by Dan Walsh
“Aren’t they something?” his dad said. “Now get your fingers off the glass, you’ll smudge it all up.”
Such a scene of wonder.
Three elves were sitting at a skinny table, cheeks all rosy, wearing little red hats. Each worked on a different toy. The first banged a hammer on the head of a large wooden nail. Of course, the hammer never quite made contact. He was making a rocking horse. Beside him, another elf turned a screwdriver into the propeller of a toy plane. The third pretended to work a lathe back and forth, shaping a baseball bat. Rick could feel his dad’s big hands resting on his shoulders. He stood a few extra moments staring into the window, enjoying it.
He ran to the next one. Two more elves at work, one making a jack-in-the-box, the other painting a smile on a doll with curly hair. A third one stood, eyeing a clipboard, his arm moving back and forth as though checking off a list.
“See that one there,” Dad said, “the one with the little beard and the clipboard? That’s the one you wanna be, Rick. He’s the one telling everyone else what to do.”
Rick walked slowly past the rest of the windows, mesmerized by each scene. The last two were different, made to look like an outside scene. The first had a large painting of Santa’s workshop on the back wall. Three elves loaded the same wrapped toys on Santa’s sleigh, over and over again. Rick laughed. It looked like they were smacking the sleigh with them.
The last window included old Saint Nick himself sitting on his sleigh, perched on a rooftop. His big red and white arms moved up and down, as though whipping the reins. The two reindeer nearest the sleigh were actually in the window, the rest painted on a side wall, already lifting into the night sky. “Dad, what are their names? These first two? Dasher and Dancer or Comet and Cupid?”
“Got me.”
Whoever they were, their antlers bobbed back and forth like they understood Santa’s call. Rick looked at the painting, traced the rest of the reindeer to the end. There was Rudolph, his glowing red nose leading the way.
Standing there now, Rick tried to remember the awe and amazement he’d felt being there with his dad. It was nice that Davis Brothers still made the effort each year to put out these displays. Although, seeing them up close, he could tell they were in serious need of maintenance. In the first window, the elf’s hammer came down a full inch from the wooden nail. The paint was chipping and peeling on most of the wooden toys. In the last window, Santa’s sleeve was torn. You could actually see the gears turning inside as he pulled on the reins.
He turned and headed to the front door. See, that’s why it wasn’t good coming home for the holidays. Why skiing trips were better. He hadn’t thought about his dad for months. And now look. The few positive sentiments he’d been able to dredge up would now be followed by a black hole of negative emotions. Like, where was his dad now? Why did he leave? Why had he never come back all these years or even tried to call?
He knew most kids who’d been abandoned by a parent wound up blaming themselves, but not Rick. The few memories he had of his dad were good ones. Like this toy store visit. They’d had fun. They got along. Rick knew it had to be his mom, something she said or did back then that drove him off. Then a few years later, she went and married Art, ending any chance of them ever getting back together.
He needed a distraction badly. A walk through the toy store might be just the thing. He wondered if they still had that big Lionel train running overhead throughout the store. Steam would pour out of the smokestack, and the whistle even blew at various spots.
Just then Rick heard someone talking loudly across the street. He turned toward the sound. Great. It was Columbo, the Egg McMuffin guy, heading this way, waving his hands in the air as if in the middle of some argument with an imaginary friend. Rick hurried into the store before their eyes met, then stood inside the door until the man walked by.
He’d seen these homeless guys in downtown Charlotte, even talked with a few of them. They were all the same. Useless parasites. They came off as poor and needy, trying to solicit sympathy from hardworking people. Acting as if they’d come to this sad place through no fault of their own, just an overdose of bad luck. Truth was, they didn’t want to work. Didn’t want to earn their keep or be accountable to anyone. Fortunately, most had left the Charlotte area when the weather started turning cold.
Looked like a bunch of them had come here to Seabreeze.
Guess both the ducks and the loons head south for the winter.
11
JD and Taylor walked along Beach Street past the Davis Brothers Toy Store, arguing over what they’d be serving tonight at the Walker Street Mission. “JD, trust me. It will be leftover turkey, leftover mashed potatoes, leftover stuffing, and all the rest.” Taylor said this calmly but with a slight edge. “And I think you’d be wise to lower the volume of your voice. People are staring.”
“Let ’em stare,” JD said. “They’re gonna anyway.” He sidestepped around a trash bin then hurried to catch up with Taylor. Taylor had such long legs, he always felt like he was catching up when they walked together. “I’m with you on the mashed potatoes, but that’s all. It’s Saturday night, and they always serve Salisbury steak, mashed potatoes, and green beans on Saturday night.”
“But this week is different,” Taylor said. “People always serve leftovers after Thanksgiving.”
“That may be,” JD said, “but as I recall, you weren’t even there Thursday. I sat down with my plate, turned to say hi to the guy on my left. When I turned back, you were gone.”
“You know I don’t like crowds.”
“I don’t like ’em any better, but a man’s gotta eat. And you just made my point, why they’ll be back to Salisbury steak tonight. That crowd that scared you off. All these new people are in town since the winter set in up north. You see ’em, all over the place. Well, they were there Thursday, chowing down something fierce. Went back for seconds after the line thinned out, and guess what? There weren’t any. Every tray was empty.”
