curiously.
“Just a little something for you — to make those long winter days seem less long.”
“Now, what have you gone and done?” Her voice was scolding, but he could see the delight in her eyes.
“There are several dozen small gifts here. I want you to open one every day until they’re gone.”
“Hale, you shouldn’t! This is too much.”
God, he loved doing things for her. It gave him more pleasure than just about anything in his life. “Are your grandchildren taking good care of you?”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“But I do.”
“I don’t need to be waited on. I’m perfectly able to take care of myself.”
“They’re getting groceries for you, right?”
“They are.”
He hesitated. “Because if they’re not —”
“Hale, you mustn’t worry.” Her eyes moved to the steps leading to the second floor. “I’ve missed seeing you these past couple of weeks. I always enjoy hearing you at work upstairs.”
“I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
She nodded, smoothing her apron. “I suppose you’ll be flying to Europe soon. I like to think of you visiting far-off places. I almost feel like I’m doing it with you.”
“I wish you could.”
“The postcards are wonderful. I have an entire stack in my bottom dresser drawer. Sometimes, on Sunday afternoons, I take them out and look at them.”
She was breaking his heart. He’d known for years she wasn’t in good health. It was her eighty-seven-year-old body. There was nothing he could do. “Well, I’ve got to get going. I promise, next time I’ll bring some of that Chinese food you love so much. And we can get out the Scrabble board. You owe me a chance to recoup some of my losses.”
“You’re a dear boy. You … haven’t
stopped
working, have you?”
“No. Just taking a breather.”
“Well, then, I’ll look forward to your next visit.” She started to get up.
“No. Just sit there. I can show myself out.”
“Take good care of yourself then, Hale. I’ll keep you in my prayers.”
“Please,” he said, realizing his voice was almost desperate, “do that. Don’t forget me. You’ll never know how much I count on those prayers.”
9
Just after dusk, Rudy sprinted up the stairs to John Jacobi’s second-floor apartment. The artist lived in an old fourplex on Grand Avenue in St. Paul — a fairly funky address by even the most discriminating standards. Although Rudy hadn’t grown up in the Twin Cities, he was learning fast.
As he approached the door, he touched his hair, making sure the stiff February wind hadn’t completely rearranged his look. The weather had become so bitter. And the way he was dressed, he must look like a snowman.
He unzipped his jacket, then knocked. He wished the butterflies in his stomach would fly away and never come back. Having been raised in a religious time warp, so many things still felt unfamiliar to him. He’d never had this kind of freedom before. He even had a car at his disposal whenever he needed one. He relished each new experience, remembering how utterly constricted his life had once been. Never again, he repeated to himself. Never, ever again.
As John opened the door, Rudy could see a table set in the dining room. Springsteen’s
Nebraska
CD played softly from speakers affixed to the ceiling above the built-in buffet. Rudy hadn’t known what to expect, but this was wonderful. “Hi.” He smiled, stepping into the foyer almost reverently. John’s artwork was everywhere.
“You’re dressed for a blizzard, I see,” said John, grinning. “Just toss your gear over one of the chairs.”
Rudy quickly took off his heavy coat and muffler, his eyes traveling around the spacious rooms. The furniture was old — circa 1950 — but meticulously maintained. The hardwood floors were bare. One entire wall was filled with books.
“Make yourself at home. I’ve
“Just a little something for you — to make those long winter days seem less long.”
“Now, what have you gone and done?” Her voice was scolding, but he could see the delight in her eyes.
“There are several dozen small gifts here. I want you to open one every day until they’re gone.”
“Hale, you shouldn’t! This is too much.”
God, he loved doing things for her. It gave him more pleasure than just about anything in his life. “Are your grandchildren taking good care of you?”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“But I do.”
“I don’t need to be waited on. I’m perfectly able to take care of myself.”
“They’re getting groceries for you, right?”
“They are.”
He hesitated. “Because if they’re not —”
“Hale, you mustn’t worry.” Her eyes moved to the steps leading to the second floor. “I’ve missed seeing you these past couple of weeks. I always enjoy hearing you at work upstairs.”
“I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
She nodded, smoothing her apron. “I suppose you’ll be flying to Europe soon. I like to think of you visiting far-off places. I almost feel like I’m doing it with you.”
“I wish you could.”
“The postcards are wonderful. I have an entire stack in my bottom dresser drawer. Sometimes, on Sunday afternoons, I take them out and look at them.”
She was breaking his heart. He’d known for years she wasn’t in good health. It was her eighty-seven-year-old body. There was nothing he could do. “Well, I’ve got to get going. I promise, next time I’ll bring some of that Chinese food you love so much. And we can get out the Scrabble board. You owe me a chance to recoup some of my losses.”
“You’re a dear boy. You … haven’t
stopped
working, have you?”
“No. Just taking a breather.”
“Well, then, I’ll look forward to your next visit.” She started to get up.
“No. Just sit there. I can show myself out.”
“Take good care of yourself then, Hale. I’ll keep you in my prayers.”
“Please,” he said, realizing his voice was almost desperate, “do that. Don’t forget me. You’ll never know how much I count on those prayers.”
9
Just after dusk, Rudy sprinted up the stairs to John Jacobi’s second-floor apartment. The artist lived in an old fourplex on Grand Avenue in St. Paul — a fairly funky address by even the most discriminating standards. Although Rudy hadn’t grown up in the Twin Cities, he was learning fast.
As he approached the door, he touched his hair, making sure the stiff February wind hadn’t completely rearranged his look. The weather had become so bitter. And the way he was dressed, he must look like a snowman.
He unzipped his jacket, then knocked. He wished the butterflies in his stomach would fly away and never come back. Having been raised in a religious time warp, so many things still felt unfamiliar to him. He’d never had this kind of freedom before. He even had a car at his disposal whenever he needed one. He relished each new experience, remembering how utterly constricted his life had once been. Never again, he repeated to himself. Never, ever again.
As John opened the door, Rudy could see a table set in the dining room. Springsteen’s
Nebraska
CD played softly from speakers affixed to the ceiling above the built-in buffet. Rudy hadn’t known what to expect, but this was wonderful. “Hi.” He smiled, stepping into the foyer almost reverently. John’s artwork was everywhere.
“You’re dressed for a blizzard, I see,” said John, grinning. “Just toss your gear over one of the chairs.”
Rudy quickly took off his heavy coat and muffler, his eyes traveling around the spacious rooms. The furniture was old — circa 1950 — but meticulously maintained. The hardwood floors were bare. One entire wall was filled with books.
“Make yourself at home. I’ve
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