A Yule Retrieved

"I don't know any Reaper, but it better have been me."

"But before that, maybe three months ago, not his arm around you in a pizza parlor?"

Leo jerked; the knee stopped him. Gloria's eyes got harder as her gaze shifted back to her boyfriend. "You told me it was done a year ago and that you hadn't seen her since. Three months ago ... you and me had started talking then." Leo went still, unable to meet her eyes.

The tableau held, broken only by frightened breathing coming from the floor. Finally, Ferg rose. "I warned you, but you didn't listen." The form rolled into a tighter fetal ball.

The moment of tension stretched tautly, two people unaware of what it held for the third, unable to discern that the stillness masked "Do something before you explode!" locked in a deep struggle with "I just can't anymore ... with her, with him, with this life."

"You wanna know the only thing savin' you right now?" Leo didn't respond to Ferg's rhetorical question. "You told her to run when you thought I might hurt her, even though I told you that you'd pay." His eyes met Gloria's again.

He's all yours, his said.

Yeah, but do I want him? hers answered.

Ferg stared at the soft light the ceramic bulbs shed into the shadows where the sun wasn't yet reaching. He noticed one of them was out, a green one. He thought about going into the lobby where a small box held spares, ready for any resident who spotted a problem, but ...

He'd expected a cold sort of closure after he dealt with Leo. If the possibility had crossed his mind that she wouldn't be there, he'd have expected relief at not finding María in Leo's bed.

The reality was far worse. She hadn't left him because she'd felt the pull of an old flame. She'd just left him. Not to someone else, away from him. She was probably holed up in her parent's house, a place he had never been welcome, relatives acting as early-warning systems against his appearance. He'd tried. Of course he had. But a sister said, "She's not seeing you," and a father's glare from behind backed that up.

Mr. Banyas emerged, keys in hand. Ferg knew it had to be a little before nine. He'd be late for work if he didn't go soon. He wasn't feeling it—when did one ever feel washing dirty pots?—but they needed every cent his part-time brought in. The stacks of singles in Amber's nightstand, renewed each weekend, dwindled rapidly in the face of thirteen bucks a pack.

Ferg made it through the workday, only getting yelled at twice by the head cook for standing around vacantly. The man didn't know he was playing with matches around tinder.

Or maybe he did. Glucocorticoids and catecholamines were words that would have meant nothing to a cook. But maybe, having been there himself once, he recognized the signs of a male body not yet one hundred percent mature, struggling to stay afloat in a torrent of stress hormones, and realized that a little focus on something external helped.

After work, sitting once again on his bench, staring at the colors, ignoring the increasing chill in the air now that the sun had dropped behind the building, he tried to build a wall inside, to say, "Screw her."

"Yo, Ferg. The fuck's up?" Donnie's loud voice.

Ferg looked up to see a trio sliding through the gate still open for another few minutes.

"We hear you're a pussy, man. We hear you visited Leo-shit, and he's still walking."

"It wasn't María."

"You saying I lied?" Reaper's voice was tight.

"No, man. Just wrong. Just a girl who looked like María."

"Don't matter, man. That fucker put his hands on her before, and you owed him for that. Plus, he was talking to Janie and she's off-limits, so he deserved a beating anyway." Anthony had his eye on Janie, to no avail. That didn't make him less territorial. More, probably.

"I'm not doing this with you."

"You're not doing this?" Donnie's tone was snide. "Yeah, I think you are. You let us down, bro. It's an issue of respect, and your faggot ass reflects on all of us." Donnie's grin widened in "oh, you got a problem with that?" at Ferg's expression.

"Boys, you gotta go." Mr. Banyas's voice cut into the tension as he moved past, a green lightbulb in hand.

"We'll go in a bit, Pops."

"No. Closing time's now. You gotta go."

"Whatcha got there, Pops? This your tree?"

Ferg recognized Reaper's tone. It didn't spell "curiosity" or anything else pleasant. "Leave it," he said, ignoring Donnie's continued gaze. But Reaper wasn't done.

"Nah, I kinda like those lights. Kinda old-school. They might look good on my ol' lady's tree. How about you give me some, Pops?"

Anthony moved forward to join Reaper's fun. Ferg stood. Donnie's sneer grew wider. Mr. Banyas looked around with a sudden expression of alarm. Things might have gone to hell if the fire door hadn't opened, grabbing everyone's attention.

