by David Fulmer
The two men he had just delivered to the shelter, for instance. One was black, the other white, and both had the look of miscreants. He had collected them at an underpass on I-78 and as soon as they settled into the back seat, they fell to whispers, no doubt trying to decide if the man at the wheel was worth jacking. The reverend put a quick stop to that business, pulling onto the shoulder at Johns Hill and telling them that they could either sit with their mouths closed and their thoughts fixed on the wonder and true meaning of this night, or get out and walk the rest of the way into town.
The pair stared, taking measure of the reverend’s thick body and hard eyes and the steel in his voice. They exchanged a glance and decided to heed his advice and enjoy the warm ride. Both shook his hand and thanked him when he delivered them to the shelter. By habit, he checked the seat in case they had left any drugs or weapons. Finding nothing, he wondered if he had misjudged them.
Though he was eager to get back to the church, he took his time, easing to a slow stop at every intersection. He saw only one other vehicle on the streets, an older model Chevrolet that except for a set of flashy chrome wheels was in much the same ragged shape as the van. The car crossed over at Union Street, billowing gray smoke. Reverend Callum drove on.
When the tear erupted into a quiet wail, Karen grabbed Mariel, steered her into the pantry that was just off the kitchen, and closed the door behind them. She pumped her, though gently, and in between the jagged sobs, heard the whole tale: the flirty business with Don that led to heat that turned into fire in their dining room that very night. And how she looked up to see Joe standing in the doorway. The shock on his face! She started to wail again.
“Okay, okay, you need to stop that.” Karen waited a moment for her friend to calm herself, then said, “Mariel.”
“What?” It came out a comical honk.
“What were you doing with that fool?”
Mariel groaned. “I don’t know. It just happened.”
“No, it didn’t ‘just happen.’”
“I guess I was feeling like… like it was all over.”
“What was?”
“My life. All Joe ever does is peck away at some book. He hardly makes any money. He works so hard. But I don’t think he’s ever going to get anywhere with it.” Karen said, “But he’s good with the kids.”
“Oh, he’s great with the kids. He’s just not there with me most of the time. I mean we aren’t… I don’t know. Anyway, I felt… empty, I guess. Lost. Alone.”
“Everybody feels that way sometimes.”
Mariel tore a paper towel from the roll on the shelf and dabbed her eyes. “But it passes, doesn’t it? I’m not talking about something that goes away when I’m feeling better.”
Karen paused for a moment, then said, “Did you want to get caught? Because it was pretty damn dumb. I mean, right there in the house?”
Mariel said, “I don’t know. Maybe I did.” She sighed and dabbed her nose. “I’ve been thinking that this is going to be my life. I’ll go to work and Joe will sit at that computer and the next thing I know, the kids will be gone and then…”
“And then what?”
“Nothing. That’s the point.”
Karen said, “And so your answer to this existential dilemma was to screw Don Banks?” Mariel began to weep again. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Come on, stop.” Mariel shuddered one time. “I’m all right.”
Karen put an arm around her. “You can fix this,” Karen said. “If you want to.”
“I don’t know…”
“You can try. Right? Mariel?”
“I guess.”
“Okay, then.” Karen released her. “Ready to face the world?”
Betsy was pulling something from the refrigerator when they stepped out of the pantry. “Hey, you two!” she yelled. “What were you doing in there? Whatever it is, I want in. I’m -” She stopped and produced a bleary look. “Hey, is Joe here? Where is that man?”
Mariel’s answer was a sick smile.
—
Lost in his muddled thoughts, Joe didn’t pay attention as block after block went by and the houses changed from common to mean. He passed empty lots and For Rent signs and a series of abandoned cars.
The cold wind kicked up as he walked along River Street. The blank silence of the empty homes and storefronts with their boarded-up windows was sad and just a little creepy. There had once been lives lived in those houses and commerce in the shops. Now it was a ghost town blanketed in white. On another night, he might have been nervous in this part of town, but the snow and Christmas Eve had dampened the traffic. Just to be sure, he bent down to tuck his stack of bills into his sock, keeping a couple twenties in a pocket, a habit left over from his days roaming rough neighborhoods.
