by Jim Kraus
Stewart touched his lips, gently, as if making sure what happened had actually happened.
No girl has ever initiated a kiss before. Not that I’m experienced with this sort of thing. She did, didn’t she? And it was unusual. Wasn’t it? Or have I just been living under a rock for the past ten years? Do girls do that now?
Hubert noisily lapped up another drink and then circled the rug a few times and lay down.
“We’ll have to go outside tonight, won’t we?”
At this Hubert bounded up and ran to the door, looking back at his human.
“I don’t have a leash and you don’t have a collar—so you have to promise to stay near me, okay?”
Hubert appeared to nod and began his let-me-out-for-a-walk dance.
Stewart grabbed his cell phone. Not that he expected a call, but one never knew.
“We have to be real quiet going down the steps. Okay, Hubert?”
Hubert appeared to nod again, and slowly, and carefully, made his way down the steps, making sure each paw hit the center of the ragged and worn carpet runner.
When they were outside, Stewart said, “Let’s go this way, away from town. It’s darker this way and there’s less traffic. But then there’s never much traffic around this town after dark.”
The two of them walked, Hubert keeping pace, veering off every so often to examine some scent or another, never becoming more distant than ten feet or so.
As they walked, Stewart’s phone warbled. He recognized the number. Hubert turned his head as Stewart said “Hello,” obviously not understanding the function of a cell phone.
“Hi, Dad. How are you?”
“Crappy. Like always. Nothing changes. Always the same.”
And just how do I respond to that? Do I say “That’s nice”?
“Saw that story about the dog on the news. That’s the store where you work, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
“They talk to you? That Heather What’s-her-name reporter? The one that always wears pink?”
Maybe that’s why Lisa was wearing a pink scarf.
“No. Just the store manager. And the girl who wrote the story for the newspaper.”
“Figures. No one I know ever catches a break.”
“It’s okay, Dad. I thought it was a cute story.”
It doesn’t matter what I call it. Whatever I say it was, he’ll say the opposite.
“Cute story? It was stupid. And they should just put a cop outside to shoot the dog the next time he comes. Watching it was a waste of my time.”
What do I say now?
“Well, I just wanted to see if that was your store. You still bagging groceries?”
“I am. But I keep looking for other jobs.”
“Well, good luck. This economy is in a cesspool, if you ask me. Should have bought gold when I wanted to and not listened to your mother. I’d be on Easy Street right now. Her fault that I still have to get up every morning for this stupid job.”
“I know. Hard to time the markets, I guess.”
“You guess right on that, Stewie. Well, I gotta go. Just wanted to see if that was where you work. You take care, okay. You come up this way, we’ll get coffee or something. Or hoist a cold one. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Stewart stopped walking, ended the call, slipped the phone back into his pocket, and took a deep breath. Then another.
Maybe a few more will get my blood pressure back to normal.
Hubert came over to him after scratching around at the base of a large oak tree and looked up. The moonlight caught Hubert full on and there was a most plaintive expression on his face, like he was attempting to commiserate with Stewart, or offer some emotional comfort.
“It gets tricky, Hubert. Very tricky.”
Hubert appeared to nod.
“Thanks for understanding, though.”
And Hubert yelped, just a little, just softly, and as empathetic as a dog yelp can be.
“Wasn’t it great, Mom?” Lisa gushed as she talked with her mother while walking around her apartment. She was too wound up to sit still.
And that kiss…what was that all about?
“She seems really down to earth. I know she wears a lot of makeup, but they have to when they’re on TV, I guess. And she gave me her card and said to e-mail my résumé to her and that she would send it around to people that she knows. This could really be a huge break for me. And it’s all because of Stewart.”
”Who?” her mother asked.
“You know, Stewart. He lives upstairs. You met him when you helped me move in. Tall, dark hair, intense eyes. He’s just a nice guy, you know. Normal.”
“Lisa, you’re not rushing into anything again, are you? Remember what happened last time. You need to be careful. I love that you want to trust, but there are a lot of people, young men especially, who will take advantage of that.”
Lisa glanced out the window overlooking the street as her mother talked and saw Stewart looking about furtively. Then Hubert came into view. Lisa smiled.
“Yes, Mother. I will be careful. I know what happened last time. You told me like a thousand times already. Okay? That I was too much in a hurry. Okay. I got it. But this is different. Stewart goes to church. He has a Verse-a-Day calendar on his counter.”
“You were in his apartment?”
She took a deep breath.
“Not like that. I was only up there for a minute. I had to ask him a couple of questions. He works at that store so he saw everything.”
“A minute this time. But that’s how these things start. And if he lives just upstairs, things could get out of hand far more quickly than you want them to.”
Lisa leaned against the kitchen counter. “I know. But we’re just friends. It won’t be like before. And I am over twenty-one, you know.”
“I know. I just don’t want to see you hurt. You’re still my little girl, no matter how old you are.”
