Kristmas Collins (9 page)

“I have a long day planned tomorrow, I think I should go home and try to get some rest,” I said.

She grabbed my hand and pulled me up off the couch. “I’ve got a better idea—come dance with me, Kris.”

Since I rarely danced, even at weddings, doing it in a packed club in the Candi Kane spotlight was pretty much the last thing I wanted to do. But I needed her right now, more than she needed me. So I agreed to meet her downstairs after a bathroom break.

I made my way to the men’s room as a techno version of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” began to play, which I didn’t think either Santa or Springsteen would have been happy with. “Let it Snow” would have been a more appropriate tune for the bathroom, as all the sinks were taken with clubbers getting their cocaine fix. Through my many bad decisions, the one good one I made was never getting involved with drugs. I’ve seen what they’ve done to the likes of Zee and Candi, and no matter how much they both seem to have it together today, the demons were always looking to make a comeback.

I found Candi on the dance floor on the first level. She was surrounded by a bunch of twenty-something males, all vying for her attention. But she only had eyes for the old guy in the khakis, who was rocking the gray goatee and soft belly. She pulled me close to her as Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas is You” played. She whispered in my ear, “All I want for Christmas is you, Kris.”

“You can’t have me,” I said. For some reason it was much easier to turn her down now that I was single.

“Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean I can’t ask Santa for the one I love this year.”

I’ve never doubted her claims of loving me. I was the father she never had after he ran out on them when she was three. And I was one of the few people who actually took an interest in her best interests … at least up until that fateful night in her hotel suite in Beverly Hills. I could have brushed off the comment, but I chose to make sure my intentions were clear. One of the most merciful things Libby did for me was to make it clear that there was no hope of reconciliation. Hope can be a dangerous thing, leading us to believe in things that have no chance of happening, and sending us down the path to a dead end.

My firm rejection didn’t seem to lessen Candi’s mood. She continued to dance like nobody was watching, even though every eye in the club was on her. I, on the other hand, was watching everybody else. I noticed a woman snapping a photo of us with her cell phone. She looked like a
Jersey Shore
extra, with her hair almost reaching the third level. In this day and age of smartphones there was no way for celebrities like Candi to stop people from taking unwanted photos. But this was different … I’d met this woman before.

I excused myself from our dance and walked straight toward the woman. She didn’t move.

“Hello Jacqueline. I like the wig.”

She smiled. “Did Zee’s girlfriend send you to beat me up?”

“No, I just wanted to send my regards to your boss Stone Scroggie.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Kris. And when you become too connected to someone in this game, you can get them hurt. It’s pretty obvious that you still care about her.”

I glanced back at Candi. “You leave her alone—this is between me and your boss.”

“I’m not talking about Candi,” she said and held up her phone so I could view a photo. It was a picture of Libby.

Edmund Woods sensed danger as he walked down the deserted Yonkers street, sometime between late night and early morning. It was like an extra sense he’d picked up since they began living on the streets three weeks ago.

He arrived at the Range Rover that was parallel-parked in front of the dark apartment building. He brushed the snow off his heavy winter coat, took another glance behind to make sure he was just being paranoid, and then entered the vehicle.

Dora’s computer illuminated the inside of the vehicle like a street lamp, and she remained focused on it as he entered and took a seat on the driver’s side. In the backseat, sixteen-year-old Payne was doing a thousand-yard-stare out the windshield into the dark night—Edmund could tell that he’d been fighting with his mother once again. The one saving grace, as usual, was his six-year-old beacon of light, Susie.

“It’s snowing, Daddy!” she said excitably.

“I know, sweet pea. The weatherman said there’s a good chance it will be a white Christmas this year.”

“I’ll bet Santa’s sleigh works much better in the snow. I can’t wait for him to come! He brought me everything I wanted last year … and this year I was even gooder!”

“I think he’s going to make it a really special Christmas for a special little girl.”

Dora finally looked up from her laptop, perturbed. How dare he not tell her the truth that Santa might not be stopping by the Woods’ this year due to budget constraints. And that jolly old St. Nick probably wouldn’t know where to find them anyway, since their new “home” was parked on a different street each night.

Dora reached into the bag of items he’d just purchased from the 24-hour pharmacy down the street, and pulled out a plastic bottle. She shook her head. “We need to get him to a real doctor, not give him antacids.”

Payne spoke up, “I have a stomachache—that’s all. Every time I get a normal pain doesn’t mean the cancer is back. Who’s stomach wouldn’t hurt after all the shit we’ve been eating?”

This reminded Edmund. He reached into his bag and pulled out candy bars and bags of chips, and handed them around. He was convinced that hunger was the cause of tonight’s angst, and hoped to temporarily calm the tensions. But he knew it was just a Band-Aid—the only real solution would be to get their life back.

“If it doesn’t go away by morning, we’re going to take him to the free clinic,” Dora said.

“I’m not going to the free clinic,” Payne rebutted. “That place is loaded with nothing but homeless crackheads!”

A lump formed in Edmund’s throat. Payne’s words slapped him with reality—they were homeless! And smoking crack might not be far behind … just to tolerate each other.

Dora warned Susie that she wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if she had any more chocolate—as if sleep was actually a possibility—and swapped a pack of breath mints for the candy bar. It was hard to upset Susie, but she didn’t look happy about the tradeoff.

Dora opened a bag of Doritos and mocked Edmund by smacking her lips and making
mmm
sounds as she ate the chips. He no longer recognized her. He kept a clipping of their wedding announcement from the
New York Times
just to remind him of what once was, even if he doubted that it would ever be again.

