The Least of These.

by Kathleen Neely

  Darkness descended on the city, making the streetlights and headlights my only means of seeing Pete. After an hour, my chest tightened and constricted with the cold. Fighting off chills, I wanted to retrieve my blanket from the backpack, but that would only call attention to my loitering.

  Finally, Pete’s boisterous tones reached my end of the sidewalk.

  “We need to be a’gettin’ you one of them mats a’fore winter is full upon us.” I couldn’t hear D.J.’s quieter response. Coughing spasms stopped Pete’s steps. They were in my sights now, but too far for me to call to them. When the coughing settled, they continued walking and went right up to the parking lot, entered and gave a wave to the attendant, and strolled over. D.J. gave a lift and tug motion to the lock, and the door opened. They had an inside accomplice.

  What would I do? I’d waited here for over an hour and I wouldn’t be denied. Dodging traffic, I crossed the street and walked into the parking garage. The attendant paid me no mind. I kept one eye on him as I walked over to the shed. He never turned my way, so I opened the door and slipped on inside—that easy.

  D.J. stopped speaking. Both of them circled their heads in my direction.

  “Hey, mind if I join you tonight? I didn’t make the cut for a room.” D.J. clicked his flashlight on, illuminating the clutter. I stepped around a few boxes that hadn’t been there before.

  “Well, howdie do there, Scotty. Close that old door and come on in. We need to be a’keeping that cold out there.” Pete’s wide grin said he didn’t mind at all. D.J.’s glare indicated the opposite. “

  Pete held his brown bottle in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other, the tip glowing bright red. It wouldn’t take much for this old, dehydrated wood to end up in flames. Mental note: don’t fall asleep before old Pete.

  Shoving a box to the side, I claimed my spot. “So, what have you been up to in the last two days? Ain’t seen you around.”

  “A little o’ this and a little o’ that.” Laughter came easy to Pete. He managed to find happiness despite his circumstances. “Just about the same ol’ thing.”

  I had a well-fabricated story in mind, hoping to use it as a springboard for discussion. Eager to satisfy D.J.’s suspicions, I told them I worked for a construction crew and the company went bankrupt. Found myself without a job and couldn’t pay my rent. Never saw my old man and wouldn’t ask him for a dime, not that he would have one anyway. I told my story. Now I wanted Pete’s. But before I could turn that tide, D.J. broke his silence.

  “What company?” An accusation hovered in the form of a question.

  I hadn’t considered all the details of my fabricated story and fumbled with an answer, landing on a fictitious name. “Belvedere’s,” I said, borrowing my mother’s maiden name. Her family was in construction but not the building kind. They constructed fine jewelry featuring the purest diamonds from South Africa. But they operated in New York and didn’t have exclusive rights to that last name.

  “Never heard of it. Where were they located?” He was pushing me, and I needed to close this topic.

  “They did most of their work in Beaver County. So, Pete, you said you’ve done some odd jobs and some welding. Did you go to school for that or did someone train you?”

  Laughter in his eyes, Pete shook his head and lifted the bottle for a long drink. He pointed a gnarled finger in my direction. “You’s forgettin’ I almost burned down the building. No one was a’teachin’ me welding.”

  “Did you go to any school for job training?”

  D.J. remained without expression. That was preferable to the evil-eyed glare.

  Pete grinned and took another swallow. He held the bottle out, offering me a swig. I put my hand up in a “no, thanks” motion. “Just my old Uncle Sam. They’s the only ones gived me any trainin’.”

  “You mean military? Did you serve?” He had my full attention.

  “Yessiree, Scotty boy. We all done served back in them days. You young’uns missed out on a whole lot when they cut that draft and stopped making you work for Uncle Sam. Lots o’ buddies and lots o’ learning. Them buddies were like brothers.”

  Good details for the bio. We were seeing widespread respect for our men in uniform. “What branch, and what training did you receive?”

  “I served my country in the U-nited States Air Force. Fought in Nam. Got me a medal for outstanding service in a war zone.”

  “Well, Pete, I’m honored to know you. That’s quite a legacy. What kind of job did you do?”

