by Brad Graber
“I guess you’re right,” Harry admitted. “Beetle wouldn’t like it.”
“That’s what happens when you sleep with your dog,” she said, grateful to be on her way. “They become very protective.”
Harry nodded. “That’s right.”
“It’s hard to let others in.” She pulled on a pair of jeans and slipped into a simple white T-shirt. “But that’s okay. We’re independent people. We’re used to being on our own.”
Harry watched as she checked herself in the mirror.
“I’ll see you later,” she said, one of her many throw-away lines that had no particular meaning and offered no promises.
“Later,” Harry had said as she walked out of the bedroom and through the living room and onto the street. There was a beautiful orange and pink sky.
How lovely, she’d thought as she’d wandered back to her house, doubtful that life could ever be happier than at that precise moment. Give a man a little space . . . and see how his attitude changes. Oh, Harry. You’re not so hard to figure out, she decided, planning her next step in the pursuit.
◆
It was about an hour’s drive from Toledo to the outskirts of Detroit, but, caught in the backseat of Sammy’s cab, Rikki discovered that the trip was indeed a lot longer. Driving at sixty miles per hour, well under the seventy-five-mile speed limit, Rikki and Barney suffered as the cab’s shoddy shocks encountered endless miles of potholes on Interstate 75. Sammy, unfazed by the teens bouncing about in the back seat, was eager to talk about his life.
“Oh, yes, my mother died when I was a teenager. But I was lucky. I told you that I had an uncle in the United States. He was a good man. Hardworking. Caring. Not everyone has that blessing.”
“And your father?” asked Barney. “Where is he?” His finger caught in a small tear on the back seat. Rikki swatted his hand away.
“I don’t know,” Sammy announced sadly. “He left my mother when I was very young.”
“Oh,” Rikki said, giving him her full attention. “I never knew my father.”
“Ah. You see. Your destiny is the same as mine. To discover on your own the meaning of life. You are a seeker.”
“Yes, I suppose,” Rikki answered, despite being unsure what Sammy meant.
“That’s a funny thing to say,” Barney added as he looked at Rikki. “Maybe that’s the bond that we share.”
Rikki looked at him askance. “You think?” A draft was blowing on her legs. The windows of the cab were closed. She wondered, Where is the breeze coming from?
Barney ran his hand through his thick hair. “Sure. It’s got to be.”
“Are you an orphan, too?” asked Sammy, seemingly surprised to have two kindred souls in the back seat of his cab.
Barney nodded.
Sammy looked in the rearview at the pair. “I knew you two were special. I could feel it. Sammy is very spiritual,” he said, talking about himself in the third person. “You will see. I will take care of you like you’re my very own. We’ll get you safely to Michigan.”
Rikki had no doubt. Just then, the cab hit another pothole. “When did they last fix this highway?” Rikki asked as she held onto the cab’s door handle, steadying herself.
“They pave every year,” Sammy explained. “But the winters undo most of their good work. The roads in Bangladesh can be far worse.”
Rikki realized that Sammy had an endless bounty of good feeling for his adopted country. No matter what had happened in his life, once he was in America, he had been determined to make the best of it. She had a mix of admiration and disbelief that any human being could hold such a magnanimous outlook about the goodness of other people.
“I love America!” he shouted as they passed the sign that read Welcome to Michigan. “The best day of my life was the day I moved to Toledo.”
Rikki wondered whether anyone born in the United States had ever said that about Toledo, Ohio.
◆
“This is so beautiful,” Sammy called out as they rumbled past the small shops of Birmingham, Michigan, windows dressed for the holidays in red, white, and green trimmings. A Santa stood on the corner of Maple and Old Woodward Avenue, ringing a bell for the Salvation Army. People rushed about, some holding Starbucks cups—most with shopping bags filled to the brim with the morning’s bounty.
“Isn’t it lovely?” Rikki said, steeped in wonder.
Sammy slowed the cab, parking across the street from the Townsend Hotel. He turned to look over his shoulder.
