The Least of These.

by Kathleen Neely

  “You go an’ get you a job someplace?”

  “I’ve always had a job, Pete. I’m a writer. I visited the shelters and hung out downtown to help me with a project. I’m writing a documentary about homelessness, and I’d like to write about you, if that’s OK.”

  His mouth dropped open before it broke into a huge grin. “Well, howdee do! You sure had me fooled.”

  “So you’re not angry that I didn’t tell you?”

  “You done told me right now.”

  “I guess I did. So, can I write about you?”

  “Well, I’d be right honored if you do. So Ol’ Pete will be famous?”

  “Yeah, Pete, you’ll be famous. Now, what about coming to stay with me?”

  “Well, I’m right grateful, but I think I’ll be headin’ back to my own place.”

  “Pete, you don’t have a place. That’s a parking lot shed. Doctor said you can’t go back there. I’ve got a warm home and a soft bed. Come on, and I’ll bet D.J.’ll come too.”

  A little twinkle in his eye. “And I can have my evenin’ refreshment?”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll keep you comfortable. I‘ll take you home, and we’ll set up for the nurse to visit.”

  “Well, I thank ya kindly, Scotty. They was gonna try an’ send me away somewhere.” D.J. opened the door and peeked in. “Well, you hear that, Deej. We’ll be a’goin’ to Scotty’s house.”

  “That so? How you feeling, old man?” D.J. walked toward the bed and looked at the untouched food.

  “Well, my day got better. Do you know he’s a writer fella, and I’m gonna be famous?”

  Pete had a gift for making people smile.

  “I’ll go see to the paperwork and setting up the visiting nurse.” I left them in the room with the assumption that D.J. would, indeed, be coming. It took about an hour to get everything signed and set up. I pulled the car up to the emergency entrance while a nurse escorted Pete down in a wheel chair. He sat in the front and D.J. climbed into the backseat. We started on our way without any other discussion from D.J.

  At eleven forty-five, we pulled into the driveway to find Tyler and Stella sitting on the front step.

  Stella jaunted over to the car to help, holding out her hand to D.J. first. “Hi, I’m Stella.” She turned to Pete. “You must be Pete. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “Well howdie do, there. You Scotty’s misses?”

  Stella’s head shot a glance my way. “No, Pete. I’m just his cook.”

  After introductions, I showed Pete and D.J. the spaces we had set up for them, while Stella set the table and laid out a variety of sandwiches, salad, and cookies. We walked toward the table, but Stella blocked my path.

  “But not for you, Superman. Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere?”

  I raised my eyes in question, showing my confusion.

  “Lunch? Caroline?” She spoke the name with a level of disdain. “Downtown?”

  Oh no—twelve fifteen and I had forgotten. I suspected Caroline McMann would not graciously handle being stood up. And I doubted she would be forgiving. My mind raced about what to do. Should I jump in my car and beg forgiveness for being late? Did I call and make up a lame excuse? I couldn’t imagine she would still be waiting when I arrived, so I called instead and got her voicemail. Leaving a message was the only option.

  “I had a minor emergency with a friend in the hospital. I’m sorry I missed getting that message to you earlier. I’ll call you later today.” I hung up.

  Stella stood in front of me with her arms crossed.

  “So now you’re going to want me to feed you?”

  I smiled. Surely, she was teasing as usual, wasn’t she?

  It turned out that Stella had plenty of food, which didn’t surprise me.

  While we ate lunch, D.J. looked around, sizing up the kitchen, the appliances, the TV, the recliner, as if he’d never been in a home before. How long ago had he left his? Would this scene prompt him to go home again?

  Pete’s face lit up at finding two new people to entertain with his stories. Stella met him story for story, beaming her radiant smile, while never looking in my direction. Pete got her laughter while I got the cold shoulder.

  “Tyler, you OK here for a few minutes? I need to talk with Stella.”

  He eyed me. “Yeah. You sure do.”

  Now what did that mean?

  She cleared the table and started to clean dishes. “Hey Stel, I’ll get that later. Can we sit outside for a minute? I need your ear.”

