Stealing Night

by Peter Giglio

  The cute girl behind the order window clearly hears this. “Why are you single, Uncle Jack?” the DQ girl repeats with a giggle. I’ve never seen her before. She’s wiping the counter, her smile now trained on Nora, who’s returning it in a conspiratorial manner. There’s nothing premeditated or dark about the cunning ways of my niece, but let me just say, she is an opportunistic and lovely manipulator. Forget Buddha. Nora would make a wonderful used car salesman.

  To Nora, I nervously ask, “What would you like?”

  “Hot fudge sundae,” she chirps. “Same as always.”

  “Two hot fudge sundaes,” I say as I slide a ten dollar bill across the counter.

  “What sizes?” the girl asks, still smiling. Big blue eyes. Long red hair. Pale skin, which I like even though it’s out of fashion at the moment. Very cute and quaint in her blue and red company tee. The mole on her neck is peeking through layers of concealer, as are her freckles, but she should let her blemishes breathe. Here’s the thing most women don’t understand about men, at least the kind of men who aren’t douchebags: most of us love imperfections. Yeah, we’re a kinky bunch.

  “Small,” I say. I’m trying to act cool, but I can feel my lips quivering and my hands shaking. It’s pretty rare to run into someone I don’t know, and I can’t seem to internalize my discomfort. Par for the course, I guess, when you spend your entire life in a place that makes Mayberry look urban.

  The girl takes the money and turns to make the sundaes, and I kneel down to Nora. “What are you doing?” I whisper.

  “Thought you could use a girlfriend is all,” she says, then holds a hand to her mouth, trying not to bust out laughing.

  I hook a thumb toward the order window. “Do you know this girl?”

  “No,” Nora says, a little bit of laughter escaping around her hand. “That’s why I did it.”

  “And you think it’s that easy?”

  “Happens all the time, doesn’t it?”

  There’s really no arguing with her on the count. Like it or not, every loser has to realize this simple truth eventually.

  I stand and discover the girl is already at the window with our ice cream, my change sitting on the counter. Her kind eyes tell me she’s been standing there a little longer than I’d like, listening to the conversation.

  I put a buck in the tip jar, the rest of the change in my pocket, and hand my niece her sundae. “Hey, Nora,” I say, “why don’t you have a seat, okay? I’ll be right along.”

  “Yessir,” Nora says with a comical salute, then saunters toward one of the patio tables, eating as she goes.

  “She’s adorable,” says the girl.

  “My niece,” I say.

  “Yeah, I gathered that from ‘Uncle Jack.’”

  “Are you new around here?”

  She nods. “Moved here this week.”

  “Can I ask why?”

  “You can ask, but I’d be more likely to answer over dinner.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Paige.” She sticks her hand out the window. “And it’s nice to meet you, Uncle Jack.”

  I take her hand, powerful but feminine, and we shake. “Nice to meet you, too, but please…don’t call me Uncle Jack.”

  She laughs.

  “When?” I ask.

  “When what, Jack?”

  God, I love the way my name sounds on her tongue. “When do you want to go to dinner?”

  “Saturday,” she says. “That’s my first day off.”

  “Is today your first day on?”

  “Bingo.”

  “And you’re working the place alone? No training? Hell, I was here less than an hour ago and—”

  “It’s the DQ,” she says with a laugh. “I’m not launching the space shuttle for NASA.”

  “Well, yeah, but—”

  “And this isn’t my first ice cream shack.”

  “Is it your last?”

  “God, I hope so.”

  We both laugh.

  “I gotta get this out of the way,” I say. “I don’t have a car.”

  “Neither do I, Jack. I’ll just meet you in front of this place at six. We’ll go from there, okay?”

  “Can we make it six-thirty? I usually get off work after five, and I’d like to take a shower before we go out?”

  “Mighty long shower.”

  “What can I say?—I like to be clean.”

  “I won’t even touch that one.”

  “You okay with coffee shop food?”

  “What other choice do we have?”

