Danny’s fingers—nails gnawed and chewed down below the tip of each thick finger—ran over the pine block, skillfully carving and shaving away small slivers of wood. He would blow off the shavings, carefully feeling the texture of its wings. Notched and shaved some more, slowly creating the design of feathers. The small, delicate shape of the bird appeared dwarfed and vulnerable in Danny’s giant hands, like he rescued it after it had fallen from its nest.
He always lost track of time when he did his whittling. Would lose himself and forget about who and what he was while crafting his wooden animal friends. The tiny critters didn’t make fun of him or laugh at the way he talked. They never called him fat or dumb. They thought he was nice enough and would never say a mean word about him.
The bird he created now would be named Mindy. Mindy the Robin. Danny was making Mindy the person a robin figurine for her birthday because robins were supposed to be smart and a little bossy. Just like Mindy.
His stomach grumbled, but breakfast would have to wait. Danny had other work to do. He put the unfinished wood carving back in the shoe box, stuffed it under his bed, and shuffled out of his small room.
• • •
Danny tromped down the narrow steps and flipped on the lights to the Wash ’N Dry Laundromat. The fluorescents overhead flickered on and off a few times before they finally kicked on and shimmered against the linoleum floor. A dozen lime green washers and dryers lined the walls, as well as a soda machine and a boxed-soap dispenser that stood next to the laundromat’s small restroom.
Danny grabbed a bucket from the washroom, filled it with steaming-hot water, then poured in a little Spic and Span so that the room would smell real clean and fresh. He mopped down the laundromat floor carefully and slowly just like Mr. Bennett had shown him. Mr. Bennett had to show Danny how to open and close the Wash ’N Dry a few times before Danny had finally gotten the hang of it. After mopping the floors, Danny checked the washers and dryers to make sure no one had left any clothes behind. He had checked the machines the night before, but Danny liked to make double sure he did it right. He wiped all the dust and lint off of the machines, checked to make sure that the soda machine didn’t have any “sold-out” lights for any selections, and then inspected the detergent dispenser. Mr. Bennett got awfully sore if Danny let them go and get empty, because he said that was how he made lots of money. Mr. Bennett was the one who filled the machines when they needed filling and took out the coins.
Takin’ out the money is a big responsibility, Danny. Best if I do that. Don’t want you to lose it or have some youngster stealin’ it from you. You just keep her clean for me and lock her up at night. Eleven o’clock sharp. Don’t forget, now.
Danny figured Mr. Bennett was right—he was right about almost everything. Mr. Bennett was old and wrinkled like a grandfather and always said, With age comes wisdom. Sometimes Danny wondered when he got old and wrinkled if he might get smarter, too. He didn’t think that would probably happen but hoped that he wouldn’t get any dumber than he already was.
In exchange for keeping the Wash ’N Dry clean and opening and closing it each day, Danny got fifty dollars a week and the room upstairs. Mr. Bennett promised that as long as he did a good job and folks needed someplace to wash their laundry, Danny would have a room to stay in, and a few extra dollars in his pocket for “walking-around money,” as Mr. Bennett called it. Danny worked real hard and tried his best to do nothing wrong. Mrs. Bennett would stop by the Wash ’N Dry from time to time to drop off an extra blanket or wool socks when the Pennsylvania winters were especially cold. One time she made him a blue-and-yellow scarf, but Danny had lost it. He lost a bunch of things. Every Monday, when Mr. Bennett collected his coins, he would give Danny a tin of homemade cookies or fudge that the missus had whipped up. They tasted real good, and as hard as Danny tried not to, he would eat them all in one sitting.
