A Final Valentine

"Don't know when I'm going to be open again," Drew said seriously. "They say this is going to get worse. Really bad. Worst in a century, they say. They're telling people to go home and stay there. So, you may want to take double just in case."

I glanced out the barred windows at the swirling white flakes. If I were a betting man, I would have put it that it would be gone within a day at the most. Probably less. But, the day before I would have bet it wouldn't have snowed at all.

And what the hell difference did it make if I bought it all now or half now and half later anyway? If I bought it now, it would just mean I wouldn't have to walk back in five days for more.

I looked back at Drew with a nod and handed him my card.

It went through. Fortunate since I hadn't seen my balance after I'd called a cab one day (before having my phone cut off obviously) to take me to the closest branch and deliver Angela's death certificate. The bank had never sent me a statement in the mail despite my requesting it be done even in the face of the extra surcharge. And I hadn't been able to find it in me to care enough to track it manually. I just bought what I couldn't do without, did without whatever I could, and hoped for the best. I sort of thought I probably had enough right up until it was time for them to run it again, but it was always a slight relief when it went through once more.

I sat on the curb outside and opened my purchase to dig out a pack while Drew locked up again and drove away. I was hurting. Just lying still the nerve pain would build up. Sitting up, much less moving around and doing the exercises to keep my muscles and joints from locking up, just made it build up faster. Our treks to the store were misery-inducing.

As I lit up and inhaled my acrid medication, I gazed across 50th Street at the truck stop and cafe on the other corner of the intersection with the interstate's business route. No one was moving around that I could see and it looked like the lights were off inside. Several trucks were in the lot, but they were shut down instead of idling like usual. No smoke rose from any of their stacks.

A short, slight figure, wearing a yellow hoodie and jeans, came around the corner and crossed to the doors to give them a yank before cupping their hands over their face pressed against the glass confirming my mounting suspicion Willard had closed his place down for the first time in my memory. I watched as the figure looked around and then shuffled off towards the trucks lined up in the back lot with hands jammed in the pockets of the hoodie. With no smoke coming from the stacks, I figured the drivers had most likely found a way down to the string of no-tell motels rather than bedding down in their sleepers.

The wind had picked up and the flakes were falling faster I thought. As I looked down the street, I couldn't see more than about six blocks. Everything beyond that was shrouded in a fog of swirling white. I frowned as I considered that along with Drew's warning and Willard's truck stop being closed and decided I might better move along instead of sitting until my usual ritual smoke on the curb was done. I was starting to worry I'd already been too slow and Juanita would have closed up her store.

As I was crossing back across 50th Street, I caught motion in the corner of my eye and glanced to see the kid in yellow between two of the trucks watching me. Whoever it was, they were far enough away I wasn't too worried about them and turned my attention back to my faltering steps.

Juanita had locked her doors, but was still inside and came over to unlock them when she saw me walk up.

"Ai! Mr. Aaron! What are you doing out in this?!" Juanita glanced around and continued before I could answer. "And where is Miss Bitty?!"

"Home," I managed.

"Ai! That puppy is smarter than you! Si? What are you doing here?"

"Food," I said. "For her and me."

"Oh, si? Well, you are lucky you came when you did. I wait for my Carlos to come get me. I don't like to drive in this. And you walking?! Aiyayai! Come! You get what you need. My Carlos, he won't mind waiting if he comes before you are done since it is you."

"Thank you."

In what was probably a mistake, I grabbed a cart. Already I wasn't thinking about just what it would mean that Bitty wasn't along to transport her own food back in her saddlebags. And I was thinking about doubling what I usually got as I had my smokes order. With the basket, I made a few impulse buys I normally wouldn't have. Beginning with Valentine's stuff.

Juanita sold everything from clothes and dry goods to groceries. She didn't do electronics, but that was about all that kept her store from being a miniature low-rent version of WalMart. And she always had a big prominent display of whatever holiday crap was in vogue. Which, in that case, was the looming Valentine's.