  I shake my head and smile, confidence rising. I look back at Nora. She’s halfway through her ice cream and grinning at us.

  “See you Saturday?” I say.

  “Not if I see you first.”

  * * *

  “How did you get so smart, Bear?” I ask, sitting down at the rusty patio table. She’s already made history of her dessert, and I’ve yet to start into mine, which is melting down the plastic container and making my hand sticky.

  “I do go to school,” she says, “when it’s not summer out.”

  I shrug then start eating.

  “Momma says you’re sad,” Nora blurts. “She thinks it’s because you’re all alone.”

  I consider this for a moment, take another bite, then ask, “What do you think?”

  “Sometimes, but not always. I think Momma’s really the sad one.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Dunno. Just is, I guess. Can’t really ’splain it. She’s got her boyfriend, Craig, but I’ve never met him.”

  “You’re not missing much,” I say, even though I shouldn’t.

  Nora remains bright. Never darkens, that one. “Yeah, that’s what Momma says, too.”

  “Does she cry a lot?”

  “Who?”

  “Your mom, silly.”

  “No. Should she?”

  “Isn’t that what sad people do?”

  “Sure, in movies or if they’re crazy.” She wiggles her hands and shakes her body as she says crazy. Then she adds, “The only time I cry is when I get hurt. Like when I fell off the swing set and cut my lip.” She’s peeling back her lower lip to show me the scar, which, as far as I can tell, isn’t really there anymore.

  “You’ll learn,” I say.

  “Learn what?”

  “To cry.”

  “Why would I want to learn that?”

  “No one escapes. Sorry.”

  “Sounds pretty lame.”

  “Yeah, it’s lame.”

  “You seemed sad earlier, but you look much better now.”

  I chuckle. “All thanks to you.”

  She returns the laugh, then says, “Am I weird?”

  “What makes you ask that?”

  “’Cause I don’t get sad like you and Momma?”

  “No. Not at all. I’d say that makes you lucky.”

  After that long volley, Nora has a lot to think about, and I take this time to relax.

  A nice evening, cool and peaceful. Birds sing and crickets chirp. These moments are rare, and I lean back and breathe this one in. Nora does the same, apparently as content with the notion of being “lucky” as I am with the possibility of getting lucky on Saturday.

  Damn, I haven’t been on a date in more than a year, but I’m trying not to get my hopes up. And that’s not tough, ’cause here, in this moment of quiet, I realize… No, I know. I’m running low on hope and far from all right.

  Here we are, thousands of miles away from firefights in the Middle East; far removed from any kind of real hardship that isn’t self-inflicted. Ours are, in many ways, the problems of paradise. Yet…

  I pray to a god I still don’t believe in, trying to push away the memory of last night; pray that Lee’s driving to Chicago right now. I’m afraid his black Mustang will glide down Main Street. That he’ll stop in for a banana split and ruin my calm. But that’s not happening, and the notion is a million miles from any concern Nora has. So I let myself just be—what else c
an I do?—taking deep breaths and repeating everything’s gonna be all right in my head. Because everything has to be. Has to get better. Darkness can’t possibly last forever, can it?

  I close my eyes and hear the engine of a sports car.

  “What’s wrong, Uncle Jack?”

  I’m just hearing things. It will go away.

  “Nothing,” I say, but I feel my smile cracking. “Everything’s fine.”

  The race of the approaching engine grows unmistakably real, and I feel my body shifting gears. Peace ebbing. Tension mounting.

  Shhhuck, shhhuck, shhhuck.

  “You don’t look fine,” she says.

  “I am,” I insist. “I am.”

  Shhuck, shhhuck, shhhuck.

  When I open my eyes, Lee’s pulling into the parking lot, a big grin splitting his mug.

  And Nora’s right. I’m five thousand miles from fine.

  Chapter Seven

  Lee, of course, doesn’t head to the window and order a banana split. He walks right over and sits in the chair between me and Nora. She isn’t saying anything, but I can tell she’s uncomfortable. Stranger danger warnings seem to be going off in her head, but I’m with her, and that’s where her gaze lies. Girl knows how to find her anchor in a storm.

