Authors: Roger Barry
‘Can one of these angels who watch over you not take you home?’
‘They’re nice guys and all, and I appreciate what they’re doing for me, but let’s be practical. They’re all young guys with wives or girlfriends or lovers. I don’t think whoever they’re involved with would take too kindly to them bringing home a crippled stray, do you?’
‘Point taken’.
Again, there was silence, until Brad decided, what the hell, I’ll just throw it out there and see what the reaction was.
‘You could always come stay with me’
‘What?’
‘Well, why not? I don’t have any wife, girlfriend or lover, as you put it, to object. I don’t even have a dog, which is something I plan to rectify when I retire, by the way. I live in a single story, so there’s no stairs to navigate, and I’ve two spare bedrooms going begging. I cook for myself, nothing fancy mind, but it fills a gap, and it’s as easy to cook for two as it is for one. You can stay in your room all the time if you like, do whatever you want, rustle up your own food if you want to, I don’t care. It’ll give you a bit more freedom than you have here, and I promise not to quiz you or ask you about anything you don’t want to talk about. I’ll be gone most days, but that shouldn’t be a problem. I think you’re past the stage of needing a lot of attention. You just need a bit of re-cooperation time. And as for protection, I don’t think anyone would guess you’d be staying with me, so you shouldn’t need any. So, what do you say?’
Sally remained quiet for some time, before turning to Brad.
‘I accept’.
‘Fine. I better get that gorilla back in here, and he can hear the news that he’s redundant from your lips, otherwise he might think I’ve kidnapped you, or whatever. Tell him you’ve agreed for me to take you to a secure location, nothing else. I’ll send him here and leave you two alone, so he knows it’s your decision. I’ll be back shortly’.
Brad returned to the room about ten minutes later.
‘All set?’ he asked.
‘Just about. Steve, that’s the guy you so warmly referred to as the gorilla, was a little confused when I explained the change in events to him. He said he’d have to make a few calls. I told him to do whatever he had to. He put me on the cell phone at one stage, and I had to explain to someone I’d never met that I was relieving them of their duties. Anyway, they seemed to accept it in the end. So, let’s get to hell out of here, before I crack up’.
Brad took the wheelchair from behind the door, and brought it over to Sally.
‘Need a hand?’ he asked.
‘No, I’m good’ answered Sally, easing herself into the wheelchair.
‘You can grab a bag out of that press over there if you don’t mind’ she said, pointing to a built-in wardrobe in the corner.
Brad grabbed the bag, and slung it over the handles of the wheelchair. Sally signed herself out, and they were gone. They drove mainly in silence on route to Brad’s house, until he turned to her.
‘How do you know about that Crazy Horse, Nebraska thing?’ he asked with genuine curiosity. Sally explained about the dumpster at the back of the library.
A self educated woman
thought Brad, impressed.
When they arrived at Brad’s house, he took the wheelchair out of the trunk, Sally shifted into it, and Brad wheeled her up the drive and through the front door. Once inside, Sally looked around. It was clean but simple, a real mans house, with functionality the main objective, and little in the way of needless enhancement.
‘Well, here we are’ said Brad, ‘home sweet home, for what it’s worth’.
‘It’s em..nice’ answered Sally. She really didn’t know what to expect, but if she was to expect anything, it was probably this.
‘Ok, house rules’ began Brad. ‘There really aren’t any, bar one. You know I’m a cop obviously, so I can only assume that any question I may ask, about anything, could be construed by you as me wearing my cop hat, and fishing for information. So, if I ask you anything, anything at all, that you don’t want to answer, just call a ‘time out’, and I have to drop it, without explanation or reason. Fair enough?’
’Fair enough’.
‘Oh, I forgot to mention, it works both ways, equality and all that. If you ask me something I don’t want to answer, I can do the same. Ok?’
‘Fine by me’ answered Sally.
‘So, you hungry? Do you want me to rustle up something to eat?’
‘Time out’ answered Sally mischievously.
‘I’ve just decided on another rule’ retorted Brad, ‘No fucking around with the rules’.
‘I think you’re making these rules up as you go along’.
‘Damn right I am, and I can see myself having to make up some more with you around’
‘Tell you what, how about if I eat when you eat. That fair enough?’ answered Sally.
‘Ok, we’ll eat in a bit. I’ll show you your room, and let you get settled first’. Brad wheeled her down the hall, and into a small neat room. Sally was immediately taken aback. In contrast to the living area, this room was most definitely feminine, and she noted, decorated to the liking of a young female of maybe eight or nine, with a preference for pinks and lavenders and purples.
‘Whose room was this?’ asked Sally innocently.
‘It was my daughters’ said Brad quietly, ‘and before you ask, and as early into the game as it is, I’m afraid I’ll have to call a ‘time out’ on this one, for now anyway. I would have given you the other room, but I’m afraid that over the years I’ve sort of been using it as a store room, and it’s now so full of assorted crap it’d take a month and a couple of skips to clear it out’
Sally understood, and nodded.
Brad turned round the wheelchair and continued down the hall.
‘And, this is the bathr…’ Brad stopped mid sentence, a look of terror flashing across his face.
‘You don’t… you don’t need help in this area,….do you? he asked fearfully.
Sally burst into laughter.
‘No Brad, I’m quite capable. I’m not a paraplegic. I’ve got two sore legs is all. I think I can manage to wipe my own ass. But thanks for the offer’ she said, smiling.
Terror was replaced with relief in Brad’s features.
‘Right, back to the kitchen and I’ll make us a bite to eat’.