  She put down the dishtowel and walked out the front door without a word. I followed, sat on the step, and motioned for her to join me.

  “What’s wrong? Are you upset about something?”

  She crossed her arms in front of her but then wrapped them around herself. “Why do you think that? I welcomed them, cooked for them, talked with them? What more did you want?”

  “You were great with them. Are you upset with me?”

  She was quiet for a moment. Her voice became gentle again. “No. I’m not upset with you.”

  I gave her a grin. “Could’a fooled me.”

  She turned toward me. “Problem’s not you. It’s me. Sorry. I shouldn’t have been grouchy.”

  “Something I can do? Can I help with your problem?”

  “Nope. Dreams and expectations. Sometimes I set them too high. Then I crash. Now, change the subject.”

  “But if…”

  “I said to change the subject.”

  I got that message loud and clear. “I’d like to talk to you about D.J., but I don’t want to leave Tyler alone this soon. Can I come over later, sometime early evening? Will you be home?”

  She lingered, quiet for a moment before answering. “I’ll be there waiting for you. It’s what I do best.”

  25

  Claire Bassett

  On occasion, Pittsburgh experienced an October snow. It wouldn’t last, since the roads were too warm to hold it for long. Under other circumstances, I would marvel at the beauty of the flakes drifting down. It created a surreal postcard scene where snow blended with the few remaining leaves that refused to fall from their branches.

  But now the snow was an unwelcomed complication. My husband may be sleeping in a doorway or under a bridge. This first snowfall sent a visual notice that winter was on the move, waiting to attack with its usual vengeance. And if it lasted, I would have to drive in it before the road crews did their magic in order to be in town by 6:00 AM.

  The time had come to make a phone call I’d been putting off for far too long. Before I found Andrew, I needed to know if Jenny or Matthew had come to a place of forgiveness. I dialed Jenny’s number, and she picked up on the first ring.

  My voice came out small and shaky. “Jenny? It’s Claire.”

  There was silence for a moment.

  “Claire, it’s so good to hear your voice. I think of you so often.”

  I exhaled the breath I had been holding. “You don’t know how relieved I am to hear that. I wasn’t sure you’d want to hear from me.”

  “Oh, Claire, I should have contacted you. I’ve been working through a lot of things with the help of a counselor. The healing is slow, but it’s coming. I’m still grieving, but it’s a different kind of grief now. What about you? Did Andrew return?”

  “No. I’ve moved in with my parents. I couldn’t keep up with the house and couldn’t sell it. I’ve rented it out for the time being.” I hesitated and decided not to share where Andrew lived.

  “I’m sorry. I have so much house here all to myself. You could have come here.”

  “It’s better this way. I took a part-time job at the university and Mom helps with the kids. Jenny, tell me about Matthew. Any possibility for reconciliation for you two?”

  “No. He’s still bitter.” The sadness trickled through her voice. “He blames me for going in the house and leaving him to carry the box from the car while watching Ellory. Believe me. I blamed myself for the longest time.”

  “And I
suppose he still blames Andrew.”

  “He does. I’m sorry, Claire, but he’s bitter. Refuses counseling. Said that doesn’t help anything. You know he moved to Harrisburg?”

  “No, I didn’t know that.”

  “I think everything held too much pain. Me, this house that has Ellory’s mark all through it, passing by your subdivision. Everything he couldn’t handle. I guess you’ve had that, too, with Andrew leaving.”

  “I’m trying to find him, and I wanted to give him some hope that Matthew can forgive. I hated their last conversation. I know Andrew has relived that over and over.”

  I didn’t voice the details. We both knew them, could still see Matthew pushing Andrew into the wall, yelling terrible accusations, saying it should have been our daughter, not his.

  Jenny sighed. “I remember. I’ve had to talk with my counselor about that scene as well. If you find him, tell him I forgive him, from my heart. Andrew has no malice in him. And even though Matthew said those awful things, tell him it’s not true—he is not a murderer, and…” A cry caught in her voice over the next words. “And it should not have been Isabella. It was an accident. A terrible, horrible, accident.”

