“Do you want one,” she said, holding up a can.
I drained the last of my Coke. “Sure.”
She grabbed another beer and handed it to me. When I finished eating I opened it, took a long drink, and set it back down on the counter.
Ben walked in and handed me a lit joint. I took it and inhaled, holding the smoke deep in my lungs. After exhaling, I asked Alex, “You want a hit?”
She nodded, took a long drag, and handed it back to me. We killed it off, taking turns back and forth. Maybe if I got high enough I’d actually sleep through the night instead of waking up every hour.
Alex handed me another beer. When I went into the living room to sit on the couch, she followed me. She never left my side after that.
We drank beer and took hits until I couldn’t see straight. People cleared out to go to the bar with Ben, and then it was just Alex and me. I was about to tell her to catch up with the others because I wanted to crash, but before I could say anything, she stood up, swaying, and pulled me toward my bedroom. When she put her hand between my legs, I stopped thinking with my brain and let another part of my body take over.
My pounding head woke me the next morning. Alex lay beside me, naked, with makeup smeared across her face.
I threw back the covers and headed for the door, grabbing some clothes on my way out. There was something stuck to the bottom of my foot, and I bent down and removed the condom wrapper I had stepped on.
Thank God.
I tossed it into the garbage can when I got to the bathroom. The hot water filled the room with steam and I took a shower, washing all traces of Alex away. I dressed and brushed my teeth, then went into the kitchen and drank three glasses of ice water.
I was watching T.V. when she walked into the living room a half hour later. She found her purse and jacket, and I met her at the door. “Take a cab,” I said, pushing a crumpled ten into her hand.
“Call me,” she said. “Ben has my number.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not going to.”
She nodded and avoided my eyes. “Well at least you’re honest.”
Ben staggered out of his room at noon.
“Holy fuckballs, Callahan. My hangover is epic.” He scratched himself and flopped down on the couch next to me. “There’s some chick in my bed, but she’s not the one I brought home last night. The girl I brought home was much hotter than that.”
“I think she’s one and the same, Ben.”
“Yeah, probably. How’d it go with what’s her name? You score?”
“Yeah.”
“Callahan’s back in the game,” he said, raising his hand to high-five me.
“I don’t want to be in the game.”
Ben lowered his hand, a puzzled expression on his face. “What, she wasn’t any good? I thought she had a hot body.”
“Yeah, and any guy last night could have had her if he wanted.”
“Well I don’t know what to tell you, man. I know you’re bummed that things with Anna didn’t work out, but I don’t know what you’re looking for.”
I do.
***
I started working on my GED in July. After spending all day framing houses, I went home, took a fast shower, and joined all the other dropouts at a community center downtown for two hours every night. By the end of August, I had earned my GED and enrolled at a community college for the fall semester, quitting my construction job when classes started. I didn’t have any idea what I wanted to study, and I couldn’t see wasting the next two years inside a classroom, but I didn’t know what else to do.
Ben moved back to Iowa City and I moved home, which made my parents happy, especially my mom. I was so used to working all day and then going to the GED class at night that I felt restless in the afternoon. Most of my friends went to college out of state or far enough from the city to make hanging out difficult during the week.
I came home one day in October. The falling temperature and changing leaves reminded me of Anna, and how much she liked fall. I wondered if she found a teaching job. I wondered if she found someone else.
“Hey, Mom,” I said, throwing my backpack on the counter.
“How was school?” she asked.
“Okay.” I hated being the oldest freshman in every class, and most of the time I was bored out of my mind. “There’s something I want to do,” I said, grabbing a Coke out of the fridge. “Will you help me?”
She smiled and said, “Sure, T.J.”
I had been too sick to take driver’s ed when I was sixteen so for the next month, as soon as I got home from class, my mom taught me how to drive. She had a Volvo SUV and we went out to the suburbs and found empty parking lots and quiet streets. We drove for hours together. She seemed really happy spending time with me, and I felt like an asshole for not being around more.
One day, when I was behind the wheel, I said, “Did you know Anna would break up with me?”
My mom hesitated for a second. “Yes.”
“How?” And why didn’t I?
She turned the radio down. “Because I had you when I was twenty-five years old, T.J., and I wanted you so badly. Then it took five more years before I got pregnant with Grace. I felt anxious, then worried, and then almost frantic when it didn’t happen right away. Then two years after Grace, Alexis came along, and I finally felt like my family was complete. Anna’s probably ready for a family of her own, T.J.”
“I would have given it to her.”
“She might have felt it would be unwise to accept.”
I kept my eyes on the car in front of me. “I told her I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. She told me I had things to finish. Things I still needed to experience.”
“She was right. It says a lot about her that she didn’t want to take that away from you.”
“It’s my decision, Mom.”
“But you’re not the only one affected by it.”
I came to a sudden realization, and I pulled over, clenching my teeth so hard they hurt.
“Is that why you were so cool about her?” My face burned. “Let’s all be nice to T.J.’s girlfriend while we wait for her to dump him?” I pounded the steering wheel with my fists.