They both stopped at the next intersection, allowing a single car to pass, then crossed the street. “All right,” Taylor said. “I concede. But you know most people call it meatloaf, not Salisbury steak.”
“I guess we’ll have to disagree on that too,” JD said. “Everybody knows you use ketchup with meatloaf. Ever see them set ketchup out on Saturday nights? I don’t. They serve it up with gravy. That’s the difference, smart guy, why I know it’s Salisbury steak.” Taylor didn’t reply. But JD knew that Taylor knew he was right. That was twice in a row. “Look, there’s the mission. You gonna stay this time or take off?”
“I’m not sure,” Taylor said. “I had my heart set on meatloaf tonight.”
JD thought he was serious, but he could never tell with Taylor. He looked up at his face, and Taylor was smiling.
Still, JD had a feeling he’d be eating alone again tonight.
“Amen.”
About fifty folks had said it, all about the same time. Mostly deep voices, because they were mostly men. Small price to pay, JD thought, eating a hot meal here once a week. As best as he understood, three or four churches took turns manning the mission. He didn’t remember them all, but they all followed the same format. A team of volunteers set the food out on a line of tables. Then they’d stand around as people wandered in. All the “guests” had to take a seat before anyone could eat. They could talk to each other if they wanted. Some did. Some just stared at the table.
JD wasn’t interested in talk. He was there to eat.
After everyone was seated, one of the men from the church would get up, tell everyone how happy he was to see them, and say the blessing. It was nice. Most of the time. Every now and then, someone new came in and prayed way too long, till everyone started to fidget. After they finished praying, the guests all said amen, and it was Salisbury steak time.
JD got up and got in line. Folks usually behaved in line. It was hard, for him anyway, especially when he was starving. About ten men got in ahead of him. He looked
around the room. Like he figured, Taylor had split. But he was a good friend, for the most part.
He just didn’t like crowds.
“How are you doing tonight? It’s JB, right?”
JD looked up. A short, heavyset man about his own age was smiling at him. “Close. JD.”
“Sorry, JD.” He handed him a tray and some plasticware wrapped in a napkin. “Well, enjoy your dinner.”
JD looked down the line, at the next station, the good stuff. Didn’t really want to small talk with the help. A smile was in order, a word or two. But JD found that if you looked at them too long, they’d start asking get-to-know-you questions. And the ones who got sucked in that far might have someone sit next to them while they ate. JD had all the company in the world he cared to keep with Taylor.
And Art.
He missed Art.
At first, he thought it was just the Egg McMuffins. But for the last two days, he kept seeing poor Art in his mind, lying there on the floor, not moving. JD had called 911 then bugged out of there before anyone had seen him. Found out later, Art wasn’t dead, just in the hospital.
So maybe things would go back to normal.
He didn’t want to think about how long that might take. He knew he wouldn’t be getting a McMuffin tomorrow, seeing as it was Sunday. But what about Monday? This new guy seemed pretty nasty. Nice of Andrea, though, to come after him like that, offer him coffee. But she was never there except on Saturday. Should he show up on Monday morning and see? He had to stop thinking about it. Or it’d be eating him up every moment till then.
With his tray filled up, JD walked back to the spot where he always sat. Some new guy was in it. JD stood right next to him a few moments, sending a message.
“Lemme guess,” the man said, looking up. “Your seat?”
JD nodded.
“No problem, man. Don’t want any trouble.” He got up and moved two tables away.
JD sat and started eating. He loved Salisbury steak, loved the whole dinner on Saturday nights.
“Okay, folks.”
JD looked to the front of the room. He remembered, this guy wasn’t bad.
“For you old-timers, you know the scoop. For our newer guests, let me welcome you and tell you what’s what.”
JD could tell who all the new guys were. They stopped eating to listen.
“My name’s Frank Hamilton, one of the elders at Christ Community Church. I’m going to talk to you all about the love of God for the next twenty minutes or so, but please keep on eating or your food will get cold. That’s how we do things here at Walker. We won’t think you’re impolite.”
Everyone instantly started eating again. JD was already half done.
“Before I share what God’s put on my heart, I just want to draw your attention to the set of tables at the back of the room a moment.”
JD heard a bunch of chairs scraping and saw guys turning, but he wasn’t about to stop eating.
“We’ve brought in stacks of donated blankets. Now I know those of you who’ve lived here a while understand that Seabreeze is mostly a nice stop in the winter, but we’re set a little north of center in this great state of ours. So if a serious cold snap hits the southeast part of the country, some of that weather can dip down here a day or two and make life pretty uncomfortable. Well, something just like that’s supposed to be blowing in tomorrow afternoon, a cold front. The weatherman is predicting it might even get down in the low thirties or even the high twenties late tomorrow night.”
Groans rumbled through the room.