  Pete stared at the bottle, took a long drink, stared again like seeing it for the first time. He lifted it and drank again, then settled in to tell his tale, but D.J.’s glare had returned full force.

  “I was what they called a Wild Weasel. We had some technical stuff on them planes. We would fly on into enemy air space in North Vietnam and find us them surface to air missiles, called ‘em SAMs. We wore these big old headsets that told us when we found us something. It would hiss in our ear. When we did, we’d get a’moving to fire on ‘em. Trouble was, we got fired on right back.”

  I was sitting upright now, arms on my bent knees, taking in every word. “Wow. That sounds like a dangerous job. You came out unscathed?”

  “Un-what?”

  “Not hurt. You didn’t get hurt?”

  “Yeah. I got me some hurt.” His eyes unfocused, he stared at nothing but a spot on the wall. “Plane got hit, but we glided on down and got her landed. Ended up with some broken bones in one of them POW camps for two years.”

  Silence filled the space until D.J. spoke. “He doesn’t like talking about that. Why don’t you leave him be?”

  “Sorry, Pete. But, boy, I’m proud to know you. You’re a hero. You paid a high price for our freedom.”

  Our little shed filled with tension, and I would have let this topic fizzle out, but Pete continued, still staring at nothing.

  “Folks didn’t see it like that when we come back. They booed and spit and called us baby killers. We weren’t no heroes to them.”

  I stretched forward to touch his shoulder. “Well, you are to me, Pete.”

  Enough for one night. Sooner or later, I’d have to tie this together. No doubt it led to his drinking, which led to his current situation.

  Pete curled up on his mat, the bottle cradled close against him, and I glanced at the cigarette butt to make sure he had it fully extinguished. It must have been around 9:30. Not quite ready to sleep, I went through the motions of retrieving my cardboard mattress and my thin blanket from my backpack.

  D.J. sat propped against a box, his disapproval stabbing like a knife. I closed my eyes against it but didn’t have adequate defense. I’d opened a deep wound and Pete would have to begin healing again. And yet, I now had something good to build my writing on.

  Along with my new facts about Pete, I learned two things about D.J. First, he cared about Pete, negating the image of the hard-hearted evil thug I once took him for. Second, on the rare occasion when he spoke, he articulated well. He was a puzzle. But how to get him on my side? That would take some work.

  Although wide awake, I closed my eyes and played Dead Fish, our old camping game. When Edwin and I were nine and ten, we started camping in the backyard, the only place allowed since no adults joined us. We were never a camping family, but Leticia fostered our make-believe by packing a basket of snacks and a cooler of drinks. She somehow managed to package marshmallows hot from the oven for s’mores. They lacked the charred crispness but were soft and gooey.

  We’d play Dead Fish—who could last the longest without moving, blinking, coughing, laughing. Sometimes I’d open my eyes to steal a peek, certain Edwin did as well. One of us would laugh and bring an end to the game.

  Let D.J. think I slept while I processed new data and made some plans and forced my mind to stay focused. It kept returning to the office of Three Rivers Missions. What else could I learn about the rehab center? I told Caroline I’d stop by to show her some of my previous work. I’d been intentional abou
t not rushing back there too soon. But it had been long enough. Tomorrow might be the day, if I could get everything taken care of with Tyler.

  The room filled with the soft snoring of sleep. I stole a glance at my roommates. Pete had relinquished the bottle and it sat empty beside him. Even in the dim light, his ashen complexion glowed. That, along with the insistent cough, worried me.

  D.J. aimed a flashlight at a book. I strained to see the title but couldn’t read it without being too obvious.

  I dozed, shallow and restless. Deep sleep eluded me, but I had no desire to leave this building in the middle of the night. I sat up to change positions, my muscles screaming to be stretched. Moonlight or streetlights, hard to tell which, sent a shaft of light along the ill-fitted door.

  The spine of D.J.’s book faced me. I chanced moving closer, curious to see what he read. My eyes adjusted and the words on the black and worn book came into focus. Interesting. D.J. was reading a frayed and dog-eared Bible. OK, Harrington. Rethink the third bio. The silent man may have an interesting story to tell.

