A Knight to Remember

by Yvonne Lehman

  Hearing a page turn, he focused on an elderly man reading a thick book, sitting in a nearby booth. Across the small room, the light click of computer keys sounded. A cell phone vibrated. He could hear breathing, perhaps his own. The sweet, pungent aroma of espresso coffee, something he used to take for granted, then had to do without, now delighted his senses.

  A movement outside the window caught his eye, and he turned his head in time to watch a bullet-gray Cadillac pull into the parking lot. The car that had belonged to their dad. Thomas’s heart raced as his brother climbed out and hastened around the side of the building. James stopped inside the doorway and his eyes searched.

  Thomas waited for his brother’s double take, then lifted his hand and scooted out of the booth. James shook his head and directed his gaze toward the ceiling for a moment. Thomas waited for whatever overture James might make. Next thing he knew he was enclosed in a bear hug, then James was arm’s length away with his hands on Thomas’s shoulders. “I wouldn’t know you anywhere,” James said.

  They both laughed and sat in the booth, Thomas in his jeans and T-shirt, James in a suit and tie.

  James spied the menu. “Whatcha having? Sandwich? Roll?”

  At the moment Thomas just wanted to feast on the sight of his brother. James looked good. “Just coffee.”

  “Come on,” James said. “This one’s on me. After all, I haven’t seen my own brother in three years.”

  “Same for me, James. So why not let it be my treat?” James probably thought he was completely out of money.

  James lifted his hands in surrender. “Okay. We’re on our own.” He looked at the waitress who walked over. He nodded at Thomas.

  “Regular coffee black, please.”

  James glanced at the sugar container. “Cream for mine, please.”

  “Two coffees,” she said and walked away.

  “You did say you were only on break, James.”

  James’s forearms came up onto the table, and he leaned forward, his dark brown eyes boring into his brother’s. “No. I said I’d come on my morning break. If you wanted me to, or needed me, I’d take the entire day off. The week.”

  “A month?”

  James laughed. “If you needed me, yes.”

  Thomas nodded. He knew that was true. He watched James look out the window at the few cars in the parking lot. He was probably wondering what to say to his younger brother who had rarely listened to his advice anyway. People used to say the two of them looked alike. Not now. James had the look of a successful attorney, his dark, wavy hair conservatively cut and smoothly combed. Thomas cut his own wavy hair, strands highlighted from the sun, when he stopped to think about it or found a pair of scissors. He hadn’t trimmed his beard in a while and it, too, had a few highlights.

  The waitress set the cups down. Her glance quickly skimmed over Thomas then she concentrated on James and smiled. Likely, she thought James was treating a homeless man. Well, she’d be half right. He wasn’t being treated, but he was homeless.

  Thomas picked up his cup, savoring the scent of the aromatic black liquid. He didn’t think he’d ever take anything for granted again, or at least he hoped not—not even a cup of steaming coffee. He’d learned to drink his coffee without amenities. James doctored his. He took a sip and looked over at Thomas. “You know you have a home with us.”

  “I know. But I’m fine.”

  “Fine?” James expelled a deep breath. “Thomas, I’ve tried not to worry if I’d ever see you again. Or get word you were found in an alley somewhere.” His eyes closed for a moment. “Or if I’d never hear anything.”

  “Sorry,” was all Thomas could say. “I didn’t always have access to communication. Carrying a cell phone was asking for it to be stolen. But I called you and Frank occasionally from shelters.”

  Thomas watched James’s gaze fall to the bruise beneath Thomas’s eye that was still fresh, even deeper purple and green than it had been last night. “That’s quite a colorful shiner you have there.”

  Thomas scoffed and shrugged a shoulder. “You think that’s bad, you should see what my arms got in self-defense.”

  James shook his head. “So you’re fighting now?”

  “I said self-defense, James. I don’t really fight with a man who is simply defending his home.”

  James’s eyes questioned and his mouth opened, but no words came forth.

  “His home,” Thomas said, “is a particular alley and his own personal dumpster. He didn’t care to share.”

