Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX

The next morning, I woke to more snow. Not heavy or anything, but just enough to maintain a thick powdery coating on the world outside. I loved how magical it looked, even though it would melt within a few days, leaving behind a mucky brown sludge. By next week, we’d be back in the fifties.

As I stared out my bedroom window, down at the back alley, I could only see a small edge of the red tent, but it was enough to make me feel terrible. There was a person inside, freezing off his chestnuts. He had nothing in this world, including kindness in his heart.

Then my brain kicked on. Shit. He’s in my living room. How had I forgotten? I’d come to the rescue of a total stranger. Possibly dangerous!

Stop it, Meri. I already knew he wasn’t. If the man had wanted to harm me, he probably would’ve done it already. And he wouldn’t have rejected the invitations into my home.

Seriously, I needed to stop assuming anything about him or his life. I knew the world was a complicated place, just like I’d told Jason. Stuff happened. Good stuff, bad stuff, and crushing stuff. Sometimes, life did give you more than you could handle.

“Well, you stubborn asshole, I’m not letting it crush you on my account. You’ll take my charity and like it.” I opened my bedroom door to find the bearded stranger, who smelled like cinnamon, still sleeping on the couch.

“What am I going to do with you?” I muttered. Not like I could send him back outside. But if he refused to go to a shelter, what then?

With breakfast tray in hand, filled with peace offerings—hot coffee, warm pancakes, and fresh orange slices, I hovered over my guest.

“Wakey, wakey. Breakfast cakies,” I called out.

He didn’t move.

I gave his side a gentle push with my foot. “You okay?”

He cracked open a blue eye. “Who the freak are you?”

Nice greeting. “I’m Meri.”

He slowly got to his elbows, his glossy blue eyes sweeping my living room. “Where am I?”

“My place. Don’t you remember anything?”

“No.” His eyes narrowed on my face. “Oh. It’s you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he pushed his blanket to the floor and attempted to stand, only to stumble back onto my couch.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yes,” he barked. “I’m fine. And you had no right to bring me here against my will.”

Against his will? “I saved you.” I set the tray down on the coffee table. “So how about a thank you?”

“I don’t need saving.” He got to his unsteady feet, managing to keep it together this time.

I inhaled sharply, pretending his words didn’t sting. As a person who hated conflict and, maybe, who showed overappreciation to the people in my life, it wasn’t easy to be slapped for helping a stranger. Then again, I needed to listen to him. Like Shawna’d said, I was addicted to being a people pleaser. Like Kay’d said, I gave with expectations. I had to treat this like a test.

“I hear you. And I’m sorry for helping without asking.” I marched to the door. “You’re free to leave. I won’t stop you or interfere again.”

He stared for a long moment, meeting my gaze with a strange, undecipherable expression.

He walked toward the front door, stopping a foot from me. He opened his mouth to speak, only to snap his lips shut.

“What?” I said.

“Sorry for speaking to you so rudely just now,” he said flatly. “You’re probably not as bad as I thought.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Thank you for bringing me into your home. But no matter what happens, you’re not to try that again. I can take care of myself.” He went out into the hallway and disappeared down the stairs.

“What a jerk.”

I wouldn’t talk to Tent Man again for a few weeks, but each night, I’d look out my living room or bedroom window at the visible slice of red next to the dumpster. Why hadn’t he moved on yet? And how come my neighbors weren’t causing a stink? It was odd on both counts.

On Halloween eve, I’d finally had enough of wondering and decided to talk to the guy.

With a bowl of candy in hand, I made my way down to the alley, prepared to butter him up with gooey, chewy treats before grilling him.

I came out of the gate just in time to spot three teenage boys setting fire to the tent.

“Hey! You little shits! What are you doing?” I yelled.

The three went full-on deer in headlights and then split in the opposite direction.

Oh no . I dumped the candy and ran to the tent, removing my black cat sweater to slap the flames out. “Hey, dude! Your tent is on fire!”

I didn’t hear a reply, and fearing he’d maybe taken something to sleep again, I unzipped the front flap, charring my fingertips. “Son of a bitch!”

I looked inside, relieved to see the tent was empty.

I stepped back, watching the fabric melt under the flames.

“What are you doing?” said a deep voice.

I turned to find Tent Man in jeans, a green T-shirt, and boots, staring angrily at me.

“Oh, no,” I said. “It wasn’t me. Some little fuckers did it.”

He rushed over, picked up the tent, and flipped it over. He began stomping out the fire. After a few moments, he’d succeeded, but the damage was done.

“Frosty holidays.” He kicked at the mess of smoldering fabric.

