The Least of These.

by Kathleen Neely

  “You know him better than I do. What do you think?”

  “He’ll walk. He wants his booze more than he wants those two months. One way or the other, he’s out of Allegheny General.”

  “I have another option. I have a couple extra bedrooms. Why don’t you two come with me for a little while?”

  D.J.’s eyebrows rose with surprise. I caught the look before he went expressionless again—a skill he had mastered well.

  “Pete’s whole issue is the bourbon. He’ll walk away from anywhere if he can’t get his hands on it.”

  “What’s the harm in letting him have his drink at this juncture of his life? It can’t kill him before the cancer does.”

  “True. So you’d let him drink each night?”

  “With supervision, so he doesn’t hurt himself or my house.”

  “That’s a generous gesture. Probably the best option he has. But there’s no need to take me along. I’m going to have to get along without Pete at some point. Might as well be now.”

  “I’d be grateful if you’d agree to come. I can’t always be there and you know Pete best. I don’t know if I can do it without your help.”

  “So you’d take a complete stranger into your home?”

  I chuckled. “I already have. The kid moved in with me. The street terrified him.”

  I wouldn’t mention the drug deliveries that Tyler had once made. Tyler could share that or keep his secret.

  “And I don’t worry you at all?”

  “How bad can you be when you read that every night?” I pointed to his Bible.

  He slid it into his backpack and laid down.

  “I’ll think about it and let you know in the morning.”

  I had no intention of sleeping here tonight, but it felt awkward leaving D.J. alone.

  “You want to come with me tonight? You can help move Pete there tomorrow?”

  Without looking up, he said, “I told you. I’ll let you know in the morning.”

  I stood from my makeshift seat, went to my car, and drove home. What in the world had I done?

  23

  Claire Bassett

  Drew slept, so Isabella crawled into my bed for a story. We snuggled close in the tiny space.

  Isabella snuggled into me and helped turn the pages. She had learned simple words, and when we came to one she knew, I would point and let her say it. Before too long, she’d be bringing primer readers home and reading to me. My little girl was growing up despite my distraction. So many hallmarks we should be celebrating. Moments Andrew shouldn’t be missing.

  The challenge of sharing a room surfaced most at bedtime and in the morning. Neither child had mastered the art of quiet. I finished the story and kissed the spiraled curls on top of her head resting on my chest.

  “Let’s go, Bella Love. Time for bed.”

  We tiptoed next door. She snuggled under the covers and whispered her prayers.

  “When can we go back to our own house?”

  “I don’t know, baby. I hope it will be soon. Good night, little one.”

  The time had come to tell my parents. I hated the lies, and they already knew something was going on. I inhaled and offered a silent prayer.

  Dad sat in his recliner, on the brink of dozing to the drone of the TV. Mom was leafing through a gardening book. “Mom and Dad, can we chat for a few minutes?”

  Dad muted the TV. “Sure can, Claire Bear.”

  I sat on the ottoman between them. “I know where Andrew is. He’s living in downtown Pittsburgh—on the streets.”

  I let that sink in for a moment. Even my mother remained silent.

  “I’ve been downtown trying to find him. He eats at a church that serves a free breakfast on weekdays. I went there today, but he didn’t come in. That surprised the man who runs it because he comes every day. I plan to be there this Thursday, and every Tuesday and Thursday after that until I can find him.”

  Their silence became awkward.

  “Say something, please. What are you thinking?”

  “What can we do to help you?” Dad spoke first.

  That didn’t answer my question. They had been so angry with Andrew. I couldn’t blame them. They’d watched us suffer emotional and financial hardship.

  “You’ve done so much already. I don’t know. Andrew needs help. I hope you know that this isn’t him. He’s not the kind of man who would leave us. He changed after…after the accident.” It still hurt to give voice to it.

  Dad took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, looking his seventy years. “Would you like me to go with you? See if I can talk some sense into him?”

