《Closer Than We Thought》


 One

    <div>


    No more turning away


    From the weak and the weary


    -David Gilmore-


    Miller stopped and waited. Klein got his wheel stuck on the curb while going up the ramp and had to back up.


    "Car," Miller said.


    The Mercedes honked. Klein flipped the bird with his good arm, struggling to steer with his nubby hand. All the while Miller waited, wanting to do something but deciding not to, because he knew Klein always said no to help, whether he needed it or not. So Miller waited.


    "Car," Miller said.


    Another Mercedes. This one stopped by the curb and got out. She had to be in her late thirties, and lord what a body.


    "Do you need help?" she asked Klein. She didn''t see Miller, but he definitely saw her, though she knew how to step out of a car in a skirt without showing much more than her kneecaps. That''s how Miller knew she had real class. But he was glad to see those kneecaps, and kept staring at them while she squatted down to pull away the loose pavement holding Klein''s chair up.


    "Of course you let her help you," Miller said. He watched the car as it sped away.


    "Duh," Klein said. "Did you see those heels? She never slipped once."


    "Yup. I bet she could go jogging in ''em too."


    "Who wears heels that tall to work?"


    "Oh, she probably runs the place."


    Miller looked up absentmindedly. The building was ten floors high and brand new. He glanced at the door and saw half a dozen company names on the glass.


    "Burr and Winfrey," Klein said.


    "What?"


    "The law firm. Every other business here is either tech or marketing. She''s clearly a lawyer. I''m guessing she''s Winfrey."


    "Oh yeah?"


    Klein went on for a bit.


    "Well," Miller said, "she''s pretty, whoever she is."


    "Who? The lawyer? I''m not talking about her anymore. That''s really annoying, you know."


    "Yup. Where we eatin''?"


    Klein growled, then started looking around. He stopped on a dime by a coffee shop and Miller almost rammed into his chair.


    "You wanna talk about annoying?" Miller said.


    Klein moved forward again, a grin on his face. He stopped again at Speedymart.


    "You wanna eat here?" Miller said.


    "Ana''s working today."


    "So?"


    "That means they have poppers."


    They didn''t. Ana was only filling in for her daughter who called out at the last minute, and she hadn''t had time to put anything in the fryer. Klein was crestfallen.


    "You sure like them poppers."


    "They hardly ever make them anymore."


    "Let''s go somewhere nice today."


    Klein laughed. "Let me guess. You want salt and pepper shrimp."


    Miller shrugged. "We can go somewhere else."


    Klein shook his head. "No. No. No, no, no, no, no you wanna go to Red Panda and sit by the bamboo so you can watch Mai Lin''s daughters load the dishwasher in their gym tights."


    Klein was getting loud and people were looking.


    "We don''t have to eat at Panda. I''m just saying we should eat somewhere nice. It''s your day to choose."


    "Really? Doesn''t seem like it."


    "Don''t be like that."


    "Don''t be like what?!"


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    "Calm down." Miller was calm, in case Klein needed a reference. He wanted to raise his voice, but he just couldn''t. Not with Klein.


    Klein sat still for a minute, then, when Miller didn''t bite, turned his chair around and started heading home. Miller shook his head and kept walking.


    The sun was up, blue sky nice and clear with that perfect almost fall coolness. He shuffled on, wobbling a little to the left to keep the pressure off his right knee. His palm hurt, and he realized he''d been digging his nails into it. He felt guilty, balling up his fist on account of Klein. it just wasn''t right getting mad at him, but he couldn''t help it sometimes. He went to Maui Malu''s and sat outside, ready to order the mac salad and three teriyaki chicken thighs. Noelani saw him and grabbed two menus, but got stopped by an old fellow who looked like the type who couldn''t stop complaining, even when everything was fine.


    Everything was fine. The breeze was perfect. The sky was perfect. The streets were busy but not crowded. There was rain that morning, leaving the air nice and fresh. A couple of folks had their toddler nearby, and he was wanting to step in a puddle but was just a little bit scared, so he kept getting his boot to touch the water, then he''d scream and laugh and jump back, covering his face with his hands like it was just the craziest thing anyone had ever seen. Everything was fine. So why was this old fellow complaining?


    "Damn it," Miller said.


    He stood up, nice and slow, then waved at Noelani and shook his head. Ten minutes later he was at Red Panda, giving his knee a break while Alex crouched down to grab another tray of glasses from the dishwasher. If it wasn''t for their hair, Miller would never be able to tell those girls apart.


    "Hello Mr. Miller," said Mai Lin.


    She was looking as haggard as ever. Like a horse rode hard and put away wet. Miller knew she worked hard, but couldn''t she do something with her hair? Her daughters worked hard too and they always looked nice.


    "How you doin'' Mrs. Chen?".


    "I''m good, I''m good. Mr. Klein already waiting. He said your knee was hurting. You want some ice pack?"


    That rat bastard, Miller thought. "Oh, I''m alright, Mrs. Chen. But thank you."


    He picked himself up and went to the bamboo planter. Sure enough, there was Klein. He''d ordered a plate of shrimp for both of them and was sipping on his iced tea, all sugary the way he liked it.


    "You get to pick next two Wednesdays in a row," Miller said. He panted a little after sitting down.


    "Nope," Klein said, "today''s my turn and I picked this place."


    "Well, next week we''ll get poppers at Speedy."


    Klein shook his head. "No. No. No, no, no, no, no. That won''t work. Then it''s just us switching days but choosing what we think the other one will want and that will never work. No. We stick to the plan. I like this place too, you know."


    Stacey came and smiled. She had her antiperspirant on a little thick.


    "Hi Mr. Miller," she said. When that girl smiled har darn face nearly split in half.


    "Have a good game?" Miller asked.


    Stacey tilted her head to the side like she did when she was more upset than she wanted to show.


    "No. We lost. Chesterton is really, really good. Their goalie is impossible to get past. But it''s fine."


    It was not fine, but Stacey had no intention of complaining. Bless her.


    "You''ll beat ''em next time," Miller said.


    "You bet, Mr. Miller. We''ll beat them for you."


    Miller sucked back a tear.


    "You want hot and sour today?" Stacey asked.


    "I''ll have egg drop."


    "Okay. Be right back."


    She spun around, and Miller couldn''t help smiling at her bouncing pigtails.


    "She''s young enough to be your daughter," Klein said.


    And that was how he saw them. But there was no use saying so. Miller knew Klein saw things the way he saw them. Stick to the plan. Miller watched them both working in spite of Klein''s eye rolling, and thoguht approvingly of how much got done when they were there. Alex looked up and saw him. She smiled and waved. Miller waved back.


    "The shrimp''s not as good as normal," Klein said.


    Miller ate a piece. It was fine.


    "Stacey made it."


    "That a fact?"


    Klein nodded. "She was upset about losing her game. That''s why she didn''t make it as good."


    "Sounds like you figured it out."


    Klein nodded. "She was distracted. It''s understandable. I''ll forgive her. But still, she should probably quit working here. Or quit the team. She works too hard at both things to do them both well. That''s why she lost her game."


    "Her fault, huh?"


    Klein nodded. "I know you wouldn''t like it, but both of them should quit. Alex broke a plate earlier. If she really wants to be a dancer, then she should just do that."


    "Well, I''ll let ''em both know you figured it all out."


    "Have you picked a movie for tonight?" Klein asked.


    "Predator."


    "One or two?"


    "One," Miller said. "I hate number two. I can''t take any of it serious."


    Klein nodded. "I agree. Same with Aliens."


    "You don''t like the second Alien? Shoot. That''s the best one."


    "I disagree. The first one had subtlety. The second one just had lots of monsters eating people."


    "Didn''t you like the queen? And Ripley saving the day and not taking no crap from anybody?"


    Klein ate the last piece of shrimp, then nodded. "The queen was good. But Ripley''s always the star, so the exosuit fight didn''t really stand out to me."


    Miller shrugged. "Well, at least you put some thought into it."


    Stacey came back with the soup.


    "The shrimp''s tasting great today," Miller said.


    "Oh, dad made it. I''ll tell him you said so. Here''s your soup."


    Klein looked up and stared. Miller ate his soup. Stacey came back with their entrees. Klein had ordered both their favorites. Miller ate every bite. Klein just kept staring. Miller asked Stacey to box up Klein''s food and they said goodbye and left. Klein made it till halfway through the movie, then he spoke up, acting like everything was fine, which it was. He complained about the movie''s soundtrack, then rambled on about something or other. After putting Klein to bed, Miller read a book about the struggles of being a veteran, and he felt grateful that he never got drafted. His knee saved him from that, so he couldn''t be too upset about it, really, no matter how much it bugged him. He read for half an hour, then shut off his light and dozed until he heard Klein screaming, then checked on him.


    Just a bad dream, Miller thought. He wouldn''t need the mop tonight. Poor fellow. He read for another half an hour before falling to sleep and dreaming that he owned a Mercedes.

 Two

    Miller set down the newspaper and sighed. "I saw it on TV. Everyone did." He put up a hand. "Now before you go telling me not to trust everything on TV..."


    "I shouldn''t have to tell you that," Klein said.


    The kettle sounded off, so Miller shook his head and got up from the table. He put the sugar in, a copious amount, and scooped a spatula''s worth of scrambled eggs onto Klein''s plate.


    I can''t figure how anyone can stand so much sugar, Miller thought. He felt like he was giving candy to a kid, then stopped himself. It wasn''t right to think that way about Klein.