My mom flinched and then rested her hand on my arm. “No. I like Anna. I like her even more now that I’ve gotten to know her. She’s a nice girl, T.J. But I tried to tell you she was at a different stage in her life and you didn’t want to listen.”
I stared out the window until I calmed down, then pulled away from the curb. “I still love her.”
“I know you do.”
***
I got my driver’s license and bought a black Chevy Tahoe SUV.
After class ended for the day, I went driving, first in the suburbs and then out in the country, listening to the classic rock station.
I passed a property with a For Sale sign stuck in the ground at the end of the driveway, and I drove up to a small, light blue house and parked. No one answered my knock so I walked around to the back yard. There was land as far as I could see. I grabbed a fact sheet from the plastic tube attached to the For Sale sign. It listed the phone number of a realtor. I folded it up, stuck it in my pocket, and drove away.
Chapter 65 – Anna
Bo and I walked the city streets for hours. His leash came unhooked one warm day in September, and I spent a frantic ten minutes trying to catch up with him as he galloped down the sidewalk, weaving through the crowd. I finally got close enough to grab his collar, and I snapped the leash back on, relieved. A little boy stood a few steps away, watching from an open doorway that faced the street. The sign above his head read Family Shelter.
“Is that your dog?” he asked. He wore a striped T-shirt and needed a haircut. Freckles dotted his nose and cheeks.
I stood up and led Bo over to him. “Yes. His name is Bo. Do you like dogs?”
“Yeah. ‘Specially yellow ones.”
“He’s a golden retriever. He’s five years old.”
“I’m five years ol
d!” he said, his face lighting up.
“What’s your name?”
“Leo.”
“Well, Leo, you can pet Bo if you want to. You have to be gentle with animals, though, okay?”
“Okay.” He stroked Bo’s fur carefully, looking at me out of the corner of his eye to see if I noticed how gentle he was being. “I better go. Henry said not to leave the doorway. Thanks for letting me pet your dog.” He hugged Bo and before I could say goodbye, he darted back inside. Bo strained at his leash, wanting to follow him.
“Come on, Bo,” I said, pulling firmly. Leading him from the doorway, we walked back home.
I went back the next day, alone. Two women, one with a baby on her hip, lingered near the entrance.
“Hey, white girl, Bloomie’s is that way.” She pointed while her friend laughed.
I ignored her and walked through the doorway. Once inside, I scanned the room for Leo. It was Monday, and there weren’t any kids around. Under federal law, all children were guaranteed an education whether they had a permanent residence or not. Thankfully, the parents at the shelter appeared to be taking advantage of that right.
A man walked up to me, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. Mid-fifties, I guessed. He wore jeans, a faded, nondescript polo shirt, and tennis shoes.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“My name is Anna Emerson.”
“Henry Elings,” he said, shaking my outstretched hand.
“There was a little boy yesterday. I met him when he was standing in the doorway. He liked my dog.” Henry smiled and waited patiently for me to get to the point. “I was wondering if you needed any volunteers.”
“We need a lot of things here. Volunteers are definitely one of them.” His eyes were kind and his tone was mild but he’d probably heard this kind of thing before. Housewives and junior leaguers from the suburbs, swooping in intermittently so they could brag to their book clubs about how they were making a difference.
“Our residents’ needs are very basic,” he continued. “Food and shelter. They don’t always smell the best. A bath can be a low priority compared to a hot meal and a bed.”
I wondered if he recognized my name, or my face from the pictures in the newspaper. If he did, he didn’t mention it. “I’ve been dirty, and I don’t really care how anyone smells. I know what it’s like to be hungry and thirsty, and without shelter. I have plenty of time and I’d like to spend some of it here.”
Henry smiled. “Thank you. We’d like that.”
I started arriving at the shelter around 10:00 a.m. every day, joining the other volunteers in preparing and serving lunch. Henry encouraged me to bring Bo.
“Most of the kids here love animals. Not many of them have ever had a pet.”
The younger children who weren’t in school yet spent hours playing with Bo. He never growled when they stroked his fur a little too rough or tried to ride him like a pony. After lunch, I read to the kids. Their exhausted and stressed-out mothers warmed to me as I held their toddlers and babies on my lap. In the late afternoon, the school-aged kids returned, and I helped them with their homework, insisting they complete it before we played any of the board games I bought at Target.
Leo could usually be found at my side, eager to share everything that happened at school. His enthusiasm for kindergarten didn’t surprise me; most kids loved a secure classroom environment, the homeless even more so. Many of them didn’t own books or art supplies and they loved learning songs in music class and running around on the playground at recess.
“I’m learning how to read, Miss Anna!”
“I’m so happy that you’re excited about reading, Leo.” I hugged him. “That’s wonderful.”
He smiled so brightly I thought he would burst, but then his expression turned serious.
“I’m gonna learn real good, Miss Anna. Then I’m gonna teach my dad.”
Dean Lewis, Leo’s dad, was twenty-eight, had been out of work for almost a year, and was one of only two single dads living at the shelter. I sat down next to him after dinner. He eyed me warily. “Hi, Dean.”