  “Nora,” he says, drawing out her name as if to tell me he really knows it and always has.

  “Who are you?” she asks.

  Lee looks over at me, mouth agape. “You mean to tell me that your Uncle Jack here hasn’t told you about me, his best friend? I’m your Uncle Lee?”

  “My momma talks about you sometimes,” Nora says, “but not Uncle Jack.”

  “What do you want, Lee?” I ask. “Can’t you see I’m watching my niece right now?”

  “Hey,” Lee says, “I love kids.” He rustles Nora’s hair, and the gesture causes her to look irritated as she backs away from his hand. At eleven, she’s a far better judge of character than I am at twenty-seven. Then again, my cat hated Lee, too, so what does that say about me?

  “What do you want, Lee?” I repeat, raising my brow and trying to keep the anger out of my voice for Nora’s sake.

  “Cool down, amigo,” Lee says, waving defensive hands. “Was just driving by and saw you. Thought I’d swing in and say hi, maybe spread the good word of the Lord.”

  “I don’t believe in God,” I say.

  Lee feigns surprise and covers his ears. “Not in front of the child.”

  “I don’t believe in God, either,” Nora says.

  “See,” says Lee. “See what you’re doing. You’re corrupting a child, taking away her salvation.”

  Standing, I reach around the other side of the table and take Nora’s hand. As we start away from Lee, he says, “God brought us together last night, Jack.”

  “Come on, Nora,” I say. “Keep walking. Ignore him.”

  “You can’t deny it,” Lee calls out. “It was God that brought us and Jason and Jenny together last night.”

  Jenny?

  I turn to Paige, who’s staring at me through the order window. “Sounds like you’ve got some trouble,” she says.

  “Yeah,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Psycho friend from high school. Nothing serious. Look, can you keep an eye on Nora for a minute while I talk to this guy?”

  “Sure,” Paige says. She swings the door next to the order window open. “Come on in, sweetheart.”

  Nora pensively walks toward Paige as I turn to Lee.

  He’s sitting there, glib as he ever was, just waiting for me to walk back to him. To admit that I need the money, that I need him. So I take a deep breath, march up to him, and growl, “Stay the fuck away from me.”

  Lee shakes his head. “That’s no way to talk to your savior.”

  “What do I have to do, Lee? What?”

  “Just take your half of the money. It’s in the car. I can give it to you now.”

  “No. I don’t want any part of that, and I don’t want anything to do with you.” I pull out my cell phone and hold it up. “Take off right now, Lee, or I’m going to dial 911 and report what happened last night.”

  “Then who will take care of Nora, Jack? ’Cause trust me, you’re gonna go away for a while, too. I’ll make sure of that. I’ll make sure I tell the cops it was your idea.”

  “They won’t buy that.”

  “Maybe not, but you sure did take your time reporting it. At this point, you’re an accomplice whether you dirty your hands with the loot or not.”

  “So you’re an expert on the law now?”

  Lee laughs. “Break enough of ’em and, yeah, you learn a thing or two.”

  I heave a sigh and look back at the DQ. Paige is showing Nora how the ice cream machines work, but Nora isn’t paying attention. She’s looking at me, and there’s something new in her eyes. Fear. I’ve never seen it there before, and I’ll do anything to make it go away.

  I turn to Lee. “And that’s it?”

  “That’s it,” he says.

  “I take it and we’re done?”

  “Take it and Tuesday’s gone with the wind.”

  “Okay.”

  Lee gets up and starts for his car. I turn to Nora and call, “I’ll be back in a second.”

  Lee already has the trunk open when I get to the Mustang. “I got you a little present,” he says, then hands me a briefcase. “Samsonite. Very durable.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it. My grandpa used to sell the damn things, and Gram still has a bunch of ’em in her junk closet. Thought you might like this better than a Hello Kitty backpack.”

  I take the case, much lighter on my hand than my soul. “So that’s it?” I ask.

  “You know, it hurts that you’re so anxious to get rid of me.”

