will clean up the puzzle pieces for later."
"Gotcha, dad." Petey followed the path his mom had taken and disappeared.
After dinner, Shelly changed the washer load to the dryer and sent Petey to take a bath. She said she'd check on him in a few minutes, and the three adults went back to the family room.
So, Joe," Mike started. "Shelly and I were talking, and I've got a proposition for you."
Joe's stomach clenched. He tried not to let his anxiety show. "Okay," he said slowly. His voice sounded tinny to his own ears.
"You may or may not know I own an architectural firm downtown. This past week one of my employees put in his resignation. I've now got a position I need to fill. Earlier you said you were a designer. The position that will be open is on the design team. Would you be interested in going back to work?"
The knot in his stomach tightened. "Oh, um, wow," was all he could get out.
Mike took this as a positive response, and used the open door in the conversation to continue. "It's something I think you would be good at, with your previous experience."
His head was spinning. He was being handed an opportunity to get back on his feet. Then reality sunk in, reminding him of his current situation. "I'm not in a position to go back to work, Mike. Your offer is generous, and I thank you for it, but I don't have clothes or a place to stay, no way to get back and forth…"
"We have a spare room. You're welcome to stay until you've saved enough money to get your own place again. That makes getting to work easy. You can ride with me."
"I just…I don't have anything to wear, or any way to get a haircut."
"Listen, man. Shelly cleaned out our closets and has clothes that were going to be donated. Some of them were mine, like the ones you're wearing now, and they would fit you. I'd rather know they went to someone who would appreciate them."
In the last twenty-four hours, Joe's world had taken its own tumble down the rabbit hole. End over end, which way is up, where would it land? Seems it landed on its feet, or at least in a position where he could climb back up and out to rejoin the world above the bridge. Was this his karma?
He looked from husband to wife. Both were looking at him, patiently waiting.
"Yes. Yes, I will." The words came out of his mouth before he realized what he was going to say. "Mike, you won't be sorry."
The two shook hands. "I'm sure I won't."
"You'll do great, Joe. I'm going to get those clothes for you, and make up the guest bedroom. Petey is going to be so excited. He ran like a squirrel through the kitchen yesterday, gathering a dinner plate for you, and when I asked him where he was going, he said he saw someone special. He's got a sense about people, and when you came back today just to return the container and say thank you, I knew my son was right. There are good things in store for you. I can see it, too." She patted his arm again. "I've got work to do. Mike, honey, will you two clean up the kitchen for me, please?"
"We're on it." Mike stood and kissed his wife on her way by. They were doing a good thing here, he could feel it.
Joe's world was righting itself; the least he could do was help it. A job offer, a place to stay, clothes to go to work in, and a way to get back and forth. If that wasn't karma smiling on him, he didn't know what it was. Looks like he has something to be thankful for, after all.
Murder, Mayhem, Monsters, and Mistletoe Page 30