Winter Miracle

by Teagan Kade

  I only catch part of the conversation.

  “I understand.”

  “Sure.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  “I don’t follow, sorry.”

  “Right. Thanks for the call.”

  “Yeah, go ahead and book me a room.”

  “Yes, same details.”

  “Yes.”

  “You too.”

  He hangs up, looking towards me—my son and the stranger holding him.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  DANE

  It’s the motel manager on the other end of the line. “Oh, Mr. Carr. I’m glad I got you. The phone lines have been down and… Well, you know.”

  “I understand,” I reply, conscious of Haley sitting at the dining table.

  “Do you have a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  “I just wanted to call and let you know the power is back on at the motel.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  “I thought it best I inform you in case you’d like to make… other arrangements.”

  “That is, unless you’d like to stay with Ms. Walker?”

  What’s he getting at here? I hate the way these folk talk in riddles, always fishing and hunting for information. “I don’t follow, sorry.”

  “Well,” he pauses. I picture him licking his lips for the no doubt juicy morsel he’s about to send my way. “Word does travel in these parts.”

  I don’t reply, don’t give him the satisfaction.

  “I didn’t mean to offend—”

  “Right. Thanks for the call.” I’m about to hang up when he continues, talking faster now he realizes money might be lost.

  “I’m happy to offer you a significant discount on a room, for your troubles. Shall I reserve one for you? It’s going to be quite busy given—”

  “Yeah, go ahead and book me a room.”

  “Same details?”

  “Yes, same details.”

  “Wonderful. You have a pleasant day Mr. Carr.”

  “You too.”

  I hang up and notice Haley watching me.

  Andy’s down to sniffles, my shirt wet at the shoulder where he’s been crying against it.

  It’s then, at that precise juncture in time, I realize how attached I’ve become—to Haley, to her son.

  I hand Andy over. He curls up into his mother’s arms, his thumb disappearing into his mouth. I slide my hands into my pockets. “Looks like the power’s back on at the motel. Guess I’ll finally be out of your hair.”

  She’s pained as she looks from the table to me. “You aren’t ‘in my hair,’ Dane.”

  There’s a strange silence as we wait for the inevitable ‘you can stay’ suggestion, but it never comes, and I don’t want to ask, to push it.

  This is the right thing.

  “Right,” I breathe out. “I’ll go pack.”

  “Do you need to do any laundry?” Haley asks. The conversation is stale. We’re two strangers again, oceans apart.

  “I’ll use the coin laundry at the motel.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay,” I reply, turning and heading upstairs.

  I pack silently. It’s amazing how little I have, but I guess that’s life—my entire existence compressed down into a duffle bag.

  I sling the bag over my shoulder. I’m wearing the same leather jacket as when I arrived, the same jeans and boots.

  Haley’s waiting with Andy in her arms. Whatever she’s feeling, I can’t make any which way of it. She’s as mysterious to me then as the dark side of the moon.

  I walk past her to the front door, opening it and standing in the threshold. “So, this is it.”

  “I guess so.”

  “It was,” I struggle to find the appropriate words, “good to meet you, and hey, thanks for putting up with my shit.”

  “Sure.”

  Her eyes are glassy, but I can’t tell if she’s about to burst into tears or what those tears would even mean. Even shining as they are, they’re the bright blue of the sky following a storm, a hint of gray, of rain to come.

  I chew on my lip, not knowing what more there is to be said. “I’ll probably be on the bus in a couple of days when the ice clears, but I can come say goodbye if you like.”

  I don’t even know why I’m suggesting it. I should be making this a clean break.

  “Perhaps it’s for the best if we both move on,” says Haley. “Besides, we’ll be on a bus ourselves soon, won’t we, little man?”

  Andy smiles up at her in response, his hands reaching for something unseen in the air.

  I want to kiss her, but I know there’s no point prolonging this. It’s pulling off a fucking Band-Aid again—the quicker it is, the more painless it is.

  “Goodbye,” I say.