    "Here ya go," Miller said as he turned the corner to their living room. "What in Sam Hill..."


    He heard the noise first, a loud thump. Klein was half out of his chair and whimpering. His good arm was pushing against the wall and his small, wrinkly one was trying with his nubby fingers to cling to the chair. His legs were all twisted up, but Miller knew it only hurt him to look at them, as Klein didn''t feel a thing below the waste. Now and then, Miller felt a little jealous of Klein. Moments like this reminded him that switching places never got rid of problems. It just switched them up. He sure wished he could forget about women though. Or at least see them all the way he saw the Chen girls.


    "What are you doin'' you wild typhoon?" Miller said, putting the food on the coffee table and reaching for Klein.


    "No," Klein said. Had he a hand free, he''d have swatted at Millers.


    Miller didn''t like doing it, but sometimes he had to force his help on Klein. He may not have been fit, but you don''t heft bags of cement over your head for that many years and not get strong. He grabbed Klein''s torso in both his hands and hoisted him up, then held him with one arm while he straightened his little legs out with the other.


    Klein straightened his glasses and said nothing until Miller started to put the food on his tray.


    "No," Klein said.


    "Whaddaya mean ''no''?".


    "I was getting my computer."


    "What for?" Miller asked.


    "To show you."


    "Klein," Miller said, "you done fell out your chair so you could try and prove your theory to me?"


    Klein didn''t say anything.


    Miller set the food and tea back down on the coffee table and reached for Klein''s laptop. It was heavy enough that it hurt his wrist to grab it one handed, and when he knelt down to get a better hold his knee gave out. He hit the coffee table, and the pile of clutter he''d set Klein''s breakfast on slipped right off, spilling the food and hot tea all over the carpet.


    "Damn it!" Miller said. He''d smacked into Klein''s chair too.


    "Hey!" Klein said. "Be careful!"


    Miller closed his eyes and sucked in his anger, then rolled onto his side and propped himself against the wall. He rubbed his knee, which hurt so bad he didn''t notice Mr. Wilson screaming at him to be quiet from the other side of the wall.


    "I''ll get it later," Miller said when he saw Klein pining after his laptop.


    "I hope it isn''t broke," Klein said.


    "Oh, I''m sure it''s fine. That thing''s built like a tank."


    "It''s brand new," Klein said.


    "I know. I bought you the danged thing. I swear, sometimes it seems you''ve forgotten that."


    "I make money with it," Klein said, his voice getting quieter.


    "I know, buddy. And you have a lot of fun with it too. That''s why I got it for you."


    It was Miller''s favorite day of the whole year. His knee felt fine, his breathing was fine, he didn''t have a headache, and when he saw the ''out of business'' sign on the door of Klein''s favorite electronics store he worried that it was a bad omen. But then he saw the pricetags through the glass. It made him whistle. It was one of three times he''d ever seen Klein smile.


    "You should have got the warranty," Klein said.


    "I didn''t think you''d be throwing it halfway across the living room. Here..."


    He winced as he lifted it. Klein grabbed it eagerly, fussing over it like a mother does her newborn.


    "How is it?" Miller asked.


    "It''s okay. Here. I''ll show you the article I read."


    "Hold on. Let me go see who''s at the door."


    Standing up and walking was brutal. His knee was on fire, and he''d wrenched his elbow when he went down. Mr. Wilson was at the door. He looked like a chihuahua with his scrawny limbs and big bug eyes, all shaking from how mad he was.


    "Hi there Mist..."


    Mr. Wilson didn''t give him a chance to be polite. He was railing away as soon as the door was open, carrying on about how his wife can''t sleep at night anymore, and how every time she tried to nap during the day he and Klein woke her up with all their racket. Miller felt his nails pinching into his palm.


    "Now look," he said, keeping calm, "my knee gave out and I fell. I didn''t mean..."


    Mr. Wilson was only quiet for a second, and once Miller mentioned his knee the old twerp was ranting about excuses and draft dodgers and ungrateful hippie scumbags. When he finally left he was throwing his arms in the air and threatening to tell the manager that Miller was doing drugs and neglecting his son.


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "Why does he think I''m your son?" Klein asked. "I have more gray hair than you."


    Miller shook his head and wiped his brow, then closed the door and went back to the living room.


    "I don''t suppose he does much thinking of any sort."


    "I looked up the article," Klein said. His voice was oddly gentle. It got that way when he was feeling sorry for Miller.


    "Let me clean up first."


    "Okay. Miller, you don''t have to cook me any more food. I''m not really that hungry. I can wait till lunch."


    "No, you can''t. There''s plenty more. I''ll scoop you up some more out of the pan."


    He knew there was no way he could bend down, so he went to the hall way for the vacuum. He had a heck of a time getting it out of the closet, and bent the leg on the ironing born during the struggle. Then he got it into the living room and realized he''d still have to bend down to plug it in.


    "Let me," said Klein.


    "No. I''ll just have to pick you up again."


    Miller didn''t like the way Klein''s mouth tightened up. You could never tell ahead of time if Klein was going to cry or start cussing. Miller thought his cussing fits were funny, but couldn''t handle him crying, so he handed him the plug.


    "Allright, Klein. Show me what you got."


    Klein pulled himself up with his good arm, holding the chord in his mouth. When he''d gotten half over the arm of his chair, he pushed against the other side with his nubs. Then he swung his head back and forth until the plug was moving fast and he let it go at just the right time. Miller couldn''t see how he managed to get a hold on it and plug it in, but when he kicked the switched the vacuum turned on. But it didn''t do any good. The bag was full and it just smashed the eggs deeper into the carpet. Miller kicked the switch again and shook his head. He wanted to throw the vacuum out the window, but he''d probably just fall over again when he lifted it. besides, he didn''t like getting angry in front of Klein.


    "Miller," said Klein, "Miller, listen!"


    Miller listened, then shrugged. "What?"


    "Santiago''s outside!"


    He heard the old dog snorting in the garden.


    "So?"


    "Have him clean the floor!"


    Klein''s mouth twitched in the corners, and Miller thought he might smile. That would make it four.


    Miller laughed, then set the vacuum in the hall and went outside.


    "Howdy, Ms. Burgos."


    "Good morning, Mr. Miller."


    Rosa was reclining on her lawn chair with a book. Miller could barely see her face under her big straw hat, but she was almost always smiling. Miller was about to make his request, then realized how silly it was, so he limped down the sidewalk to Rosa''s patio and folded his arms on the rail.


    "So, uh," Miller said, laughing, "I uh, I spilled some eggs on the floor, and I was gonna clean ''em up but my knee is real bad to day. And I need to change the bag in my vacuum, so..."


    Rosa lifted her hat and she was indeed smiling, widely.


    "You want to borrow my dog?" She laughed to.


    "If you don''t mind."


    "Of course not. Santiago! Come here you big Chupacabra! Here he comes. Oh boy!"


    When Rosa first brought him home, she told Miller she''d gotten a longhaired beagle. Miller gently broke the news that she''d fallen in with a St. Bernard.


    "Shh," she said, then quietly "Mrs. Lennox thinks I have a longhaired beagle."


    Miller then patiently lectured her on the cruelty of keeping such a large dog in an apartment her size, but she swore up and down that she had one when she was a little girl, and the house her foster parents lived in wasn''t very big. Miller tended to forget what a vagabond she was, being taken from Puerto Rico to Mexico, then to Arizona, then to Vermont where she was eventually adopted. When she was seventeen she up and left and she herself claimed not to remember the names of the next three states she lived in, and when she told stories of the time the names of the cities always changed. It wasn''t long before Miller realized there was no better home for Santiago. Rosa doted on the dog, and he grew up big, sloppy and happy.


    Klein had pulled his bib up over his shirt and had managed to set his laptop back on the TV tray in the corner. Santiago turned his head left and right, torn between the smell of the eggs and the urge to slobber all over Klein. He went to Klein first, giving him just a couple of chin to brow licks before hoovering the eggs. Miller had worried that the tea might stain (not that another stain would make much of a difference), but Santiago licked it pretty darn clean. Miller went in the kitchen and put the rest of the eggs on his plate, then gave it to Klein, not mentioning that they were out of eggs. He popped a tape in the VCR and they watched WrestleMania Three while Santiago lay by their feet. Miller was slow to get up when the tape was done. Partly because of his knee, mostly because he liked having Santiago around. He missed the days before his knee got worse and Rosa semi-retired.


    When he brought Santiago back, Rosa had changed from her ''comfy'' dress and was wearing jeans. a button up blouse and her cropped denim jacket. Miller held in a whistle, because she was every bit his kind of woman, and made plain clothes look like evening wear.


    "Now where are you off to?"


    "I''m going to the store." She had her purse over her shoulder, and took out a paper and pen. "Here. Write down what you need."


    Miller opened his mouth, but instead of talking, he ended up just shaking his head. "Rosa..." he said after a half a minute.


    "Do it." She pushed the pen and pad into his chest. Santiago got his paws on the rail and licked him. "See. Even he wants you to."


    "Well, it''s rude to refuse kindness, I suppose."


    He jotted down a few things. Eggs, butter, refined sugar, bacon, potato chips, diet cola, the basics.


    "Now you let me know how much this all costs, Mrs. Burgos." He shook the pen at her like a parent shaking their finger.


    "Listen, Mr. Miller," she stopped smiling and got real serious, "you walked my dog every day for six years, and I never once paid you."


    "I never once charged you."


    "I''ll be back," Mrs. Burgos said.


    "Your''e an angel."


    She smiled again. "I know."


