by Rachel Kane
It’s only a couple of blocks to Val’s apartment building, the kind of place Charlie wouldn’t even think of entering. It’s new, and posh, and exclusive. The doorman comes out to greet Val, and gives Charlie a look. You don’t belong here.
“Good evening, Mr. Harrison.”
“No more new deliveries, I hope?” Val asks, and the doorman chuckles like it’s a joke, but Charlie can tell Val wasn’t joking.
Val turns back to him. “Thank you for walking me home. I suppose we made it safely.”
“Glad to help. And glad you found your new favorite drink.”
“Will you be safe riding your bicycle? Do you want a cab? The doorman can call one—”
“No, really, it’ll be fine.”
“If it’s a matter of money, I could—”
Charlie laughs. “I love this weather. I’m serious. Take care, Emperor Valentinian. Enjoy your retirement.”
Why does it make him a little sad to see Val go into the building?
Why does he perk up when Val turns and waves through the window?
It’s not the kind of thing Charlie is used to thinking about, but Val is on his mind. Not quite worrying about him, but not not worrying, either.
The winter wind helps cut through thoughts. You have to be present, you have to be attentive to the world around you. The feeling of the cold prickling his cheeks is like coming back to life. He rides fast, taking the back ways.
At some point he remembers the bag full of Christmas letters in his backpack.
Maybe he’ll read those tonight, when he gets home.
The kids, Val, Wendy; everybody seems to need something. Sometimes it feels like Charlie’s the only person on the earth who doesn’t need a thing, who is content right where he is, how the world is, at this very moment.
It gives him some room for generosity. Some room to think about other people. That’s what he’s going to do tonight. He’s going to think about people, and what they need.
4
Val
“—and I was going to order cherry juice online, but after the spaghetti fiasco, I thought better of it.”
Theo sat there with his mouth open, staring at me like I’d suddenly begun speaking in Mandarin. His fingers rolled the string of tinsel he had been hanging up by the moldings.
It was his boyfriend Micah who actually spoke: “That’s interesting about the drink, Val, but…this guy you met.”
The house looked different than it used to. Back when Mother lived here full-time, everything had been kept as it had been for decades, the heavy dark furniture, the antiques and the gilt suggesting an early twentieth-century opulence. Some people called it a mansion, but we just called it the big house.
Now Mother had moved away with her boyfriend, and Theo and Micah had taken over the house, and it was…different. Theo had explained his design choices (he’s the one that mentioned the word opulence), and most of it had gone over my head, except to tally up how much he must have spent on the place.
It was comfortable now, that was the main thing. The old horsehair couches, the chaises with their rubbed-off velvet, the stiff armchairs, had all made way for softer, more modern pieces, things you could sink into and not want to get back up.
I was perched on the edge of the couch, careful not to sink. “His name is Charlie, I’m not certain of his last name, and he is a Christmas elf.”
Theo and Micah exchanged a wary look.
“Maybe I should leave you two alone,” said Micah. He set the decorative candlesticks back in their box and left the room.
Turning back to Theo I said, “Is something wrong? I know Micah doesn’t like me—”
Theo left the tinsel hanging, and climbed down from his stepladder. “What? Micah likes you just fine. It’s not that.”
By now I had recognized Theo’s tone. It was the We need to talk tone. I’d been hearing it a lot since I stepped down from the company.
“I did everything you said to do. I went Christmas shopping. I went for a drink, even finding something I enjoyed. I thought you’d be happy for me.”
“No, no, that part’s great. It’s just…you don’t normally talk to people, Val. You certainly don’t invite yourself to sit at their table for chit-chat, and you never, ever let them walk home with you.”
“When you say you don’t do that, do you mean I do not habitually walk home with Christmas elves, or do you mean I shouldn’t walk home with them?”
Theo swallowed. “Maybe both. Are you sure you didn’t intrude on their conversation? Did he ask for any money? Is he—”
Oh. Oh. Now the source of his concern was clear. I clicked my tongue and stood up.
Outside was overcast, with rain misting the windows. The land sloped down to our lake, whose far edge was shrouded still in fog. “Whatever you think of me, Theo, I’m not a child.”
“No, Val, of course not.”
“When I ran our company, I made us millions. Millions. You don’t do that by being a naïf. I’m a grown man, and you’re treating me like someone’s going to steal my lunch money.”
He leaned against his stepladder and shrugged. “Okay. That’s fair. I shouldn’t do that. But I worry about you, man.”
“Do I seem like an easy mark for swindlers and cheats?”
“No, you seem like someone who just ordered a hundred cases of spaghetti because you don’t understand how things work. It’s not a matter of you being a wide-eyed innocent in the world, it’s just… There are a few rules in life, Val, including how we deal with strangers.”
I could not put my finger on why his words made me so uncomfortable. Putting your finger on something means to identify it exactly, as though there were a list of words in front of you, and when you found the right word, you jabbed at it, pointing to it. Sometimes it’s hard, though, to know what word to point to. Sometimes people are confusing enough that you want to ball up the paper and aim it at their heads.