Halfway down the next block, he fished out his cell phone and looked at the little screen. Nothing. No missed calls or voice mails and no text messages. No I’m sorry. No Please Come Home. No We Miss You. His gut sank deeper. He punched in the number for the Delaware. After six rings, Melinda answered. He heard music and chatter and wished he wasn’t so far away. He asked for Billy.
“Haven’t seen him in a couple hours,” she said.
“It’s Joe Kelly, Melinda.”
“Oh, hey, Joe. I’m pretty sure he left.”
“He find a Christmas elf?”
“Maybe. I didn’t see.”
“Okay, well, ifyou -”
“I’ll tell him you called,” she said and clicked off.
Joe closed the phone and walked on. From the next corner, he was able to see the glittering lights on the tallest of the downtown buildings and decided that that was where he needed to be after all. At least a few of the bars would be open, and not the lonesome, dead-end dives like Jimmy’s, but places where Christmas Eve stragglers would gather, flush with body heat and happy laughter. Good tunes would be blasting from the speakers over the bar. He’d buy a round for the house, get his back slapped with hearty cheer, and no one would ask what he was doing there. That’s what he needed: a place where he could forget for a little while. He would decide what to do about the rest of the night and the rest of his life later.
Turning back the way he had come, he heard music from a private playlist running through his head. So entranced did he become with a breathless mouthing of half-forgotten lyrics that it took a few seconds for the car coming to an idling stop a half-block behind him to register.
For a brief second, his heart tripped. Had Mariel loaded the kids and come searching for him, as if he was a dog that had gone astray? But then he saw that it was an older model Chevy and not in the best condition. The engine clattered in a rough rhythm and the exhaust smoked with burning oil. In other words, not a vehicle his wife would drive, even if her life and their marriage depended on it.
He caught sight of the Chevy creeping through the intersection ahead and guessed that the driver was lost. Or maybe had been wronged by his or her mate this night and looking for a tender place to land; though looking in the wrong place, to be sure.
He tramped on, turning his thoughts to his book, to certain scenes and the actors who would play the parts in the movie. He knew that an option didn’t mean a film would be produced. That was still a long shot - it was Hollywood, after all. And yet what better time for fantasies?
When he reached West Avenue, he saw the Chevy had come to a stop across the intersection, dirty smoke wisping from the tailpipe. At that moment, he felt a buzz in his pocket. He fumbled for a crazy few seconds until he could get the phone out and stare stupidly at the six letters: Mariel.
He whispered her name. In response, a voice coming from behind made him jump. “You don’t need to be talkin’ right this minute.”
Joe turned around to find a man standing there - a kid, actually, in his teens - staring at him from beneath the bill of a baseball cap. He was a few inches shorter than Joe, muscular, with light chocolate skin, a thin nose, and hard green eyes. He wore a new winter coat with the hood pulled up part way
. Gold glinted on the lobes of his ears. Both his hands were gloved and one held a buck knife with a glinting blade pointed at Joe’s gut.
For the second time in a few short hours, Joe found himself frozen where he stood, in this instance by sheer craziness. This couldn’t be happening to him; not on top of his family disaster, and not on this night. His mind traveled to an irrelevancy. What kind of muggers hunted victims on Christmas Eve?
The answer was the sort with partners who drove battered Chevys. Through the blood pounding in his ears, he heard a door creak open with a metallic wince. Another kid, this one taller, thicker, and even younger than the first, stepped up to form a triangle on the lonely corner. He looked excited and scared, his mouth open as he tried to catch his breath.
“Give that fuckin’ thing here,” the senior partner said, and snatched the phone from Joe’s grasp. “Now get out what all’s in your pockets.” Joe stared at him, unable to connect word to action. “You hear what I said?” the kid barked. “Give it up.”
“Okay, okay,” Joe said and went fumbling for his wallet.
