by Rick R. Reed
Jon clasped Billy’s shoulder for a moment. “It’s okay.”
“Funny. I don’t remember how I got here, either.” Billy felt a sudden urge to burst into tears. He took a big breath to hold things at bay.
“I followed you out of the bar because you weren’t too steady on your feet. I tend to worry. Didn’t want to see you get run down by a bus.” Jon took a drag off his cigarette. “You passed out on the ground. Fell as only a drunk can—somehow managing not to hurt yourself, sort of bounced. I tried to get you up, called 911 when you told me you were fine there on the sidewalk.”
Billy felt a rush of disgust for himself. “I said that?”
Jon nodded. “Cops came, brought you in. I could have followed the blue-and-white but figured you could use a little time in the slammer to sober up.” He smiled, and this time it was kind. “I know from experience what that’s like.”
“So, what? You just decided to be a Good Samaritan? Come down and bail me out ’cause you had nothing better to do with your money?”
“Actually, yes.”
“I’ll pay you back.” Billy had no idea how, though. He was behind in his electricity and his rent.
“No, you won’t, so please don’t say it. I didn’t fork out bail because I thought it was a loan. Look at it as an investment in your future.” Jon’s gaze forced Billy to look him in the eye. “You can pay me back by paying it forward, as they say.”
“Why would you do this?” It hurt Billy’s heart to accept this kindness, especially from a man he barely knew. It didn’t feel like the guy had strings attached, but who knew?
Jon laughed. “Ah. It’s not much. Don’t overthink it. Try to have an attitude of gratitude, okay? Just be open to receive.”
Billy nodded. “Well, why the hell not?” He still didn’t feel right about this. Maybe it was because he felt, deep down, he didn’t deserve to be treated with kindness. He turned and looked up, realizing they stood in front of a Catholic church. It looked old, a marriage of fieldstone, wood, and stained glass, its spire rising up toward the skim-milk sky. A broad expanse of concrete steps led to the heavy wood-and-metal double doors.
“You said you knew a place for coffee?” Billy asked, wanting to flee the house of worship.
Jon nodded at the church front doors. “Right here. Good old Saint Augustine’s.”
Billy scratched his head. “For coffee?”
Jon smiled. “It’s made with holy water. Goes great with a side of communion wafers.”
“Really?”
“No, dumbass. There’s a meeting here in—” Jon glanced down at his watch, a Timex that looked like it had taken more than a few lickin’s. “—about ten minutes.”
“A meeting?”
“What are you, a mynah bird?”
Billy shook his head, looked away. When had he finished the cigarette Jon had given him? When could he ask for another? The thought popped into his head that Saint Augustine was the one who said something like “Lord, give me chastity—but not yet.” Not that the quote had anything to do with anything.
Or maybe it did and Billy didn’t want to face it.
Billy felt something very close to dread. “When you say a meeting—”
Jon cut him off. “Yes, Billy, I’ve brought you to an AA meeting. Have you never been to one before?”
“No, no, of course not. Why would I? And I’m not sure I need one now.” Billy felt the anger build inside, the urge to simply turn on his heel and run. Who knew where? Billy knew—the closest local bar open at this hour of the morning. He sighed.
“The meeting’s a suggestion, Billy. You’re a grown man. You can do what you want.” As though Jon had read his mind, he said, “There’s an Irish pub two blocks south and around the corner. Would you rather go there? You’re a free man in paradise.” Jon’s eyes probed.
Billy felt heat rise to his face. Caught. He hung his head so he could better observe the cast-off Popeyes box at his feet.
He heard Jon talking. “Look. Just come in and listen. You don’t have to say a word. You don’t have to do a thing. Just hear what people say, their stories. If you want what’s on offer, then great. If not, I’ll stand you to a beer at O’Malley’s.”
“You’re a weird guy, you know that?” Billy found it hard to swallow over the lump in his throat.
“You won’t be the first to call me weird, friend, and I’m pretty sure you won’t be the last. I’ll take it as a compliment.”