  I groan. “Look, Lee, you can’t really—”

  “I know, amigo, but you could at least wish me luck.”

  “Good luck,” I say.

  With that, Lee wraps me in a bear hug. “Maybe,” he says, his voice sincere for the first time in recent memory, “just maybe we can put this behind us some day, huh?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Maybe.”

  “Good enough,” he says. “I love you, man.”

  “Hey, Lee. Who’s Jenny? Where did that name come from?”

  He laughs darkly, looks away for a moment, then his eyes snap back to mine. Locked and loaded. “Bitch left her ID in the bag. Jennifer Snowdon of Sacramento.”

  “Sacramento? What the hell were they doing in the middle of nowhere?”

  Lee laughs again. “What are any of us doing here, my man?”

  “Take care, Lee. Be careful, okay?”

  “Always.”

  I start toward the DQ as Lee revs the Mustang’s engine. He peels out, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake, but I’m moving slow, feeling tired and defeated. Nora rushes for me, puts her arms around me. “What was that?” she whispers.

  “Not now,” I say.

  “Everything okay?” Paige asks.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Thanks for keeping an eye on Nora.”

  “No problem,” she says. “I like kids.”

  “Look, about Saturday…”

  “You’re not going to break our date are you?”

  “Well, I wanted to give you a chance to.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve got to be honest, Paige, I’m a mess.”

  “Come here,” she says, leaning over the counter.

  I approach, swallowing the dry lump in my throat, trying not to cry.

  She moves close to me, and I can smell her shampoo, something with apples, and her perfume, something cheap but wildly intoxicating. In a near-whisper, she says, “I’m working at a Dairy Queen in God’s ass crack, not the executive suite of Bank of America, mister. So, if it’s all right with you, I’m a fucking mess, too.”

  I chuckle, and she gives me a quick kiss on the cheek.

  “See you on Saturday,” she says.

  “Saturday,” I agree, and things seem almo
st bearable again.

  Chapter Eight

  When we get back to my apartment, having said nothing on the walk home, Nora turns on the TV and starts rummaging through the DVDs she keeps at my place. It’s getting dark now, and she’s winding down, but she likes to watch cartoons before bed. Classic Hanna Barbara—Yogi Bear, The Flintstones; her favorite is Yakky Doodle, and that’s the disc she pops into the player.

  “Hey, Bear,” I say.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll be right back, ’kay?”

  As I start for my room, Nora says, “Uncle Jack?”

  “What is it, hon?”

  “What’s in that thing your friend gave you?”

  There it is, the million dollar question I dreaded all the way home. “Nothing to worry about,” I say. “Just watch your toons and I’ll be right back.”

  “Okay, Uncle Jack,” she says in a squeaky voice, doing a passable impersonation of Yakky.

  I smile for her benefit, then, in a gentle but strained voice, say, “Keep the volume down, all right? Don’t wanna get in deep with our neighbors again.”

  I walk into the bedroom as duck-call music starts playing, close the door, and toss the briefcase on my unmade futon. Then I reach below the makeshift bed and pull out the cigar box where I store my savings. I flip the cigar box open, then spring the latches on the old Samsonite.

  Two amounts of money glare back at me—large versus paltry; wrong versus right.

  A wave of emotion hits me like a hammer, and everything I’ve been denying, bottling up, justifying… Every goddamn thing knocks me down all at once, illusions and delusions disintegrating in a flash.

  Fresh out of excuses, I kneel in front of my futon and weep.

  * * *

  Covered in sweat, I wake with a gasp. Someone’s knocking at my door, and all I can think about is Nora. My heart’s pounding, racing faster than my nervous system can process. And it’s dark. Too dark.

  A shadow—diminutive and familiar, thank God—moves into the open doorway. “Uncle Jack,” Nora says. “Who’s here?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “Get in my room and don’t come out ’til I tell you to.” I hate myself for sounding hysterical, but I can’t help it. I flip on the light and snatch the Louisville Slugger I keep propped against the wall, then I close the bedroom.