  “Oh, Dad. Thank you, but I don’t think it’s that easy. I need to make him see that we can get the help he needs. I think it would be harder on him if you were there. He’s always respected you so much. I think he’d be mortified for you to see him that way.”

  “Are you sure it’s safe for you to go there?” Mom spoke for the first time.

  “Yes, Mom. I’ve been there. It’s a quiet place and it’s in a church. I felt safe. I know you want to protect me and the kids, and I know you’ve been angry with Andrew for doing this. I get that because I’ve been angry at him, too. But I need to know that you’ll forgive him, take him back as a son-in-law and a part of this family. Will you be able to do that?”

  They turned toward each other and nodded their assent. It would be an act of their will, not their heart. They had witnessed my pain, had seen me struggling, had made sacrifices to help us. They saw how Bella, a daddy’s girl, cried from missing him. The sad thing was that she missed him less and less as time went on. I had avoided talking to her about him in my attempt to lessen her pain. Perhaps it was time for me to change that.

  “What will you do when you find him? Will you bring him here?”

  Mom’s question gave me pause. I hadn’t thought through the details.

  “Well, that will be hard for everybody, especially him, but I don’t have any other options. I need to find a good counselor, one experienced with grief and guilt…survivor’s guilt.”

  “I have some resources through the university. Would you like me to gather some names?”

  “Thank you, Dad. That would help.”

  “Honey, Andrew is more than welcome here. But I think that you’ll both need some space and some privacy. Think about this. The kids could stay here and we could get you and Andrew a month at an extended stay hotel with a little suite.”

  I nodded. “Maybe, Dad.”

  I rose and went to my mom, wrapping my arms around her. Dad stood and joined us. I hugged him and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, both. I couldn’t do this without you.”

  Tomorrow would be another challenging day getting through work, trying to act normal. And I had to see Jonathan to cancel Saturday.

  ~*~

  I walked the pathway toward the education building, my scarf shielding my face from the wind. It had taken some searching through boxes to retrieve winter gloves and a scarf. They were still packed up on my closet floor with the other things I needed but had no room for.

  I made my way to my desk and peeled away the winter attire. My first task of the day: send Jonathan an e-mail asking to meet for lunch. It was too cold for the outside tables, so I suggested the Student Union Café.

  He must have been sitting at his computer because the reply appeared within a minute. “Looking forward to it.” A smiley emoticon followed.

  ~*~

  By lunch time, my heart was in my throat. With leaden legs, I walked to Jonathan’s office. He sat looking through his syllabus and there were heavy crowds of students there, too. I should have anticipated that. I didn’t interact with them, but Jonathan did.

  However, he showed no signs of concern and stood when he saw me. “Hi there. I was pleasantly surprised when I got your e-mail.”

  “Do you have lunch? I brought mine with me.”

  “Yes.” He retrieved his lunch bag from the front of his laptop case. “Feeling better today?”
>
  “Not much. That’s why I wanted to meet.” I opened my bag and pulled the sandwich out. No appetite, though.

  He grinned. “You mean it’s not because of my irresistible charm?”

  I gave him a sad smile. “You always have irresistible charm.”

  “I’m sensing a ‘but’ after that statement.”

  “But—but my life’s a mess right now. I told you upfront that I’m married. There’re some things going on that I need to attend to. I can’t go out with you on Saturday.”

  A slow frown slipped over his face. His hand stretched across the table near mine. I met his reach and let his fingers enclose my hand. “OK. Someday next week?”

  “No, Jonathan. I can’t make any plans with you. I need to focus all of my attention on trying to save my marriage. Please understand. If I were single and free, I’d be thrilled to go out with you. But I’m not single, and I’m not free. I do want to thank you for the way you’ve made me feel. It had been a long time since I had done anything just for me. And I did enjoy myself.”

  He propped an elbow on the table and rested his head on his hand. “And if the marriage doesn’t work?”

  I closed my eyes against the thought. “My mind can’t go there.”