They’d met at Kerstman Publishing—the first job out of college for both of them. He worked his way up to VP of Finance, while Dora went from an intern all the way to editor, and even worked on the last Harry Crawford book. Edmund had seen the signs of the financial struggle at Kerstman after Crawford stopped writing. When it got to the point that Edmund feared they wouldn’t be able to make payroll, he went to Diedrich Kerstman. He told Edmund in confidence that Harry Crawford had agreed to make a comeback, which would solve any financial problems, but in the meantime he would use his own money to keep things afloat … and proved it by handing Edmund a large check. He would learn at the trial that this was a lie. There was no Crawford comeback planned, and the check was extortion money connected to a shady business deal in which Kerstman sold out his employees’ personal information.

Once Payne got diagnosed, all their focus and energy went to him. So maybe that’s why he wasn’t on top of things like he normally was. The first alarm went off when they were rejected for a loan to cover the cost of an experimental treatment that their insurance wouldn’t pay for. Their credit had been destroyed, and their savings siphoned away.

The house they fought to keep for three years was just a material object, same with their lost retirement fund, and thankfully Payne didn’t need the experimental treatment to survive. But the doctors told them that there was a 50/50 chance of a relapse within three years, and in Dora’s eyes, Edmund had left their son vulnerable, and he doubted she would ever forgive him for that.

A knock startled everyone. Edmund looked to see a police officer, and rolled his window down. He gulped a deep breath, trying to remain calm. “Can I help you, officer?”

“Don’t get many Range Rovers in this neighborhood, so I thought you might be lost, or having some car trouble.”

“No, we were coming back from my sister’s in the city, and my son was having some stomach issues—he gets carsick—so we stopped off at a pharmacy to get him some antacid,” Edmund said. Payne held up the bottle to back up the story.

The officer’s eyes roamed around the vehicle, and Edmund could tell he was now aware that he was talking to a family living in a car. It was packed like they were headed for a cross-country trip, not a visit to a sister that didn’t exist.

“Take a few minutes until he feels better, and then I suggest you move on. This isn’t the safest neighborhood,” he let Edmund keep a little of his dignity.

When the officer left, and things began to settle down, Edmund shut off the vehicle.

“What are you doing?” Dora asked him. “It’s snowing out—we’re going to freeze without the heater.”

“I don’t want to call any attention to us and get another visit from the cops. Let’s use the sleeping bags, and the kids have heavy coats.”

“You got to be kidding me. Well, at least now I know our son won’t die of cancer … because his father is going to freeze him to death!”

“C’mon, Dora, you think this is easy for me?”

“I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“Maybe because you avoid talking to me at all costs.”

She opened her window and a cold breeze blew through the car. “Are you happy now? We can all freeze to death together—right after we finish eating some more shitty food!” She shoved another handful of chips in her mouth, and again did the lip-smacking thing.

She was about to take another handful, when the bag disappeared out the window.

A voice boomed, “A lot of people don’t got no food around here, so maybe you should be a little more appreciative.”

The voice came from an enormous man wearing a ski mask. “What do you want?” Edmund asked, trying to shield the fear in his voice.

“You’re in my neighborhood.”

“We were just moving on, I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

“You ain’t going nowhere until I’m through with you, Mr. Range Rover.”

“Please don’t hurt us,” Dora called out.

“A minute ago you were hoping to freeze to death, and now you’re all worried about your well-being? I don’t think you know what you want, lady.”

“Just don’t hurt my children. My son has cancer.”

Those were fighting words for Payne. “For the last time, Mom—I don’t have cancer anymore.”

“Maybe right now you don’t, but the doctors said it could come back.”

“Right now is the only time that matters.”

The man peered into the backseat where Payne was sitting. “You’re a brave kid, it takes a lot of courage to whip cancer’s ass.”

“He’s my role model,” Susie chimed in. “And my brother.”

“Sounds like a good person to look up to. I think your parents could learn a lot from him. Not only is he courageous, but also smart. Especially when he said that right now is the most important time. For example,
right now
, your mom and dad are going to hand me their wallets, and that way nobody will get hurt.”

Edmund reached into his pocket and handed his over. Dora resisted at first, but when the man displayed a knife she begrudgingly handed him her purse. He did a quick search through it until he found the wallet. He took nothing else.

She tried to hand him her laptop. “Go ahead … take it. They’ve stolen everything else from us, you might as well have it.”

“You don’t get it do you, lady?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“As far as I can tell, nobody took any of your important stuff.”

“Don’t you tell me what’s important!” she screeched, and again pushed the laptop toward him.

“Do I look stupid to you? I don’t want nothing that can be traced, so keep your computers and phones.” He looked in the wallets and pulled out their driver’s licenses, which he studied. “I wish you a Merry Christmas, Mr. and Mrs. Woods … just don’t be spending it in my neighborhood.”

And just like that, he was off into the night.

Dora looked at Edmund with fire in her eyes. “If you don’t go after him, I will.”

“He has a knife, Dora.”

“If I get stabbed you can buy me some antacids and I’ll be fine,” she said and began to open the door.

He reached out and grabbed her arm—it was the first time they’d touched in months. “I’ll go find that policeman—they probably know who this guy is … he said it was his neighborhood.”

Edmund again entered the cold. But he didn’t look for a policeman. He walked a couple blocks away and found a bench. He cleared off the snow and sat by himself. He just stared out into the dark night and cried.

Almost an hour later, when his tears began to turn to icicles, he returned to the vehicle. Everybody was asleep—they’d been conditioned with Payne’s sickness to get their sleep between emergencies and disasters, and now it was between fights and muggings. But one person awoke, huddled under a blanket with her sleeping brother.