“We’re urging you folks to take this seriously. On your way out, please take one of these blankets. There’s plenty of them. Some of you who aren’t too attached to this place may want to consider heading farther south tomorrow. Get below Melbourne and you should be fine. But if you’re staying, you should really come in from outside, stay in one of the shelters. They’re first come, first served, so I wouldn’t wait too long tomorrow before checking in.”
JD shook his head. No way he’d stay in one of those places.
The man continued. “I know some of you diehards are thinking you can tough it out, but I’m asking you to reconsider. We didn’t have any freezes here last year, so if you’re thinking you did fine last year, trust me, it’s not going to be the same.” The man paused, looked down at the wooden podium. “I’m not trying to scare anyone, but two years ago, it did freeze here in Seabreeze, and we lost two men to the cold. I don’t want that to happen to anyone here tonight. Which might be a good lead-in to what I really came here to share with you.”
JD looked down at his plate, scooped up the last spoonful of mashed potatoes, swirled it around a dab of gravy. He’d happily take one of their blankets, could always use a fresh one of those.
But no way he’d be heading in to one of those shelters.
12
“You better sit for this, Leanne.”
Lord, help me to not fall apart.
As she sat in the chair, her eyes stayed focused on Dr. Halper’s face, looking for any signs of hope. He pulled the other chair close, into a shaft of light coming from the hall, lifting it so it wouldn’t scrape the floor. They had moved to the front of the room, away from Art’s bed. “Is Art going to die?” she asked quietly. “Is that what you need to tell me?”
Dr. Halper looked down at the floor. He raised his head slowly and said, “I think I’d like to answer that with a fuller explanation than just a simple yes or no.”
Okay, she thought, at least he didn’t say yes.
“After reviewing the tests and consulting with some other doctors, I think we know better what we’re dealing with here, and where we need to go. But I want you to understand the situation, including the risks involved.” He picked up a clipboard, pulled some sheets back, and began to draw on a blank page.
Leanne waited patiently, trying to figure out what he was drawing. From her upside-down viewpoint it looked like a tree.
“Art had an aneurysm in his brain.” He turned the clipboard toward her, holding it to the light. “See these, these are like the main arteries in his brain. We all have them.” He pointed to a thick line that divided into two smaller ones. At the fork he had drawn a small round circle. “See this,” he said, pointing at the circle. “This is the aneurysm—well, it was the aneurysm, before it burst.”
“Did that happen yesterday?” she asked.
He nodded. “But the aneurysm could have been there much longer. Has Art been complaining of severe headaches lately?”
“No.”
“Any speech problems? Any problems with his balance?”
“No.”
“Has he been forgetting things?”
Leanne smiled. “Doc, we both have. But that’s been going on for years.”
Dr. Halper smiled. “I mean more serious things than that. The kind of forgetting that would really concern you.”
She shook her head.
“I guess, then, it’s possible it could have just formed yesterday. The point isn’t the bubble so much, but that the bubble burst.”
He went on to explain all the things that had happened in Art’s head after that. She was sure he was trying to make it simple, but it was just too much to comprehend. It all sounded so awful. When he finished, she asked, “Was it painful? Did Art suffer before he lost consciousness?”
Dr. Halper reached out and patted her hand. “Hard to say, Leanne. I don’t think so. I’d say he lost consciousness pretty quickly. The amazing thing is that it stopped bleeding. An aneurysm that size more often just bleeds out and the patient dies on the spot.”
“Oh, Lord.”
“In 15 percent of these cases, people die before ever reaching the hospital.”
“So that’s good, right? I mean, that Art’s made it this far?”
The doctor removed his hand and sat up straight. He inhaled deeply and looked at her as though much worse was to come.
“Leanne, I want so much to give you reason to hope, but my job right now is
not to do that. I need to help you understand the situation as best as we understand it, so that you can give us an informed consent for what we think needs to happen from here.”
Leanne took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m sorry I keep interrupting you. I—”
“Don’t apologize. You just want Art to be okay. I want that too.” He glanced up at the machines surrounding Art, his eyes spending a moment at each one.
“Go on, Doctor. I’m listening.”
“See . . . there’s nothing to keep Art’s aneurysm from starting up again. For some reason, it just stopped.”
“So what do we do?”
“We have to go in and fix it.”
“Can you do that?”
“That’s part of what we need to talk about. Art’s aneurysm is in a very delicate place. After looking at the scans, I believe it’s in his best interest to have another surgeon do the operation. I’m good, but I’m not the best. At Shands they have the finest neurosurgeon in the southeast. I’ve called him and he’s willing to look at Art’s case.”
“Shands is in Gainesville, isn’t it? Is the surgeon coming here?”
“No, that won’t be necessary. If you approve of this plan, I will authorize a courier to drive Art’s file to Shands. The surgeon there will have all the information he needs by mid-morning.”
Leanne looked up at Art, did that quick routine with her eyes. Of course, there was no change. She wished she could talk to him. He always made the big decisions. “Then what, do you drive Art to Gainesville?”
“Not right away. We’ll need to keep him here until the swelling in his brain has gone down.”
“How long will that take?”
“Hard to say, a few days, a week.”
“But what if he has another bleed before then?”
Dr. Halper shook his head. It was obvious this was very difficult for him.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that?”
