by Robb, J. D.
“Yeah, okay, thanks . . . for the pep talk. I should get going before—”
“Pep talk?” They faced one another square on. “If I haven’t made it clear that this is me kicking you in the ass, then I’d better start over from the beginning.” Miles opened his mouth to stop him, too late. “The wife and I are tired of watching the two of you, year after year, mooning and pining over each other and then walking away like strangers. It’s depressing . . . and annoying . . . and stupid.” Miles quickly decided the man was just too old to clock. “Damnedest thing we ever saw, the two of you. So now is the time. Step up like a man and tell her how you feel. Grab her up and kiss her. On the mouth. Kiss ’er till her toes curl. Hang on to her. Take her home. Chew her clothes off—”
“Jesus. Okay.” He stepped away. “I get it. My ass is kicked.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“It’s been too cloudy to see it the past few nights, but as its orbit draws it closer and closer to the earth, it gets bigger and brighter and more powerful.” Natalie watched the eyes of the children grow large with wonder. She’d mentioned the comet to their parents in passing and caught the young people’s attention. She was glad they hadn’t yet seen the cosmic phenomenon—it meant they spent their nights indoors. “It’s called Comet ISON and astronomers say it is the brightest comet anyone alive has ever seen, that there hasn’t been one even close to it since 1680.”
The older boy fingered the edges of his food tray as he tried to figure the time lapse. The other four didn’t seem to care . . . the tone of her voice declared it to be a really, really long time.
“That’s over three hundred years,” she said to their delight. “And it’s shooting through our skies, now, for us. That’s something. That’s special.”
She glanced back and forth at the set of parents and the single mother looking on and smiling as their children took a short excursion back into their childhoods—until her attention was reclaimed.
“Can you wish on comets? Like wishing on stars?” This came from a girl with braids and no front teeth.
“I don’t know,” Natalie said, wondering as well. “I don’t see why not. They are leftover pieces of stars . . . stars that exploded thousands of years ago . . . That should count, right? It works for me.”
Excitedly, the younger ones began to divulge several specific and detailed wishes they planned to make . . . most involving their upcoming Christmas gifts. Santa and a magic comet—it was a double whammy for sure.
Natalie glanced up, and in that lovely sort of unspoken language adults use to maintain the enchantment of Christmas, ascertained if they were aware of the Christmas Eve party there at the church. And with a slightly different expression she reminded them to submit requests for special gifts, if need be.
The members of Natalie’s church dedicated and donated so much of who they were and what they had all year long, but the holidays were different. A true joy crept into their endeavors to create a Christmas spirit that was as much for themselves as for others—and especially for the children. It wasn’t enough to simply share food and warmth and kindness; it was a time for the celebration of peace and love and goodwill toward all mankind. The air fairly vibrated with it.
She’d missed the last three meals served at the church since she’d taken an off-the-books job six days a week as an evening maid at the Doze Off Hotel and Lounge where she knew the manager. He would, from time to time, need cheap temporary help . . . not usually her, but he wasn’t overly particular or nosy.
On this, her one night off, she’d stopped by only to pass out a short list of other jobs she’d heard about that might still be available.
“I remembered that you have a lot of experience with computers. This one might actually turn into something,” she told a man named Parker. He appeared to be in his forties, but often stress and depression made people look older. And because jobs were few and too important not to be brutally honest about them, she looked him up and down and added, “I have a few suits, if you need to borrow one for the interview. And I have a barber friend who cuts hair for free sometimes—I’ll give him a call. Do you need a voucher for the showers at the men’s shelter? You’ll need to scurry around tonight and then go in tomorrow, first thing. There might not be a lot of people around because of Christmas, but you need to get your application in soon. Can you do that?”
He first shook his head and then began nodding vigorously. He assured her he had a suit—clean and pressed at his cousin’s house, a phone call away—and that he and his family were still paying by the week to stay at a motel she knew to be a little more than rundown. But he would be grateful for the haircut and, in fact, he didn’t know how he could ever thank her enough.
“Get the job and come back when you’re on your feet again. I’ll have a whole list of ways you can help.” She grinned at him. “Good luck, Parker. Bring your family back for Christmas Eve and tell me how it went.”
The fellowship hall could squeeze in one hundred people at a time, a few more if parents held a child on their lap—more than double that number were fed every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday night when the space wasn’t needed for other church activities. The needy came and went in unorganized shifts; those with homes or warm places to go came and went early, seeming to know there were others who would appreciate the heat more as the evening grew colder. Even so, strict hours needed to be kept. The doors opened at four o’clock and closed promptly at eight P.M.—when every nook and cranny and bathroom stall was inspected for stragglers who, along with those left eating in the hall, were locked out by 8:30 when the cleanup began.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Janice Poser was small and delicate, elderly, full of energy, and really, really bossy. She plucked the wet towel and spray bottle of disinfectant from Natalie’s hands and passed them off to one of the irregular volunteers they were always so happy to have. “This is the first night you’ve had off in two weeks. Go home. Go out with your friends. Enjoy it.”