I'd seen it on previous trips starting the week after Christmas, of course. But, I'd been largely successful in ignoring it. For some reason though, perhaps because of the snow, I couldn't quite stop myself from taking a dinky fake rose with an LED inside for a dollar, a small one dollar heart-shaped box of candy, and a piece of wood carved into the word "love" for three dollars before moving on past the display. It was stupid really to pick up those things for my deceased wife who would never even know I got them, much less appreciate them. Perhaps it would be fair to say I got them for me much the way a headstone is bought for the survivors rather than the one who rests beneath it.

I grabbed a few bags, boxes, packages, and cans for myself before heading for the pet food. I'd heard the bell on the door of course, but assumed it must be Carlos until I spotted that yellow hoodie dart past the end of the row I was in. I didn't know if I'd been followed, but Juanita's store was the next down from the truck stop. So, I decided the person being there likely didn't have anything to do with me.

I usually didn't bother with the cooler section since I didn't have a refrigerator. Or rather I did, but no electricity to run it. But, I had the thought I might treat myself since the weather would allow me to keep cool stuff around longer than normal.

As I rounded the last corner, I saw the person in the hoodie standing with a door open, and a sandwich package, cramming as much of a sandwich as they could manage in their mouth.

"Hey!" I shouted, or tried to. "Are you going to pay?"

The person either ignored me or couldn't hear me. A possibility since I had trouble pitching my voice louder than conversational anymore.

I pushed my cart closer. They glanced my way, dropped the remainder of the sandwich on the floor and darted around the far end to head for the door.

As I picked up the half eaten sandwich, I heard Juanita in full battle mode. I couldn't tell exactly what she was saying since I'd chosen three semesters of American Sign Language and one of Signed English instead of the ubiquitous Spanish (or Tex-Mex) to fill my foreign language requirements back in college. (There was a girl involved, of course.) I did, however, catch the word for police and sighed.

I wouldn't classify myself as a good man. If pressed, I would call myself a bad man who tried to do good things. I don't know. Perhaps I did something right since my Angela thought so much of me. But, snagging another sandwich out of the cooler and tossing it in my basket was motivated more by self-interest rather than altruism.

As I had half thought might be the case, when I rounded the corner I saw that Carlos had arrived to catch the would-be thief and was holding them off the ground for Juanita to use her broom on them like a pinata.

Rather than try to project my voice that far, I just pushed my cart closer while I enjoyed the show.

"I'll pay," I said.

"No! I call the police to come take her away to jail!" Juanita punctuated herself with two more swats of the broom.

Right. Unlike most good and decent people, people like Juanita and Carlos, I knew better.

First, with the weather like it was, we would be standing around until the sun went down waiting for a response most likely. Well, at least the better part of an hour anyway.

Once the officer did arrive, he (or she) would assess the situation and end up writing a ticket unless the kid was already on probation for something worse since the sandwich didn't cost enough to be more than a class-c misdemeanor.

Juanita would get pissed and mouth off at the cop. The cop would try to keep his (or her) cool, but would be more than human if it didn't get on their nerves as they had more important things to do with the weather like it was than to stand around trying to explain an obscure point of law that most good and decent people just didn't bother with.

And I wouldn't be allowed to leave until it was all over. And I still had to walk my sorry and sore ass a mile home. In the snow. Uphill.

Ok, not the last as land just didn't get any flatter, but still.

"Look at her," I managed. "She's starving. It's cold. I'll pay. Let her go."

I wasn't sure, but that might have been as many words as I'd used dating back to Thanksgiving totaled. And all at one time. It was wearing on me.

Carlos lowered the girl until her feet touched the ground once more. I shoved the opened sandwich against her stomach harder than I meant to. But, at least it forced her to take it. Otherwise, she might have stood there looking stupid, since that is exactly what she did when Carlos let her go.

"Go!" I said as forcefully as I could manage while pointing over her shoulder at the door. I tried for my old steely stare and hoped I just managed not to look tired and in pain from all the effort.

Something worked as she took a shaky step back and then another. Once she was behind Carlos, she turned and hit the door at a sprint.