  He laughed lightly, but James’s furrowed brow indicated he didn’t see the humor in it. “Thomas, where will you stay? In the hotel without electricity or water?”

  “I’ve stayed in worse places.”

  James released a deep breath while reaching into his suit coat pocket. “Here are the keys to the hotel.” Thomas thanked him. “At least come home and. . .and get cleaned up.”

  Thomas pinched his T-shirt and held it out. “It’s amazing how clean a person can get with just a little water. My clothes aren’t dirty. Just worn.”

  James reddened. “I didn’t mean. . .”

  “You’ve never had to be careful with me, James. Don’t start now. We’re brothers. You can insult me all you want.”

  That brought a familiar grin to James’s face. He took a gulp of coffee and set the cup down, serious now. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out the way you hoped. I thought Arlene’s dad might do something for you.”

  Thomas didn’t think this was the time to get philosophical and discuss the value of things not always working out the way you expect. He’d simply state a couple truths. “Frank said my work wasn’t good enough. And the big hotels across the country weren’t interested in soup. With these precarious economic times, they’ve cut back instead of taking on anything or anyone new.”

  James nodded, understanding. “This area’s been hit hard.” He paused a moment and looked down at his cup. He was probably thinking of their dad who had been hit hard and didn’t recover.

  James looked across at him then. “Several major regional companies have folded or gone to other countries. Businesses are laying off. There’s a lot of out-of-work people here.”

  “Exactly,” Thomas said. He leaned forward. “That’s why I came back. I’ve been north, south, east, west, and to the middle states. Now it’s time to check out my own backyard, so to speak. The suburbs of the nation’s capital.”

  James looked puzzled.

  Thomas felt his own sense of purpose rise. “Sometimes life surprises us, James. I’ve learned something valuable. Being poor means being an accident, an illness, or a paycheck away from living on the streets.”

  James stared for a moment as if trying to decipher that. He glanced down, picked up his cup, and brought it to his lips. He might be thinking that he hadn’t gone under. He’d worked at making a living and was doing great.

  Thomas picked up his own cup. No need to say what he was doing, or why. He’d done that three years ago, and it had sounded like empty words.

  And to say he’d learned that failing is the most successful thing one could do at times would sound worse than empty. It would sound idiotic.

  This wasn’t the time to reveal that he’d planned to change the world. Instead, the world changed him. James would take that as a confession of failure. “I want to get the packages I mailed to you.”

  “They’re in a safe place in my office. Any time you want them, just let me know and I’ll get them to you.” James set his cup down and looked over at Thomas with a serious expression. “Come to the house, Thomas. You know we have plenty of room. Arlene and the kids would love to see you.”

  “Thanks. I want to. But I have a few things to do first.”

  He tried to ignore the disappointment on James’s face on hearing he wouldn’t jump right into family life. They’d been close. They were close. But they didn’t look at life the same way. “So,” Thomas said, hoping to dispel the settling gloom. His gaze settled on James’s wedding band.
“Tell me about Arlene and the children.”

  James reached into his back pants pocket and brought out a wallet. He flipped to some pictures and began. Valerie, now four years old and Blake, a baby boy.

  One picture was taken outside the big house in Takoma Park. A rush of joy and sorrow assaulted Thomas with a flood of memories. He’d grown up in that house and had the best life a child could want. Now it belonged to James.

  Thomas grinned. James’s face and manner became trans-formed as he showed the pictures. Yes, he was a successful, content man. Thomas was happy for him and knew that was James’s characterization of the good life. But Thomas’s definition of the good life was represented right there in his backpack and in the packages he’d mailed to James.

  Thomas smiled at the pictures then looked across at James. “You have a good life, don’t you, bro?”

  James’s gaze fell to his empty cup as he gave a single nod. “I’m blessed, Thomas. But I work hard, too.”

  “You’ve always been. . .” Thomas searched for the perfect word. It came. “Conscientious,” he said.