  “Goodbye,” she repeats, Andy babbling “Dane,” clear as a bell, just as I close the door. It’s the first time he’s said my name.

  I place a hand on the front of the door and breathe in.

  Don’t do it, I tell myself, caught.

  I push away and turn towards the street.

  One foot after the other.

  That’s the way.

  Soon I’m walking, with each step moving further and further away from Haley, from Andy, from whatever it could have been.

  You’re a bachelor. It’s not an easy life. Hell, sometimes it’s painful. You know this, but there will be other women, other towns…

  The more I try and rationalize it, the easier it becomes to swallow.

  And it wouldn’t have worked. No way. With a kid? In a town like this?

  Me? A family man, putting up a picket fence and making small chat with Mrs. Ainsworth?

  Never.

  Which is why it’s curious that I feel like I’m walking away from, not towards, happiness.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  HALEY

  Not a minute after Dane has gone, Andy stars to bawl, screaming “Dane, Dane, Dane, Dane!” over and over, his tiny hands grabbing at the door.

  I try to console him, holding him tight by the window. “Shh now. He’s gone. He’s gone for good.”

  “Dane!” continues Andy, hysterical.

  I talk aloud. “I was right about him, but don’t you worry. We’ll be fine. I promise you. You remember your Aunty Tilda, don’t you?”

  Andy stops crying, looking at me dumbly with his giant, apricot eyes.

  Yeah, Aunty Tilda who lives in a town even smaller than this with barely two rooms to rub together. Aunty Tilda who smells like old cabbage and despises kids. That Aunt Tilda.

  I should be thankful I found anyone at all to take us in.

  “It will only be for a little while,” I tell Andy, pressing him against my cheek, “a week or two max while I find a job and get us back on our feet. We don’t need that silly Dane, and he clearly doesn’t need, or want us, right?”

  I don’t know why I expect Andy to nod in agreement. He just stares at me.

  My anger falls away and all that’s left behind is the sad fact that I feel betrayed.

  At its core, that’s what it is—betrayal.

  He took and he left.

  I let Andy down and busy myself around the house for distraction. Everywhere I go I’m reminded—the dryer he fixed, the coffee he made, where we made love in front of the fire. The thoughts come and I allocate them away, scrubbing harder, working quicker, anything to avoid falling into them.

  When there’s nothing left to do, and Andy’s down for his nap, I stand in the middle of the living room and have something of an epiphany.

  The house is going to be foreclosed upon, but we are going to be okay.

  We’ll move in with Aunt Tilda temporarily and we’ll start anew.

  I realize the fear I’ve been feeling for weeks has dissipated. I’m not panicking or anxious. For once, I’m level and calm. I’ve left the emotion out of it.

  At least you can thank him for that.

  I’m sad, yes, but I’m not afraid. The hollow, sinking
sensation that’s been pulling me down is nowhere to be found. Things can get better from here, and they will. Even if I don’t entirely believe it, I’m willing to fake it until I make it, for Andy and myself.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  DANE

  Same shitty motel, same shitty room.

  I sit on the edge of the bed, spreading my hands out over the quilt and addressing the bed bugs. “Good to see you again, fellas.”

  This town is really making you lose it, boy-o.

  I don’t know why I feel out of place. I’ve been living out of motels and hotels for almost five years now. I don’t have a permanent address—a fact I neglected to tell Haley. I like the weather in California, the beaches and girls, but I’ve never felt settled enough there to put down something solid, roots, you might say.

  Who am I fucking kidding? It’s bleak when I think about it, the playboy pilot getting around with a duffle bag and a box of belongings, so many women but not a single face or name I could bring up right now. There’s nothing to me. I’m a fucking cardboard cutout—cold as ice inside.

  The aforementioned box sits open beside me. There’s my Aerial Achievement Medal, a family photo, and a die-cast toy airplane I’ve had since I was three. I pick up the plane and spin it around in my fingers, thinking.

  I drop back onto the bed and stare at the light fixture above until my eyes water.

