Chapter 2

Ididn’t know the East Side very well, so I kept my eyes peeled as I drove across town. I wasn’t even sure that I was going to the right place, but I’d done a little research one night during a very, very rare lull in my shift at DSR. After I’d told Anaya that yes, if her dog was snapping at people then it was just a matter of time before he bit (and no, I didn’t care if she’d been talking to me or not), I’d sat at the table in the corner of the break room and pulled together a quick list of all the woodworking shops in Detroit. Most of them had websites and products to promote, but one didn’t. It only had an address and a phone number that no one answered when you called and also didn’t have voicemail set up.

I figured that was probably what I was looking for, so I’d waited until I had the whole day free. I’d gotten up after a few hours of sleep even though my body was clamoring for more and I’d taken a shower, measuring the shampoo, conditioner, and liquid soap. Then I’d done my hair and hunted around for some makeup, and I very carefully applied it. It had been a long time since I’d worked on myself like that and the results looked strange. They weren’t what I’d hoped for.

I’d had faith in the comforting idea that, although I was aware of how terrible I looked on a day-to-day basis, I had it in me to be a lot better if I put in some effort. But after the effort I’d put in this morning, I didn’t think that I was much better at all. I still had dark circles under my eyes that I hadn’t been able to cover with the ancient concealer I’d found, and my skin looked dry even though I’d patted on moisturizer, too. My auburn hair, which had always been the best thing about my appearance, didn’t seem to have the shine and fullness that I remembered.

I’d stared into the bathroom mirror and then had gotten curious, wondering if I’d been fooling myself about how I’d looked before. I’d gone into the room I used for storage, found the box of my old high school yearbooks and journals from way back then, and wiped dust off of its top before slicing the tape and looking through the contents. The yearbook from when I was a senior had featured a big picture of our cheer squad and I studied the Nicola of twelve years before. My best friend Ava had been next to me as we stood at the center of the group as the team captains, and we’d smiled hugely at the camera. I could tell that the expression on my face was real, not just put on for the photographer, and I didn’t remember that day but I wished that I did. I wished I remembered how happy I must have felt.

I’d stared at the picture and decided that I hadn’t been too bad at age eighteen. Maybe it was hope that had given me that glow, because I did remember thinking that once I graduated and was really on my own, my real life would be more amazing than I could even imagine. Now, more than a decade had passed and I was firmly entrenched in reality instead of the fantasies I’d had in high school, with me in a perfect cottage and wearing a flowered dress, a few inches taller and surrounded by a family that loved me. I wasn’t living the life that I’d written about in my journals, not even close. It made me feel a little sick when I looked back now at those entries and read what I’d planned. I’d been so certain that I’d achieve it all; there hadn’t seemed to be anything standing in my way.

No, things just hadn’t turned out as I’d expected, but they hadn’t gone off track for everyone. My friend and co-captain Ava had headed to college, gotten a good job, and then married a guy she loved a lot. I’d been in the wedding as a bridesmaid and she’d picked beautiful dresses for us, and I’d felt beautiful in it. Everyone had said that I’d be next and I’d been filled with a hopeful excitement that I’d successfully masked with a casual shrug and some comments about focusing on my career. I really had been focused on my career, but I’d definitely also thought that I’d meet someone, that we’d date and fall in love, that we’d get married and maybe start a family. Of course, that wasn’t going to happen now, but Ava had two kids, cute ones who didn’t seem to give her a lot of trouble. The last time she’d texted me, she’d even mentioned they were thinking about going for three. I’d answered by saying something about overpopulation and she hadn’t gotten back to me since, and I actually did regret that. I could have kept it to myself.

My phone made the announcement that I’d arrived at my destination, and I agreed with it. This had to be the place. There were only a few other cars parked in a gravel lot next to the old factory, but there were absolutely no other signs of life anywhere else on the block. There was nothing else around that looked like it was fit for humans and although this building didn’t look very habitable either, it did come the closest. When I opened the car door, I also heard a sound which I thought might have been a saw. Yes, this was probably right but if not, it didn’t matter because I would go directly back home and not even care about this maybe-woodshop. I wasn’t sure why I’d driven here at all.