Mr. Jolnir stepped out with a broom and started sweeping dead leaves into a pile. "It's after closing time. Shouldn't everyone be gone?" he said in Mr. Banyas's direction.

"We go when we want to go." The malicious amusement in Anthony's tone was enough to make Mr. Jolnir pause. "So why don't you take your scrawny old ass back inside while we finish?"

Reaper turned back to Mr. Banyas and grabbed his arm, jerking it toward him. "Gimme some, Pops, or else—"

And things went to hell. Ferg jumped forward to grab Reaper. Donnie jumped forward to grab Ferg. Mr. Banyas jerked away but tripped over the uneven bricks. Anthony watched in amusement.

There was a strangled grunt in Ferg's ear and, all of a sudden, the arms around him loosened somewhat. Ferg wrapped his around Reaper, who half-twisted and put a fist into Ferg's mouth. There was a whiffling sound, a loud crack. Ferg, lurching to establish his grip on Reaper, saw Donnie prone, his head covered in blood. Anthony jerked into motion, hand going into his pocket, amusement leeching away.

Reaper was doing serious damage to Ferg's face while Ferg struggled for the grip he wanted. Blood streaked down making him blind in one eye until he was finally able to coil around behind, dig his forehead in, and squeeze. Jugular vein compressed, hindering blood leaving the head. Carotid arteries backed up and then compressed as Ferg's grip tightened, shutting down supply. Ferg held the choke as Reaper struggled, raining blows backward.

Out of his good eye, he saw Mr. Banyas scramble to his feet and lunge toward Anthony, ignoring the bicycle lock dangling dangerously from Anthony's hand. A flying tackle brought the young man down and fists flew. The two rolled over and over until the whiffling sound came again, and Ferg saw a broom handle crack unerringly into Anthony's head.

"He's out, Martin. Let him go." Mr. Jolnir's voice. Ferg relaxed his grip and rolled the limp form off.

It took a while to get it all sorted. It took a review of the buildings' security cameras, miraculously clear according to the cops, to establish whose version of events was the truth. When all was done, Ferg sported several butterfly bandages, a pounding head, and just wanted to go lie down.

Before the police and ambulances had arrived, but after Reaper had woken from his nap, Mr. Banyas had leaned over the groggy figure. "Gulf War, Second MARDIV, you fucking asshole. Come back here again and we'll do it some more. Tell your buddies."

He went over to shoo away the gawkers, especially the Ghoul. She never missed an ambulance or police call to the building, whether it was a domestic disturbance, Third Floor Deli Guy's heart attack, or someone being led away in cuffs. Now she was trying to push out into the park, phone held up for video. That left only Ferg to hear Mr. Jolnir's addition to Reaper.

"Come back here again and you won't leave except in a hearse." Coming from an eighty-year-old whose shirt flapped loosely about his frame, it was kind of funny, but laughing caused Ferg's head to ache.

Donnie and Anthony probably didn't think it was funny. Ferg heard the EMT say, "Coming in with two concussions, possible cranial fractures from broom handle versus skull. One with severe renal blunt force trauma." A snort that mixed disbelief with amusement. "The same broom handle driven into it like a spear, from what I hear. Also, one bilateral vascular restraint being brought in for observation before transfer in custody."

Predictably, Amber's only comment was, "Don't expect me to nurse your ass when you get in fights."

"So, you want to talk about it?"

Ferg looked up, startled, at Mr. Jolnir's words, delivered while the broom started its ssk-ssk on the bricks. The sound of the door opening had been masked by the horns and brake squeals that came with morning rush hour.

"Hmm," the old man said when Ferg faced him. "Those are going to be colorful in a day or two."

The reaction to the large blotches of red on Ferg's face was an echo of what he'd heard the night before when Dipshit showed. Though Dipshit's smug observation was more along the lines of, "Got your ass whooped. Guess you're not going to be able to hide that, huh?"

For once, Amber seemed sensitive to the undercurrents of the room. One glance at her son and she tried to hide a nervous expression as she pulled at Dipshit's arm, urging him toward the back. "Come on, Tim. I've missed you."

Now, Ferg answered Mr. Jolnir. "Yeah. I'm tryin' to decide if I should go to work."

"A dishwasher doesn't have to look pretty."

"How do you know where I work?"

"I know a lot about you. So, you want to talk about it?"

Ferg didn't want to. Or maybe he did because anything was better than the feeling of emptiness that kept filling up with anger.