  10

  Claire Bassett

  True to his word, Jonathan asked me out with great persistence. It had become expected and comical.

  “Morning, Claire. How about joining me for dinner this weekend?”

  “I can’t Jonathan. I’m married, Remember?”

  He snapped his fingers like he had just recalled that. “Oh, right. Well, how about lunch?” As if that made it different.

  “Sorry. Still married.”

  “Well, I guess I’ll have to settle for coffee.” He said this as he poured a cup from the office coffeepot and sat beside my desk.

  How would he react if one of these days I said yes?

  I made the mistake of telling my mother about him.

  “Claire, there is absolutely no shame in accepting that invitation. You need to think about yourself and these children. It’s been over a year. Honey, I know this is hard, but you have to accept that Andrew is gone. Go out with this man and flirt a little.” She tilted her head and batted her eyelashes.

  “Mother! I’m not going to flirt. Even as a teenager I didn’t flirt.”

  “Well then, don’t flirt. But go to dinner with the man. Put him out of his misery.”

  In the deepest place, I recognized the reality of her words. My mother had accepted what I could not. Andrew, my husband, my love, was gone, leaving me helpless to do anything about it. Someday I would move on simply because I had no choice. And there might not be a Jonathan waiting in the wings, not one as sweet as he.

  The bright sunshine and mild temperatures, a rarity for a western Pennsylvania October, could turn in a heartbeat and bring winter’s forerunner in the form of a blustery day. I grasped the opportunity to be in the fresh air while I still could and took my lunch to an outdoor table near my office. Reading on my Kindle while I ate my sandwich, someone startled me from behind. An unexpected whisper spoke close to my ear. “What’cha reading?”

  My hand flew to my heart. “Jonathan, you startled me.”

  He slipped into the chair beside mine.

  “Well, that’s one way to get your attention. And I guess this is one way to share a meal together.” He held up his brown paper bag.

  “You are a determined man.”

  He wiggled his eyebrows and said, “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

  “Did you fail syntax when you pursued that PhD?”

  He kept in character. “I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout syntax, but I know lots about sin and tax.”

  The eyebrows wiggled again.

  He had me laughing now at his silliness. “Why, you are a naughty man.”

  “Like I said, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

  We resumed eating and changed the conversation to work. New courses would be offered in the spring, and he told me what he would like to teach. Jonathan never took his eyes off of me. They were amazing eyes, drawing me in. I saw kindness and gentleness. The next time he asked, I would say yes. But only to eat. And no promises beyond that.

  I didn’t have to wait long. While packing up the remains of my lunch, he reached his hand out to take my litter from me. As I held it out toward him, our hands brushed. He bagged my trash and reached again, taking my hand in his. With slumped shoulders and a long exhale, he asked again. “Dinner, Claire?”

  I knew he expected a refusal. My hand felt so good resting in his, the mingling of soft and strength. I had become so comfortable with him I had to resist the urge to touch his face with my free hand.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Saturday?” My question traveled in the slightest whisper. I heard a gasp and knew I’d surprised him.

  “Is that a yes?”

  I nodded, the start of a grin forming.

  He squeezed my hand. “Yes, Saturday.”

  I removed my hand and grinned at his childlike pleasure. “I’m late. I need to go back to work.”

  I left him sitting there as I walked to the door. Before entering, I glanced back to see Jonathan beaming, still seated at the table.

  ~*~

  Back home, locked in my bedroom, I wondered what in the world I had done. I didn’t regret my decision, but I hadn’t had a date for more years than I could count. I’d been so caught up in the charm of that moment that I didn’t set parameters. This was just dinner—no expectation of a continuing relationship. At some point, I had to make sure he understood.

  I didn’t tell my mother about my date. I would tell her before Saturday, but I couldn’t have her fussing and telling me what to wear. I told Jonathan I’d meet him rather than having him pick me up. I couldn’t bring him in to meet my parents like they always required during my teens. That would be too much.