The Wash ’N Dry had been Danny’s home ever since Uncle Brett passed on. Danny was still a teenager—sixteen, maybe seventeen—when Uncle Brett went up to heaven after being sick for so long. Uncle Brett wasn’t an old man when he died like most folks who stopped living—he was about Danny’s age now. He had gotten real skinny, vomited most of his meals, and ended up lying in a bed that smelled of pee and number two and talking or crying to himself the last few months. Danny would take him canned tomato soup and saltine crackers and feed him in bed. Sometimes Uncle Brett didn’t know who Danny was and would holler at him to get the hell out of his trailer. He’d knock everything off the nightstand and spit chewed up food in Danny’s hair. One time he picked up his bowl of soup and threw it all over Danny, scalding Danny’s hands and arms real bad. Other times he would accidentally think that Danny was Danny’s father. He would call him Hank and cry about not wanting to die. He’d hug Danny with skinny, flour-white arms that used to be strong and tanned. Uncle Brett never hugged Danny before he was sick. The sound of Uncle Brett’s cough got worse and worse, the sharp rattle in his chest filling the trailer walls. It was a sound that Danny went to sleep to and woke to in the mornings. Then one morning Uncle Brett stopped coughing.
Mr. Bennett said that Uncle Brett smoked and drank too much and that was why he went away. Danny didn’t know why folks would smoke and drink. Cigarettes smelled bad and cost lots of money, and alcohol made folks act real strange. When Uncle Brett got into the drink, he became even meaner than he usually was. Some folks got all happy and silly when they were having beer and whiskey, but not Uncle Brett. If he wasn’t yelling or hitting Danny, Uncle Brett would just drink all quiet like and watch hunting and fishing shows on the television set.
Danny took one more pass through the laundromat to make sure everything was in its place and ready for the day. It all looked pretty good, so he unlocked the front doors and headed out to breakfast.
• • •
A dusting of fresh snow covered Wyalusing’s Main Street, quiet at the early hour. Down the town’s quarter-mile main drag, dirty snow was plowed to the curb, caked with cinders, black slush, and cigarette butts. Dark clouds overhead threatened more snow.
Not too many people lived on Main Street itself. Most houses were built back on Front and Church Streets. Big two-story Queen Anne homes with porches that wrapped around the fronts of the houses and had high-pitched roofs with fish-scale shingles. Every lawn had a red maple or a black birch growing on it. Some with a swing hanging from a lower limb. Maybe these houses stood proud at one time, but years of neglect and brutal winters had taken their toll. Roofs and porches sagged, lawns chewed up by trucks parked out front.
There were two churches in town—Methodist and Presbyterian—both of them on Church Street. An old library built back in 1902 stood on Church Street as well. The grade school, high school, and post office were a couple blocks from there.
No red lights in town, only stop signs at busy intersections. More than a few stop signs were peppered and dimpled with shotgun holes. Most folks didn’t pay them any attention anyway.
A dozen or so stores and shops lined Main Street itself, most of them in need of a new coat of paint. Donna’s Neat Threads, Colgrove’s Barbershop, a Shell station, Red’s Tavern, First National Bank, Flick’s Videos, and a few other stores that weren’t in business anymore. Iris’s Gifts and More had been gutted by a fire last year and was still boarded up. Plywood had been nailed over the blackened window frames, and some kids had painted graffiti of female private parts onto the wood. Danny knew that the crude artwork was there but tried not to look at the women’s private parts, because that was dirty and not very nice.
Danny trudged down the sidewalk with his hands shoved deep in his front pockets. He forgot to wear his jacket and cap again. When he was hungry, he forgot lots of stuff. He figured he would get a cup of hot chocolate this morning if he had enough money with him, but he would have to show Mindy his dollar bills and coins at the diner so she could count it and make sure he could afford it.
&n
bsp; A station wagon rumbled down the street with a dead doe strapped down on its roof. Father and son hunters, both wearing orange hunting vests and caps, gawked at Danny as they rolled past. Danny smiled and waved like he always waved to townsfolk, and the boy waved back until his father reached over and yanked his arm down.
Smitty’s Gun Shop was opening for the day. Long rows of hunting rifles were lined up and displayed in the front window. Danny slowed a bit and peered at them from a safe distance. He didn’t like hunting so much. Didn’t want to kill nothing. Uncle Brett took him hunting once when he turned twelve, the age when everybody was given a gun and sent out to the woods. Danny remembered not liking the loud sound of the rifle and the bitter smell of gunpowder. When Uncle Brett asked him if he wanted to fire off the gun, Danny shook his head. Uncle Brett had shot a twelve-point buck and seemed real pleased by the number of antlers on the deer—he counted the points three or four times to make real sure he was adding them up right. He had never seen his uncle so happy before. Uncle Brett was smiling and everything, and he even tried to get Danny to touch the buck’s carcass.