Some time had passed since I’d seen Jude Bowers and he hadn’t returned to either hospital since, not as a patient (which I was glad about) or as a visitor (which I didn’t care about). I hadn’t been looking for him or waiting for him, because we’d said clear and obvious goodbyes and each of us had gone on our way. But I did start to wonder about his life plan, the one I’d started to write up for him. There was a lot more detail that I could have gotten into if he’d been more specific and generous with information, and I had both questions and concerns.

For example, the exercise goals had all been about walking and running, but maybe he was more of a cyclist, or a boxer, or something totally different. Since he lived in a halfway house, I assumed he used a communal kitchen so I also wondered how the nutrition plan was working. It might have been difficult to store the grocery purchases required for the meal suggestions that I’d written out. Anyway, it was always a good idea to revisit your plan. You could tighten up your goals and make new ones when you’d achieved results. It was very possible that Jude hadn’t thought to do that, so there were a lot of reasons to check in with him.

I knocked on a battered metal door in the cinderblock wall of the old factory, but with the sound of the machinery running inside, it was doubtful that they heard me. I really hoped that they were wearing sufficient ear protection, but I thought that was doubtful as well. I knocked again and then pulled on the knob, and I discovered that no one had bothered to lock it despite the fact that anyone could have walked in and robbed them blind. I entered a dusty cavern of a room that stretched in either direction and was partially filled with piles of wood, big saws, walls of tools, and only a few guys. One of them looked up when the sunlight came in through the open door, and he walked over to me.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

I looked at his long, white beard, which presented as “biker gang” rather than “Santa Claus,” and I also spotted the one-color tattoos on his bare arms. No, those weren’t done by a professional. “I assume that you’re the ex-con who runs this woodshop? You help the downtrodden and whatnot?” I asked.

His eyes widened. “Are you looking for a job? Are you one of the downtrodden and whatnot?” His glance skimmed over my body, which was clothed in jeans and a sweater instead of scrubs today. “You don’t seem like it.”

“No, I’m trying to find Jude Bowers. Is he here?”

“Nobody who looks like you is ever asking for me,” he said. “Fuck.”

“What?”

“I’ll find him, hang on.” He walked back off into the gloom. Poor lighting for people working with power tools? It seemed like a terrible idea, as did the obvious lack of ventilation. There were a lot of improvements to be made at this place and I mentally catalogued them as I watched Jude walk towards me.

“Nicola?” he asked, and he sounded disbelieving. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to discuss your life plan,” I said, since I had.

“Wow, I’m—this is very surprising,” he told me, and he did seem very, very surprised. “I didn’t think I’d see you again. How did you find me?”

“You said that you were working here,” I explained.

“I gave you the name? I don’t remember—this is very surprising,” he repeated, “but I’m happy that you stopped by. Come on in,” he told me, but paused in front of Anti-Santa. “Nicola, this is Cal, the guy who owns this shop. This is Nicola,” he said in turn. “She’s an ER nurse who helped me out, and I thanked her by ruining her shoes.”

“Nice to meet you,” Prison Tat Cal said, and shook my hand. “Nice that you guys stayed in touch, too.”

“It is nice,” Jude confirmed, and smiled at me.

He really seemed happy to see me, because he kept smiling as he showed me the chair that he was building. “It’s pretty,” I said and touched the unfinished seat. “What kind of wood is this?”

“That part is poplar, but I’m using three varieties for the construction,” he said, and explained all of it. “It’s getting there. Every time I come here and work, I feel like I’m also getting closer to how I used to do things. I’m getting closer to the person I used to be.”

I looked around the shop. “I did a little research into woodworking tools after you said that you’d sold yours, and they’re very expensive. Very, very expensive. Does that Cal have a functioning security system in this place?” It hardly seemed like the door functioned.

“Cal is the security system. I don’t think anyone would try to steal from him.”