That issue handled, I turned my attention to stacking my purchases from the basket on the counter and immediately began having second thoughts about just how much I was getting. Most of it we probably needed with a few impulse buys we most likely didn't, but either way, I was going to have to get it home. Crap. What was I thinking?

Juanita's normally smiling face wore a frown as she went back to the counter to ring me up and all through the process. When she hit the sandwich, I held up two fingers to remind her to pass it through twice.

When all was done, the bill was a little over double what I normally ran on our visits, but what bothered me more was the number of bags. The bulk of them was more problematic than the weight. Which combined with the weight of my duster was an issue if just not as major.

After a brief struggle to find my balance once I shifted the bulk off the counter down beside my left leg, I stepped off to head out with a nod of thanks and a weary smile for Juanita.

Carlos' meaty hand on my shoulder stopped me.

"You are a good man, Aaron," he rumbled, in a voice not unlike the big eighteen-wheeler diesel engines he worked on for a living.

Embarrassed, I blushed and ducked my head. I knew how selfish my motives, were. I had never had too many illusions about myself. Angela was the good one.

"Take care," I managed to say. "Stay warm."

Carlos' dark eyes studied mine for a moment before he gave my shoulder a squeeze and let me go. "You too. We pray for you all the time."

Embarrassing to annoying in less than sixty seconds. I bit my tongue to keep from telling him he could leave the little brat watching this ant farm out of it. Just because God and I hadn't been on the best of terms for a while was no need to lash out at a good man just living as he believed was right. I gave one last nod at both of them and headed out into the storm.

The weather had gotten more than a little ridiculous while I was inside. Visibility was down to just three blocks. The fat flakes were no longer swirling but coming in sideways in stinging slaps. My walking stick and feet crunched down with each step into mounding white up over the tops of my boots. This shit might be normal somewhere up north, but for a place where it never snowed and rarely rained it was just plain silly.

Two blocks later, as I fell for the first time, I decided that Dante had the right of it. Forget fire and brimstone. Hell was going to be a cold place. With fucking ice spears stabbing at my face and eyes.

The third time, I didn't so much fall as I let the bags fall and my body follow after to sit in the snow about where I thought the curb might be and reached for a smoke.

Movement drew my eye and I looked to see that same damn yellow hoodie coming up about a half block behind me. I stopped fishing in my pocket for my pack and gripped my staff. I might have been a bit past my prime, injured, slower, and weaker than I'd once been. But, I was confident I would still be a nasty surprise for anyone mistaking me for easy prey.

My gloves, and the knuckles inside, creaked against the staff as I prepared to kill or die when her hands came out of her pocket holding something. Only, it wasn't a weapon. It was a pad of paper.

Still wary, I did let her come closer. Close enough, when my eyes flickered to the paper she was holding out to me as if it were a crucifix and I was Bela Lugosi, I could make out the large, bold writing on it.

"I am deaf," it said. "Please, wait."

Thanks to an all but forgotten girlfriend majoring in Speech and Hearing Sciences, I'd taken sign language to fill in the spot for foreign language requirement on my transcripts. Once I'd figured out being bilingual was an asset on my resume, I'd kept my hand in by volunteering with the Community Services for the Deaf a couple of times a month for a long time. It wasn't as useful as Spanish, or rather "Tex-Mex," would have been in that time and place. Even in a city of over three hundred thousand, you just don't run into that many deaf people in the course of a day unless you work at a place that specifically catered to them. But, I knew enough to get by.

"So?" I tried to give the motion of my hands and arms an angry snap. "What does that mean to me? Why are you following me?"

The motion of my hands and arms drew her attention as she had turned the paper around and been scribbling something rapidly on the next page with what looked like a golf pencil she'd drawn from her other pocket. Her eyes widened as she realized I was signing at her.

"You sign?" Her hands asked.

"A little bit. Rusty. Why are you following? What do you want?"

Rather than respond, the girl dropped her paper and surged at me. I had let go of my staff to sign at her and grabbed for it where it rested across my thighs. But it was too late. Before I could do more than grip it, she was on me.