“I am.” Natalie looped her arm lightly over her friend’s shoulders. “I am out with friends and I am enjoying it. I hear that you and Jack and Lynie are handling the soup nights perfectly fine without me, so I’m feeling a little insignificant at the moment. I thought I’d come over to remind you that I’m still around and make sure you haven’t given my job away yet.”
“You must have heard that I’m taking applications,” said Janice, her eyes twinkling behind pink-framed glasses. “It hasn’t been easy sorting them out, let me tell you. Smart young women who can cook like Gordon Ramsay and have no social life are few and far between.”
“I’m not all that young.” She couldn’t debate the rest.
The older woman made a scornful noise before she pushed on the swinging door that led into the kitchen and announced, “This one says she’s not all that young.”
Three men and eight women in aprons stopped what they were doing, turned toward them, and burst out laughing.
Natalie simpered at them. “Very funny.”
Smiling fondly up at her, Janice reached out with fingers bent from arthritis to touch her cheek. “Dear girl, the point I’m trying to make is that as young as you are, or as old as I am, there is more to our lives than just this.”
“I know that.”
“Do you? When was the last time you went out on a date?”
“A date?”
“Yes. That’s when two people agree to spend time together, both hoping to establish a lasting relationship . . . or score some mediocre sex.”
Again there was laughter.
“I know what a date is. I just . . . I haven’t . . . I don’t know. No one’s asked me.”
Immediately, she thought of Miles—and immediately her heart sank. She knew his personal history contained a messy and painful divorce, and while he didn’t seem immune to women in general—she knew he dated from time to time—he’d never shown any interest in dating her.
Tamping down on her disappointment, she let herself be distracted wi
th the kind offers from sweet gentlemen who wished they were forty years younger and, of course, the convenient offer of an ambitious young nephew of one who, at present, was a sweat collector for a deodorant company with nowhere to go but up . . . She chuckled and nodded appropriately, knowing full well that she wasn’t really treading water if she could feel the bottom of the barrel with her toes.
But Janice, knowing her too well, simply took her hand and led her to the exit at the rear of the room. Pushing her out into the cold, quiet evening, she said, “Go get him. Go make him a pie or a cake—put a heart on top with your initials in it. Go after him. You’re a pretty girl. You’ve got plenty of color in your cheeks . . . but you could use a bit more than mascara to help him see that you’re batting your eyes at him. A little lipstick to let him know you’re willing to be kissed.” She harrumphed and scanned Natalie’s bulky winter attire. “Nothing we can do about that ridiculous coat at the moment, I suppose, but come summer . . . Oh. Stop being so logical and practical all the time—get crazy! Be bold, girl. Ask him for a date.”
“Who?” She saw immediately that playing stupid wouldn’t work. She shook her head. “We’re friends. He’s not interested in me that way. Don’t you think I’d know if he was?”
“Not unless you’ve asked him face-to-face. Have you ever asked him?”
Natalie’s face twisted into an as-if expression, then melted into an okay-I’m-a-coward frown. “But if I do and he doesn’t, I won’t be able to take it back,” she said, voicing what she’d thought so often. “What if it damages our friendship?”
“Then it isn’t much of a friendship, is it?”
Stunned by her response, Natalie was only vaguely aware of Janice leaning in to kiss her cheek, looking about the lot, and asking about her car.
“What?”
“Your car, dear, where’d you park?”
“Oh. Out front.”
“Drive safely, then, and don’t forget to get tomorrow night’s soup out to thaw. I’ll have Jack pick it up in the afternoon.”
Last week Jack Poser had come too close to being arrested for breaking in and removing several bags of the frozen soup she had stored in her freezer in the basement of her apartment building. She nodded and turned to walk away.
“I’ll warn Mr. Fish that he’s coming.”
The floodlights in the parking lot provided pool after pool of brightness as she walked through and then veered off, away from the front of the church. Gas cost money and she was only eight blocks up a busy street from home—and she was not above a small fib to keep her friends from worrying about her.
Lifting her eyes heavenward, she was foiled once again by the overcast skies—no stars, no moon, no comet. Obviously, there were crystal-clear nights when the harsh winds blew the thick clouds across the skies, out of the way, to reveal the magnificent Christmas Comet . . . she simply hadn’t been out in one. Although, if she strained her imagination, she thought the night sky had a certain . . . glow, like lamplight behind a curtain.
She coughed. She sniffed. She became fully aware that her throat was sore and scratchy and groaned aloud. Great. It was the last thing she needed—but it was also an unspoken proviso that when you spent as much time in the general population as she did, a winter cold was as unavoidable as time passing.
Inescapable, like so many things in her life. A happenstance, like so many others.
Her destiny wasn’t something she questioned very often. If it truly was the inevitable, predetermined course of her life, it didn’t seem worth worrying about. It was what it was, would be what it would be—it was enough of a challenge getting from one day to the next without examining the impact of every little thing that crossed her path.
Except for Miles.
Trudging across the plowed but slippery asphalt toward the sidewalk, she noticed it was one of those times when she had a great many reservations about the wisdom of living willy-nilly to the whims of . . . well, God knew what . . . Some hidden power, an ultimate force, simple luck?