"I was seein' this girl María. We were together for a while. I thought it was the real deal. It was for me. Then a few months ago or so, she left me without sayin' anything." Ferg fell silent.

After the silence stretched on, Mr. Jolnir said, "Don't try to sell your story to the tabloids; they pay by the word." Ferg looked up, grimaced, shrugged. "And that business yesterday?"

Ferg took up the story again. "She used to see this other guy that none of us like. He decided he maybe wanted to get back together with her and started talkin' to her. One day, he made a move on her at a party. I heard and got there before things went too far, told her she could leave me if she wanted, but she had to be fair and tell me. Told him what would happen if she didn't and he tried it again.

"Word got back to me that he was talkin' shit, tellin' everyone he'd mess me up the next time he saw me and that he'd cuck me anytime he felt like it. Then word that he did try something again. Then more word that they were together and flauntin' it. I flipped out a little."

Ferg was embarrassed to admit that and knew Mr. Jolnir could see it. "I-I wasn't goin' to do anything to her except make her watch him eat his words." Mr. Jolnir's eyebrow went up. "Well, maybe make her watch me give him a little of what he promised me. I dunno. Maybe. But I wouldn't have touched her."

Mr. Jolnir nodded, apparently accepting that. "And?"

Ferg told him about Gloria, who looked like María's sister. "But he did try something after I warned him. So some of what I heard was true."

"And those were his friends yesterday?"

"No, those were my friends."

No snort, a full bark of laughter. "Friends?"

"They thought I pussied out. Made them look bad. That's not okay."

"Well, they certainly looked bad. No harm with them out of your life." The old man used a dustpan to gather the leaves and dump them in the compost bin. "Women are like buses, they—"

"No." Ferg shook his head sharply, regretted it. "A new one doesn't come by every minute. Not like that."

"So? You're saying another cycle of poverty and homelessness is about to repeat itself?"

Ferg's irritation forced him out of the apartment more and more because it couldn't coexist with Amber's increasingly obvious intention to hang onto Dipshit. He took to the park where Mr. Jolnir was often sweeping up. Every once in a while, if the weather snapped too cold, they'd sit over hot tea with a jolt of something extra in Apartment 1D.

Ferg hated the conversations, but he found himself in them, nonetheless.

Now he had no answer, so Mr. Jolnir rolled on.

"Let's look at it. You've got your health"—a grim, shared laugh because Ferg's face was an interesting riot of green, yellow and brown. "You've weeded out some of the bad apples in your life. You've got a job."

"Such as it is," Ferg said and took a sip.

Mr. Jolnir nodded in agreement. "On the debit side of that, the job isn't enough to get you out from under a woman who's trying to go from fading stripper to Wife Number Four"—the number, not Amber's intention, was a mild surprise to Ferg—"and views you as the big obstacle in her life."

He waited to see if Ferg would snap at that bait, but a slow change had been going on in the depths of the young man. Ever since Amber told him, in not quite those words, that she wished she'd had an abortion, his attitude had started shifting ... not to anger or antagonism or hurt-little-lost boy. Simply to indifference. Cut your losses.

"You were pretty clear a couple of weeks ago that gangbanger wasn't on your bucket list. So what's your plan?"

The frustration with his life suddenly threatened to overflow. He stood. "I don't have a plan, okay?" he snarled. "I had one. It revolved around me and a girl. But she didn't have the same plan. So now I'm workin' on a new one. I gotta go."

Mr. Jolnir just raised his cup in the direction of the door.

Two days later, Ferg walked past the old man fending off the container of cabbage soup Ms. Horvath was pressing on him and her wheedling for him to come to the Christmas Eve party.

"You must come. Štědrý den we call it, the Generous Day. Come and be generous with us."

It was all under the watchful eyes of Sleepy, who was still the ugliest cat in the world. Ferg's eyes met feline ones, and he swore there was a moment of shared amusement.

"Martin! I'd like you to come in a second," Mr. Jolnir called over the woman's shoulder.

"I'm goin' to the market."

"It can wait a moment. Iveta, I don't need any more cabbage soup. I won't be at the Christmas Eve party because that's when I get together with some old friends. Try Mr. Salinas over in North Building. He's single."

The simper froze at the implication. As she turned away, it morphed into a death ray at the witness to her humiliation. Ferg waited until she passed then stepped into Mr. Jolnir's apartment.

"What?" he asked in irritation as the figure headed toward the back.

"Marty?"