“One minute you want me to get out into the world, the next minute you want me to avoid everyone because you think there’s something wrong with me.”
With that long sigh I’d become so used to, Theo crossed the room and put his hand on my shoulder. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Val. You said it yourself: You were a great businessman. You’ve got an instinct for it that nobody can match. It’s just…there are other areas where your instincts aren’t quite as good.”
“So now we’re going to play at therapy. Very good. Shall I lie down on the couch? Do you need to grab a clipboard and a pen? You see, doctor, my troubles began in infancy—”
“Well, your instinct for sarcasm still works,” he said.
“If you don’t want sarcasm, then get to the point. What’s your worry? If I’m following your assignments, then what do you have to complain about?”
He patted my shoulder, then approached the windows. Gathering his thoughts, I imagine, while looking at the pinpoints of rain tapping the heavy glass.
“I guess I’m just protective of you,” he said. “I’m sure this table of mall elves was very nice—”
“Most of them. Wendy doesn’t like me, I think.”
“—but they’re strangers. You don’t know them, but you advertise to them that you have wealth, that you live in one of the better buildings in town, and the next thing you know, they’re asking you for favors. Cozying up to you.”
“People don’t cozy up to me,” I said. “Ever.”
“Look, just forget it, okay? I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want you holding a grudge against me the whole Christmas season!”
An idea dawned on me. A terrible, awful idea. I didn’t even know how to broach this topic, but I wondered if it’s what Theo really had in mind. Secretly had in mind, because he didn’t know how to broach it with me either. I turned it over in my head, like a box I wasn’t sure how to open. Maybe I didn’t want to open it. Not in front of Theo. Certainly not with Micah somewhere in the house.
“Your objection to my conversation wi
th Charlie…is it…is it a sexual objection?”
If Theo had been holding Christmas decorations, he would have dropped them to the floor as his fingers flexed open. He looked as embarrassed as I felt. I wished I hadn’t said anything. What a tense, humiliating moment.
“Your private life is your own business,” he said, his cheeks red. He wouldn’t look at me. Which was actually helpful. I don’t like a lot of eye contact at the best of times. Right then I thought I’d rather be blindfolded than see anyone looking at me.
“Yes, but that’s what you’re talking about, right? It’s not that you expect someone to simply ask me for money. You think I’m naive enough that someone will…seduce me.”
“Jesus, can you find any other words to use to talk about this? This is really not a conversation I want to have with my big brother!”
“If that is your fear, that someone will take advantage of me like that, then let me set your mind at ease, Theo. I have no interests in that arena. I don’t know exactly what you and Micah get up to in your bedroom—”
“Damn it, Val!”
“—but you don’t have to worry about me, because I don’t do those sorts of things. I’m not… I’m not some love-starved man on the prowl for whoever will take me to bed, you know.”
“No. No, I don’t think you are, either,” he said. He had returned to the stepladder and began picking up the tinsel, as though he needed something to do with his hands, something to distract him. “We really, really don’t have to talk about this anymore.”
“As you like,” I said. In a louder voice: “Micah, you can come back in now!”
A few moments later, Theo’s boyfriend had returned, a mug of coffee in his hands. “Everything worked out?” he asked Theo, before taking a sip.
“Theo is worried that someone will attempt to sodomize me before stealing all my money,” I explained.
Micah’s coffee sprayed out as he was caught somewhere between a laugh and a cough. He threw an agonized look at Theo. “What? No, you know what, please, don’t tell me.”
“I’m aware that I have never cultivated the social skills you people find so useful in life,” I said. “I’ve always had my mind on higher thoughts, higher goals. Businesses are concrete. I mean that both literally and figuratively. They’re tangible, objective, scientific. You can test theories about how best to manage one. Your successes net you profits, your failures cost you losses, and you understand them. It’s far more sensible than these vague and amorphous relationships you’re always saying I need to cultivate. I’m not interested in things that don’t make sense. So no, you don’t have to worry that I’m going to be pursued by someone, and you don’t have to worry that I’m going to tumble into a relationship with someone. It’s not going to happen.”
Theo smiled, but I could see he was gritting his teeth. “It’s not that I don’t want you to ever have a relationship at all, Val. In fact, I kind of worry about that.”
Although I had no appetite, I picked up one of the Christmas cookies that was arranged on the table next to the couch. “I don’t see why it should concern you.”
“Maybe I should leave again,” said Micah.
“No, no, it’s fine, stay,” Theo said. “Back me up on this. We do, eventually, want Val to have some kind of relationship, right?”
“Sure. One of these days you’ll meet the right…girl? Boy?”
Now it was my turn to sigh. “I’m not lonely. I don’t need a pep-talk about how one day I’ll find the person for me. You know, I just came down to spend some relaxing time with my family, which I suppose includes you now, Micah. Not to belabor a point about my personal life. I wish I’d never brought anything up.”
“All right,” said Theo, nodding and conciliatory. “Let’s forget all that. You’re correct. It’s not a topic we need to spend all day on. Do you want to hand up the tinsel while I attach it?”