  “But if it doesn’t?”

  My eyes met his. “Would you really want my broken heart?”

  This time he offered me a sad smile. “If that’s the only way I could have it.”

  “I think we better eat our lunch before I start to cry.”

  ~*~

  Thursday morning, I arrived at St. John’s by 6:00 AM. Without taking Drew to Molly’s, I beat the heavy traffic. I didn’t take Andrew’s picture or ask anyone if they knew him. It had already been established that he chose this breakfast spot.

  I arrived before anyone had come to eat. The smell of sausage greeted me, and I heard the popping sounds from the industrial-sized percolator. Don worked behind the counter, and I went over to say good morning.

  “Did he come for breakfast yesterday?”

  “No. Strangest thing. He’s been here every morning for months. All of a sudden, he hasn’t been here all week. You’re welcome to wait.”

  “I can stay out of your way over there, or I’m happy to help if you need it.”

  “I never turn down free help. What’s your name?”

  “Claire. Tell me what to do.”

  I worked the free breakfast counter, serving, cleaning, and pouring coffee. I talked to the people I served, hoping someone had taken time to talk with Andrew, to treat him with respect and not see a street person. My eyes flew to the door every time it opened. Three and a half hours later, we locked up and cleaned up. I went into the ladies’ room, where my cry turned to sobs. What do I do now?

  I cleaned the tears from my face, although my red eyes betrayed me. As I waved good-bye and told Don I’d see him Tuesday, he walked over to the door.

  “If you’d rather leave me a contact, I can call you when he’s here, and you could run on in.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I’m almost an hour away. By the time I got here, he’d be gone. I’ll come each day I’m not working if that’s OK with you. But would you mind calling me if he’s here any other day when I’m not? It would help to know he’s still in this general area.”

  “Write your phone number down here.” He retrieved his own business card from his wallet. I glanced at it, wondering what job allowed him time every morning to serve breakfast to the masses. It said Program Director for the Pittsburgh City Outreach.

  I jotted my name and number down and returned the card. “Thank you for what you’re doing here. I have to confess I never gave much thought to the needs of homeless people ’til…well, until it hit home. Thank you. I’ll be happy to help you each time I’m here.”

  “I’ll be glad to take you up on that offer. I hope we find your husband.”

  “Thank you.” I managed no more than a whisper.

  24

  Scott Harrington

  I told D.J. he didn’t worry me, but that wasn’t entirely true. I didn’t worry about my home or things. Money didn’t motivate him. My gut told me he was OK, seeing his concern for Pete. But so many unknowns remained. Why leave that beautiful family? Why leave a good job?

  In my mind, I kept seeing him staring at the little girl on the street corner, remembering the uncomfortable knot in my stomach. He could’ve been thinking of his daughter, or he could be a child molester. That would explain leaving his family and losing his job. But I made the offer, and he would let me know in the morning. There was no turning back.

  As soon as I got home, I pulled out my laptop. While it powered on, I called downstairs to Tyler. “You can have the bed for one more night.”

  “I’m good here.” He and Ginger cozied on the downstairs recliner, munching potato chips and watching TV.

  I typed “Andrew Bassett” into my search engine. Finding information about him couldn’t have been easier. Multiple sites appeared from the homepages of newspaper and news programs. One thing was certain. He had made news. I opened what I considered the most reliable source.

  “The Allegheny County Coroners’ office, along with the Pittsburgh Police, are investigating the death of a child. Three-year old Ellory Bassett was pronounced dead at Children’s Hospital at 2:15 PM on Saturday, two hours after being struck by an automobile driven by Andrew Bassett, the child’s uncle. The cause of death was blunt force trauma to the brain. The accident happened in the driveway of his Wexford home.

  “No other passengers were in the vehicle. Bassett had been backing out of his driveway when the girl darted from her father and ran behind the moving car.”

  Another news article appeared, tucked into a smaller column the following week.