  “Oh, Jenny. Thank you. I’ve missed you so much.”

  “Come see me, Claire. You are welcome anytime.”

  We hung up the phone, and I closed my eyes. “Thank You, God. Thank You.”

  I, too, should have sought counseling throughout this past year. It took all of my energy to focus on staying alive. But I’d lived through that accident, the scream, running from inside the house, seeing the blood soaking Ellory’s baby-fine blonde hair, panic everywhere. I had been at the hospital when they declared her gone…I’d seen Jenny fall to her knees wailing, witnessed Matthew attacking my husband.

  And in the three weeks that followed, Andrew had fallen into a deep depression. As I tried to repair all of the shattered pieces, I felt like Hans Brinker, the Dike Boy, trying to hold back the flood waters. When was there time for counseling?

  Ellory. It had been a long time since I said her name. It tasted sweet on my lips. So pure, with a ready smile, the essence of innocence, and she was worth our tears.

  My phone rang, pulling my thoughts back to now. I recognized the number I had saved to my phone. The name of my renters appeared, and I answered on the second ring, hoping there wasn’t a maintenance problem.

  “Everything OK with the house?”

  “Oh, the house has been wonderful. We’re so thankful we could stay here. And thank you for offering us a six-month lease. Those are hard to come by.”

  “Well, we’ve been helping each other. What can I do for you today?”

  “We didn’t expect this to happen so fast, but we found a house and we’re set to close on it next week. It’s vacant so the owner is anxious to have it done. I know we have four more months on our lease. We plan to pay that in full, but we’ll be moving in two weeks.”

  Mixed emotions. I could have my home back, but then there’d be no rent. Even so, I didn’t feel comfortable taking four month’s rent from them when they wouldn’t be there.

  “That won’t be necessary. I’ll let you out of the lease.”

  “Absolutely not. My husband thought you might say that, and we both want to pay you. We made an agreement and will honor it.”

  How rare in this day and age.

  Thoughts of home held such appeal. But what about Isabella’s school? And my furniture in storage? I couldn’t go home and absorb the expense of moving, only to look for new renters and do it all again. No, the house would have to stay vacant. I’d place an ad next week.

  26

  Scott Harrington

  After trying to call Caroline three times with no answer, I put it out of my mind. She must be majorly upset and screening her calls.

  Pete and D.J. had settled in and didn’t seem to require much of me. Pete wouldn’t hang on much longer, so time had become a precious commodity. And soon, I would need to contact Sam Pulkowski and Claire Bassett. Those two bios could not be complete until I made the connections. I hoped for some happy endings.

  I had to get writing. For now, I would concentrate on Pete and getting waivers signed. I could get signatures from Pete and Tyler, and soon I would have to talk with D.J.

  All three of them stood on the deck, watching the snow fall from a night sky. They were so accustomed to the cold that it didn’t have much impact. D.J. lifted his head and inhaled the scent of winter’s approach. I stepped out to join them.

  “It’s cold out here. None of you have a jacket on.”

  “It’ll be gettin’ a load colder ’fore too long. It’ll be right nice to be in this house when ol’ man winter comes a’callin’.”

  Pete may not be around to see old man winter’s arrival. Would he even make it to Thanksgiving? We’d plan as if he would and accept what came.

  “We’re going to have to plan a Thanksgiving dinner together. Who knows how to cook a turkey?”

  Tyler turned his head toward me and responded. “Stella. That’s who.”

  “Sorry, buddy. I believe she’ll be visiting family that weekend. We’ll be the four bachelors.”

  D.J. spun around, but he swallowed whatever words threatened to escape. I could’ve kicked myself for that blunder. “I guess we’ll be reading some cookbooks. We’ll divide and conquer. Anyone have any special cooking skills?”

  “I ain’t much of a cook, but I might could find us a beverage.” Pete’s eyes shone with delight. “’Course I’d be a’needin’ my signs and a corner in this here town first.”

  We all got a chuckle out of that. He wouldn’t be on a Sewickley corner two minutes before a cop got to him.