She closed her eyes. “Yes, Mom. But what happened the last time will not happen again. I’ve told you that like a thousand times. I learned my lesson. I don’t want to get hurt, and I don’t want to hurt you again, Mom. And I promised I won’t. I’ll be careful. I won’t let this get complicated. But he seems like a nice guy. We might even go to church together this Sunday.”
“That’s…nice. But—okay, I won’t start up again. Just, please be careful.”
She looked out the window again and Stewart and Hubert had slipped out of view. “I will, Mom. And thanks for getting so excited over this story. It means a lot to me. It could be the start of a career—who knows?”
“It’s worth getting excited about. I love you, sweetheart. And I’m so proud of you!”
The street remained deserted.
“I love you, too. Thanks.”
They had walked five blocks, away from downtown, and the last street lamp they passed was now a block distant. While Stewart was not unnaturally afraid of the dark, he wasn’t all that fond of it, either. As if sensing his discomfort, Hubert walked next to him, almost at heel, back toward the more well-lit sections of the residential area of Wellsboro.
“Good dog, Hubert,” Stewart said, and Hubert responded by rubbing his head along the side of Stewart’s leg.
Then his phone warbled again.
Twice in one night?
“Hello, Grams,” he said, doing his best to keep his tone neutral and his breathing calm, as if he were sitting in his apartment doing a crossword puzzle. She would not understand the truth of this evening—that a girl had kissed him, that he was out for a walk near midnight, and that he had a dog living in his apartment.
None of that would make sense to her.
“I saw the story on that horrid dog on TV, Stewart. Well, on the computer. In the community room. They have computers. I told you that I couldn’t afford one of those gizmos, didn’t I? I had to go walk there, in the dark, to see it. They show the news on the computer. News from anywhere, I think.”
“How did you know it wa
s on TV?”
“Edna called me. You know her. Edna from the Cut ’n’ Curl. She said her husband saw the TV van or something in town. She called me because she knows you work at the grocery store. Her grandson is a teacher, did you know that? Over in Scranton. Why don’t you look at getting a teaching position?”
“I don’t think so, Grams.”
“So you’re content with bagging groceries, is that it?”
“No, Grams. I’m looking. You know that.”
“Don’t get snippy, Stewart. I’m just trying to help.”
Stewart remained silent.
“That blonde girl the reporter interviewed—is that the one you mentioned? The little twig of a girl?”
“She’s not a twig, and yes, that is the one I mentioned.”
He heard his grandmother sniff dismissively. “I thought she wore too much makeup. And that blouse…it was very tight, if you ask me. She doesn’t look like a girl you should be interested in, Stewart.”
Keep calm. Keep calm. It does no good to argue.
“I’m not ‘interested’ in her,” Stewart lied. “She’s a friend. She lives downstairs.”
“How convenient for the two of you.”
Stewart had a few possible responses and did not use any of them.
“Well, Stewart, you should start going to church. I know you haven’t been. Edna says she has not seen you at church in over a year.”
He stayed silent. Hubert looked up at him with that same plaintive, understanding look.
“All I’m saying, Stewart, is that if you want to get ahead in this world, you better start going to church.”
“Okay Grams. Listen, it’s late and I have to be at work early tomorrow. I’ll call you this weekend.”
She didn’t speak for a moment.
“Have you heard from your father?”
Stewart made a quick decision.
“No.”
“Well, if you have to hang up on me, go right ahead. I’ll be here all weekend. Like always. Where am I going to go, anyhow?”
“Okay. I’ll talk to you soon.”
Stewart hung his head and let all the air out of his lungs.
“Hubert. Never get married, okay? It doesn’t seem worth it. Or even have a family. Or a relative, either.”
The next morning, when Stewart woke up, it was still dark and the streets empty. He knew that Hubert would need to go outside, and when he opened the front door he saw a small envelope on the welcome mat. It bore just a single word: “Stewart,” done in a most feminine handwriting.
He carried it outside and waited until they reached the second lamppost on the second block away from the house.
Stewart,
Thanks for everything. I so appreciated your help.
Forgive me for that kiss. I don’t know what came over me. I am not usually that forward.
What about going to church with me this Sunday? Are you still up for it?
Thanks,
Lisa
Stewart looked back toward the house. He could still see it in the shadows. Other than the single light coming from his apartment, the rest of the house remained dark.
And this is the first time a girl asked me out on a date.
Curious life is…as Yoda would say.
Chapter Sixteen
HUBERT SAT on the floor in the small bedroom as Stewart began to obsess over what he might wear to church. If he had asked his grandmother, she would have said a three-piece suit with a sedate tie and wingtips would be the only truly theologically appropriate attire. His father would have just snorted and claimed that going to church was for suckers and that all churches wanted was your money.
He was on his own today.
And Hubert was no help.
He held up his only sport coat, a blue jacket he’d bought expressly for job interviews. He’d worn it twice so far—and not for the interview with Tops Market.
“I could wear this with a button-down shirt, Hubert. What do you think?”
Hubert leaned forward and sniffed at the coat as Stewart proffered it to him. Then he looked up at his human with a puzzled expression, as if to say he really had no idea what he was being asked to decide.