Billy started up the steps to the church front doors. It was the least he could do, after the mystifying lengths this character had gone to for him. How long did an AA meeting last, anyway? An hour? Billy shrugged. As he opened the door for Jon, he asked, “You think I’m an alcoholic?”
“I think what I think doesn’t matter. I also think you know the answer to that question.” Jon smirked. He leaned in as they entered the church and whispered, “Just keep your mind open, okay?”
And Billy promised he would.
Chapter 5
“I CAN’T take your bed.” Milt looked nervously around the interior of the trailer as though there might be other beds he’d missed that he and Ruby could use for the night. Or would it be for more than the night? How long would it take for his trailer to dry out? To replace the essentials that needed replacing?
Billy tucked in the bottom half of a clean set of sheets. They were light blue, like Billy’s eyes, and smelled of fabric softener. Milt was glad they’d taken the time to give Ruby a little cleanup before bringing her inside. Was there anything more comforting than the smell of clean sheets? Milt was so tired that he could fall headfirst into that expanse of blue cotton before him and simply sleep for days. The sheets almost called out to him, beckoning. Why am I so hesitant to accept this gift?
Maybe it was because he didn’t know this Billy person. Not really. It didn’t seem right to accept too much hospitality from someone he’d just met. Milt would do just fine, wouldn’t he, huddled up on the little love seat behind him? It wouldn’t be too uncomfortable if he dangled his legs over the edge….
Billy unfurled the top sheet in the air with a snapping noise that sounded like the crack of a whip. Ruby eyed him and slowly, cautiously, backed behind the beat-up corduroy recliner. After a second she poked her head out, regarding both men with intense dark eyes.
“You can sleep in the bed, and you will. I don’t want to hear any more about it.” Billy tucked in the top sheet, threw a worn but beautiful patchwork quilt in shades of teal, orange, and gray overtop, and then added a couple of pillows. Looking pleased with himself, he placed his hands on his hips and said, “Looks pretty comfy, huh?”
“Yes, yes it does.” Milt sighed. “Are you sure? Where will you sleep?” Milt eyed the love seat as though it were a torture device. And, for a big guy like Billy, he was certain it would be.
“I have a sleeping bag. I’ll be fine on the floor.” He leaned in close, and Milt was almost breathless at the sight of the purity of his face—the clean, unlined skin, so smooth. He wondered what it would feel like to run his fingers across Billy’s cheekbones, along his jaw, to tease the cleft in his chin.
Stop it now! He’s just a boy. A neighbor trying to help you out. Milt felt heat rise to his face that he recognized as shame. “Are you sure?”
“Please. Will you stop? I’m not going to debate this with you, no matter how hard you try. You’ve been through a hell of an ordeal today. You’re exhausted. I don’t mean to be rude, but it shows. I can say the same for Ruby over there, hiding behind the chair. And I don’t mind if she joins you on the bed.”
Milt had to bite his tongue not to say, “I wouldn’t mind if you joined me on the bed.” But he knew how lecherous that would sound, how creepy. And besides, it could only be a platonic invitation anyway.
You made a promise.
Milt looked outside and saw that it was just beginning to get dark. One thing he loved about the desert was how inky the sky was and how the stars sparkled more brightly here, how each
of them stood out more prominently. For the first time, Milt could easily make out constellations, trace the course of a falling star, see the Milky Way. He always imagined one of the stars was his Corky, looking down on him, keeping him safe.
Lord, what must he think seeing me now, with this young buck? Milt laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
Milt replied, “Nothin’. Just a thought. Hey, at least let me go grab a bottle of wine. A little rain couldn’t have hurt my wine rack, right? I got some nice reds. You like wine, Billy? Or I have beer too.”
Billy turned from Milt to fluff the pillows. “I’m fine, Milt. The only thing you need to do is get some shut-eye. Okay?”
Milt sat down on the edge of the bed. Tail between her legs, Ruby came over to sit beside him. He scratched her behind the ears, feeling an almost heart-wrenching burst of love and gratitude that she wasn’t lost to the storm. “Okay, but tomorrow I’m taking you out for breakfast, anywhere you want. And we can also figure out where I can stay until we get my home back in order.”