  I try to pinpoint exactly why I feel this way. It’s because of her, I realize, because of Haley and the time I’ve spent with her. She might not have much, true, but she sure as hell knows how to make a place feel like a home. Then again, I’m pretty sure if she had nothing at all it would be the same.

  Something my mother used to say comes back to me. She wasn’t an affectionate woman, but said, ‘A house is made of wood and stone, but only love makes a home.’ She had so many of those lines stored up and ready to spill out at any moment, but that was Mom—always the contradiction.

  I swallow hard, not sure how the lump in my throat even managed to develop.

  Bricks and beams, hopes and dreams.

  I smile as I remember this one wall Mom had down in the living room absolutely jam-packed with books. Cookbooks, instruction manuals, romance novels… She always said a house without books was like a body without a soul. When she passed I sold them all for fifty bucks. The guy who bought them could barely fit them all into a trailer.

  I sold everything, even Dad’s prized coin collection. It all went.

  I get up and pace around the room, unable to sit still, to stop thinking.

  It’s the body’s biggest design flaw: no off switch for your head… or your libido.

  I press my head against the wall and slap it with my hands.

  Why the fuck can’t I stop thinking about her?

  It’s just the afterglow, I tell myself. It will pass. You were fine before. You will be fine again.

  Outside, the ice is beginning to clear. I’ll be out of here soon, two-thousand miles away in the city of sin.

  Out the window, a toddler is waddling across the street beside his mother, his fluorescent-orange jumpsuit making him look like a giant, puffy orange. I smile and think of Andy. The little guy was really starting to get to me, melting my icy heart.

  Good thing you got it back in the freezer then, isn’t it? You really want a kid? Think about what happens when he turns into a teenager.

  I was a teenage boy once. I almost sent my poor mother broke buying Kleenex. The constant jerking off and eating, the tantrums and angst—I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone.

  But then I’m thinking about teaching him how to fly, to shave… pick up girls. That is wisdom you won’t find in any book, wisdom Haley won’t be able to show him.

  I laugh and shake my head. “I’ll be fine, just fucking fine.”

  But I’m forcing it.

  And I know it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  HALEY

  Barry calls around lunchtime.

  I don’t waste time giving him a piece of my mind. My tone is biting. “Oh, so I still work there?”

  He’s not used to New Haley, momentarily dumbstruck. “Ah, well, yes. Of course.”

  “Now that it’s convenient…”

  A pause, followed by, “Yes. Look, I’m calling in all hands after the weather, full shifts.”

  I sit up straighter in the dining room chair. “I’m going to need time-and-a-half, owing to wages lost because of the storm and all.”

  My heart pounds waiting. I never push for this kind of thing.

  I hear him exhale. “Okay. Sure,” he replies, allowing me to breathe out in relief. “I need you down here real bad. I’ve got folks coming in from every direction, rooms that aren’t ready…”

  “I’ll be down as soon as I can.”

  “And when might that be?”

  “As soon as I am ready,” I tell him, hanging up smiling at my newfound confidence. I spot myself in the mirror on the wall, the one with ‘Life doesn’t have to be perfect to be filled with joy’ above it. “Where have you been all my life?” I ask myself.

  My smile disappears when two problems come to mind. One, working is still not going to help me save the house, and two, Dane might be at the motel.

  And if he is?

  I figure if he is I’ll avoid him. It won’t be hard given the work on hand.

  Andy’s flying his toy plane around his head, his lips puckered together making the same Brrrr Brrrr sound Dane did when he showed him what to do. Ever since Andy woke up he’s been asking about Dane, his head tilted quizzically to the side.

  I sit watching him with a coffee in my hands, sadly not the same without Dane’s magic touch. I’m missing that touch in other places, too.

  “Okay, little man,” I tell Andy. “Let’s go see Mrs. Ainsworth, shall we?”

  *

  I’ve got my fingers crossed when I head next door that Nancy will answer, tell me her Mom is miraculously out and that yes, she would love to mind Andy, but there’s no such luck.