“Does any of it look familiar?” Barney asked Rikki.
“Oh, yes. I remember being here.”
“Do you remember your mother now?” Sammy wanted to know as Barney unfolded the map they’d picked up at a rest stop on Interstate 75.
Rikki shook her head. “No,” she admitted, her eyes following a young couple dressed in blue matching down jackets and walking a basset hound wearing reindeer antlers. “But it feels so wonderful to be here,” she said, suddenly choked with tears.
“Yes,” Sammy agreed. “Christmas is a wonderful thing when you’re wealthy. Everyone enjoys spending money. But for those of us who have to work for a living, it seems wasteful.”
“No,” Rikki said, correcting him. “That’s not it at all. It isn’t just the season. It just feels so right. So clean. So very . . . safe.”
Sammy turned to look at Rikki. “You think a wealthy neighborhood is safe?” His brown eyes sparkled as if it was a riddle.
Rikki wasn’t sure how to answer. She wanted to say yes.
“Perhaps you are right,” he agreed, turning back around to face the steering wheel. “But I think people are people. Poor neighborhoods look out for their own. Just because you’re poor doesn’t make you a criminal.”
Rikki supposed that was right, as a toddler in a pink snow suit, grasping the string of a red balloon, ran by, letting out a squeal of sheer delight. The woman who chased closely behind quickly caught up, lifting the child in her arms. Child and mother laughed, reveling in each other’s company as Rikki had a mental flash. The face of a pretty woman, her blonde hair cut in a short bob, her blue eyes glowing with a radiant intensity. “Oh, my God,” Rikki said.
“Are you okay?” Barney asked, looking up from the map.
“Yes,” Rikki answered, in gleeful reverie. Not a photograph . . . a flat, two-dimensional image . . . but a genuine sense of El’s radiant life force.
“She’s just enjoying all the Christmas hoopla,” Sammy laughed as he again turned about. “All the childlike wonderment.”
“But she’s Jewish,” Barney said, as he lifted the map closer to his face and squinted, running a finger along a route. “I remember you telling me that,” he said, without bothering to look at her.
Rikki admonished him. “Jewish, Muslim, Christian—Christmas isn’t about religion—it’s the wonder of everyone coming together in the spirit of good will.”
Sammy smiled and Rikki recognized immediately that he thought she was just being naïve.
“I’m glad for Christmas if that’s what it takes for everyone to just get along,” he said, resolving the discussion amicably. “But I think Christians would think it was very much about religion.”
“I got it,” Barney said, staring down at the map. “Your old house isn’t far from here.”
◆
Edward’s voice came through loud and clear. “I’m arriving on American #2055. I should be there about 2:00 p.m. Got it?”
“Got it,” Harry said, as he wiped the sleep from his eyes, the phone receiver pressed to his ear. “I’ll pick you up.”
“No, Harry. I think I’d better rent a car.”
“Now, why would you do that?” Harry asked. “You know I have a spare bedroom.”
“I’m not sure we should be staying together,” Edward said. “You know, the blurring of work and play isn’t ideal.”
Harry sighed. “That’s ridiculous. Now, I don’t want to hear another word about it. I’ll pick you up and you’re staying with
me.”
“Only if you insist,” Edward finally agreed.
“Of course I do. Beetle will be happy to see you. Remember when he was just a pup?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, he’s a lot older now.” Harry smirked as he looked over at Beetle, fast asleep, curled up in the blanket. “He sleeps a lot now.”
“Lucky dog,” Edward answered. “I wish I could.”
Harry nodded. “I know what you mean.”
There was silence on the line.
Harry cleared his throat. “So how long will you be staying?”
“Only one night. It was practically impossible to get a seat. With Christmas and all, I could only fly Christmas Eve and return Christmas Day. And first-class at that, Harry . . . these tickets are costing a fortune. We’re lucky the company was willing to cover it. I’ll need to be back in New York to prepare for our January meeting to discuss the 2006 publication list. I’ll have to be able to tell the team the status of your book.”