    She snapped her fingers, getting Santiago to drop from the rail and go back inside, then put on her sunglasses and went to her beat up old Stratus.


    "Do you still drink Beer?" she asked before closing the car door.


    "Uhm," Miller said, "I... Nah. Not really."


    "Okay. See you soon."


    Miller stood there for a minute, his hand on the rail.


    "What a lady," he said.


    Santiago woofed as if he''d heard and was agreeing. Miller chuckled, then went back inside. Rosa wasn''t gone long. Miller kind of wished she had been, as he hadn''t much time to ice his knee. He spent most of his time trying to get the vacuum back inside the hall closet. But Rosa recruited the three teenage boys who liked to hang out by the dumpsters and smoke to help her, so the only work Miller had left to do was to put the groceries away.


    He opened a bag of chips right away. His stomach was groaning. He wanted to shout at it, and tell it that it was plenty big enough, and threaten to starve it if it didn''t hush. He used to do that sort of thing all the time, but when he moved Klein in Klein would tease him to no end over it, so he learned to just think about what he would like to say to himself were he to have the opportunity. He also wanted to give Rosa a scolding. She bought way more than he wrote down, and he didn''t see those boys bring one single bag to her her apartment. But Miller felt good. He did do a lot for her back when he could. It was something he could always remind himself of when he was feeling low.


    Today was good, he thought as he was laying in bed with his book. The night was a different matter, though. Klein needed the mop.

 Three

    The clinic was packed. Miller waited for the crowd to thin out at least a little bit, ignoring Klein''s antsy fidgeting. He hated regular wheelchairs.


    "Look who it is," Klein said.


    They were finally exiting the building. The lawyer, or Mecedes, as Miller nicknamed her, was pacing along the sidewalk, Motorola StarTAC to her ear, with a perturbed look on her face. Klein waved. She looked at him as if he''d tried to steal her purse. She almost looked like she was about to shrug, but she turned sharply and started shouting into her phone about her daughter being much too young for something.


    Klein was glum, not saying a word while Miller wheeled him through the parking lot to his van. His knee was sore, but not more than normal. His wrist however was tight and developing a worrisome throb. He rubbed for a minute before helping Klein into his seat and stowing the chair.


    "I don''t know why we can''t take your regular chair," Miller said as he drove. "Who cares if they make a fuss."


    "It just doesn''t make sense," Klein said. "They''re always crowded so I don''t blame them for wanting me in a smaller chair. It''s easier."


    "For everyone but me."


    Klein was quiet for a minute. "You don''t have to take me. I can get my sister to do it."


    "Because that always goes so well."


    Klein was quiet for a minute. "I''m not wearing it."


    "I never said you had to."


    "I''m not a fu..."


    "Hey!" Miller''s nails bent from gripping the steering wheel too tight. "No one''s making you do anything. We''re gonna keep using the mop and getting you cream for the rash."


    "Can we not talk about it?"


    Miller held back a laugh, and not a happy one. "You''re the one who brought it up."


    Klein was quiet.


    "Hey," Miller said, "c''mon buddy, what''s really buggin'' ya?"


    "Mercedes."


    "What? The attorney gal?"


    "I thought she was nice. I was wrong."


    Miller laughed. "You gonna tell me why?"


    "You saw her back there. She didn''t even recognize me."


    "And why would she?"


    Klein scoffed and shook his head. "We recognized her. Besides, she should have at least recognized me."


    "Yeah? What makes you so special?"


    "She helped me. You should recognize people you help."


    Miller waited for a few seconds, even though he already knew his reply. Klein got indignant sometimes when it seemed he wasn''t giving their conversations much thought.


    "Maybe," Miller said, "maybe, she helps so many people that she has a hard time keeping track."


    Klein looked thoughtful for a moment, likely a return of Miller''s gesture.


    "I doubt it," he said.


    "Why''s that?" Miller asked.


    "Her law firm''s sign. They''re a corporate firm. They don''t care about people. Just money."


    Miller was quiet for a minute, this time really thinking. He wanted to mention what he heard her say over the phone, but didn''t want Klein to think he was arguing with him.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    "Well," Miller said, "I suppose people like her aren''t in the habit of noticing people like you and me. Now what in..."


    They pulled in the driveway, rounded the curve, and there in Miller''s spot was Mr. Wilson''s mint green Lincoln. Miller stopped by the car port, dug his nails into the steering wheel, then looked around. Mr. Wilson''s spot was empty. He sighed and shook his head, then pulled up by their apartment and put on his hazards.


    "Come on," he said before getting out the van. Klein unbuckled himself.


    And there was Mr. Wilson, ready to start shouting about him blocking the road.


    "Mr. Wilson," Miller said, "I''m just helping my roommate into his chair. Obviously I won''t be..."


    "Well I can see that!" Mr. Wilson shouted. "Can''t you do that in your parking spot?!"


    "Someone''s in my parking spot, Mr. Wilson. Know anything about that?"


    "Of course not!" The old man was turning red. He raised a finger, ready to shout some more, but Miller squared up with him and raised his finger first.


    "If you want me to park in my spot, then get your car out of it. But either way, you quit yelling at me. You hear?"


    The quiet was thick, until Miller noticed the muffle of Mrs. Wilson''s voice from inside their place. She was shouting more obscenities than Miller had heard anywhere since Woodstock. The words in between the profanity churned his stomach. Mr. Wilson''s face no longer looked angry.


    "Is there anything I can do to help you?" Miller asked, his voice much softer now.


    Mr. Wilson turned red again and started to shake. "You can quit blocking the road!"


    Miller sighed, then helped Klein into his chair, then into their apartment, then went back to the van to go find a guest spot. The old Chihuahua was yelling and shaking his fist the whole time. When Miller got inside, his knee and palms were sore, so he went to the bathroom to get his wrap, and after wrapping his knee he trimmed his nails. When he came out he sat on the couch. Klein had his beat up Kyocera out and was talking to the apartment manager.


    "It was awful," Klein said. "I felt threatened. I know he''s old but, I can''t even walk. What happens if I''m outside alone and he comes after me? I just don''t feel safe with that man around. Yeah, he''s here. Hold on."


    Miller took the phone. "Hi, Ms. Coolidge. Yeah, he was makin'' quite a stir. I know. Alright. I will. Thank you. You as well." he handed Klein his phone. "You don''t gotta make it sound worse than it is."


    "It''s bad enough," Klein said.


    "Yeah. He gets worse every couple of weeks, it seems. Still, we don''t need to add to it. Plenty of other people complain. We don''t need to be drawing any heat on us." His eyes darted to the bedroom, where Klein slept. He looked at Klein then, who''d sunk as far into his chair as he could sink. Miller couldn''t stand it.


    "That settles it," Miller said. "We''re going to a movie."


    Klein perked up, corners of his mouth twitching. Then he sunk again. "Can you afford it? It''s too late for the matinee."


    "We sure can afford it. And you can thank Rosa for that. In fact, we''ll even get hot dogs."


    Klein sat back up. "Okay. Thank you, Miller."


    They went to the drive-in, got hot dogs, then drove back, and it all went so smoothly Miller was feeling nervous. Klein was a little bummed out that the creature feature was canceled in favor of Footloose, but he was happy to hang out. They were half way home when he changed the subject from the film''s genre.


    "Can I ask you something?" Klein said.


    "You just did," Miller answered.


    Klein let out one of his non-smiling laughs. "Do you like being retired?"


    Miller thought for a minute. "Yes and no."


    Klein nodded. "What''s the ''yes''?"


    "Well, I like not having to carry all those heavy loads around. I don''t miss any of my bosses. And I like being able to take my time in the mornings."


    Klein nodded, then was quiet. Miller would have thought nothing of the silence were it not for the waves of pensiveness coming from Klein. Klein finally spoke again.


    "What''s the ''no''?" he asked.


    "Oh, I suppose I miss the crew. You work with people long enough, you get attached. And I suppose I got used to the sounds and the smells. And I miss being thinner. Not that I ever had a beach bod or anything."


    Klein seemed relieved. "I wish I could go to an office and work."


    "How''s the headhunting going?"


    Klein nodded. "Good. I''ve placed three candidates that made it past ninety. I have a few more leads I wanna follow up on, too, and if just one of them pans out I''ll get my bonus."


    "Sounds like you''re knockin'' it out of the park."


    They were pretty quiet the rest of the drive. It was dark, and Klein liked quiet drives at night, taking in the lights of other cars. He told Miller once it made him feel happy to imagine what lives the people in the other cars were living. Miller couldn''t understand that, Thinking about other people''s lives tended to bring him down.


    Klein was pretty tired, so Miller helped him to bed as soon as they got back. He found an empty guest spot pretty close, which was fortunate as his wrist was almost as bad as his knee. He watched some TV before converting the couch and laying down to read. It was a day, he supposed, with good and bad, and when he found himself dozing off without hearing any sign of Klein''s DTs, he thought to himself that days and nights had become separate things altogether. He had to split them apart, or else he''d never have a good version of either one. He hoped he didn''t have to split time up any more than he already had in order to feel good about things. And then he felt sad, remembering the part he left out of his answer to Klein''s last question. More than anything, he missed not having to keep such close track of when the good days and nights happened.

 Four

    "Why don''t you trust me ever?" Klein asked.


    "What are you on about?" Miller asked.


    "You never give me credit."


    Miller sighed. "Klein, I don''t have time for games. Just tell me what''s bothering you."


    Klein sighed. "Never mind."