He had barely drawn it from his pocket when the bigger kid jumped in to grab it. His knife-wielding partner gave him a sharp look, peeved at the break in protocol, then turned back to Joe. “What else you got?”
Joe swallowed, found his voice gone.
“You deaf? I said, what else you got, motherfucker?”
Joe held up his hand. “Watch,” he said.
The mugger peered, then curled his lip in haughty distaste. “That ain’t worth shit. What else?” His partner flipped Joe’s wallet open. “Ain’t no cash.”
“Where is it?”
“Here,” Joe croaked and pointed to his front pocket.
The kid with the knife was watching his eyes. “Get it,” he said and Joe felt knobby fingers digging. The younger one stepped back and turned over the bills to his partner.
“That all of it?” his partner said. “You got more, you better give it, man. Cause I will cut you up.”
The younger kid said, “Wha’ ‘bout a ring?”
The blade twisted in front of Joe’s face. “Let’s see.” Joe pulled off his glove and held up his left hand. The kid said, “Give it.”
Joe startled the two junior criminals by making short work of jerking the wedding band from his finger and slapping it into the knife-wielder’s gloved palm. The mugger looked at the ring, looked at him.
“Do you know what tomorrow is?” Joe said.
“It Friday,” the younger one spoke up.
His partner shot him a dour look before returning his cold eye to Joe. “We know that the fuck tomorrow is,” he said. “It’s Christmas. And you’re Santa Claus. What else you got?”
“My wife…” Joe said.
The two kids stopped to exchange a glance, their brows stitching.
“Yo’ wife?” the one standing before him said. “What the fuck? What about yo’ wife?”
“Something happened,” Joe said. “At home.”
“Somethin’ ‘bout to happen right here,” the kid said, raising the knife a few inches. “I know that ain’t all of it.”
The young partner stepped up and began slapping Joe’s pockets. When one of his hands found the edge of the zebrawood box, Joe flinched and the kid said, “Uh-oh. Whatsat?” He grabbed the shoulder of Joe’s coat in one thick paw. “Give it up.”
Joe shook his head. “No.”
“No? You crazy? You give it up or I’m -”
“Y’all leave the man be.”
Three heads turned in a startled second. Reverend Callum stood in the middle of the street, his arms stiff at his sides. Though his eyes glinted like opals, they were steady. The van was parked down the cross street. Neither he nor the two muggers had heard the vehicle or the man approach.
The reverend’s studied gaze settled the kid with the buck knife. “You know who I am?” The kid’s eyes skittered. “Yeah.”
“Who am I?”
“Reverend from the church down Iron Avenue.”
“That’s right. And I know who you are, too. Know where you live. Both of ya’ll. Know your mamas and your grandmamas, all them.” He paused to give a slow shake of his head. “And look at y’all out here. Shame on you both.”
The kid’s eyes and the blade in his hand dipped downward. His partner’s face had closed and he joined in fixing his gaze on the snow at his feet. Out of his daze, Joe recognized expressions he knew well. His kids wore those same abashed looks when caught red-handed at something.
“Let go of that knife you’re holding,” Reverend Callum said.
The kid made an angry sound and dropped the weapon into the soft snow.
“Now give back whatever you took,” the reverend said. The kid didn’t move. “Give it back.” A few flakes of snow swirled. The kid heaved a breath, then relented and handed Joe the wallet and phone. For a reason he couldn’t fathom, Joe felt ashamed for the boy. Reverend Callum said, “They take any cash off you?”
“They can keep it.” Joe said. He was about to add, “I’ve got plenty,” then thought better of it. “No,” the reverend said. “Those are the rewards of sin.”
The kid said something under his breath and held out a stiff hand, the bills folded in his cold fingers. Joe reclaimed the money.
The reverend said, “And whatever else you got.” The mugger returned Joe’s wedding band. “Now go on. Get in your car, go home, and stay there. It’s Christmas Eve.”
The two turned away and ambled off in childlike silence.
