Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

That evening, despite the new snowstorm rolling in, I parked my red truck out front of my building since my garage was partially filled with boxes. Hopefully the weather would clear by Friday because this weekend was the big kickoff. I would carry up my decorations, lock myself away from the world, play my favorite holiday songs, and drink white peppermint-tinis until I puked. But so help me God, I would not leave my apartment until I’d transformed it into a magical oasis of Christmas cheer.

I got to my place and shed my red coat, snow boots, and white crocheted hat, leaving everything to dry on my reindeer bench complete with faux antlers for hanging one’s coat. It was a very special find, hand-carved in Greenland by a little old man who spent his days looking out the window at actual reindeer. I wanted to go there one day. I’d read about a spa with cabins made of thermal glass so you could see in every direction for tens of miles. They said if you were lucky, you’d catch a glimpse of the aurora borealis. If you were super lucky, you just might see a plump old man shooting across the sky in a sleigh, carrying a load of supplies as he prepared for the big day.

Not that I actually believed in Santa. I was a grown woman. But I still got into the holiday spirit and sent a letter to him each year. It was fun. Also, maybe a bit cathartic. For example, last year I asked for bigger hearts for everyone in the world who seemed to not care anymore. Then I asked for clarity regarding my relationship with Mike.

“If he’s not the one, Santa, just move him out and move Mr. Right in. I’m tired of taking my annual holiday photo alone in front of my tree, even if I am incredibly grateful for my family and friends. No complaints there! But it’s starting to feel like something’s missing during the holidays.”

I also added that if he couldn’t help with any of those things, I’d settle for a trip to that spa in Greenland. How fun to sip hot cocoa on a cold winter night and watch the stars near the North Pole.

Some day. First, though, I had a tropical cruise to do.

I cracked open a can of noodle soup and popped the bowl in the microwave while I changed into my flannel PJs. As I sat looking over my list of to-dos for the weekend, my mind started wandering to the alleyway.

Was Tent Man still there? Had Jason passed along my message? I got up and peeked out my living room window, catching a glimpse of the corner of a red tent.

“Seriously?” It was a snowy hell out there.

Honestly, I didn’t know why, but I felt…annoyed. Genuinely, thoroughly annoyed. Where did he get off freezing to death next to my garage?

Maybe he’s dead already .

I slid on my boots and red coat and grabbed my keys, ready to unleash some winter safety tips. But the moment I stepped outside, my irritation turned to genuine concern. In the last forty minutes, the temperature had dropped another fifteen degrees. Yes, I had a built-in thermometer called nipples. They weren’t just rock hard, they were asking for mercy.

Wind gusting, snowflakes pelting my eyeballs—so unpleasant—I fought my way down the slippery concrete stairs to the gate and out to the alley.

I marched through what was now five inches of snow toward the red tent. A dim light was on inside. “Hey, Tent Man! You in there?”

I didn’t hear a reply, but I wasn’t exactly expecting him to welcome me after our last interaction.

“Hey. You need to go somewhere warm,” I yelled. “You’ll literally die out here, and the last thing I need is to think of some dead guy who froze during a nasty storm every time I take out the trash. So get your ass out of there, okay? I’ll drive you anywhere you need to go.”

Silence.

“Tent guy?”

Silence.

My heart started pounding while booger-cicles formed on the end of my freezing nose.

“Fuck this.” I bent down and unzipped the tent’s opening. I poked my head inside to find the man lying motionless under a blanket. I gave his foot a squeeze, but he didn’t react.

“Oh no.” I crawled inside and started shaking him. “Hey! Wake up. Can you hear me?” He was still breathing, but his skin was cold. “You need to open your eyes. Wake up!” I smacked his bearded cheek, but nothing.

Christ, he’s dying. And unfortunately, I’d left my cell in my apartment.

“Just hang on, okay? I’m going to call for help. I’ll be back in two seconds.”

I turned to leave just as he groaned, “No, no ambulances.”

I frowned. “Oh, you think you get a say in this?”

He didn’t respond.

“I’m going upstairs, and I’m calling nine-one-one.”

“No. I…won’t go to any hospital,” he grumbled.

“So you’re a fugitive. I knew it. Where did you escape from? San Quentin? Rikers?”

“No insurance,” he muttered.

“Well, that doesn’t matter. It’s an ER, and you’re turning into a block of ice.”

“No hospitals.”

It dawned on me that maybe he was one of those people who didn’t believe in modern medicine. Or, perhaps, he genuinely loathed hospitals. Either way, leaving him here a few minutes longer could mean death.

“Let’s get you up. Where are your shoes? Do you have any?” I looked over my shoulder to find perfectly shined black leather boots and a red duffel bag. He also had several books and a reading lamp. Everything was tidy and organized.

I slid his feet into his boots. He didn’t even complain despite the bandage on his foot.

“Come on, buddy.” I maneuvered him up into a crouch and got him outside. Just past the tent flaps, I noticed an empty bottle of rubbing alcohol. “Is that what you drank? Seriously?”

“Disinfection.”

“Oh. Sorry.” I shook my head at myself, putting his arm around my shoulders. “You just need to hang on to me. And please, whatever you do, don’t complain, insult me or tell me to fuck off. This is happening.”

He didn’t argue, so we began the ascent. We almost fell a dozen times, but I miraculously managed to keep us upright as the wind howled and whipped through our clothes, numbing my ears.

Once inside the building, I called for Jason, but he wasn’t home, and the other tenant, Mrs. Trudy, took her sleep meds early. A nuke couldn’t wake her.

“Just one more flight, buddy. Come on.” I urged the man to keep going, using my body for support. Funny, I’d expected him to smell bad, like old onions and trash, but he smelled nice. Like cinnamon.

We got to my front door, and I walked him inside to my couch, where he sprawled out, his large frame barely fitting. I hadn’t realized how tall the man was, despite our long haul up the outside steps.

“I’m going to run a warm bath for you. Just wait there.” I took off my coat, started running the water, and put the kettle on. By the time I got to him, he was snoring like a lumberjack sawing logs.

“Tent guy?” I gave his shoulder a shake. “You need to warm up. You’re freezing.” I grabbed my cell from the coffee table to call nine-one-one.

“Please just let me rest…” he mumbled.

“I’m not letting you die on my couch.”

“Took a sleeping pill. That’s…all. Won’t…die.” He returned to snoring.

I stood and frowned, testing his hands, forehead and ankle ten times. He was warm. Warm and pink and, well, snoring.

Huh. Strange. Moments earlier he’d been as cold as penguin toes.

I sighed and covered him with my red throw hanging on the sofa arm. “I’m glad you’re okay. It would suck to have you die on my big decorating weekend.”

But why was he still camping in the alley? Jason said he’d be gone already, and with weather like this, I’d sure be looking for warmer pastures.

I set the thermostat a few degrees higher, flipped off the lights, and went to bed. Yes, I locked my bedroom door and had my cell. Just in case. Like Tent Man said, the world was filled with crazies. Couldn’t be too careful. But why did I feel oddly comforted knowing he was in my living room?