    Miller shook his head and went into the shower. Maybe it was the water turning cold halfway through, maybe it was the message on his cell phone, but whatever it was, it got Miller so frustrated that he circled back around to feeling okay. He got dressed, then made Klein some sugary iced tea and sat down on the couch.


    "It''s not that I don''t give you credit," Miller said. "I just gotta make my own decisions."


    "You used to talk about the old days. You used to talk about your crew and how you could have been their foreman. Why did you stop? I liked hearing those stories."


    "Well, I guess I done told them all."


    "That''s not the point. You sounded happy reminiscing. You have a chance to reminisce now with someone who was there."


    "Like I said, buddy, I gotta make my own decisions. Now I don''t bother you too much when you don''t answer your sister''s calls."


    "But my sister is a terrible person. Fowler was your favorite coworker. You guys were friends. He''s probably really upset that you haven''t called him back."


    Miller laughed. "The Jimmy Fowler I know probably forgot that he even even called me by now."


    Klein gave Miller that look he gave when he knew Miller was lying. Miller leaned forward on the couch and handed Klein his tea. His head then sunk between his shoulders.


    "He called again this morning."


    "Well," Klein said, after pretending to think for a minute, "you gotta make your own decisions."


    "That''s right, and today''s Wednesday, making it my decision where we eat."


    "Red Panda?"


    "Nope," Miller said. He leaned forward and tried to find the coupons on the coffee table, but the clutter was just too much for him.


    "I gotta clean this table off," Miller grumbled.


    "Wait," Klein said. He had something under his laptop. "Are you looking for this?"


    Miller smiled when he saw Klein holding the flyer. "Yeah. What''re you doin'' with it?"


    "I was gonna save it for my next turn. The coupons are good until October."


    "Well, we''re going today."


    Klein nodded. "Okay."


    De Nada''s was just a bit too far to walk for Miller''s knee, so he load Klein and then his chair into the van. Klein had called Ms. Coolidge on the way to the van to ask her to make sure Miller''s spot was empty when they got back. She promised to call the Wilsons, but Miller was prepped for disappointment. Klein was is good spirits, though, probably from the prospect of getting jalapeno poppers.


    "This is a restaurant?" Miller said when they pulled into the parking lot.


    The place was huge, more like a mall, with dining areas on different floors and loads of outdoor seating. The people milling in and out were mostly families with young kids. They managed to get in without too much trouble, and had fun looking around while their table was bussed.


    "Look at all these things I can''t do," Miller said, referring to the bowling alleys, dance floor and video game arcade.


    "We could play some video games," Klein said. "Just say so if you''re knee starts buggin''."


    "Oh, I will."


    "Miller," the hostess said.


    Miller felt hot pain lance up his leg just from leaning forward, so he braced himself with Klein''s chair. The hostess was young and impossibly cute. Miller smiled and gave her a little bow, calling her ''ma''am'' in the process. The old smokescreen, he thought. There was a time when seeing pretty women didn''t make him sad. Back then he didn''t have any smokescreens, just a heartfelt appreciation of beauty.


    She was polite, but Miller got the impression that she didn''t care to be called ma''am.


    "Gross!" shouted a little boy. Miller didn''t see him, but her heard his mom trying to hush him.


    "Why does he look like that?!" Another word tried to come out, but the mom must have got her hand over his mouth. Miller really hoped Klein didn''t hear it. He played tough, but you could tell stuff like that got to him. It wasn''t right.


    When the hostess seated them, Miller couldn''t help but feel awfully out of place. Also, he hoped Klein didn''t feel childish, like he was in the same place for Miller as all the children were in for their parents.


    The hostess handed them their menus. There was something about her bearing that gave Miller the impression her guard was up, so when she said their waitress would be with them soon, all Miller did was nod.


    Klein was leaning over his chair like he did when he only wanted Miller to hear him. Miller leaned in and inclined an ear.


    "That''s the one thing I can''t get used to," Klein said.


    "Whaddaya mean?" Miller asked.


    Klein nodded toward the hostess. "I''ll never know what it''s like."


    Miller nodded thoughtfully. "Well, it''s only good when it''s good."


    "What''s that supposed to mean?"


    Miller leaned back and shook his head. "I''ll explain later."


    Klein shrugged and looked at the menu, turning the pages with his nubby hand. Miller found what he wanted pretty quick, so he scanned the scene while Klein kept looking. It wasn''t long before he spotted the boy who''d been hollering about Klein. He was up on his knees starring right at them. Miller gave him a scowl and he sat down. He was a cute little fella. Skinny little twerp with lots of blond hair and eyes so blue Miller could tell their color from two tables away.


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    "Hey," he said to Klein. Klein looked up.


    "What''s up?"


    "Well, I see a lot of something I''ll never know about. I never had a son."


    Klein nodded, then looked back down at his menu. Miller wished he would have said something, but before he had time to think about it, the waitress came. She wasn''t near as cute as the hostess, but she had a smile like the grand canyon and big, dorky glasses. Miller felt much more at ease around her.


    "Hi guys, I''m Cassie, I''ll be your server. Can I get you started with some drinks?"


    "I''ll have an iced tea," Klein said.


    "I''ll have a diet cola," Miller said, "whatever type you carry. And can we get a side of poppers? Biggest you got."


    "Of course. Anything else?"


    "I have a question," Miller said, regretting it instantly.


    "What''s that?"


    Why do I do this? "Your name, Cassie, that short for anything? Like, Cassandra, or Cassidy?"


    But instead of putting up her guard or rolling her eyes, she somehow managed to smile even wider. "Are you ready for this? It''s Cassiopeia."


    "That''s super cool!" Klein said, looking up from his menu.


    "Aw, thank you!" Cassie touched Klein''s arm.


    "Are your parents astronomers?" Miller asked, still nervous for some reason.


    "Amateur, but yes. Especially my dad. My name was his idea. He always takes things a step further. Like, when the new Star Trek came out, he wanted to remodel the living room to look like the bridge of the new Enterprise."


    Klein downright guffawed. Cassie joined, and all three shared a happy laugh.


    "Well," Miller said, "your folks sound like good people."


    "Thanks! I''ll tell them you said that. I''ll be right back with your drinks."


    "Yep," Klein said, "I''ll never know."


    "She''s a sweet kid," Miller said.


    "You know somethin?"


    "What?"


    "I know you don''t look at the Chen girls that way. I just like razzin'' you."


    Miller gave Klein a playful glare and shook his head.


    "Hey, someone''s gotta give you grief."


    "Believe me, buddy, plenty of people do."


    "Yeah, well, it''s different when someone who likes you does it."


    Miller smiled.


    It was a bit of a wait for the drinks and poppers, and Cassiopeia apologized profusely.


    "It''s alright," Miller said, "we don''t got nowhere to be, and you''re busy."


    "Thanks. You guys are the best! Okay, what can I get you?"


    "He looks gross!" the little blond boy shouted. "See!" He had another couple of kids with him and was pointing, not far off. "Ew!" shouted a little girl.


    Cassie was beside herself. She went to the kids and asked them very insistently where their parents were. The mother came and got the kids, putting her hand on her son''s mouth.


    "I am so sorry," she put a hand on Klein''s nubby arm. "You know, my dad has scoliosis, and he had to put up with that kind of crap his whole life. So please don''t let it get to you."


    Klein smiled so big. "I''m used to it."


    "Well, you shouldn''t have to be. I''m so sorry. I wish there was something I could do."


    "Yep," Miller said, "your folks must be good people alright, to raise a girl like you."


    Cassiopeia teared right up, and Miller felt ashamed.


    "Thank you." She took a napkin off the table and wiped under her glasses.


    Miller was going to lighten things up with a really dumb joke, but there was a stir and he saw the blond boy getting dragged outside by his mother. The whole way he was hollering about Klein''s condition.


    Cassiopeia looked like she was about to tear up again, but Klein calmed her down. "I feel sorry for that boy," Klein said.


    "You guys really are the best. Okay, what will you have?"


    They ordered, then dug into the poppers once Cassiopeia left. They were bland and had already gone cold. Miller was about to apologize to Klein, but he must have seen it coming, because he was already shaking his head.


    "I got to meet Cassie. That made my whole month."


    Miller smiled. "She''s a sweet kid."


    The rest of the food was hotter, and Cassie had her smile back. She and Klein exchanged some Trekkie talk, and Miller would have joined in but his phone was buzzing in his pocket. He took it out and flipped it open. It was Fowler.


    Klein guessed who had called.


    "He won''t stop," Klein said.


    "He will, eventually."


    "Yeah, I suppose. And how do you think that will make him feel?"


    Miller put down his fork. His appetite was completely gone. They were both quiet for a while afterwards, until Cassie came and boxed up Miller''s food. Then they went to the arcade and Klein watched Miller play 1942 until his knee bothered him too much to stand in one place. As it was, he still made the highest score. Klein gave it a try, leaning half out of his chair so he could reach the buttons with his stumpy arm.


    "That''s really cool that you can still play," said a Korean girl. She looked about ten years old.


    "Has your arm always been that way," asked her brother, "or did you get hurt?"


    Much better. Miller thought.


    "I was born like this," Klein said. It never bothered him when children asked. "They''re curios," he would say, "and need to learn about people who are different. It''s the one purpose I can serve."


    He used that line as they were leaving. Miller reminded him that he didn''t allow that kind of talk.


    "I can''t help what you think," he told him, "but I can''t let you talk like that."


    "It''s easy for you to feel that way," Klein said. "You''re good at things."


    Miller laughed. "Yeah, at one video game."