He nodded. “Miss Anna.”
“How’s the job search going?”
“I haven’t found one yet.”
“What kind of work did you do before?”
“Line cook. I was at the same restaurant for seven years. Started out washin’ dishes and worked my way up.”
“What happened?”
“Owner fell on hard times. Had to sell. The new boss fired us all.”
We watched Leo play a spirited game of tag with two other children. “Dean?”
“Yeah.”
“I think I might be able to help you.”
It turned out that Dean could read a little bit. He’d memorized common words – and the entire menu at the diner where he worked – but he struggled to fill out job applications and he’d never filed for unemployment after losing his job because he couldn’t decipher the forms. A friend had helped him fill out an application at an Italian restaurant, but they fired him after three days because he couldn’t read the orders.
“Are you dyslexic?’ I asked him.
“What’s that mean?”
“The letters don’t seem like they’re in the right order.”
“No. They’re fine. I just can’t read ’em.”
“Did you graduate high school?”
He shook his head. “Ninth grade.”
“Where’s Leo’s mom?”
“No clue. She was twenty when he was born, and when he turned one, she said she couldn’t handle being a mom anymore, not that she ever acted like one. We couldn’t afford cable, but we had an old T.V. and VCR and she’d watch movies all day long. I’d come home from the restaurant and Leo would be screaming and crying, his diaper soakin’ wet, or worse. She took off one day and never came back. I had to find daycare and we already lived paycheck to paycheck. Once I lost my job, it didn’t take long to fall behind on the rent.” Dean looked down at his feet. “Leo deserves better.”
“I think Leo’s pretty lucky,” I said.
“How can you say that?”
“Because at least one of his parents cares. That’s more than some kids get.”
For the next two months, I worked with Dean every day, from the time lunch ended, until the time Leo and the other kids came home from school. Using phonics workbooks, I taught him the various combinations of letters, and soon I had him reading Goodnight Moon and Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What do You See? to the toddlers. He was often frustrated, but I pushed him hard, building his confidence by praising him whenever he mastered a challenging lesson.
When I returned home from the shelter after serving dinner, I went for a long run. September turned to October, and I added more layers and kept going. One day in November, Bo and I stopped to get the mail. I pulled out a few bills and a magazine and there it was. A regular sized envelope with T.J.’s name and address handwritten in the upper left-hand corner.
I hurried upstairs and unlocked the door to my apartment, unclipping Bo from his leash. When I opened it and read what was inside, I started crying.
***
“Open the goddamned door, Anna. I know you’re in there,” Sarah yelled.
I was lying on the couch staring at the ceiling. The last twenty-four hours worth of Sarah’s voice mails and texts had gone unanswered, and it was only a matter of time before she showed up at my apartment.
I opened the door. Sarah charged into the apartment, but I sidestepped her and went back to the couch.
“Well at least I know you’re alive,” she said, standing over me. She took in my appearance, her eyes flicking from my messy hair down to my wrinkled pajamas. “You look like hell. Have you even showered today? Or yesterday?”
“Oh, Sarah, I can go a lot longer than that without a shower.” I pulled a fleece blanket over my legs and Bo rested his head on my lap.
“When’s the last time you went to the shelter?”
“A few days ago,” I mumbled
. “I told Henry I was sick.”
Sarah sat down on the couch. “Anna, talk to me. What happened?”
I went into the kitchen and returned with an envelope. Handing it to Sarah I said, “I got this in the mail the other day. It’s from T.J.”
She opened it and pulled out a business card from a sperm bank. Under the phone number it said, I made arrangements.
“I don’t understand,” Sarah said.
“Look on the back.”
She flipped it over. On the back, he’d scrawled in case you never find him.
”Oh Anna,” Sarah said. She pulled me into her arms and held me while I cried.
Sarah convinced me to take a shower while she took care of dinner. I padded back into the living room with my wet hair combed back, wearing a clean pair of flannel pajama pants and a sweatshirt.
“Don’t you feel better now?” Sarah asked.
“Yes.” I sat down on the couch and pulled on thick socks. Sarah handed me a glass of red wine.
“I ordered Chinese,” she said. “It should be here any minute.”
“Okay. Thanks.” I took a sip of wine and set my glass on the table.
She sat down beside me. “That was quite an offer T.J. made.”
“Yes.” Tears welled up in my eyes again and spilled onto my cheeks. I wiped them away with the back of my hand. “But there’s no way I could ever hold a baby in my arms that had his eyes, or his smile, if I couldn’t have him, too.” I picked up my glass and took another drink of my wine. “John would never have done something so selfless.”
Sarah wiped a tear I’d missed. “That’s because John was kind of an asshole.”
“I’ll go back to the shelter in the morning. I just had a rough patch.”
“It’s okay. It happens.”
“I never loved John the way I loved T.J.”
“I know.”
***
I dragged a Christmas tree up the stairs and shoved it through the doorway of my apartment. When I finished decorating it, my first tree in four years sparkled under twinkling lights and shiny ornaments. Bo and I spent hours lying in front of it, listening to Christmas music.