“I’ve seen people do all kinds of things with drugs as their motivation, things that they probably wouldn’t have believed that they were capable of themselves. As an example, you sold away your livelihood to support your addiction,” I pointed out, and he nodded slowly.

“I did do that. There was other stuff that I needed the money for, but I did waste a lot with drinking. Here.” He took the chair down from the workbench. “Try it out.”

I did and found it to be very comfortable. “This is a good chair.”

He laughed. “You sound shocked. I know what I’m doing, because I made my living that way for ten years before I blew it up.” He pulled over a rough stool that looked like something I could have made myself, and sat down next to me. “Tell me again why you came today.”

“I was thinking about your life plan,” I reiterated. “I wanted to see how it’s going.”

“I think it’s going pretty well,” he said. “I’m contacting some of the people I used to build for and I’m getting some interest. Cal lets me work here after-hours on my own projects, which is very generous. I’m saving some money and I’m eating pretty well.” He brushed his palm over his head. “My hair is growing back, which I remember you recommended for my appeal to the opposite sex. What do you think of it?”

It was slightly longer and I eyed the progress before nodding slightly. “It’s getting there.”

“I put on a few pounds. I’m running, too, which was another one of your recommendations.”

“You are? How far are you going?”

“I don’t think about distance. I run until I get tired, and then I stop.”

Without measurement, how would he know if he’d improved? This was definitely not going as well as it could have. “How about your living arrangements?” I asked. “Did you find a new place?”

“I’ve found several new places, but…I’m undecided. There are problems with all of them and I know that beggars can’t be choosers, but I need to be careful. The best option is from Sergio, that guy over there. The one who should be more careful with that finish nailer.” I turned my head to peer through the darkness at a man holding a tool which I knew discharged sharp metal spikes with a lot of speed and force. “He heard me say that I was looking to move and he offered a bed in his house, to be a third tenant with him and his buddy. I’m undecided,” Jude said again. “I’d bunk in the living room, which would be hard for them and for me, and they have a lot of parties.”

“That’s the best option? It sounds terrible,” I said. “It’s none of my business, though.”

“You drove all the way over here to talk to me about my life plan, which makes me believe that you do think it’s your business.” He didn’t seem upset or annoyed by that, as some people were when they felt you were trying to “micromanage” their lives. Jude Bowers was smiling. “I guess that once someone’s a patient, you hold onto it.”

“No,” I answered immediately. “No, I don’t care what people do. Once we resolve the problem that brought them into the emergency department, I have no interest in whatever happens to them next. I may think that they’re stupid if they repeat the mistake and end up back for a second time, or a third. Like, we have seen a guy who shot himself twice with a nail gun and I fully believe that he’s an idiot.”

“Hang on. Sergio!” he called, and the man across the room cupped his hand around his ear to listen. “Can you be careful with that? If you shoot yourself, we’re all going to laugh instead of helping you.”

The other guy laughed too but he did put down the tool.

“We would have helped him but after he was better, he would have gotten a lot of shit,” he told me, and I replied that nail accidents could be terrible and described the nerve damage done to my patient’s hand and then after the second shot, the destruction of his eye.

Jude looked pained. “That’s terrible,” he said, and winced. “He shot his own eye with a nailer?”

“I’ve seen worse. You get a lot of variety in a city ER.”

“And you follow up with some of those patients,” he reminded me, “because you knew that I spent time in the ICU. You said that to me, so you did pay a little bit of attention.”

Yes, I had checked on him, first to make sure that he had survived and then just to know that he was all right. It was a little unusual for me, but I didn’t think that it meant anything…except that what I’d just told him was true. I really didn’t care what people did after we were done with them, after they’d moved to another unit or been discharged and left. I couldn’t think of the last time, besides Jude, that I’d wanted to know how a patient was doing and then had taken the time to look and see. People had come back into the ED once or twice before to thank me for my help. I’d said sure, no problem, it was what I was paid to do, the same things I’d said to him when he’d tracked me down. I’d hardly remembered most of them.