Go ahead and give him a feel, boy.
The deer was still warm. Danny remembered staring down at the dead animal and thinking that just a few moments ago the deer was alive and well and walking around in the woods. Dark blood splattered on the white snowbank that the deer had finally fallen into. A pink tongue poked out of its foamy mouth a few inches, and its eyes were wide open and unblinking. Uncle Brett smiled at his trophy as he bent down to field-dress it. He drove his hunting knife into the animal’s breastbone and began to cut through the hide to the base of the tail. As the skin split open and a warm tangle of intestines spilled out into the snow, Danny began to cry. Uncle Brett’s smile disappeared real fast.
Jesus Christ, Danny. It’s just a fucking deer. Don’t be such a pussy.
Danny didn’t know back then what a pussy was, but he knew he wasn’t supposed to be one. That was the last time Uncle Brett had taken him hunting.
Danny forced his eyes away from Smitty’s Gun Shop and continued down the sidewalk. He passed by EB’s Market. A housewife eager to get a jump on her day hustled inside, still wearing rollers in her hair and wrapped up tight in a long winter jacket. Danny wanted to remember to pick up some pork and beans on his way back home. He could get two big cans for a dollar, and they filled him up fine.
At the corner of Main Street, he went left onto Prospect Street. Up ahead stood the Friedenshutten restaurant, serving breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The sign over the front door promised A GOOD MEAL AT A GOOD PRICE. A half dozen cars, winter-worn and rusted up, and a few tractor-trailers filled the small gravel parking lot. Danny kicked the slush from his boots and stepped inside.
Mindy
The bell over the front door jingled, and the eyes of the regulars all hung on Danny as he entered. Two old farmers, bent and hunched in the first booth, mumbled to each other, coffee mugs pressed to their thin lips. The same two farmers always sat in the same booth every day, and every day that Danny came in, they turned away from him and whispered to each other.
Mindy worked back behind the counter filling the salt shakers and watched the whole thing. She shook her head, irritated with each and every one of the intolerant SOBs.
Oh, Lord, people. You’d think Frankenstein just walked in.
Mindy’s blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her eyes sparkled like big blue gemstones. She looked tired but gave customers a wide smile as she replaced their salt shakers with freshly filled ones. Some smoker’s lines creased the edges of her mouth and around her eyes, but Mindy didn’t try to cover them with makeup. She wore her waitress uniform tight—the way she liked it and the way the men customers liked it. The female customers? Not so much. Mindy knew she might be a little too flirty, but it was innocent and all in good fun, and it sure helped with the tip situation.
Mindy watched poor Danny, with his eyes cast to the floor, lumbering his way to his usual spot—the last stool at the end of the long breakfast counter. He plopped down, folded his beefy hands in his lap, and waited.
God bless him. Always so patient, Mindy thought.
Danny didn’t move to pick up the laminated menu that stood between a napkin dispenser and a bottle of ketchup. Mindy knew his order by heart—always the same thing. She painted on a big smile and marched straight up to him. “There’s the birthday boy!”
Danny smiled at the sweet sound of Mindy’s voice and glanced up at her, but his eyes darted right and left, never settling on hers for long.
“How old you gonna be, Danny? And no lying, you hear?”
Danny grinned and shook his head. “Dunno.”
“Oh, phooey on that. We got the same birthday, silly.” She leaned in close to him and whispered, “But we’ll keep our age our little secret. We’ll just pretend that we’re still thirty-nine, okay?”
“All right. If you say so,” Danny answered, still smiling from ear to ear.
Mindy reached under the counter, pulled out a packet of Swiss Miss hot cocoa, and shook it between her fingers. “How ’bout a cup of hot chocolate? My treat.”
Danny’s round cheeks turned red from all the attention, and he said softly, “You don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t have to do nothin’. I want to.”