  “Andrew Bassett, driver of the automobile that struck and killed his niece, Ellory Bassett, has been cleared of all charges. It has been ruled an accident.”

  I had enough background to lend some understanding to the trauma that sent Andrew Bassett over the edge, but still I dug to learn more about the man. I checked vital records and learned what I already knew—married to Claire Johnson Bassett, two children, senior accountant, MBA from the University of Pittsburgh, licensed CPA.

  Growing up, he had two older siblings, Matthew and Leah. Matthew was the father of Ellory. He and his wife Jenny had no other children and had since divorced. Matthew relocated from Pittsburgh to Harrisburg after the accident.

  I moved from the table to my sofa, closed my eyes, and tried to imagine the scenario, tried to bring life to a cold news article. I played the scene in my mind until it became too awful to see. Did Andrew see it every day? And what now? Should I turn my head and let him spend his life in a prison of his choice?

  We had something in common…there were lots of ways to lose a brother. We’d both failed ours in grand fashion.

  My eyes turned toward the clock. I needed Stella, but I couldn’t call her this late. Still, I walked to my window and gazed across the yard, her house a shadow in the darkness. Her departure earlier today had been so abrupt. Had I said something to upset her? I couldn’t think of what might have set her off.

  With my mind on overload, sleep was out of the question. Pete, dying of cancer. D.J. suffering such a terrible trauma. The project, unwritten but filled with notes and potential.

  Tyler was the one bright spot in this whole mess. I still wanted to locate Sam Pulkowski. Tyler opposed that idea, but there was always a story on both sides. Who would leave a kid like Tyler? Maybe someone self-absorbed and success-driven like Charles Harrington. But the article with Sam, the humanitarian work he did, his hand resting on his son’s head—that didn’t fit with someone self-absorbed. There had to be a story there. I should try to meet Sam. Size him up before deciding what to do.

  I walked to the kitchen and stood at the window. A light came on next door. Stella must be sleepless tonight, too. Still, I couldn’t call her at 1:00 AM. I felt like a voyeur. After about ten minutes, her
house became dark again. I darkened my own and tried to sleep.

  Morning sunlight invaded my drowsy eyes. They didn’t want to open, but I stole a glance at the clock. Nine eighteen. I lay there, recapping all I had discovered. I would be looking at D.J. with different eyes, and I feared he would see the truth in me. At some point, I would tell him I knew, but not yet.

  “Hey Tyler, when did you learn to make coffee?” The delightful aroma of the fresh brew met me as I walked downstairs.

  “You’re forgetting I’ve had to take care of myself for a long time. Might surprise you what I can do in the kitchen.”

  “Look out, Stella. Competition.” I reached for a mug and filled it.

  “Well, not that good.”

  “I’m heading on down to the hospital as soon as I finish my coffee.”

  I peered around at my once quiet home. Tyler had brought some life to it, but soon, it would be chaos with four men and one dog sharing this space.

  ~*~

  I entered Pete’s hospital room, greeted by the antiseptic scent of sickness. D.J. had not yet arrived. The head of Pete’s bed had been raised for him to sit, and his untouched breakfast remained on the tray. Pete loved to eat. I had breakfasted with him often enough at St. John’s.

  “What’s up with this?” I pointed toward the tray of food.

  “Go ahead and have yerself some. They gived me some medicine that turned my stomach against food. The quicker I get signed out, the happier I’ll be.”

  “I think you’re being released today.”

  “And I ain’t goin’ to one of them nursin’ home places.” He put on his best pout.

  “Well, Pete, you can’t go back to living on the street. So, I have a question for you. How would you feel about staying with me for a while?”

  He tilted his head in confusion, staring like I had lost my mind. “Well, you’s been staying with us, so iff’n I stay with you, that means we’re all goin’ back to my old shed.”

  I laughed. The old man was sharp, and I saw the amusement in his eyes. “What would you say if I told you I have my own home with a bed for you to stay in?”