  “Tell you what, Pete. You get a pass since you just got out of the hospital. Tyler, what can you cook?”

  “I’ve done mashed potatoes before, but I can’t make gravy.”

  “Done. Heinz makes a great jar of gravy. D.J., you got any culinary skills?”

  His expression went slack, and he stared at his hands. After an awkward moment of silence, he looked up and managed a half grin. “Well, I’ve been known to roast a turkey. And forget buying gravy. I can make that as well.”

  Everyone gave a whoop of delight. We had a cook, yet my stomach knotted at the look on D.J.’s face. I had to try to get D.J. home where he belonged, before this family spent the holiday season apart.

  “Pete, if you still want to be a celebrity, can I get you to sign a paper giving me permission?”

  “Sure can. Get me a pen.”

  “Tyler, how about you?”

  He shook his head and crossed his arms. “Told you I want to read it first.”

  “Fair enough. Trust me. You’ll love it.” His story had potential. We needed to start looking into college. That would ice the cake.

  I sat down in my new makeshift office. My bedroom had become my sanctuary for writing without distractions. I would watch the clock and head over to see Stella by seven. I started my exposé on Pete Simmons, beginning with his childhood, marriage, service, wild weasels, POW, poor treatment from the culture at large when he came home, and his fall into alcoholism.

  “Scott. Come here. Quick.” Tyler called from the bottom of the stairs.

  I bolted. Was Pete having a medical crisis? But the TV had become the focal point. Holding the remote to the DVR, Tyler reversed the newscast, finding the spot he wanted. The words of the anchor sounded while the video showed Caroline being escorted from her office into a police car.

  “Caroline McMann, a receptionist for Three Rivers Missions, has been implicated in a drug ring. There were two arrests made earlier this week. John Hilleman and Leo Holder have since turned evidence against Ms. McMann, stating that she organized and supplied the drugs that were imported from Mexico, traveling through Charleston Harbor. A search warrant turned up spreadsheets and a journal with names and dates.”

  The video changed to an image of another police car, and the voice-over continued. “Also taken into c
ustody is Jeffrey Cook, financial manager for Clearway Rehabilitation Center in Greensburg. Clearway Rehab is a facility for teenagers and young adults who battle addiction. It is an affiliate of the Three Rivers Missions.”

  My jaw dropped. I moved closer, taking in the scene. Stella rapped before opening the door to find us all gazing at the TV.

  “I guess you saw? Is that your girl?”

  “That’s her.” Tyler answered for me. “Did you see that coming?”

  “Not in a million years.” I shook my head. “I called the connection with the rehab, but Caroline? I didn’t see that coming.”

  I shook my head again, as if that could change what had occurred. I had asked Caroline about drugs. She’d given a vague answer, and her demeanor had changed rapidly. But then, she changed demeanors quicker than a flash of lightning.

  Caroline harbored so much resentment for Ray Brockman and for having responsibilities unequal to compensation. She’d been accustomed to abundance yet disowned by her family. Would she do anything to maintain that lifestyle?

  I’d grown up with abundance, but I loathed the deception of that way of life.

  Stella stepped behind me and put her hand on my shoulder, her mouth close to my ear. “Sorry, Scott. Guess you saw what you wanted to see.”

  Tyler rewound again, muted the voice-over, and played the video, pausing on a full shot of Caroline. “Looks like a socialite. Not your type.”

  I stared at the stilled shot of Caroline. “And how would you know my type after knowing me for all of six weeks?”

  “I could see you going for someone more down to earth, sort of a girl next door type.”

  I continued staring at the paused TV. “You forget. I grew up in an isolated mansion. We had no girls next door.”

  Tyler shook his head, put down the remote, and walked away.

  Stella turned to leave. “I’m outta here. Just wanted to make sure you saw it.”

  “Thanks, Stel. Did you remember I’m stopping over later?”

  “I remembered. You’re not that forgettable, Harrington.”

  “See you in about half an hour.”

  They all dispersed, and I stood there. Caroline. I shook my head. “Unbelievable.”