  I reached in my nightstand for a pad of paper to begin a grocery list. When I did, my hand landed on the framed picture. I glanced down and had a momentary attack of conscience. I sighed, but I didn’t slide it out and talk with him as I did most nights. Instead, I found my notepad and pushed the drawer shut.

  ~*~

  Thursdays were my day off. On this one, I drove into the city.

  Buckled into his car seat, Drew fell asleep the minute we started moving. In a rare carefree mood, I found myself singing along with the car radio, while driving to my old neighborhood to have lunch with friends. I would drive by my home and drink in the sight. It still belonged to me, and I intended to return there some day. I didn’t know how or when, but that had to be part of my plan.

  I turned my car into the subdivision with its familiar red brick signs at the entrance bordered by crimson barberry shrubs trimmed into perfectly rounded spheres. I gazed at the homes I had become so accustomed to passing. Doors adorned with fall wreaths, mums bloomed in vivid orange, gold, and russet.

  Rebecca, Jan, and Molly were all there when I arrived. A secure play area had been cordoned off in the family room for Drew and three other little ones. We started with hugs all around and rapid-fire greetings about how the kids had grown and what was new.

  “We haven’t gotten to know the new neighbors. The kids are in school all day and both parents work, so we don’t see them. I know they’re house hunting. I’ve seen a realtor’s car there a few times.”

  My tongue burned with the desire to tell them about Saturday, tell them about Jonathan, his humor and the attention he showed me. I wanted them to know I looked forward to something rather than always feeling their pity and concern. I would have loved to pull up the school’s website and show them how attractive he was. But it was a guilty excitement, so I held my words in check.

  When we began to clean up after lunch, Molly pulled me aside. “No word about Andrew?”

  I had already provided a cursory update. Why was she bringing it up again? “No. nothing.”

  I didn’t want to revisit this.

  “Claire, this is probably nothing, but Jason saw someone who looked a lot like Andrew sitting on a city bench downtown, but he couldn’t be sure.”

  I squinted with
narrowing eyes. “Jason knows Andrew too well. How could he not be sure?”

  “Well, he was a little distance away, and…and the man he saw looked a lot thinner and, well, not as well groomed.” She held something back.

  “What are you saying, Molly?”

  “The man he saw appeared scrubby and carried a backpack with him.” She flapped her hand forward, a gesture to dismiss it as nonsense. “I’m sure it wasn’t him, just some resemblance. We better go help with cleanup.”

  I didn’t play the radio on my ride back up north. No song or excitement joined me for the return trip. With a knot in my stomach, my mind filtered this new information. Homeless? That’s what Molly didn’t say. It couldn’t be possible. I had visualized him with a new identify. I had considered a new woman. I had even imagined him dead. But I never thought of him living among the homeless. It had to be wrong. Jason would have known Andrew.

  I pulled my car into the driveway, surprised by how fast the trip had gone. My mind had been so distracted it left me with no recollection of the ride. I met Isabella’s bus before going inside.

  Mom sat at the table, doing a jigsaw puzzle. “Did you enjoy your visit? Did you see everyone you wanted to see?”

  “Yeah, it was nice to catch up a little.” No part of me wanted to chat with anyone right now. Please, a little solitude.

  “Mom, I have a headache and I’m exhausted. I’m going to put Drew down for a nap and take one myself if Bella can stay with you.”

  “You go rest, dear. Oh, and take some Tylenol first. That should help.” She tapped the chair beside her. “Come on up, sweet Bella. Help me find some puzzle pieces.”

  Drew had played hard and must have been exhausted. He fell right to sleep. I climbed into my own bed, a rarity for me during the daylight hours, Molly’s news central in my brain.

  Molly and Jason lived across the street from us for six years. We had our first child one year apart. So many evenings we shared each other’s porch to catch up on life. Molly and I went to Pilates together. Jason and Andrew hit the golf course a few times each year. Jason could not have seen Andrew without recognizing him. That had to be an error. How well I understood the desire to see Andrew’s face in everyone I passed. But it just wasn’t so.