But I hadn’t forgotten him. The night that he’d coded, I’d checked on him more than once, and when he was in the ICU, I’d gone up to see him. He’d been asleep and I’d talked to the charge nurse, and she’d gotten mad and said to go back downstairs because I was interfering in her department and she didn’t want to have to escalate the issue but she would if I didn’t get out.

“I’m not trying to act like your nurse anymore,” I said now. “I do life plans for everyone. I’ve written them for all my sisters and my brother.”

“Did they follow them?”

They would have done a lot better if they had. “Addie hugged me and said it was just what she needed, but I know she doesn’t follow it. She’s guided by mystical star stuff instead. Juliet was really interested in the nutrition part, but I don’t think she looked at much else. Patrick didn’t read any of it, but he really should have. According to Juliet, his twin, he’s already having problems with his job in San Francisco and my bet is that he’s fired before this summer is over. Grace lost her hard copy, lost the email, and then lost her laptop and also her phone, so I gave up. Brenna said she was going to use it to wipe her butt, which was totally uncalled for and if she did, I hope it gave her a paper cut.”

“That would be rough. I still have what you wrote and I read it, too,” he said. “I thought there was a lot of valuable information in it.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Do you have a plan for yourself?”

“I did. I used to have a very extensive one, going month by month. Some of it was even broken down into what I would accomplish each day,” I answered. “But I don’t look at it anymore.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m past that,” I said. “What about your living situation? Aren’t there limits on how long you can stay in transitional housing? How much longer before you have to move?”

“A month,” he told me. “I have my car—”

“You can’t live in your car. Please,” I dismissed the idea. “And it’s not a good idea to be in a frat house environment with the nail gun guy, either.”

“He likes to have friends come by and yeah, they drink, but Sergio’s not a frat boy.”

We both looked over at him. No, he didn’t seem like he’d just walked out of an ivy-covered academic building; it was more like they’d just let him out of solitary to get some fresh air in the yard. But he waved in a friendly way when he saw us both staring and Jude waved back.

“If you only have a month, that’s very serious,” I continued. “Why haven’t you saved more?”

“I have expenses,” he said. “I had a big car repair that I needed to take care of a few months ago and that killed everything. I got robbed, too.” He shook his head and rubbed his head like he had when he was checking his hair growth, but a lot harder. “I was held up when I was out making deliveries.”

“Did they hurt you?”

“No, I was fine. I had to hand over everything I had on me, which sucked ass because I’d just gotten paid. I have to buy gas, I have to eat. My biggest expense is sourcing wood for the projects I’m doing on my own time. But I feel better doing this than anything else and it’s what I’m best at, so I don’t want to stop even though I know that it’s not a good financial decision in the short term.”

I thought about it. This chair was beautiful and although most people overvalued their skills and competence, it didn’t seem like he was.

“What’s your phone number?” I asked, and he seemed a little startled but gave it to me. “I just texted my address,” I said next. “When you’re done here, you should come to my house.”

“Ok,” he said, “I can do that. Why?”

“I have a room that I’m renting,” I answered. “My former tenant moved out and I would charge you what she was paying. You could live there.”

“Are you serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I was already striding towards the broken door and Scary Santa waved at me as I went. I nodded briefly in his direction and kept going.

“Hold on there. Whoa,” Jude called.

I did pause. “Did you just speak to me like I was a horse?”

He laughed, again. “Let me walk you out. This isn’t the best neighborhood.”

“I got that from the shell casings I stepped over on my way in.”

“Those were from Cal. After you,” he invited, and pushed the door so that it opened for me. It still wasn’t locked, and it didn’t even swing closed on its own, but that extra light was probably a good thing for Sergio and his aim with the nail gun. Jude did escort me to my car, and although I wasn’t sure what he would have done if there was any trouble, I thought it was an interesting gesture. It was a nice gesture, I amended in my mind.

“Were you serious about me renting a room from you?” he asked when I beeped it open.

“Yes. You should come look at it,” I said. “We can discuss my terms when you’re there.”

“That’s very nice. Thanks, Nicola.”