“The book!”
◆
Harry examined his face in the mirror. The three-day-old stubble was all gray. It had once been dark, giving his face an irresistibly sexy allure. Now, the stubble just made him look like an old, weathered codger. Someone’s grandpappy. And though Lil didn’t seem to mind, he knew better than to let Edward really see him, close-up, looking so scruffy. No, he thought, running fingers through his hair; he needed to clean up.
“Come on, Chris,” Harry begged when the scheduler at Mane Attraction passed him through by phone to the owner. “If I get there by nine, that’ll be plenty of time before you need to close the shop for your Christmas party. I’ll even bring a bottle of champagne. Please. Please. You’ve got to squeeze me in.”
Later that morning, Harry sat in a chair at Mane Attraction with the last of the holiday customers who were being colored, cut, teased, and brushed out.
“Whoa, Harry. I haven’t seen you in a long time,” Chris said, examining his scalp. “This is some mop you’ve got going.”
“It’s not like I see anyone,” Harry said, his gray curls falling about his face. “Any chance you can do something special?”
Chris’s brows arched. “‘Special?’ What does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” Harry admitted.
“Color?”
“No.” Harry’s body lurched forward.
“Should I cut it short?”
Harry had no clue.
“Leave it long?”
Harry closed his eyes. This is why he hated getting a haircut. He wanted to look good, but he had no idea how to answer all these questions. “I really don’t know,” he answered, a sinking feeling in his gut as if he’d failed some important test.
“Hey, don’t sweat it,” Chris said, a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Just leave it to me. You’ll look great when I’m done.”
Harry hoped so. Edward could be very critical.
◆
Rikki focused as the cab turned east down Fourteen Mile Road. She now occupied the passenger seat next to Sammy. “That’s it,” she cried. “Up ahead. Shipman Boulevard. Make a left.”
Sammy did as he was told, slowing the cab as they entered the street. “Which house?”
Rikki glanced ahead. All the tiny cottages appeared to have been built from the same spec blueprint, with modest changes. Some had front porches with elaborate lattice work, others carports, and still others attached garages.
“The fourth house on the left,” Rikki called out.
Sammy stopped in front of the brick cottage with a carport.
“We’re here!” she shouted to Barney. “This is it.”
“Wow,” Barney said, admiring the tall trees on the street. “This certainly isn’t Queens. It must be amazing in the summer when the leaves are out. Did it always look like this?”
“The houses aren’t very big,” Sammy seemed compelled to point out. “But that’s America for you. Everyone has a house.”
Rikki started to cry. Sammy and Barney waited for her to regain her composure. “I haven’t been here since I was eleven years old,” she explained, wiping her tears. “I wonder if the neighbors are still the same.”
“There’s only one way to find out,” Barney suggested. “Ring a doorbell.”
Like a flash, Rikki darted out of the cab, leaving Sammy and Barney on their own as she raced up to the Shermans’ front door. She’d explained on the way up from Toledo that the Shermans were like her second family. When El had worked late, it was the Shermans who took Rikki in and fed her. And since they had no children of their own, Rikki had been a welcome guest.
“Oh, my God!” Evelyn Sherman screamed when she opened the front door. “Look what Santa brought me for Christmas! Oh, my God! Rikki. I can’t believe it’s you.” She practically vibrated with delight as she pulled Rikki into her arms for a warm hug. “How many years has it been?” she asked, stepping back and taking a long look at Rikki.
“A long time,” was all that Rikki could manage as she remembered the afternoons spent doing homework at the Shermans’ kitchen table while Evelyn fiddled about, sometimes rolling out a pie crust or preparing a roast or addressing fundraising letters at her counter for Cancer Care.
“How beautiful you are,” Evelyn said as she pulled Rikki along through the front door and into the living room.