  After some time, Mrs. Ainsworth reluctantly pulls open the door, looking at me sideways with a sneer. “It’s you.”

  “And Andy, yes.”

  She leans on one foot. I can see the TV playing Days of Our Lives down the back. “I suppose you want someone to babysit, dontcha?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. Is Nancy around?”

  “Skating with her girlfriends.”

  “Would you be able to mind him? I’ll pay. I promise.”

  A short “humpf” follows. “Now, you see, the dog’s real sick, plus I’m real busy down back.”

  I look past her shoulder at the TV. “I can see.”

  She’s enjoying this. “So, no. I don’t think I can.”

  “Please, Mrs. Ainsworth. I’m in a real bind.”

  She rolls her eyes at me. “Aren’t you always, Haley Walker, and where’s your mystery man? Gone already?”

  Normally, I would take this and apologize profusely, do everything short of get down on my hands and knees and beg, but not today.

  I straighten up and smile back. “I suppose, Mrs. Ainsworth, after all the times I’ve come over to help you haul stuff around, fix your computer for the fiftieth time, feed your dog… None of that matters, right, because I’m just silly ol’ Haley Walker, ‘the help’? In a few days we’ll be gone for good, anyhow.”

  Poor Mrs. Ainsworth is so shocked that for a second I’m genuinely concerned she’s going to keel over in front of me.

  Andy giggles.

  Mrs. Ainsworth’s face lights up beet red with shame. “I, I—” she stutters. “I suppose—” but I don’t let her finish.

  “Goodbye, Mrs. Ainsworth,” I tell her, turning and walking back to the house.

  Suddenly, everything is clear. There’s clarity in my thoughts I haven’t felt in years.

  Is working a shift at the motel really going to change anything? I ask myself. It won’t put a single dent in the mortgage, will it? So, what’s the point?

  N
ot to mention I’d almost certainly run into Dane, as Murphy’s Law goes.

  I head inside and call up Barry. He’s none too pleased about what I have to say, but he’s doesn’t make a point of it after our last call.

  I hang up and let out a long exhale. Andy looking up at me from the floor, using a chair leg to help himself get to his feet. “See,” I tell him. “Momma’s not a pushover after all.”

  I pick up the phone again and call the Greyhound office, asking for a ticket to Tulsa as soon as possible. They tell me they don’t expect to have any buses running until right before Christmas. I tell them that’s fine, to book regardless.

  I realize I’ve spent almost the last of our money on the bus tickets when I place the phone back on the wall. I look around at my parents’ home, our home. It’s scary to think I’m finally leaving this place—this house, this town, my town, but maybe Dane was right. I just have to cut ties and leave it all behind.

  My chest pulls thinking of Dane, of the courage he helped me find, the pleasure I was missing both in the bedroom and out.

  You’re better off without him, I remind myself. Men like that are always going to let you down.

  I clap my hands together. “Come on, little man. We’ve got packing to do.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  DANE

  I check my cell.

  It’s December twentieth.

  I’ve been holed up in this motel room for two days now. The walls are starting to close in. Soon I’ll be clawing at them.

  I call the Greyhound office again, but the buses won’t be running for another couple of days yet, or so they expect. “Why don’t you grab yourself a good feed down at the diner?” the man suggests. I want to tell him I’ve worked my way through almost the entire, cursed menu. I’m practically sweating grease and oil. I smell like a damn double cheeseburger.

  I do, however, take his advice, heading out not to the diner, but to the only bar I remember passing on my way into town. It’s a solid walk, but I’ve got nothing better to do. I’m surprised I didn’t think of it earlier, actually. Bars are where I do my best work.

  But the ‘Recovery Room’ isn’t the Roosevelt. There’s a bar inside alright, a billiard table, a slot machine (singular), but that’s about it. The five-guy sausage party almost has me turning on heel, but I pull in a breath and take a seat at bar, ordering whiskey, dry. You can’t fuck that up.