“I need a renter and you need to rent. It’s not nice, it just makes sense. I’ll see you later.” I got into my car and as I left, I saw him still standing in that desolate parking lot. It would have been better for him to get inside where his boss was armed, but I didn’t want to drive back and tell him that because I had some work to do on my house. Since Liv had moved out, I hadn’t had the time to devote to cleaning like I wanted to and I wasn’t happy with how it looked.

So when I got home, I wrote out a list and the top item was dusting from the lights at the ceiling on down to the baseboards, using the cloths I had designated for that purpose. I read through the list again as I sat on the couch in the living room and added a reminder to clean under Liv’s bed, because I really didn’t think that she’d been keeping track of that area. I just needed to sit for a minute, and then I’d get to work.

But when Jude arrived late that afternoon, I hadn’t dusted anything and instead had fallen into what approached a coma on the couch. I sat up, confused and with my heart pounding, when I heard someone call my name and knock on the window near my head.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said when I opened the front door to him. “I didn’t think you would stand me up and your car is there in the garage.”

It was visible, because the opener had broken so I just left the garage door gaping like that. It was something I’d wanted to fix.

“I looked in the window and you were so still ,” he told me. “I got worried.”

“About me?” I tried to pat down some of the hair which I could feel billowing around my head. “You were worried about me?”

“I couldn’t tell if you were breathing,” he answered. A door slammed across the street as the two neighbor kids emerged from their house, as they always did when I opened my own front door. Their mom apparently worked a lot (not as much as other people, but a lot) and they seemed to be on their own most of the time. Both of them waved and Jude waved back as I ushered him inside.

“This is the living room,” I said, walking briskly. Then I stopped and put my hand on the back of the couch.

“Hey, are you all right?”

“Yes. I was sleeping deeply and it takes me a minute to wake up.” I stood still and waited for the vertigo to pass.

“Those night shifts must be killers,” he said. “Are you part-time at both hospitals?”

“I work full-time at both of them, which makes this a good situation for a tenant because I’m not here very much,” I answered.

“How many hours is that?”

Not enough. I’d gotten a temporary reprieve from the bank but what I was doing was still not enough. I took my hand off the couch and resumed the tour. “This is the kitchen,” I announced as we walked in. The kitchen was all “original,” which meant the same tiny cabinets and tile countertops that had been installed when this house was built in the 1920s. I did think it was “charming,” which was the other word the real estate agent had used for it, but the tile was now mostly cracked and the cabinet doors and drawers didn’t work very well. I was also very wary of the grout lines, because no matter how I cleaned them, I was sure that they still harbored bacteria.

That was what I brought up next. “I don’t believe in sharing groceries, and I have a lot of restrictions about food on the counters and how it should be stored in the refrigerator. Raw chicken can never—”

“How about you show me around, and then we can go over rules?”

“Well, ok.” I nodded slightly. “Follow me.”

I talked about rent as I pointed out the upstairs bathroom, which we would share because there was only one, and he seemed to feel that the monthly amount was reasonable. It definitely was but yes, there were drawbacks such as that shared bathroom and the dated kitchen. Also, my previous tenants had also felt that the rules I set forth were slightly restrictive. The cheap rent should have compensated for that, but they were entitled.

I showed him his bedroom next, already furnished by me with items that I considered good enough for anyone. But as I talked about the space, I looked him over and felt some doubts. “It’s a double bed, which may be small for you,” I noted. He was much taller than I was, but that was true of a lot of people because my growth had reached five-four when I was thirteen and totally halted. I’d hoped and prayed that I would stretch further because a butt and hips like mine would have been nicer on a woman with more length, but you got what you got.

Jude pressed a hand on the mattress. “Right now, I’m in the top bunk on a twin-size with my feet hanging off the end. I can go diagonally on this and it looks like heaven. What’s behind the door across the hall?”

“That’s my room,” I said. “It would, of course, be totally off-limits.” I paused but he only nodded. “There’s a basement, but I don’t go down there.”

“Why?”

“It flooded just after I bought the house and it’s not in great shape. There’s also an attic, but I don’t think it’s safe to walk on the floor.” There were a lot of things I’d planned to do to the house and I’d had it all scheduled out, a three-year plan for renovations and restorations that would have made it really great. I’d lived here for more years than that, though, and those projects were never going to get done.