It was an open plan kitchen, living area. Brad seemed to be enjoying himself pottering about preparing the food, while Sally gave herself a mini tour of the living room. It felt strange to be in a house, any house, and although it was not at all like the home of her childhood, memories still came flooding back.
A clock on the wall.
Sally, Allison, look at the time
, she could hear her mother say, gesturing to the pine kitchen clock,
you two are going to be late for school again. Shift yourselves girls.
An open fireplace.
Her and Al in their pajamas putting out slices of carrot, a mince pie and a glass of milk for Rudolf, and Al taking a sly nibble of the pie, and winking.
He won’t mind Sal, sure he wouldn’t be able to fly if he ate everything that’s put out for him.
Sally’s gaze moved from the fireplace to the mantelpiece, where there were three framed pictures. The first contained a family picture of, Sally recognized, a much younger Brad, together with an attractive woman, and between them, sitting on a chestnut pony, a little girl six or seven years old. The second picture contained a Labrador with a stick in its mouth, swimming in a lake or river, while the same girl knelt on the bank, arm outstretched, trying to reach for the stick or the dog, or both. The third picture was a much older black and white photo, and had what Sally presumed was a father and son, one standing proudly on each side of a large tractor. Sally looked closer at the image. Was that Brad as a boy? It certainly could be him. Brad left the kitchen and stood beside her, his gaze also on the photographs. Sally looked up at Brad. There was sadness in his eyes, and his face seemed to have aged within a couple of minutes.
‘You don’t have to tell me, it’s a ‘time out’ moment’ she said softly.
To her surprise, Brad began talking.
‘That’s Susan, my wife, ex wife, and Amy, and me of course’ he said gesturing to the first picture. It was taken on vacation one summer on my father’s farm. Amy died when she was nine’ he said simply. ‘She was killed by a hit and run, died in the same hospital you were in, Massachusetts General. Susan and I split up about a year after. No marriage is built to take that sort of strain. I don’t blame her one bit for leaving me. When Amy died, I sort of …lost it. Took to drinking a bit too much. Bad enough trying to deal with her own grief, without having to deal with a husband falling to pieces as well. She was, is, a great woman, and I wouldn’t hear of a bad word said against her. She re-married since, to a guy called Peter. Nice guy too, met him a couple of times. She seems happy. I’m glad, ‘cause she deserves to be. That second picture’s Amy, trying to grab a stick from Babs, our golden Labrador. They love the water, would swim in it all day if you let them. That’s what they were bred for originally, fetching ducks that were shot down over lakes and such. It’s amazing what can be bred into dogs over generations. They’ve big powerful jaws, yet it’s said they can carry an egg in their mouths without breaking it. Big strong softies is what they are, lovely temperament. Used to call her the cleaning lady, because any time we put dishes or pots in the sink and left the room, when you came back all you’d see was that big rump of hers, as she stood on her hind legs at the sink, licking all the pots and plates clean. And if you went over, leaned on the sink and said to her ‘what do you think you’re doing miss’, she’d turn and give you a big lick as if to say ‘there’s one for you, and all’, before returning to her cleaning’.
Brad’s face creased into a smile at the memory.
‘The thing about a dog Sally, is that you treat ‘em fair, and they return it with unconditional affection. They don’t care if you’re a billionaire or a total loser, they’re your pal for life, no questions asked, no judgment. You could make a total cock-up of your day, and the world could be calling you Johnson the loser, but you walk in that door and it’s ‘hey Brad, great to see ya, let’s go for a walk, or play ball’. You a dog person Sally?’
‘I used to be, but since I became homeless, it’s been hard enough to look after myself, without taking on the responsibility of something else to watch out for, but yeah, I used to take strays in and everything’.
Sally then opened up to Brad about her past, and how she ended up on the streets. When she had finished, she glanced over to him.
‘I guess we both have our sad secrets, eh Brad?’
‘I guess we do’ he answered, nodding slowly.
‘Anyway, this third picture. You probably guessed it already, that scrawny vagabond on the right is me, taken at a time which now seems like centuries ago, with my dad. Y’know some people have skeletons in the closet, but I keep mine in the garage’.
Sally looked puzzled.
‘That tractor in the picture is a John Deere, and I used to enjoy pottering around with my pop, working on that thing, fixing this and that. I must have spent half my youth trying to coax it back to life. Anyway, I decided that’s something I’d like to have a go at again when I retire, so sitting in the garage out there is probably the only John Deere in Boston’.
‘Y’know Brad, I’m kind of surprised we talked this talk without a single call of ‘time out’’.
‘Me too, now lets eat’.
They sat down to the meal Brad had prepared, steak and onions, with French fries and carrots. Sally was impressed.
‘This is really nice Brad, and I have to admit, real carrots that don’t come out of a tin have a flavor I haven’t tasted since I was little’.
‘Glad you like it. You may be impressed now, but give me a week and you’ll be moaning about the same old slop being served up to you every day’.
Brad stood up and began collecting the dishes, making his way to the kitchen area to wash up. Sally continued on her exploration of the room. In one corner, sitting on an old desk beside a bookshelf, stood a computer.
‘Oh, you’ve got a computer’
‘Is that what it is? I’ve been trying to tune it in. No wonder I couldn’t get Monday night football on that thing. Joking aside, I haven’t got a clue about it. I barely know how to switch it on. I got it a while back, convinced I was going to go all modern, and become a computer wiz. After about an hour of wrestling with it, I decided to throw in the towel, and go back to my faithful old notebook and stubby pencil. Are you any good with them things?’