I gave him a look.

“I don’t swear,” he explained.

“Oh.” I wasn’t sure if his alternative to cussing was cute or just plain strange. “So you’re a clean-mouthed homeless man who doesn’t believe in seeing doctors.”

“I prefer being called a hobo.”

I chuckled, thinking he was joking, but his straight-laced expression told me he wasn’t. “You really like being called that?” The word conjured up retro cartoon images of a scruffy man with a generous belly, hopping railcars and carrying his worldly possessions in a red handkerchief tied to a stick.

“Yes. Because the world is my home. Ergo, I cannot be home-less. I am home-more.”

“Ah. I see. Well, you still need shelter from the elements.” I stared at the smoldering mess in front of us. “It’s supposed to rain tonight before it drops into the thirties.”

“I know,” he said.

“I can take you to buy a new tent if you want? The sporting goods place across town has tons of camping stuff, but they won’t open until morning. Is there a shelter you’d like to go to?”

“I need to stay here.”

“Why?”

“I am waiting for an important package.”

Okay. This was just getting weird. “From?”

“From none of your business.”

“Fair enough.” I nodded, masking my intense curiosity. “Do you know what time the package is coming?”

“I do not, but I cannot miss it,” he said.

“Well, you didn’t slit my throat last time despite being a serial killer, so I suppose you can crash on my couch again.”

He flashed an irritated look at me.

“I’m just trying to help.” Though, I really didn’t know why.

He looked away, his jaw pulsing beneath a curtain of black bristly whiskers. As I stared, waiting for his reply, I realized he was probably around my age. The beard made him look older, but there was no mistaking the youthful skin under that scowl.

“I’ll go first thing after work tomorrow and buy you a new tent, okay?” I added.

“Why are you trying to help me?” he asked accusatorially.

I shrugged. “I guess…” I was about to say something that made me sound like an awesome, selfless giver, but it would be a lie. “It freaks me out, thinking of someone dying under my bedroom window. And honestly, I could use a full night’s sleep.”

“So you do not actually care about me,” he said sternly.

Of course I cared, but I couldn’t claim he was a level three yet. Aka a casual acquaintance. “I guess not.”

“Good. Because I do not deserve your sympathy or goodwill.”

I tilted my head, my mind filling with so, so, sooo many reasons as to why his statement was not a good thing. “What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“Well,” I folded my arms, “you must’ve done something if you think you don’t deserve kindness.”

“I did nothing.”

My mind clicked. So the man was paying penance for something he’d failed to do. Perhaps he was like one of those morons you saw on social media who got out their phones and filmed while an innocent granny was being robbed.

He bent down and started picking through the wreckage, collecting his red bag and a partially charred book. I wondered what it was.

“Just so we’re clear,” he said, “you are not to ask me questions, go through my belongings, or attempt to save me.”

“Okay.”

“I mean it. I do not need rescue. And certainly not from you.”

I nodded. “Understood. No rescuing. No butting in. But I do have one request.”

“What?”

“Okay, two, really,” I said. “Don’t slam the decorations in my apartment, and would you help me pass out candy? I have a big proposal due at work tomorrow, and the people in my building leave out a big bowl of boxed raisins.”

“I don’t understand. What is wrong with raisins?”

No sane person handed out raisins on Halloween. “Would you like to spend the next two days picking little brown blobs from the mailbox or scraping them from the windshield of your car? Because the kids find really creative ways to give them back.”

“That is very mean.”

I nodded. “Yep. And it’s why I bribe them with full-sized candy bars to leave us alone.”

“In my day, naughty children got a lump of coal, not oversized treats.”

In his day? Like I’d said, he was probably around my age. “Okay, grandpa. Are you going to help or not? Because I have twenty pounds of diabetes in colorful wrappers that need homes tonight.” Plus a ton of work due tomorrow.

“If you count this as working for my keep, then I will help.”

I smiled.

“After we pick up this litter.” He looked at the candy on the ground. Some of it was probably fine on the inside, but the wrappers were all wet and mucky. No good.

“So you’re a clean, non-swearing, prideful hobo. I can respect that.”

“And you are a nosy, condescending, overly honest, kind person. I can respect that too.”

I was about to argue over his assessment of me, but it didn’t really matter what he thought. I would get help with the candy and have a peaceful night’s sleep, knowing he wouldn’t die under my window.

Seriously though, underneath the excuses, I kept thinking how odd it was. I didn’t know the man, yet I sort of liked having him around. Why would a stranger, who could very well end up being a crazy person, inspire a sense of comfort?