“What’s this?” He pointed at another closed door as we walked into the hallway. With both of us here, it did feel narrow.

“That’s just storage. My storage, since I can’t use the attic or the basement,” I clarified and started down the stairs. “If you have a lot of stuff—”

“I don’t. I have a suitcase of clothes and a box of memorabilia.”

“Memorabilia of what?”

“Of the past,” he answered. “Isn’t that what the word means? But it’s not too much. It would all fit in the bedroom closet and leave room to spare.”

“So you do want to move in?” I cleared my throat and spoke again before he answered. “I should tell you that I’ve had several renters in the past few years.”

“How many?”

I had to mentally count. “I think there have been nine—no, ten, if you include Liv who just left. But she only moved out because she’s living with her boyfriend now. He’s her fiancé,” I said, which was ridiculous because she was too young to get married. I’d already received the invitation to her upcoming wedding but I remembered when she had been born. I remembered taking her and my little sister Juliet to the park near where we lived with Liv’s big sister, Ava. Patrick had always been with our mother but I’d had Brenna too, I recalled, and Sophie and Addie had also come along. Someone had to keep an eye on them because Sophie always had her head stuck in a book, to the point that she would do things like walk into the road without noticing, and Addie would have gone off with anyone who offered to show her a puppy. None of my siblings had any sense at all.

Jude was considering that information. “You’ve had nine other housemates who left because…why, exactly?”

“We weren’t compatible. I have standards for the people I live with, high standards,” I explained. “I have high standards in general.”

“For yourself, too?”

That stung. “Are you saying that I don’t? I know the house isn’t as clean as it should be. Or are you referring to how I always look so sloppy?”

He seemed taken aback; his dark eyebrows furrowed and he frowned. “I haven’t noticed that this house is dirty. Is it?” He looked around and shook his head. “I’ve seen you mainly in your work clothes and they’re just normal, aren’t they?”

“Yes, it’s totally normal to wear scrubs. I mean…” I wasn’t sure what I’d meant. “My sister Juliet says that I’m difficult to live with.”

“How so?”

“Standards,” I said again. “I expect people to…” Again, I trailed off.

“To fall in line?” he suggested.

“To be adults. To be mature,” I answered. “I expect people to rise to the occasion and to do the right things. They don’t always do that.”

“No, they don’t. I don’t know if I will, but I’ll try. What about you?”

“What about me?” I asked. “Are you asking if I hold myself to the same standards?”

“I guess I’m asking if you’ll also try. Ten housemates in, it sounds like you may not be giving people much of a chance,” he said.

“It’s certainly not my fault that they keep moving out!” I retorted. “This is a great house in a nice neighborhood. I’m not asking for a ridiculous amount of money, am I?” I wasn’t. “The place is pretty clean, although yes, it could be a lot better. But unlike Sergio from the woodshop, I don’t have parties and I don’t make people sleep in the living room. Unlike the people at the halfway house, I don’t have lice.”

“I bet you won’t try to find my wallet while I’m asleep, either, or cry all night and keep everyone awake. That was very sad.”

“It sounds miserable and my house is obviously better. But if people can’t appreciate the opportunity, then that’s their own problem.”

He was silent and I had the feeling that I’d lost an eleventh housemate before he’d even moved in.

“It’s up to you. In a month, you won’t have a place to live and I’m making you a good offer here,” I said. “This is probably as good as it’s going to get.”

“You don’t have to convince me.”

I didn’t? “What’s the problem?”

“The problem…there’s not a problem,” he said. “Can I let you know? I have your number.”

And then he left. I stood at the front window and watched him go, pulling out of the driveway and waving to the two kids who’d come out again to get in on the action. It always did feel bad to lose a tenant, although I’d known that they were making poor decisions that they would later regret. I should have watched them leave and been satisfied that they would suffer for it.

But instead, it felt bad. I watched the car disappear and then went back to the couch, but I couldn’t fall asleep again.