“I could wear it with jeans, Hubert. Makes it both casual and dressy.”
Hubert happily nodded, smiling.
They had been out early and Stewart and Hubert had both had breakfast. Hubert had been given a few bites of toast, which he certainly seemed to enjoy.
“Okay, the sport coat, a blue shirt, and jeans. The good jeans and not the ripped ones. That sound good to you, Hubert?”
Hubert appeared to be satisfied—and happy that the questions had stopped.
And in that moment of dialogue it became clear to Stewart that he was getting acclimated to having a dog in his life. Not just acclimated, but he was enjoying having a dog in his life.
He reached into the closet and found his good blue shirt. It was more wrinkled than not. He returned to the closet and slid hangers back and forth. His other blue shirt, the not-as-good one, was much less wrinkled. That was the one he selected.
I’m not too good at ironing. And I don’t have an ironing board.
It did not take long to put on the outfit. He pulled out his leather loafers. They had not been worn since his last job interview and were only a little dusty, which Stewart took care of with a single sheet of Tops brand paper towels.
He checked his phone.
Nine o’clock.
“Well, Hubert, I said I would get her at nine. And it’s nine. It’s off to church, I guess.”
At this Hubert stood, and danced about, just for a moment, as if he were celebrating this event, as if he knew what the word “church” meant, as if he knew what going to church might lead to.
The dog appeared to be genuinely and sincerely and totally happy.
“Okay, buddy. See you in an hour or so.”
The two of them, Lisa and Stewart, were a good match—fashion-wise. Lisa had jeans on as well, but much nicer jeans that probably cost more than Stewart’s entire outfit. But then, girls had to buy clothes like that.
“You look so nice, Stewart,” Lisa said as she put her arm into his as they walked toward town.
“You do, too,” he replied.
“I sort of forgot to tell you that you didn’t have to wear a suit and tie to church or anything. A sport coat would be fine. More than fine, really. But you look very nice. Handsome.”
This is the first time a girl has called me handsome—and appeared to actually mean it.
“The church is casual, sort of. Some of the older people still dress up. But you see shorts and T-shirts as well. No one minds.”
They walked along.
“Well, maybe some of the older folks do mind. But no one says anything. At least not to anyone’s face, I guess. Maybe over lunch afterwards.”
“I know. When my grandmother was still living up here, that’s what she did afterwards. I wanted to tell her to bring a clipboard with her with an evaluation sheet for everyone. But I never did. She wouldn’t get the humor in it.”
They walked to the end of the block, then turned right. Lisa reached down and took his hand in hers and they walked, without talking anymore, until they reached the church on Pearl Street.
“Saint Paul’s?” Stewart said as they stopped. “I thought all the saint churches were Catholic.”
Lisa giggled.
“You’re funny, Stewart. I really like that about you.”
I wasn’t being funny. That’s what I thought. But if she thinks it’s funny…well, I like that more.
Despite the fact that Stewart was not a regular, every-Sunday churchgoing person, the service at St. Paul’s was both familiar and not familiar. He actually recognized a couple of the hymns from his sporadic church attendance as a child, but today he was never quite certain when to stand and when to sit.
He simply followed Lisa’s lead, and managed to keep up with only a second of delay or so.
Lisa
had chosen to sit on the left side, about halfway back.
“This is my usual spot. Funny how we are all such creatures of habit,” she said before the service began.
“I know. I see people at the market wait in huge lines just so they can get ‘their’ checkout person.”
“Really?”
“Sure. And after a while, I can almost guess what certain people will buy on certain days. Some people buy milk only on Wednesday and bread only on Friday. I guess they think it gets delivered that day so it’s fresher.”
“Does it? I mean, get delivered then?”
“No. Maybe it used to be—like in the old days. But now everything comes in all the time—no set schedules that I can see. But that’s what they believe. So who am I to tell them the truth and burst their food bubble?”
The service started and Stewart followed Lisa’s lead.
I didn’t mind the preliminaries at this church at all. And a couple of the songs sounded almost modern.
The pastor walked up to the pulpit. He wore a dark suit, a white shirt, and a red tie.
He dresses up.
And then he began.
Afterwards, if he had been asked, Stewart would not recall all the details of the message, but some of it. The verses and chapters and numbers and the Greek words and translations—well, all that was all Greek to me, he thought—but the rest of his story made sense.
The pastor spoke about the story of the lost sheep.
Stewart wanted to remember that it was in Luke.
I’m pretty sure he said Luke. Because I might want to read it again. And Lisa may ask me about it afterwards. I want her to think that I know something about this religion stuff.
“I know you have all heard the story of the lost sheep and how the shepherd will leave all those in the fold, or flock, in order to search for the one he has lost. And how he will rejoice on finding that one sheep. And his neighbors will rejoice with him. As all the angels in heaven will rejoice when one sinner returns, rather than rejoicing over those who are already righteous.”
I think I have heard this story before. At my gram’s church, maybe.