“You can stay here, Milt.”
“No. It’s too much.” And too tempting. “No offense, buddy, but you don’t have a lot of space to spare.”
Billy laughed. “Well, I can’t argue with that, but seriously, you’re welcome here.”
“I appreciate that.”
After a period of silence that went on just long enough to become awkward, Billy stretched and said, “I’m gonna take a little walk, let you guys get settled. I can stop in at your place if you want me to grab anything. I promise to be quiet when I get home.”
Milt couldn’t think of anything he needed, at least, nothing he couldn’t get for himself in the morning. “I’m good. And don’t worry about waking us up. It’s your house.”
“Be it ever so humble.”
“It’s nice! And I, for one, really appreciate staying here. And so does Ruby.” Milt flopped back on the bed and suddenly feared he might be asleep before Billy opened the door to step out into the night. He stared up at the plain white ceiling, imagining stars suspended there. His eyelids fluttered and he yawned.
He barely heard Billy leave. Ruby hopped up on the bed, circled, and then lay down between his legs, which barely registered.
Milt was asleep in no time.
HE AND Corky were driving one of Summitville’s winding hilly roads. Trees, their leaves green, lined the roadway, and Milt was comfortable in the passenger seat but alert, watching the road as Corky maneuvered the hairpin turns and the rises and descents of their journey.
Corky looked sure of himself—vision clear, gaze only leaving the road for a second or two here and there to look over at Milt and smile.
“You’re back?” Milt asked.
“Back from where?”
“I don’t know, wherever it was you went.”
“Never really left. It was you who checked out.”
Milt bristled a bit in spite of his happiness at being reunited with Corky. “Honey, I never went anywhere. I was with you until the very last second.”
Corky glanced over. “There is no last second.”
Milt thought that one over. He watched as the car floated a bit as they rounded a particularly tight downhill curve. The out-of-control sensation, the car’s wheels leaving the road, caused a feeling of giddy delight to rise up in Milt rather than panic.
Corky looked unconcerned, a small lopsided smile creasing his features.
And then they were crashing through brush at the side of the road.
And then they were flying off the edge of a cliff.
Airborne.
But Milt felt no worries, no fears about crashing down onto solid ground below, the impact more than jarring and most likely fatal.
There was freedom in this flight. Faith in knowing that Corky was driving.
And all would be well.
MILT DIDN’T come awake with a start. It was simply this—one moment he slept, dreaming, and the next he was wide-awake. He reached up to feel tears on his face. Despite them, he didn’t feel sad.
For a moment he was a little disoriented, looking first toward where a window should be and now where there was only a smooth wall. He shook his head a little, turned over on his back. The reality of the day before swept in, the flood, the kindness of Billy, practically passing out here on Billy’s bed.
The trailer was still, save for the easy snores of not one, but two creatures nearby. Milt smiled. The symphony of snores and whimpers wasn’t annoying. Instead, it was oddly comforting, nearly lulling him back to sleep.
But his dream was still there, in his consciousness. Still vivid. That sensation of flying over land and a body of water—maybe the Ohio River—in a vehicle he now recognized as the Kia Optima they’d once owned before they got the Mazda SUV. What should have been terrifying, because as Milt knew, what went up must come down, was not. No, he felt a certain comfort with his dead husband at the wheel, a certain feeling he could lean into and rely on—all would be well.
He smiled. There was no need to ponder the meaning of the dream.
Ruby snuggled closer, and he lifted his arm to accommodate her.
From the floor there was the sound of a long and hornlike fart. Milt laughed; he couldn’t help himself.
A disembodied voice floated up. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Milt said.
“You awake?”
“Clearly.”
“I recommend no deep breathing for a couple of minutes.”
“Noted.” Milt laughed again.
“Was that what woke you up?”