Did she really have so little control of her life, as some philosophers claimed? Did Miles have to remain always out of her reach or was it up to her to step forward and take hold of him, like Janice said?
Or—a really big OR—was it Miles’s celestial mission to determine their future? Was it his lot to never know her better than he did right now? But then, in the same way, if her will was stronger than fate, then it stood to reason Miles’s was, too. He could step forward and take hold of her, if he wanted to, if he was interested—unless she was meant to step forward first . . . and then—
And this was exactly why she didn’t question her destiny very often, she thought wearily. Much better to put one foot in front of the next in the direction of her warm apartment and sleep, and let tomorrow be what tomorrow would be.
At least that’s what she was thinking before she realized she was hearing a voice. She had the impression it was far away so she was surprised when she turned to find a young woman only two or three yards away, running after her.
“Please.” Her voice was softer than the wind—her face was pale as the snow on the walk and almost as dirty. “Please stop. I’m sorry. Please. I need—”
She stopped, panting for air, and that’s when Natalie saw she was shivering . . . and hugely pregnant.
“Oh, my gosh! Did you come for dinner? Come on, come on. We’ll go back. You’re not that late. It’ll be all right.” Natalie unzipped her big coat and tried to stuff the girl inside with her, under her arm, but gave up quickly. Removing her coat and pushing the girl back in the direction of the church, she wrapped it around her saying, “Have you come far? Where are you staying? Do you have a place to stay?” The girl’s quiver was a yes-no. “Do you know about the women’s shelter? What about Takes-a-Village over on Dover Street? Have you tried them? I don’t think I know you,” she said absently. She gave a feeble half-laugh and encouraged the reluctant girl to move on. “Doesn’t matter. We’ll get to know each other. Let’s get inside and warm you up; get some food in you. I’ll call both places. We’ll find you a place to stay.”
“Please. They said you would help me. I can’t stay here. I want to go home. Please. Help me.” She came to a full stop. “I need to go home. My baby can’t be born here. Please help me.”
Only the warm clouds from her rapid breathing kept her tears from freezing.
“No, no. Now don’t cry. That never helps. Let’s get inside. We’ll figure something out.”
“He’ll find me.”
“Who?”
“People know this place. And he knows I need to eat.” She glanced at her belly and held it tighter. “He’s smart. Really smart, you know? He’ll look everywhere there’s free food. Please. People know about this place. He’ll come for me. I need a safe place. I need to go home. They said you would help me. I don’t know anyone who—” She was getting quite frantic in her fear. “I have some money. I just need help. We aren’t safe.”
“Okay, okay.” They put their backs to the church and started up the street, the girl scanning constantly, shrinking from every car that drew near and then passed them. “Whoever it is won’t hurt you. I know a policeman who—”
“No!” She balked. “No cops.”
“Stop it.” Using her arm to get the girl going again, she became stern. “Listen to me . . . what’s your name?”
“Caroline.”
“Listen to me, Caroline. I’m happy to help you but not if you’re going to be stupid. If someone is after you we need the police . . . unless you’ve committed a crime . . .” She thought about it briefly. “No. Even if you’re in trouble with the cops he’s still our best bet. He’s a friend. He’ll help us. Come on. I’m cold.”
Huddled together, she kept the girl moving forward, fielding every piece of panic and protest with a positive pledge of a solution and wishing for the millionth time that she’d paid for the cell phone service that would make it so much easier . . . and safer.
It wasn’t as
if she didn’t understand when she was doing something impulsive and ill-advised—she did, every move along the way. And it wasn’t as if she didn’t feel the peril and fear—she did, the whole time. But too often her choices were too limited: act or walk away. In this case it was take the girl to the closest safe haven she knew—her home—until arrangements for her trip could be made . . . or leave her in the cold. Seemed like a no-brainer to Natalie.
THERE WAS NO WAY THEY COULD AVOID GOING IN THE front door of her apartment building; all the other doors were locked by nine o’clock. That meant a pass by the security camera on the first floor, a ride in the elevator, and a walk down a hall of snoopy neighbors with a whimpering girl. Assuming that Aldene and the children were still there—and she hoped they were—Mr. Fish wasn’t going to be pleased.
But once they were inside her apartment, their reception was as she expected. Aldene took over. She wrapped Caroline in all the blankets she could find, cooing in Spanglish the entire time. Natalie stood in a rigid shiver nearby, rubbing her arms through her thick sweater, still wearing her gloves.
“You’ll be okay here for a second while I go down the hall to use the phone.” A little dazed, Natalie looked around. The kitchen registered a thought. “Maybe some soup? I make great soup.”
Caroline nodded and spoke through chattering teeth. “I heard.”
A weak chuckle. “Okay. I’ll be right back. You’re safe here.”
A moment later she was bouncing outside Sara Lenty’s door, listening to the television through the door without trying, waiting for the ancient woman to get to her door and peer through the peephole. “It’s just me, Ms. Lenty. Natalie. I’m sorry it’s so late. I need to use your phone again, please.”