I suppose I didn’t tell them the complete truth. I didn’t know how. Other people seem to have no trouble talking about their relationship problems, their wants and needs, in a straightforward—painfully straightforward—way. To the extent that you wonder if they’ll ever talk about anything else.
But when I thought about my life, I don’t think it’s true that I was never lonely.
Three in the morning, back at work, walking through the silent halls, peeking into people’s offices, that was a form of loneliness, wasn’t it? I’d sometimes step in, and look at people’s family pictures. Touch the edge of the frame. Not leave a trace, not show that I’d been there, but just try to think: What is it like, to have someone in your life? What is it like, to have these connections, to form them so easily?
Even then, even when I was busy, I would think about it, and always end up deciding that life wasn’t for me. My life was full of interesting problems to solve. There was no room for people, not that kind of person, not the sort of person who might live in my apartment and want to have conversations and dinners together, someone who would never let me have time to myself, time to think.
But now I wasn’t busy. Now the nights stretched before me, and I realized I wasn’t that far from forty years old, which was in turn not so far from fifty, sixty, seventy, a hundred, and what did I want to do with my life? What did I want to do to fill those empty hours? Did I really want to spend them all alone?
I’d tell myself yes! It’s what I told myself now, handing up the tinsel, helping Micah with the candlesticks, arranging the holly and the pinecones and all the stuff Theo had dragged out for Christmas. I wanted my time to be free, unburdened by conversation. I wanted to be alone. In the end, even if the nights were long and silent, it was so much better than the alternative.
Wasn’t it?
5
Charlie
When Charlie gets a little money, the first thing he’s going to do is insulate this school bus. Mornings are cold, even when you’re wrapped up in a sleeping bag and blanket. He has a camp stove, but using that inside the bus seems like a really bad idea, unless he has enough windows open to ventilate the air, but opening the windows defeats the purpose of being warm.
Beside his sleeping bag, next to his electric lantern, are several stacks of paper. The letters from the kids, organized by how they made him feel. This pile is for kids who want all the toys and video games they can get. He figures those kids are doing okay. There’s another stack for the kids who ask for things for other people. Those bring a different kind of smile to his face, the idea of little kids being generous, telling Santa what their sisters and cousins want.
Then there’s that third stack. The kids who ask for help.
Santa Claus, Mama says you can’t help us find an apartment, but I believe in you.
Dear Santa, can you make my daddy come back home?
Charlie read those over and over last night, feeling sick in his heart. These poor kids. Was anyone helping them? Surely someone was. There was more help out there in the world, than was available from some anonymous fake mailbox sitting in the middle of a mall display.
It’s not like there’s anything he could do. There were no last names, no addresses, nothing like that. These kids could be anyone’s.
But at work, whenever he sees a tired mother bringing her wary-eyed children to see Santa, he wonders, is it you? Are you the one who needs help?
He tries to be extra-nice to those folks. Just in case their life is hard. Just in case a little positivity might help. Then it tears him up inside that that’s all he has to offer. A smile? A friendly word? That’s not going to find anybody an apartment. That’s not going to get anybody’s parents a job.
It’s on his mind so much that he doesn’t realize time has passed, and suddenly it’s lunch, and he’s in the break room sitting across from Gino.
“Gino, do you ever read the letters from these kids?”
The mall Santa looks up from his baloney sandwich and sports section. “Pff, what? Merciless little beggars. I listen to them all day, why do I want to read their letter
s?”
Which is kind of the problem with feeling like this. No one else seems to. The girls might’ve oohed and aahed last night at the bar, but today they were right back at work, laughing and talking and grumbling same as always, like it didn’t bother them at all.
“I’m glad you’re still with us,” says Wendy, giving him a conspiratorial grin before sitting down with her slice of pizza. “I thought maybe you’d be abducted by what’s-his-name.”
“Nah, I got him home safely. You should see his place. He’s got a doorman and everything.”
“Fancy,” she says. “You’re braver than me. I got a really weird vibe off of him.”
She’s picking the peppers off her pizza and setting them aside, like she’s saving them for later. He senses that he’s back in her good graces, after the tension of last night. Somehow that doesn’t make him happier. He wonders if she was expecting that he’d spend the night with Val or something.
Valentinian Augustus Harrison was his full name. Apparently his resignation from his company was a really big deal, if you watched the financial news a few months ago, which of course Charlie had not. He looked Val up on his phone last night, no small feat considering the spotty signal he got inside the school bus.
“I think he’s fine,” he assures her. “He’s just got a different way about him.”
“Yeah, so do serial killers.” She’s really proud of this line of jokes, and she’s ready to double down on it, but Charlie isn’t in the mood.
He tosses his lunch trash and checks himself in the mirror to make sure he’s presentable.
“All right, people,” says Mr. Rumson, who has this habit of appearing every time Charlie’s back is turned. “We’ve got a big crowd out there, we’ve got pictures to take and money to make.”
Mr. Rumson gives the room a tight smile, then glances at Charlie, then stares. It’s a reminder: Don’t give away free pictures. No cell phone cameras. Charlie straightens his hat, makes sure the bell falls just so, so it’ll jingle when he bends down to say hello to the kids. They love that.