    "It''s something."


    Miller rolled his eyes while the ramp lifted Klein into the van.


    "You''re good at things," Miller said once they were on the road.


    "Like what?"


    "You''re good at your job. And, you''re good at reading people, and figuring things out. And that''s why you''re good at your job. And, being good at your job is a rare thing these days."


    Klein nodded. "I am good at my job. You know who else is good at their job?"


    "Whose that?"


    "Cassiopeia."


    "You can say that again."


    "You know something, I''ve been trying to get good at writing too. I''ve been writing a story on my laptop. I don''t know if it''s any good."


    "What''s it about?"


    "Well, the characters are pretty much us, but they''re detectives."


    "Huh, sounds like a hoot. I''m guessin'' I just cart you around while you solve all the cases?"


    "Well, that''s how it would be if I was going for realism."


    They both laughed.


    When they got back, their spot was empty, and Ms. Burgos brought them a pan of fresh taquitos for dinner. She stayed for a few hours, picking up all the things Santiago knocked over with his tail, and they watched Star Trek while Klein told Rosa about the little brat and the wonderful waitress who stuck up for them.


    "My papi would have beat my brother black and blue for saying such a thing!" Rosa exclaimed.


    Miller and Klein were both tuckered out by the time she went home. Miller walked her back and got a sloppy wet kiss from Santiago. It was warmer than previous nights, but there was still a bit of crispness in the air. Winter wasn''t far off though, and all the aches the cold weather brought. Klein loved the snow, though, so Miller looked forward to it. He went back and the two of them brushed their teeth in turns. Miller had converted the couch and was about to lay down when an uncomfortable thought struck him. He was reading an autobiography about a concert cellist, and seemed to lose track every four or five words.


    "Damn it," he said out loud. He sat up, found his cell phone on the coffee table, and called Fowler.


    "Jimmy!" he said. "How ya doin'' buddy? I know, it''s been ages. Oh, I''m sorry about that. Yeah, I''ve been tied up, all right. But in a good way. Nah, I''m not workin''. Yep. I shoulda seen a doctor. Oh well. We live and learn, right? Yeah man, it''s good to hear your voice too. Sure, Jimmy. I''d love that. Tomorrow should work, actually. Okay, buddy. I''ll call you around six and confirm. Yeah, you too."


    He tossed and turned till about three before falling asleep.

 Five

    "Thank you," Klein said as Miller lowered his shirt. The rash was getting worse. He had blisters all down his back.


    "Don''t mention it," Miller said. "How''s your breathing?"


    "It''s okay."


    "Alright. You call me if you don''t feel good."


    "I will."


    Miller nodded, then went to the van and sat still for a minute, looking at the time. He reached in his pocket for his phone, then thought that maybe, just maybe, if he didn''t call to confirm, Fowler might forget, or not call either and then Miller might be off the hook. In either case, he wanted to get this errand done, so he turned the key and drove. His phone buzzed while was on his way, but it wouldn''t have been safe to answer while he was driving. He wasn''t making that up.


    "Here it is," Fox said. He set the brace on the counter.


    Miller drummed his fingers on the glass while inspecting the brace.


    "She''s fancy," he said.


    "I wouldn''t have called you for something cheesy."


    Fox''s pawn shop was the only one in town Miller would visit. He was on the verge of just handing over the money. It was Fox who urged him to try it on. It took a minute, but together they figured out all the straps and adjustments.


    "Not bad," Miller said after pacing around the store a few times in both directions.


    "She''s yours for fifty," Fox said.


    "Nah. Here, like we agreed on the phone." Miller put a hundred dollar bill on the counter. "Unless something''s wrong with it."


    "Nothing wrong with it. I know the guy who pawned it. He only wore it once or twice a month."


    "Then why the discount?"


    "Miller, you''re hurting me. You don''t like the price, you can go buy a compression wrap for top dollar at Ed''s."


    Miller faked a smile. There was a time when he would pull out all the stops to talk a guy like Fox down as much as he could. "Alright. Fifty."


    Fox broke the bill and led Miller to the other end of the counter. "If you really wanna get rid of that other fifty, give this a strum."


    She was gorgeous. An epiphone acoustic in great shape.


    "I got bad news," Miller said.


    "What, you got carpal tunnel?"


    He didn''t know what was specifically wrong with his wrist, so he just nodded.


    "I''ll keep an eye out for a wrist wrap, if you want."


    Miller nodded. "I think I just sprained it."


    "Lugging Klein''s skinny ass around?"


    "He weighs more than you''d think."


    "Yeah, with all that gas station food he eats."


    "I''ve pretty much broken him from that."


    Fox was quiet for a moment, then tilted his head so he could look up at Miller over his glasses. "You getting any money from that scamp sister of his?"


    Miller shook his head. "And before you say anything, I tried. She''s worthless. Only cares about herself."


    "I''m gonna get you a lawyer. Now hear me out. I know a gal who used to specialize in these sorts of things. She fries bigger fish these days, but every now and then she takes a case like Klein''s on the side. Always pro bono."


    Miller agreed, if for no other reason than to get Fox off his back. They then shot the breeze for a bit before Miller left. He didn''t notice whether or not his knee felt any better, which meant it probably did. A thought struck him, one that if it worked would make him happier than he''d been in a long time. He turned around and parked outside Ed''s Sporting Goods, bought a compression wrap for his wrist with the fifty bucks Fox had saved him then walked around the store, enjoying the ability to move without pain. He was excited when he got back and found that Rosa was home.


    He told Klein about Fox''s lawyer, which seemed to upset him.


    "She''s the only family I have," he said.


    "Yeah, but..."


    "No," Klein insisted. "Family doesn''t sue. Family works things out. Or they don''t."


    "Okay, man. I''m just passing on a message." He then went next door.


    "Of course you can!" she said. "I''m so excited. Let me get his leash. Do be careful, though."


    "Oh I will. I''ll just take him around the back side of the block a couple laps."


    "Okay." She jumped up and threw her arms around his neck.


    Santiago jumped and skipped, constantly wheeling around and getting tangled in his leash.


    "Sit still you big galoot." Miller stopped, got the dog to heel, then bent down and unraveled his leash. "Man, why didn''t I buy this crap sooner?"


    He eventually got Santiago to relax, and he felt so good he took him a little further into the blocks of houses, and found a quiet little trail where he used to take Santiago on days when he was too tired for a long walk. There was a small stream with a solitary bench. Miller used to sit there while Santiago splashed around in the stream.


    "Go on," he said after he unclasped the leash.


    Santiago held still for a moment, then went crazy for about ten seconds before calming down. He trotted up and down the stream, staying close, and sniffed furiously at the bushes lining the far end of the bank. There was an abandoned lot on the other side that used to be a tire shop. Miller remembered buying tires there.


    "These are expensive," she said.


    "Yeah, she always complained about money," Miller said out loud to Santiago.


    "Can''t we get cheaper ones? How are we gonna afford dance lessons for the girls?"


    "Yeah," Miller said to the dog, "that''s what she was worried about."


    Santiago paused and looked, then bounded over to Miller, mounting the bench and pinning him between his front paws. Miller buried his face in the big dog''s furry chest to avoid being drenched, then laughed and got him in a headlock. He felt a slight twinge in his wrist.


    "Okay, buddy. Go play."


    Santiago went back to his romping.


    "She went dancing, alright."


    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    He took out his phone. There were no missed calls. He dialed Fowler''s number.


    "Hey, man. I''m real sorry I didn''t call sooner. I was getting fitted for a knee brace. No, we''re still on. I wouldn''t miss it. Oh that''s Santiago. He''s the neighbor lady''s dog. Yeah he''s a big boy. Bernard. No, pure blood. Well, supposedly he''s a dry mouth, but I think that''s a creature of myth. Okay, bud. Yeah. I''ll see ya then."


    He checked in on Klein after dropping off Santiago. He made him a sandwich out of the last of the fixings Rosa bought them, sugared up some iced tea, popped in a movie, put some more cream on his back, refilled the humidifier, rested his knee for a minute, then met Jimmy Fowler at O''Riada''s.


    "Miller!" O''Riada shouted from behind the bar, diluted Irish accent in full swing. "As I live and breath!". He came around and hugged Miller.


    "I''m surprised that''s still happening," Miller said.


    "You bloody Scott!" O''Riada playfully punched him. "You know you missed my eighty-third birthday, since we''re on the topic of my age."


    "Sheesh, Paddy, that was ten years ago. Aren''t you ever gonna let that go?"


    O''Riada laughed heartily, then led him to the corner by the dart wall.


    "Jimmy Fowler''s waitin''. We got a good band playin'' in about an hour."


    "Oh yeah? What are they called?"


    "The Huns."


    "Wow. That''s ballsy!"


    "Don''t I know it! It''s good to see you, Miller."


    "Yeah. Good to see you too, Paddy."


    It was both better and worse to see Fowler. Everything came flooding back. Everything.


    "You rat bastard!" Miller said when he saw his friend.


    "Man," Fowler said, "it has been a long time." He jumped off the bench to hug Miller, then they sat down.


    "Yeah. it sure has. Well damn it, man. Don''t just sit there ogling me. Tell me what''s up! How''s life? You and Maddy ever work things out?"


    "Ha! Bring the big guns out early, why don''t ya?"


    "Well it was the last thing I remember us talking about. I wanna know."


    "Let''s toast before we talk about that."


    He flagged down the waitress, and without even asking ordered two beers.