The house was exactly as Rikki remembered. The living room fireplace, a white painted brick, dominated the cozy room. Two high-backed white sofas sat perpendicular to the fireplace, facing each other, separated by a glass coffee table with a metallic base. The accent colors in the room were a pale blue, reflected in the pillows, window curtains, and Asian pottery. And there was a six-foot Christmas tree nestled in the corner. The green branches were beautifully decorated with colorful ornaments and silver jingle-bell garlands.
“So, what are you doing here? Is Rita with you?”
Rikki hesitated.
Evelyn smiled. “Talk to me. What’s going on?” she said as she offered the teenager a seat on the sofa and slid in next to her. “I haven’t seen you in years,” she said placing a hand on Rikki’s knee and giving it a loving shake. “Why did you never answer my letters? Herbie told me that was because you were going through”—and her eyes opened wide as her voice deepened to imitate her husband—“‘a rebellious teen adolescence. You can’t expect a young girl to sit down and write you a letter just because you miss her,’ he’d tell me.” She offered Rikki a sad, wistful look.
“I never received any letters,” Rikki said with alarm.
“You didn’t?” An odd expression crossed Evelyn’s face.
“No.”
“Then you don’t know about Herbie, do you?”
Rikki covered her mouth as she stared at Evelyn.
Evelyn clenched her jaw. The muscles in her cheeks flexed. Then she sighed. “I lost him last year. He got up that morning and said he wasn’t feeling well. When he stepped out of bed, he just keeled over. Dead.”
Rikki gasped. “I didn’t know.”
“Of course not,” Evelyn whispered, stroking Rikki’s arm. “If you had, I’m sure you’d have been in touch.”
“I never saw a letter,” Rikki said emphatically. “Never.”
Evelyn just shook her head. “Oh Rikki, you must have thought that we’d forgotten all about you.”
Rikki jumped to her feet. Her temper flared. “All this time Rita told me that no one in Michigan cared about me. Why would she do that? Why would she want me to feel so terrible?”
Evelyn looked down at her hands. “I also called quite a few times that first year to check on you, but she’d never let me talk with you. There was always a reason. Always an excuse. So I stopped calling and wrote letters instead.”
“Why was Rita so intent on separating us?” Rikki asked angrily as the doorbell rang.
Rikki suddenly remembered Barney was waiting outside and she still needed to pay Sammy.
◆
Evelyn set the table for lun
ch. Three place mats, three plates, three glasses. Barney, already seated, waited patiently as Rikki answered Evelyn’s questions.
“So Rita has no idea where you are?” Evelyn placed a bowl of potato chips on the table.
“None,” Rikki answered, taking a seat.
Evelyn stopped and assumed a parental tone. “This is not good. I should call her.”
“Oh, please don’t,” Rikki begged. “This is my one chance to finally understand what is going on.”
“You mean with Rita?” Evelyn asked, as she handed Barney a cola. He nodded in appreciation.
“Yes. She’ll never talk about El. And when I try to bring her up, she cries. It’s as if she’s the only one who suffered a loss. I was the one who lost my mother. And living in New York,” Rikki sighed dramatically, “Evelyn, you just can’t imagine what that’s like.”
“Don’t exaggerate,” Barney interjected as he reached for the bowl of chips and piled some on his plate.
Evelyn had prepared a platter of turkey sandwiches. She brought over mayo, ketchup, mustard, and relish, placing the condiments in the center. “There. That should do it,” she said as she pulled out a chair and sat down. “Does anyone need anything else?” she asked, looking at Barney. He’d already reached for a sandwich and was busy eating, signaling his approval with his eyes and with grunts of satisfaction.
“So, how are you doing in school?” Evelyn asked Rikki. “Good grades, I hope.”
“Oh, yes,” Rikki said, dismissing the question. She reached for the bowl of chips.
“Then you’re doing fine,” Evelyn confirmed.
Rikki merely looked at the chips before placing them back down on the table. And then Rikki tossed out the name she’d seen in the family album. “Evelyn, who is Richard?”
“Richard?” Evelyn repeated.
“Yes, who is Richard?”
“Did your mother ever tell you about a Richard?”