“What? Your flatulence? No.” Milt rolled over on his side. He scooted toward the edge of the bed, where he could see Billy lying on the floor. Billy had thrown back the top of the sleeping bag and lay, legs apart, arms behind head, clad only in a pair of tighty-whities. The view, Milt had to admit, was breathtaking, enhanced rather than obscured by the rays of silver moonlight bathing him. He went on, “I had a weird dream. Well, not so much weird as….” Milt’s voice trailed off as he searched for the right word. “Memorable,” he came up with at last.
“Oh?” Billy asked. He rolled over on his stomach, with his chin propped up by his hands.
That view is too much! Milt turned over on his back, debating whether he should share this very personal dream—and his interpretation of it—with someone, really, he barely knew, despite being in his bed. Why not? It’s not like he’s going to judge. And talking about it might help cement it in my mind.
Milt began, staring up at the ceiling instead of looking at Billy. “My late husband, Corky, and I were driving.” And he went on to describe the details of the dream, particularly the odd sensation of flying in a vehicle high above the ground and the fact that he felt no fear.
“You felt safe,” Billy said from the floor.
“Exactly. Not just safe, but shepherded in a way.”
“Shepherded?”
“Yeah, like I was being led, being taken care of, like the reins, or the steering wheel in this case, were out of my hands, but I had no worries because I could trust Corky. He was taking care of me—from beyond.” Uttering those words was a tremendous comfort for Milt, making him feel wrapped in something warm and fleecy.
Billy didn’t say anything for a long time, so long that Milt began to wonder if he’d fallen back asleep.
“He really loved you,” Billy said, voice soft as velvet, from out of the dark.
“He did. I spent pretty much my whole adult life with him.”
“He must have. To visit you like that, to let you know he was keeping an eye on you, on things, making sure everything was safe.”
Milt had his mouth open to respond and then shut it. One word Billy had said sunk in—“visit.” No, it was only a dream, a way for my subconscious to conjure up some comfort from my own tragedy.
And yet, with a heart-certainty, Milt felt Billy was right. It was a visit. He could still see Corky in the car beside him—his alert eyes and his
smile, things that had gone missing over his horrible decline. In a weird way, Milt still felt him, right next to him. There was a sense of both endings and beginnings.
If it truly was a visit, Milt was certain this experience, this winged drive, would never fade as dreams do.
“Thanks for that,” he whispered, his breath stolen by emotion.
But Billy had already fallen asleep. Or at least he didn’t answer.
Chapter 6
MYRON’S CAFÉ in Cathedral City was a misnamed little diner in a strip mall. God only knew why it wasn’t called Marilyn’s, or maybe Some Like It Hot, or even Norma Jean’s. The reason? The place wasn’t just decorated, it was festooned with portraits of Marilyn Monroe throughout her life—big black-and-white framed posters, movie stills, even a shelf that ran just below the ceiling around almost the whole diner displaying Franklin Mint plates bearing images of the star. Billy always felt this restaurant could only happen in the Palm Springs area, where streets were named for movie stars. Bob Hope, Dinah Shore, Frank Sinatra, Kirk Douglas, and others had become more than stars to Billy—these days he thought of them more often as ways to get someplace.
After they got to the hostess desk, Billy turned to gauge Milt’s reaction. “Don’t tell me you’ve already been?”
“No, no. I think I’d remember.” Milt grinned, his gaze roving over all the iconic images. “I’ve never seen a place like this. Sure didn’t have anything like it back home. It’s like stepping into a Marilyn Monroe museum. Is the food any good? Don’t tell me they have cutesy names for the dishes. Gentlemen Prefer Pancakes, maybe?”
Billy shook his head as Milt snickered. Before he could respond, the hostess, a seventy-something woman who could have been Marilyn herself, with her upsweep of platinum hair and heavy eyeliner, welcomed them. Her name tag read Trixie. She led them to a booth in the back and handed them each a menu.
After they had their coffee and were waiting for their breakfasts (which did not have cutesy names)—corned beef hash and poached eggs for Milt, blueberry pancakes and bacon for Billy—Billy asked Milt, “So why don’t you ever talk to anybody? Not to be confrontational, but most folks make a little effort to meet their neighbors.”