    What the hell. Miller thought. They made a toast to the water under the bridge, drank deep, and Jimmy Fowler let it all out.


    "Yeah, we worked it out. For a while. Two years. Three. I don''t know. Maybe ten. It felt like forever. It was great at first. But then she started complaining about everything. And I mean everything. Like how Bridget did. Jesus, Miller, how did you cope? Anyways, I didn''t cope. I gave it right back to her. So we went on like that for a while and, well, I came home early one day. You can figure out the rest."


    "I''m sorry Jimmy."


    "Yeah. Well, I moved on. As you can see."


    Miller hadn''t noticed the ring till then.


    "So who''s the new gal?"


    "Oh, she''s not new. You remember Batty Betty?"


    Miller slammed the table and doubled over laughing. "Oh hell, I sure do. You don''t mean... Fowler... you didn''t."


    Fowler nodded with a mouthful of beer threatening to burst out.


    "Fowler, under no circumstances... we made a pact!"


    Fowler waved his ring finger while he swallowed. "I broke it."


    All Miller could do was laugh.


    "Laugh it up, fuzzball. Hey, she''s loyal."


    "I bet. Like a tic."


    "Hey, alright. You can clown. But you know what, man, she''s got a heart of gold. And she''s smart. We all knew she was smart."


    "Well she had to be smart to think of the weirdest damn things a girl could possibly say. What was that line she used whenever she came in late?"


    "''Sorry guys, I saw something new in my stool. Had to make sure.''"


    "Tell me that was just a line."


    "It was. It was. Aw, Miller, you know she had a bigger crush on you than anybody."


    "Oh, I doubt that."


    "It''s true." Fowler ordered another round.


    "Hey, Fowler. My health... I gotta take it slow."


    "Oh, sure. Sure. Thanks for speaking up. So tell me your news, Miller. You ever replace Bridget?"


    "Ha. Kinda. But it''s not what you think."


    "Ok? Now I''m curious. You uh, doin'' more than walkin'' the neighbor lady''s dog?"


    Miller took another sip, then a good long pull. "Nah. Rosa''s a doll, but nah. I met this disabled fella a few years back. I was in a bad way. Drinkin'' a lot. Anyway, I''d sit at this bench at Freeman Park...". He took another long pull. "Ah, what the hell. Get us a pitcher."


    "You sure?".


    "Yeah."


    Fowler ordered them a pitcher. He had a way about him, Miller remembered. Somehow, no matter how crowded a place would be, Fowler could flag down a server and get his order in seconds.


    "Still got the voodoo, I see," Miller said.


    "I lost it for a while. Till I married Betty."


    Miller chuckled, then emptied and refilled his glass.


    "So, I was in a bad way. Spent a lot of time at Freeman Park. Thinkin''. I kept seeing this disabled guy on a motorized wheelchair. Junky old thing. He''s real messed up, too. His legs are too small, he''s got no feeling below the waist, one arm is small and shriveled."


    "And he was at Freeman all by himself?"


    Miller took a swig. "Yeah. He came up to me one day and started talking. I don''t even remember what about. Anyway, long story short, he got me talkin'' back one day, and we became friends. Turns out he has no family except a sister who pocketed most of his disability money, so I took him on as a roommate. So, I''m kind of his unofficial caregiver."


    Fowler must have been drinking for a while before Miller got there, because his eyes were all welled up when Miller finished his story. He wiped them dry with a napkin, then looked down at Miller''s wrist.


    "You too gimpy for a game of darts?"


    "I''ll never be too gimpy to whoop you."


    They both laughed, and Miller did in fact whoop Fowler at darts.


    "So how''d it go being the big boss?" Miller asked when they sat back down.


    "Oh, it was okay."


    "Was?"


    "Yeah. New Hampshire''s not my kind of town. Besides that, I got tired of herding cats. I went into car sales. Never looked back."


    "Good for you. And what''s Betty do?"


    "She''s a free woman, partner. Last year we looked at our finances, and I told her she could quit her job and pursue painting. She fought it, at first, and swore I''d always come home to a messy living room floor and a fresh cooked meal. And she kept her word. Not an evening goes by where I don''t see her on her tarp with her easel, paint all over, and smell something high in cholesterol simmering on the stove."


    "That makes me happy, bud. She sell anything yet."


    Fowler held up two fingers. "The first was three months ago, for a hundred and fifty dollars. The second one was last week, for two G''s."


    Miller opened his eyes up wide. "Nice. Damn. That''s great. You''re gonna give her a big ole'' hug from me when you get back, aren''t ya?"


    "Of course. But just a hug! You had your chance, buddy."


    They laughed and made another toast.


    "To the good ole'' days," Fowler said.


    Miller nodded.


    "So how are the girls? Jesus, they must be what, in their twenties? They got boyfriends yet? Eh? I always thought Sadie would get married for sure. Allison, though, she must be a pro by now. Dancin'' on one of them MTV videos. Come on, you gonna sit there and let me guess till I get it?"


    Miller looked into the half empty pitcher. "The girls are gone, Jimmy."


    "Gone? Whaddaya mean? Did Bridget get custody?"


    "Drunk driver."


    "Shit! Oh, no. No. Joey... I''m..."


    Fowler''s eyes welled up again. Joey Miller looked into the half empty pitcher.


    It took Fowler a minute to compose himself.


    "They were like nieces to me. Man. When did it happen?"


    "When they turned fifteen and sixteen." Miller''s voice was hoarse. He slid his glass away. "There was a big talent show. The whole neighborhood put it on. We took over half of Freeman Park. They got six of their friends together and danced to Black Cat by Janet Jackson. They stole the whole damn show. They didn''t know it, but I managed to talk some talent scouts into coming. They all gave me their cards. Anyways, the girls wanted to spend the night at Tasha''s house. They got clipped on the way there. Cops came to my place around midnight."


    Fowler teared up again. Miller leaned back.


    "I bought a gun. I never could work up the nerve, though. I''d go to Freeman Park thinking it would give me the push I needed. Then that rat bastard came up and got me talkin''. So how long are you in town for?"


    Fowler stared in disbelief, then his jaw seemed to move on it''s own before any words stammered out.


    "Uhm, I, just flew in for a few days."


    "Well, you wanna come meet Klein?"


    "Klein? Oh, the cripple. I mean, your roommate. Sorry."


    "You wanna meet him? He''s my family nowadays."


    "Well, then yeah. Definitely. Of course."


    "Man," Miller said, "you lost a lot of weight. I thought the misses was feedin'' you."


    Fowler was always a little paunchy. Now he was rail thin. Somehow it made his black hair look darker.


    "Uh, well, I uh, had a stint with H. I uh, I got pretty low too. After Maddy. And yeah, Betty cooks. I just don''t eat much. Guess I''m not quite over everything."


    "Life sure can be a bitch."


    They made a toast, listened quietly to the band, then left to go meet Klein.

 Six

    ¡°Hi, Ms. Burgos,¡± Klein said.


    "Mr. Klein" Rosa said, "how are you today?"


    "I''m good." He looked over his shoulder at Miller, all mopey and dramatic.


    "I am leaving for the day," she said, "and just wanted to give you guys my key, just in case you wanted to spend time with Santiago."


    "Thanks. When will you be back?"


    "Not till around nine-thirty. My cousin is in town, and she likes to talk until the cows come home."


    "Okay. We''ll check on him at some point."


    Then she was gone, and Klein kept wheeling around the place like he had all these things to do, while Miller laid on his bed, coffee table pushed out so that Klein could barely fit between it and the entertainment center. Miller wondered how he never noticed the smell of the place anymore, because he was noticing it then. It smelled hot and stale, like things had been there too long.


    Maybe I''ve been here too long, he thought.


    Eventually, Klein settled down with his laptop, his keys clicking away. Miller put on his discman, but his headphones were broken. Only one side worked, and the other kept cutting out, He yanked the headphones out of the jack, and the plug broke off and got stuck. He reached down to the floor and fished his pocket knife out of his pants to pry the plug out, but when he did he cut himself and messed up the headphone jack port. He threw the discman across the room and reached for his beer, but it was empty.


    "Do you want me to get you another one?" Klein asked.


    "No. I want..." He didn''t say it. He wanted to, but it wouldn''t be right. It wasn''t Klein he was mad at.


    Klein stared and blinked. He looked like an owl with those big glasses on. "What?"


    "Nothing." Miller closed his eyes and tried to fall back to sleep. As if on queue, the sun moved over just a hair and peeked through the curtains, shooting a little beam in Miller''s eye and keeping him awake.


    "You want nothing, eh?" Klein said.


    "I want to sleep."


    Klein kept clicking away. Between him and the sun, Miller found falling back to sleep hopeless, so he sat up. His hairy belly was bulging out of his robe. "I want to be thinner."


    "Well," Klein said, "I can''t help you with that."


    "I want another discman, and new headphones."


    Klein was quiet for a while, but when Miller was quiet too, he broke down. "I''m not siccing a lawyer on my sister."


    Miller nodded, feeling guilty. "How''s work?"


    "Pretty dry," Klein said. "I made a few calls, sent a few emails. Time to sit back and wait."


    Miller nodded. It seemed to him the whole world had frozen still and was looking through the slit between his curtains, looking at his fat, hairy belly and cluttered apartment.


    "Working on your book?" he asked.


    "Different one."


    He nodded again. He thought about how his place was before Klein moved in. He was never a tidy person, but he had a bedroom with a closet he could stuff things in when he wanted to have friends over.