“And go to church on Sunday,” Reverend Callum called out as they crossed the street and climbed into the Chevy. “You two shame your mothers.” The car coughed to a start and rattled and smoked down the avenue. The reverend fixed an eye on Joe. “Are you all right, sir?”
Joe, still three moves behind, stared at the reverend, who now stepped up to extend a hand.
“I’m Franklin Callum,” he said. “Reverend.” He steadied Joe’s grip in his own. “It’s all right. They’re gone. You’re lucky they weren’t like some of these others.”
Joe looked over the reverend’s shoulder. He could make out the arc of hand-painted scroll on the side of the van: “The Light of the World” with “Tabernacle” printed in sturdy block letters beneath it.
Reverend Callum said, “What’s your name, sir?”
“Joe. Kelly.”
“What are you doing out here? You lost?”
“I was…” Joe found his mouth still dry and his stomach churning. “Walking,” he said and pointed east. “Downtown.”
“That’s quite a walk.” Reverend Callum peered at Joe with polite interest. “There somewhere I can carry you?”
Joe was befuddled. “I don’t know,” he said.
The reverend bent down to retrieve the knife. With a sigh of regret, he folded the blade and tucked it away. Then he looked at Joe and said, “Well, come on. We can at least get you off this here street.”
Slouching in the welcome heat, Joe replayed the mugging in his head. He had gone into a mild state of shock and the reality of the incident was just dawning. It was odd that he hadn’t been afraid. In fact, he’d flipped out a little and then got weird. He thought about the looks on the kids’ faces when he went off about Mariel and snickered to himself.
The man behind the wheel glanced his way. “You sure you’ all right?” he said.
“I’m okay.” Joe undid the top button of his coat. “What are you doing out tonight,
Reverend?”
“I run a service out of my church for homeless folks and transients,” the reverend said. “Find them a place to stay. At shelters and so forth. I’m on my way back from carrying two gentlemen to St. Mark’s.
“You don’t get to be with your family?”
The reverend’s smile moved away. “So happens I don’t have any family here,” he said. “The church, my congregation, that’s my family.” They sat in silence for a moment. “And what about you, sir?”
“I live on
Crescent Drive. It’s up by the college. I have a wife and two kids. And…” And what?
“Crescent Drive?” Reverend Callum said. “Afraid I can’t drive you there right this minute. If that’s where you’ wanting to go, I mean. I got to get back to the church.”
“I guess I can call a cab.”
“Cab might take you awhile tonight,” the reverend said. “That’s all right,” Joe said.
“You’re welcome to ride in with me. Get wherever you’re going from there.” Joe thought for a moment. “I don’t know where I’m going.”
Reverend Callum produced a curious glance but did not inquire further. He put the shifter into drive and went about manhandling the old van over the snow-laden streets.
“Beautiful when it’s like this, ain’t it?” he said presently, then began humming a tune in a minor key.
Joe leaned his head against the cold glass and watched the dark shapes of buildings that they were passing. The facades of houses and storefronts stared back blankly. Here and there, he saw a string of lights, brave against a bleak frame. Nothing was moving.
Though it wasn’t that far to downtown, the warmth and noise and camaraderie of the bars didn’t seem so appealing anymore. He yearned to lie down and sleep for a long time. This brought thoughts of the bed that Mariel and he shared, the house, and the kids, and for a moment he felt like he wanted to cry. Instead, he stiffened his jaw and allowed himself a shaky sigh.
The reverend’s hummed melody ended on a mellow note. After driving in silence for a block, he said, “Did something happen to you tonight, Mister Joe? I mean along with getting stuck up in here.”
“Yeah,” Joe said. “Something happened.”
“You have a loss?”
“Nobody died, if that’s what you mean.” Joe said. “Something went wrong. At home.”
“On this night?” Callum shook his head gravely. “I’m sorry to hear that.
Joe was tempted to blurt his story to this kind man, to paint the narrative with graphic details, from the thrill of his astonishing success to his grand plan to share it with his wife and kids, arriving at that same wife bent in a lewd posture over their dining room table.