It took a moment for me to realize I was being hugged, not attacked, as I wrestled with her, trying to get my hands up so that I could push her back. And that the sounds coming from her were loud sobs. I caught a rank whiff of her, the top of her hood shoved against my mouth and nose when she fell against me almost knocking me over, and was sorry I had as I fought down my gag reflex. Man, but she stank! And I really, really didn't want to know what that crusty feeling against my face was.

Tears and snot were running freely when I pushed her back far enough to see her.

"Stop," I gestured sharply. "Stop. What is this? What do you want?"

Her fingers flew into dizzying motion and I had to frantically motion for her to slow down. I had never been that good, and I was out of practice. She slowed enough to get the gist. Enough of one anyway.

"I was kicked out," she signed. "On my way to California. But, my last ride dumped me here. The storm started before I could find another. I have no place to go. It's cold. No one can sign out here. No one. That you can, makes me happy."

Oh, hell no. I needed to put a stop to this right the hell now.

"Sorry," I signed. "I cannot help you. If you go that way and cross over the highway, there are motels. Someone there can probably help. I can't."

"No money."

"Then they can contact someone to help you. I can't even do that. No phone."

"But, you sign."

"Can't help."

"I'll let you fuck me."

"Fuck off!" I gestured sharply. "Not interested. And if I were, not going to with a fourteen-year-old."

"I'm eighteen."

"Bullshit. Go. Over there you will find someone to help or at least someone to fall for your lies. Get away from me."

This is what came of letting anyone get the impression I might be "good" or "nice." Buy the little shit a sandwich and suddenly she wanted me to take her to raise.

I so did not need this. Using sign language was a little bit easier than trying to talk, but not enough it was actually easy for me. I didn't need or want a stray following me home. And even if she hadn't looked (and felt) so young, she looked and smelled so awful I wouldn't have fucked her with someone else's dick even back in my days when I'd been more than a bit of a male slut.

Before I had met Angela, I had pretty well been willing to take on anything that walked on two legs, had to squat to pee, and was willing. But, even then I'd had some standards. Not many, granted. But, they had to at least be clean and not reek.

After meeting Angela... Well, I am no saint. To my shame, I did stray twice and regretted it almost before it was over both times. But, both of them (one a bona fide beauty pageant runner-up and the other a would-be model) were far and away more tempting than some scrawny little half-starved waif with serious bathing issues.

After losing Angela... Well, I just couldn't see myself with anyone else ever again. And for sure not someone I figured was lying her ass off about her jailbait status.

I rose and gathered up my bags. With one final glare at the kid still kneeling in the snow, I turned away and continued my long trudge.

My left ear stung, for all the world as if the ghost of my wife had thumped it like she often had in life when she wanted to communicate I was being an ass but didn't want to say it in front of people. It was probably just the beginning of frostbite. I ignored it and struggled on.

If I could have bothered to look back, I would have run the kid off more forcefully as she followed me. But, I was struggling. Visibility was down to little more than a block. The snow on the ground was almost to my knees. Despite being so cold I was losing feeling in my face, my body was sweating, though whether from effort or the weight of all the clothes I'd thought I needed, I couldn't tell. I was having enough troubles maintaining without trying to turn and look behind me.

And the little shit was smart enough to trail far enough back I would have had to turn almost completely around to see her until I fell twice more. I know because I finally did spot her as I rolled around to sit and consider whether it was worth the effort of getting up after the second time without resting a minute or two first.

I glowered at her as she stood there watching me until she stepped forward and closed the distance.

"I told you to go away," I signed, but couldn't manage the snap to indicate my anger. Hell, I was too tired to work up a decent mad.

"We can help each other," she signed back. "I help you carry this. You let me stay until this is over."

She was close enough I could see her teeth chattering and her nose and lips were turning blue. I winced at a sharp pain in my left ear that I couldn't ignore. Damn, but I could almost hear Angela's voice whispering sharply under the moaning wind.

What the hell? It wasn't as if I had that much worth stealing anymore anyway. Angela and I had sold most everything that held any value (including our wedding rings) after we'd lost our jobs and medical bills had eaten our savings before we could qualify for disability.