    Who am I kidding? he thought. I never had friends over here. The truth was, Miller hadn''t had friends over since he was a kid. After Bridget left, all the company that came over was for the girls. Before that, well, he got married right out of high school, and there was no point inviting anyone over to see the way he and Bridget treated each other. They saw enough when we went out. She had the ability to shout quietly, picking words that hit just as hard as a scream. Worst part was she usually smiled when she said them. If there was one thing Miller could think back to he was grateful for, was that Bridget left before the girls were old enough to miss her.


    "Wanna watch something?" Miller asked.


    "Maybe later. Why don''t you walk Santiago?"


    Miller grumbled. "My knee''s buggin''."


    "That brace not working anymore?"


    Miller hauled himself up and went to the kitchen. Klein looked over the top of his laptop when Miller came back into the living room. He was looking at the beer Miller had just opened.


    "Don''t look at me like that," Miller said.


    "Can you do me a favor?"


    "What?"


    "If you don''t want to do something I suggest to you, just tell me that you''re trying to avoid being this way. I''ll drop anything if it spares you from this."


    "Spares me from what? Having to mop your crap off the floor? Or having to sleep in my own living room? Or having to hide from the landlady in case she wanders in and sees that I tore up half the carpet? Because then I have to explain to her why. You want that, Klein? You want our pretty little landlady to know you can''t..."


    Klein could have cried, or slammed his laptop shut, or throne it across the room. Miller would have preferred any of those things to the quiet, piteous stare he got instead. Miller leaned on the kitchen counter and sighed. It was he who felt like crying.


    "Klein, man, I''m sorry. Damn it." He went back into the kitchen and poured out his beer.


    "I don''t care if you drink beer, Miller,¡± Klein said. ¡°Lots of guys drink beer." Then his eyes went down to the broken discman. But he could have looked anywhere in the room and found some broken thing laying in a pile of its own self.


    "I don''t know how you do it,¡± Miller said. ¡°I don''t know how you keep your armor on. How can you sit there while people call you names or, or treat you like you''re helpless, or when I unload on you? How do you not feel more broken up about stuff? Can I get some of that armor, man?"


    "It doesn''t cover everything."


    Miller had a memory. It was a gorgeous summer day and they were sitting outside. Miller was reading a Reader''s Digest, and Klein was reading a National Geographic. There were some teenage punks in the neighborhood then. They mostly just walked around, being loud and rude, and every now and then they''d get bold and spray paint some mispelled word on a sign. That day they were running their mouths. First they called Klein a nerd, then a cripple. He ignored them. Then one called him a porch monkey. "Literally," another said. One of the girls said "Dude, he heard you.". Then the one who made the slur said "What''s he gonna do? Chase us?". They must not have seen Miller, and he did chase them. That was the day he hurt his knee.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Miller went to the hide-a-bed and folded it up. He didn''t have the energy to fold his blankets. He sat on the couch and looked at Klein. He had another memory, when that kid got hit by a car. It was Wednesday and they were on their way to a restaurant. A ten or twelve year old girl was running after her dog when a beat up old Geo came speeding around the corner. The dog got out of the way, but the kid didn''t. Klein was close enough to grab her, but not strong enough to pull her all the way off the street. Anyone would be shook up after that, but when they saw her in a wheelchair half a year later and she wouldn''t even look at Klein, he stopped eating for almost a week. Yep. His armor had some holes alright.


    "I could never handle Mr. Wilson like you do," Klein said.


    "I wouldn''t say I handle him. I''m just waiting for that overclocked little ticker of his to pop."


    Klein laughed, followed by Miller. Then, out of the blue, Klein smiled.


    "This is better than the last time," he said.


    "Well, seeing Fowler was a lot more fun than seeing Bridget."


    "Yeah. I like him."


    Miller nodded. "He''s a good guy. He wasn''t fit for the kind of work we did. I could see him doing alright at sales, though."


    "He likes to talk."


    "Yeah. Yeah he does." Miller''s voice started on a high note, but dipped down a little at the end.


    "I know it hurts right now, but it was good for you to talk about your daughters with someone who knew them."


    Maybe it was the beers he''d been drinking since nine, or maybe it was a little bit of everything. Or maybe it was just because he couldn''t stop thinking about Sadie and Allison, and how happy they looked piling into the Johnson''s van, and how he couldn''t wait to call the talent scouts the next morning. And he couldn''t stop thinking about the sick feeling he had when he was leaning forward to turn off his TV and saw the police cruiser pulling into his driveway. Mr. Wilson, Bridget, Klein''s late night diarrhea, his knee, his wrist, his bank account, the rude little brat at De Nada''s, those punk teens, he couldn''t stand it. Or maybe he could have if he hadn''t figured out that Jimmy Fowler lied about moving on and marrying Batty Betty. It sure did hurt to see his friend had stopped to lying in order to save face.


    "What tipped you off?" Fowler asked in the parking lot after meeting Klein.


    "Happy husbands with wives who can cook don''t look like you," Miller said. "And Batty Betty? C''mon, Fowler. That poor girl is just too cooky. Even for you."


    "Yeah. I''m sorry I lied to you, Joey. I just, I just wanted you to think I was doing good, you know."


    "It''s okay, man," Miller said. "I just want us on a level field if we''re gonna stay in touch. I''m hoping we will, by the way."


    "Yeah, sure. I need that, man. I need a friend."


    "We all need friends, bud."


    "We sure do. I''m glad you got Klein. He''s a smart dude."


    "He sure is. And he knows it. Hey, Jimmy. You are doing good. Unless you''re lying about the job, too."


    "Nah, nah, the job''s real. Hey, I got an early flight, so... It was great seeing you, Miller."


    "Great seeing you too, Fowler."


    It seemed all of life had come together in Miller''s tiny living room, and he leaned forward, thinking he could hold it in if he covered his face with his hands, but that seemed to make it ten times worse.


    "Oh god!" Miller said as he cried.


    Klein patted him on the back with his nubby hand.


    They walked Santiago that evening. He almost got away a couple times as Miller''s wrist was worse, despite the wrap.


    "I think you need a proper brace for that too," Klein said.


    "I think I need one of them fancy chairs."


    Klein laughed and smiled again. "You can have mine."


    Miller looked at the chair. He''d done everything he could for Klein, but he just didn''t have the money to buy him a newer one. Klein leaned forward and reach over with his longer arm to scratch his back. Miller figured a newer chair, with better padding, might not chafe at Klein''s rash so much.


    They made their way to the stream where Miller took Santiago when he was tired. They were farther along than the bench, and there wasn''t a soul in sight.


    "Can you hand me a stick?" Klein asked.


    Miller let go of the leash and got Klein a long stick that had a sharp curve at the end. It looked like a good back scratcher, but Klein whistled and threw it.


    "No!" Miller shouted.


    A little boy, no older than six, had appeared on the other end of the path. He was kicking a bright rubber ball and laughing his little head off, and Santiago forgot all about the stick and was barreling towards the rubber ball.


    Klein''s chair was faster than Miller could run, even with the brace. he was shouting and Klein was whistling. Santiago came back with the ball in his mouth and the little boy was bawling. That''s when his parents came into view.


    "We''re very sorry," Miller said. The parents were understanding, and the worst thing that happened was the ball was sopping wet. Somehow Santiago didn''t pop it with is teeth.


    "Let''s go back," Miller said, winded.


    His knee could barely bend by the time they got home. It had swollen to the point where he had to be careful when taking off the brace.


    "I''ll take it," Klein said. He put it the hallway closet, fighting to keep the mop from falling on him.


    Miller winced and grunted as he hopped to the kitchen. Klein helped him with the ice pack when he''d sat down, then wove his way through the clutter to the entertainment center.


    "How about a comedy?"


    "Sure," Miller said. He couldn''t have told someone what movie they were watching if they asked. It took all his concentration not to pass out from the pain in his knee. Klein managed to reach the ibuprofen, leaning half out of his chair and opening the cupboard with his mouth. There were only two pills left. Klein got Miller a beer to wash it down with.


    "You''re not an alcoholic," Klein said.


    "I know."


    "You''re also not the guy I met on that bench."


    Miller smiled, then twisted off the cap. "I''m feelin'' like something a little more low key."


    Klein went back to the entertainment center and took out Beverly Hills Cop out of the VCR, then rummaged through their VHS collection. They settled on a WWII documentary they both liked.


    "Thanks, bud," Miller said.


    An hour later, they were watching a scene of young soldiers lined up alongside a row of tanks.


    "They''re kids," Miller said. "Look at those boys. They''re kids."


    "Want me to change it?"


    "No. No. Its the war, man. It''s disturbing. No way around that."


    "It''s fascinating, though."


    Miller nodded. "Sure is. What makes people do all this? Is killing really that important? It''s like the whole planet wanted to start over or something. Ahh!"


    All he did was shift on the couch and his knee was on fire. He lifted the ice pack and grimaced. The skin around his knee was purple.


    "You need to see a doctor."


    "I know. I would if I could, man. But those copays are a joke."


    They finished the documentary and started getting ready for bed. Klein was in the bathroom so long Miller thought he might have fallen asleep.


    "Want me to bring you your laptop?" Miller asked. He laughed at his joke until he realized Klein had brought his laptop in. It was faint to hear through the door, but he was clicking away.


    "Is that where you get your inspiration?"


    Then he heard Klein flush, and Miller went in to help him wash and get back in his chair.


    "I wanted to make sure you didn''t have to get up later," Klein explained.


    "You didn''t have to do that."


    "You need to rest your knee, and you still have to fold out your bed."


