Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

That night, I texted Kay with a heartfelt apology and a photo of my final shopping cart containing only milk, yogurt, and some oranges.

She texted back saying that she would accept my apology if, and only if, I stuck to my promise of spending next to nothing on Christmas and saving my money for that cruise. I couldn’t blame her for doubting my resolve. I’d proven I couldn’t help myself when the holidays rolled around.

This year would be different.

I spent Sunday doing laundry and making a list of gifts under five dollars. Next weekend, I’d make a trip to my storage locker. With a little planning, I could make good use of my older decorations and salvage my party. I just hated throwing all my plans out the window and starting from scratch like this. I was slammed at work and had very little free time as it was.

Monday evening, after a long day at the office, I pulled up to the back alley of my apartment building to park my truck inside for the night. I generally didn’t like using the tiny, narrow garage underneath the building because it was a tight squeeze, but the forecast said we’d be getting snow tonight, and I hated cleaning my windshield in the morning. Took forever.

I pulled in, angling the nose of my red truck toward my garage door, which had to be opened by hand. Like I’d said, it was an old building, so the ceilings were too low for a garage door opener and a truck.

I was about to hop out but noticed a bright red tent next to the dumpster beside my garage door. There was a little light on inside.

Someone was camping there. What the…? Not only was it illegal to pitch a tent on private property, but I was a single woman who knew the dangers of living in the city. The rent here might be expensive, and the neighborhood might be filled with nice old homes, but that didn’t mean it was safe to just walk around by yourself at night in dark alleys. It certainly wasn’t safe to have strangers just living on your doorstep. Or garage door step. Whatever. The point was, clearly some crazy person was inside that tent because it was way too cold to live outside.

I backed up and headed out of the alley. I’d have to park out front on the street.

Twenty minutes later, I was knocking on my downstairs neighbor’s door, feeling beyond annoyed after walking four blocks in the freezing wind to get to our building because there were no spots nearby.

“Jason!” I knocked again, my teeth chattering in the hallway. Jason, a divorced dad in his forties with thinning brown hair and lots of tattoos, was basically the building’s manager, getting a steep discount on rent in exchange for doing repairs and keeping an eye on things. Next door to him was Mrs. Trudy, an unfriendly woman in her seventies, and upstairs, next to me, was Mrs. Larson, a retired teacher in her sixties. She was nice, but left her TV on too loud.

I heard the clicking of the deadbolt, and the door opened.

“Hey, Jason,” I said, still shivering despite being indoors. “Sorry to bother you.”

He wiped his mouth with the napkin in his hand, swallowing down whatever he was eating. “Just having dinner. What’s up?”

“What’s up? Did you know,” I lowered my voice, “there’s a crazy person camped out by the dumpster?”

He frowned. “Crazy person?”

“Yeah. I mean, they’d have to be to sleep outside in this weather. They should be in a shelter or something. They’ll freeze to death.”

He nodded slowly. “Yes, it’s going to be cold tonight.”

I went on, “And honestly, Jason, I don’t feel comfortable being all alone back there at night to begin with. Now I have to deal with homeless people camping right next to my garage? Next, I won’t be able to toss my trash without having to jump over piles of poop or dirty needles. They can’t live there.”

He gave me a look, like I was being a little cruel.

“Oh, come on, Jason. You know I’m sympathetic—the world isn’t an easy place—but women have to protect themselves. You have a daughter. You know what I mean. Homeless encampments aren’t safe for anyone.”

He looked down at the ground for a second, like he was in no mood for this conversation. “I understand your concern about strangers living in the alleyway, but I already talked to the guy, and I promise you, he’s harmless. He said he’s only staying for a few days, and then he’s moving on. So no encampment.”

“You knew about him sleeping there? And you didn’t do anything?” I snapped.

I wondered why the other tenants and our neighbors weren’t making a stink. The people on our block were way more uptight than me. Mostly because they were older and grew up in this neighborhood. That somehow turned them into guard dogs. They were constantly spying on everyone and had the cops on speed dial. You couldn’t throw so much as a gum wrapper on the sidewalk—not that I would, because litter bugs. Blech!—without hearing about it.

“Meri, there’s nothing to worry about, okay? Just pretend he’s not there, and he’ll be gone by next weekend.”

I narrowed my eyes. It was one thing to be sympathetic, but having a vagrant camp on our property wasn’t the solution. He needed to be where he could get access to resources, food, warmth, and, well, a bathroom. “I’m calling the owners.”

Jason shook his head. “Be my guest, but by the time they do anything, he’ll be gone.”

I couldn’t believe this. “So I’m just going to have to deal with a man going to the bathroom all over the place, dumping his trash everywhere?”

“He’s been there for two nights already. Did you see any of that?”

“Well, no.”

“Then?” Jason raised a brow.

“That’s not the point. How am I supposed to use the garage with some strange man right there? What if he attacks me?”

Jason sighed. “I need to go. My food’s getting cold. But trust me when I tell you he’s not going to bother you. He doesn’t do drugs or drink. He’s just…different is all.”

“Camping in the cold isn’t different. It’s suicidal. I’m going to sue if I come home to a popsicle man back there. PTSDD—popsicle trauma syndrome over dead dude.”

“Good night, Meri.” Jason closed the door.

“Wha-what?” I felt like the world was going mad. Being compassionate didn’t mean giving up your own rights or safety. It didn’t mean letting people break the law and live wherever they liked.

“You’d better be right,” I yelled through the door. “He needs to be gone by next weekend, or I’m calling the cops.”

I huffed and went to my apartment to defrost.