He turned to the second figure he hadn't noticed at first, struck almost-but-not-completely dumb. "María?" The paralysis lasted only a moment. "Why are you here?" he asked harshly.

"To see you."

"Yeah," he sneered. "You had months to do that. But I guess something— make that someone had your attention. I thought it was Leo, but I guess I was wrong."

"There was no Leo. I haven't seen him since he tried to come on to me at—"

"You're gonna claim the party?"

She didn't break stride at his interruption. "—Pasquale's. I was just there with Ana for pizza, and he comes up and puts his arm around me and starts talking—"

"And?"

"—like some big man about how he was going to treat me so nice." She paused, giving him space to repeat "And?"

"And I dumped the marinara from my mozzarella sticks on his crotch." She shrugged. "I didn't like him touching me, and I already had a nice guy."

Ferg stared at her, unsure of what to say. That part of the story hadn't gotten back to him. Reaper didn't see it, or Reaper's nasty game? But that was months ago. "Where have you been?" he finally managed.

She looked at him and tears started to fall. "You're going to hate me."

His fears confirmed, Ferg's face tightened. "Okay. Just go back to him, whoever he is."

"Not him. Her."

"What!"

Her nod confirmed what he was thinking.

But no ... she wasn't nodding in agreement. She was nodding across the room.

He turned and saw the other figure he hadn't noticed when he'd followed Mr. Jolnir. Not in the chair in the corner. In the bassinet by the chair in the corner.

"Marty, she's yours. It's impossible she's anyone else's."

Now he was struck completely dumb.

"I had her four weeks ago. She came a little bit early, but she's healthy. Her name's Carmen." She hesitated. "Carmen Ferguson-Lopez if that's okay with you."

"Wh-Ho-Wh..." He couldn't get a question out. She made a guess.

"I didn't show much. It was easy to hide for a while. And I didn't tell you because we were fighting about Leo. I was drunk that night at the party, and I didn't realize what he was doing at first. Then I stopped it. I know you think you did, but you're wrong.I stopped him before you even got there." The tears started again. "But we were fighting, and I was afraid you'd be furious. Afrai—" She broke off.

"What?"

"Afraid you'd accuse me of her being Leo's. I was already frantic; I couldn't bear that. I was feeling guilty because I shouldn't have been drinking when I was frightened I was pregnant. And I shouldn't have been drinking around Leo at all. But I was also furious that you were mad at me, and I wasn't thinking right. And I just ..." She trailed off for a second, then ended weakly. "... didn't know what to do."

"So ...?"

"My sister figured it out. We share a bedroom and she saw my belly. She told my parents. Before I knew it, I was bundled off to my grandparents and aunts to avoid the neighbors talking." Her mouth twisted in disgust as she spat the last word.

"They didn't have phones?" The dying embers of months of anger drove the acid tone. "I don't have one, but you could have gotten a message to me."

"No, they don't. It was a finca, out in the country. I was in Colombia, Marty."

It was overwhelming. Ferg tottered to a chair and collapsed onto it, unable to take his eyes off what was in the far corner even as María went on.

"They took away my passport and said I didn't need any money. But I was smarter than they were. It was my Colombian passport we used to get there. But I had my American one hidden."

"What did you do?"

"Hovi, one of the aunts' boyfriends, slipped me five hundred dollars and whispered, 'Go. Don't make him wonder.' So I went, and here I am."

"Why would he do that?"

"I don't know. He just came to the finca one day to see my aunt, and he met me, and that evening he talked to me when no one was around. I don't know why he did it or why he said what he did, but it was like a gift from God."

Ferg's eyes finally came back to the woman he loved, and they stared at each other. She shook her head. "If I'm nothing but a scandal, then to hell with all of them. Even if my father relents, my place is with you." Her eyes watered again with worry. "That's if ..."

The walls erected to keep the pain away finally crumbled, no longer needed. He reached for her. She allowed him one long kiss, returned equally greedily, then pulled back. "Do you want to hold her?"

They were sitting quietly, the three of them, when Mr. Jolnir emerged from the back bedroom. Seeing him prompted Ferg to ask María. "Why are you down here?"

María's eyes darkened. "Because your mother said something about not dealing with some guy's brat as she shut the door in my face." She felt Ferg stiffen. "I was going to wait in the lobby, but Mr. Jolnir came out and said I could wait in his place."

Later that evening, Ms. Horvath cracked open her door so she could hear what was going on in 2B better. She wet her lips in anticipation as the voices raised in volume.