Mindy poured hot water into a mug and slid it in front of Danny. “There you go, hon. Happy birthday.”
“Well, ain’t this a sweet sight first thing in the morning. A real fucking Kodak moment. Oughta take me a picture and hang it over my dresser at home,” Mike Sokowski said, chuckling as he strode up to the counter and plopped onto the stool next to Danny. He took off his deputy hat and ran his fingers through long black hair that dangled down to broad shoulders. A thick tangle of a beard hung from his chin, whiskers creeping up his cheekbones nearly to the eyes. He grinned at Mindy, stroked and tugged on the beard, a few traces of gray hair peppered throughout. Sokowski made no attempt to hide the cauliflower ear on the left side of his head, a small twisted knot of brown flesh. In fact, he seemed to show it off like some kind of trophy.
“You ain’t never given me hot chocolate on my birthday.”
Mindy gave him a sour look, her smile long gone. “That’s ’cuz you ain’t sweet and don’t deserve nothin’ nice.”
“Shit. Didn’t hear you complaining none when we was going out. In fact, if I remember correctly, I always left you with a smile on your face.”
Mindy avoided his shit-eating grin and wiped some jelly stains from the counter in front of him. “Yeah, well, I ain’t making any more stupid mistakes.”
Sokowski chuckled again, clearly enjoying her discomfort. “What do you say to meetin’ me at the hotel tonight? I’m buying.”
“I’d say ‘fat chance.’ Besides, I got other plans.” She poured Sokowski a cup of coffee without him asking.
“Shit. You’re full of piss and vinegar this morning.”
“Yeah, well, you seem to have that effect on folks.”
“Come on, now. Here I am and everything to wish you happy birthday.”
Mindy gave him a look—not quite trusting his sincerity. “You actually remembered my birthday?”
“Hell yes. Got you a present and everything.” He took a few sips of coffee.
“Really? A present?” Mindy tried not to, but she felt a twinge of hope. Maybe Sokowski could actually turn over a new leaf.
“You bet. Got it right down here in my pants.” He let out a snort, then drank some more coffee.
“Mike. I swear.”
“Just kidding with you. Jesus. Like to take you to dinner. Wine, candles, the whole nine yards.”
“Said I was busy.”
“I bet. Too busy cutting coupons or painting your nails?”
Mindy just shook her head at him. “You eating or what?”
“Shit. I guess I sure
ain’t here for the company. Pack me a fried-egg sandwich to go. And tell Pat to try not to overcook it this morning. How hard is it to fry a goddamn egg? Bet even Danny here could fry an egg.”
As Mindy shook her head again and went off into the kitchen, Sokowski’s hazel-green eyes turned on Danny. Danny could feel the deputy’s stare but kept his own eyes down while he sipped his hot chocolate. It burned his tongue, but he tried not to let Sokowski notice.
Sokowski lit up a cigarette and played with the Zippo lighter, flicking it on and off, all the while watching Danny. After a minute or two, Sokowski finally spoke up.
“Whatcha know, Danny?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing, huh? Must be nice to know nothing sometimes, Danny. No worries. No problems. Just eat, sleep, and shit. What a goddamned life.”
Danny shrugged his heavy shoulders. “Guess so.” He watched Mindy working in the kitchen and wished that she would come back over. He didn’t like being alone with Deputy Sokowski so much.
“You sweet on her, huh?” Sokowski asked.
Danny stared into his mug of hot chocolate.
“Don’t be shy, Danny-Boy. I love women as much as the next guy, but be careful. Women are a tricky bunch. They bitch and moan and run their yap about shit you don’t give a goddamn about, but you listen none the same, because you just want to get yourself a little piece. You know what I mean?”
Danny didn’t know what he meant but nodded because he thought he was supposed to.
“You ever been with a woman, Danny?” Sokowski grinned and stroked his thick tangle of a beard.
Danny didn’t say anything.
“Well, shit, we’re gonna have to see what we can do about that. Gotta take care of the little man in your pants.” Sokowski laughed at the thought and took a sip of his coffee.
Deep Winter Page 2