  James’s shoulders rose, and Thomas knew his brother was weighing the words to discover their meaning. All it meant was fact, as far as Thomas was concerned. No condemnation. No praise.

  “Well,” James said suddenly, “the last I heard you were in New York.”

  “I gained valuable insights there,” Thomas said. “There’s something grand about standing and gazing up at the Statue of Liberty.”

  The expression in James’s eyes darkened when Thomas added, “Then to look around and know that so many homeless sit huddled in the alleys.” Not waiting for a response, he smiled. “And right here in DC the White House is to uphold life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” His voice dropped. “Yet not very far away are the slums.”

  Seeing the lips of his brother tighten, Thomas could almost read his mind.

  James represented the city.

  Thomas, the seamy side.

  James took a bill from his wallet.

  Thomas took a one from his pocket and placed it on top of James’s five. “Can I drop you off somewhere?” James asked.

  “Where I’m going is only about ten miles or so from here, so I’ll walk.”

  “Only. . .ten miles?” James repeated then shook his head. “I guess that’s not far when you’ve been walking the map of the United States for three years.”

  They laughed at the irony, but to Thomas it was a fact that he’d walked that much, even if it wasn’t over the entire map. “I want to take a look at the Wildwood Church.”

  James’s brow furrowed. “It’s not a church anymore.”

  “I know.”

  He didn’t need to say he’d occasionally had access to the news and computers. “Have you seen what they’ve done to it?”

  James shook his head. “Our church donates; but no, I haven’t had any reason to go there.”

  Further words seemed to be stuck in Thomas’s throat about the place that to his dad had been a source of great joy and ultimate sadness. James looked as if the mention of the church was unwelcome.

  But Thomas had a reason to go to the little church, now called the Wildwood Welcome Center.

  four

  “You go on home now. Before it gets dark.”

  Gloria heard the words, but they weren’t what took precedence in her mind. Maybe it was just a shadow or a quick breeze or her imagination, but it struck concern in her heart.

  She knew its source. Fresh in her mind was that a few days ago a drunken Caleb Preston was dragged from the swollen creek by Sam, his roommate. Sam said he’d talked to Caleb who sat leaned against the trunk of a big oak, hiding something at his side. His speech sounded slurred.

  Later, when Caleb didn’t show up for supper, Sam went looking for him and found him in the swollen creek. Somehow he’d managed to hold onto a boulder and was still breathing when Sam hauled him out of the rushing water.

  Gloria didn’t really know Caleb. She’d only been helping out sporadically for a little over a month, since she spent most of her time applying for work and awaiting responses. But Caleb had surprised her. Not that she expected any of the residents to break the rules and get drunk, but some of the residents had reasons to be depressed. Caleb was a young veteran. He had a wife and five-year-old son and his whole life ahead of him.

  It just didn’t make sense he landed in the homeless shelter to begin with.

  She’d dished out food for him a few times. If she’d never seen him, she’d just think falling into the creek a horrible thing to happen. But having been so close to him, having met his wife, Heather, and son, Bobby, she felt guilt that she hadn’t done something, said something.

  Rumors abounded at times like that, but the worst one seemed to be that Heather was talking about leaving with Bobby and going back to her parents.

  “One weak moment can wreak havoc on a person’s life,” Jim had said. “And sometimes a person just gives up.” Compassion veiled his eyes. “Or maybe he didn’t mean to fall in. His war experiences might have overwhelmed him. I can identify with that.” He nodded with a sad look in his eyes. “Believe me, it’s hard to forget.”

  Gloria knew Jim had his own war experiences but rarely talked about them. She tried to erase Caleb from her mind. But the thoughts persisted. What had he felt when he landed in the cold water? Just the thought of a spray of cool water in the shower made her shiver. She wondered if he had fallen in, or if he meant to make that plunge.

  “Gloria?”

  With a start, she looked over her shoulder. “Sorry. My mind was elsewhere. What did you say?”

  “You need to get going before dark.”

  She turned and shook her head. “Uncle Jim, you know how far the house is from here?”

  He stood straighter as he leaned back slightly and tried giving her a harsh look, impossible for that pleasant man. “Well, I should since I live there. Are you implying I’m old and forgetful just because I have a few gray hairs?”

  She laughed. He had a few dark hairs mingled with the gray. “No. I’m saying I think I could outrun a mad dog for two blocks.”

  “Yes, but before you get to the blocks, there’s the church parking lot that runs close to the road and that wooded area between the road and paths around the creek. You never know what wild animals might be watching and waiting.”

  She placed her hands on her hips. “Why don’t you come with me?” She teased, using his words. “It’s getting dark.”

  He chuckled softly. “I have a few things to do here; then I’ll be in my office at the center for a little while. Anyway, I’m not worried. Not as pretty as you.” His gray-blue eyes danced. “Blonds with blue eyes make a person stare, you know.”

  She shook her head. Her hair was a drab light brown and in her latest style, a ponytail. Her eyes looked more gray than blue to her, like his, unless they reflected something blue. That was just Uncle Jim’s way. Saying complimentary things. That brought Raymond to her mind. The one person she did not want to think about.

  “Anyway,” he said, “I need to sweep up. How can a few kids planning their next fund-raising project manage to wreck a place so easy?”

  “Just comes natural. But I have a feeling the pizza and drinks are what did it.” She laughed, picked up her camera, and tucked it into her tote bag. The picture she’d taken of the youth planning team would appear in the next shelter newsletter. “See you in a little while.” She left through the back and walked slowly past the Welcome Center. She didn’t want to get caught up in Aunt Clara’s Bible study tonight. Heather often came and brought Bobby with her. Seeing them would be even more depressing after what happened to Caleb.

  Instead of turning left and walking two blocks to the house, she turned right, heading toward the trees bordering Silver Creek. Impending darkness or not, wild animals of the human kind or not, she had to know if she’d seen someone take the path near Wildwood and walk into the trees. Caleb had gone there. Another resident might
get it into his mind to do the same.

  The sun had set. The sky was darkening. The woods shadowed the path. She walked along and her heart pounded. She hadn’t been mistaken to think someone was out there.

  A man stood near the oak where the whiskey bottle had been found. On the highest part of the embankment. The creek was still swollen from the spring rains. The water rushed over the boulders with a churning sound, fast-flowing toward the river.

  She didn’t want to frighten him, cause him to topple over into the depths where he seemed to be staring.

  “Sir?” She spoke softly. He didn’t move. She said it a little louder. He turned his head then and looked at her.

  Shadowed, and in the dim light, he was almost a silhouette. She could make out that the tall, lean figure wore jeans and a T-shirt. He had unkempt hair and a beard. “Are you all right?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Depends on who you ask.”

  She didn’t know if that was a joke or something serious.

  She stepped closer. “I was just curious.” She didn’t want to say concerned. “There was a man who stood in that spot a few days ago.”

  He tucked his thumbs in his front pockets, turned his face toward her, and lifted his eyebrows. “Is that against the law?”

  “Well no.” Now she felt embarrassed. “He. . .fell in.”

  He took a step back and leaned against the tree. “Did he come out?”

  “No. He had to be pulled out.”

  He looked at the water and back at her. “You think I might. . .fall in?”

  He said that with the same tentative inflection on the fall in words she had used. She shrugged. “I don’t know. He had come to the shelter. I thought you might have heard about him. Maybe knew him. Maybe that’s why you’re here.”

  “Would you believe I was standing here thinking about the Wildwood shelter?”

  She assumed that was a rhetorical question.

  “I’d like to talk with the person who manages it.”

  She could believe that. All bearded men weren’t homeless, but she still held her stereotypical image that homeless men in alleys didn’t shave. Most of the residents at the center shaved each morning. Then a strange thought occurred. A criminal returns to the scene of a crime. Maybe Caleb had been. . .pushed. Oh, she’d read too many of Steven James’s thrillers.