    Miller didn''t say anything. He just helped Klein to bed and said good night. He decided not to mess with the hide-a-bed and just laid down on the couch and opened his book. It was about the history of the Olympics, dating back to the role of athletics in ancient Greek society.


    Even Plato looked tough, he thought as he flipped through a page of illustrations.


    "Miller!"


    He started to sit up, but Klein didn''t sound upset or in pain.


    "Yeah, bud?"


    "Let''s meet the lawyer."


    "You sure?"


    "Yeah."


    "Okay. I''ll call Fox in the morning."


    He called Fox right after breakfast, and was smiling when he hung up the phone. Fox gave him the address of her firm. He showed it to Klein, and Klein raised an eyebrow.


    "She''ll remember you now," Miller said.

 Seven

Stolen novel; please report.

 Eight

    Mercedes was quiet, eyeing them both piercingly. She didn¡¯t look angry, though. She looked sad. That was worse. A lot worse.


    ¡°Thank you for all you¡¯ve done,¡± Klein said.


    Mercedes kept looking at them both, first one and then the other.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for wasting your time,¡± Klein said.


    ¡°I¡¯m not the one you owe an apology too, Mr. Klein.¡±


    Klein had nothing to say to that, and he was quiet the whole way to the car. Miller took a right turn leaving the parking lot, and still Klein was quiet. He only spoke when Miller parked.


    ¡°What are we doing?¡± Klein asked.


    ¡°I¡¯ll just be a minute.¡±


    He used the whole minute up getting out of the van. He¡¯d been switching off and on wearing the brace. This day it was on, and while it kept the constant throbbing at bay, he still had to be careful. He didn¡¯t mind taking it slow, though. Klein would be fine waiting in the van, and the weather was doing him a lot of good. It was crisp, but not cold, and the sun was out, taking the edge off his anxiety.


    Inside Speedy¡¯s was much less calming. There was a thick crowd, a lot of then teens and young children. Three little boys bumped into him in a row, causing him to pivot repeatedly on his bad knee. Only the third one apologized, and it seemed their parents were nowhere in sight. He shrugged it off and got in line. Ana waved at him. The store was mostly cleared out by the time he got to the register.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Marisol?¡± Miller asked.


    ¡°She quit,¡± Ana replied.


    Miller nodded. ¡°Onward and upward, eh?¡±


    Ana shrugged. ¡°So she says. We¡¯ll see.¡±


    ¡°Well, give her time. Growin¡¯ up is a work in progress.¡±


    Ana looked around her store. ¡°Tell me about it. I thought I was making a responsible decision to quit school and start work early. Now look at me. Forty years old and working in a convenience store.¡±


    ¡°That you own. That counts for something.¡±


    She faked a laugh. ¡°It doesn¡¯t change what I do. I think sometimes that I¡¯m jealous of my daughter.¡±


    ¡°It sure is easier to flap your wings when you¡¯re still in the nest.¡±


    She laughed for real. ¡°So, where¡¯s Klein?¡±


    ¡°In the van. He¡¯s having a rough time. I thought I¡¯d surprise him with some poppers.¡±


    Ana smiled. ¡°Sure thing.¡±


    Miller tried to avoid looking down her shirt while she bent down over the hot case. Somehow seeing her was giving him a sad feeling.


    Why couldn¡¯t I have ended up with one like her, he thought. Then the answer hit him, that nobody ends up anywhere. I made my choice.


    ¡°Your boys oughta be working age soon,¡± he said to distract himself.


    She laughed again as she rang him up. ¡°Back home, maybe. But not here.¡±


    Miller faked a chuckle. ¡°Yeah, I thought Oscar might have been. I guess he¡¯s still got a few years. Oh geez,¡± then he laughed for real as she stuffed the bag to the brim, emptying the hot case completely.


    ¡°On the house. You both deserve some poppers.¡±


    Miller smiled as big as he could. ¡°Thanks Ana.¡±


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    He took two steps out the door when the same three boys ran past him. The third one hit the bag with his head and the poppers went flying out into the street.


    ¡°Sorry!¡± He shouted.


    Miller wanted to grab him by the scruff, or shout a warning at least, but all he could do was stand there with the pain in his knee. He dug his nails into his palms, but it didn¡¯t do him any good, and he found himself fuming all the way to the van.


    Klein looked ten times as upset as he was before. Miller wasn¡¯t looking forward to telling him about the poppers.


    ¡°Why were you gone so long?¡± Klein asked, mad as hell.


    Miller was about to explain the whole scene, but the smell told him why Klein was so upset.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, buddy.¡± He buckled his seatbelt and hurried onto the road, then rolled down the window once they were in traffic and up to speed. They said nothing, and Miller parked the van in the back of their lot where the old oaks grew. He got the towel out of the emergency kit he kept in the back of the van, and wrapped it around Klein¡¯s waist before helping him into his chair. Klein¡¯s ride down the van¡¯s ramp and onto the parking lot seemed to take hours. Miller felt like he¡¯d been punched in the gut seeing Klein wait there dejectedly while he parked the van on the street.


    It was as quiet of a day as Miller could remember. He drew Klein a bath, put his pants and boxers in the wash, and went to the kitchen where he put more sugar than a man should be allowed to ingest into the last packet of tea. Passing the utility closet on the way to the bathroom, he thought to himself that the washer and dryer were the one saving grace of their tiny apartment. That and of course the uncommonly low rent.


    ¡°I¡¯n not wearing them!¡± Klein shouted before Miller even entered the bathroom.


    Miller put up his hands and looked around the cramped room. ¡°Did someone try to change your mind? ¡®Cos I sure didn¡¯t say anything.¡±


    He took the van to the car wash after Klein¡¯s bath and wiped the seat clean himself, then stopped at the mini mart down the road to buy some more tea. It was so expensive Miller decided to go to the grocery store. He called Klein to tell him he¡¯d be out for a little longer, but Klein didn¡¯t answer.


    It was almost dark when Miller pulled into the parking lot. The days were starting to get a little longer, but the air still had some bite. He zipped his jacket and warmed his hands, which made him feel silly as he was in shorts. The clerks on their smoke break nodded to him politely, but he didn¡¯t like being away from Klein on this sort of a day, so he walked on by as fast as he could and went first to get some lotion and baby powder, and then to the tea isle. The shelf was well stocked with everything but what he was there for.


    He went to the frozen food aisle to buy some microwavable poppers, but there was nothing but weird things that no one ever bought. The same was true of the ice cream, candy and even potato chips. Miller wanted to scream. Instead, he bought what he had and went home. Klein was asleep in his chair. Miller got him into bed, then almost made it to the couch. But a wild hair stuck in him and minutes later he was in his van heading to a place he swore he¡¯d never go back to.


    He had found out what Klein¡¯s sister did for work by sheer accident. He really never went to strip clubs but for a couple of times. When Klein first opened up about bis family, Miller had a picture of her in his head long before he finished describing her. The curiously low hairline is what sealed it for him, and Miller never said a word. But he did say something to her.


    ¡°Actually,¡± he told her after setting seventy-five dollars on the table, ¡°I wanted to talk. I think we have a mutual acquaintance.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah?¡± She said. She decided to dance as they talked, but stopped abruptly when he mentioned Klein. Seconds later he was escorted out the door, and after counting his bruises he figured Klein owed him an explanation.


    ¡°Dad worked hard,¡± Klein told him, ¡°And so did mom. But then mom got sick and dad had to take on a second job. It was killing him, and Tia couldn¡¯t stand it. She told us she was selling cars. Dad was too distracted or tired to check where. I guessed what she was doing.¡±


    And Miller tried carefully to word his question gently, but in the end, he just asked Klein if she¡¯d always been the type.


    ¡°The type?¡±


    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t mean anything by that. It¡¯s just most girls don¡¯t jump into that field on a hunch.¡±


    He never got an answer out of him, just a sincere request not to ever go see her again or try to arrange a reunion. Eventually Klein opened up a little more, and told him how she¡¯d come home at ten in the morning, eat the breakfast he¡¯d made and left out for her, then tell him things no sibling should say. Slurs were her go-to. And she would taunt him with ¡°When you gon¡¯ get yo crippled ass laid?¡± It wasn¡¯t long before she tried to get him hooked on drugs, porn, you name it. Not every girl was the type to dance for a living, but Tia was a type all on her own.


    Miller sat in the parking lot of The C Section long enough to get noticed. He didn''t recognize the bouncers, but they came and went, so he wasn¡¯t surprised. He sat there despite their looks, working up the nerve to go in. It never sat right, going to places like that after raising his girls the way he did. And he didn¡¯t know if Tia still danced at this club or not.


    At the door, he found himself unable to go in. He asked if ¡®Tygress¡¯ was dancing that night, not too nervous what the bouncers might think as plenty of guys had their favorites. The bouncers, both young fellas, seemed calm and earnest, and told him that she¡¯d quit and went to another club about a month ago. Miller wasn¡¯t disappointed. She was the last person on Earth he wanted to see again.


    His sleep was decent that night, despite the chaos of the day, but the morning was another story. There was a loud rapping on the door that didn¡¯t stop until he opened it. It was her.

 Nine

    ¡°Tia,¡± Miller said.


    ¡°Let me in,¡± Tia said.


    ¡°Not happening.¡± He stepped outside and shut the door.


    Her bracelets clacked together as she moved her hands from her hips to folded across her chest and back again. Then her anklets clacked as she tapped her toe. Of all the things to notice, Miller caught how she, like Mercedes, was wearing high heels early in the day midweek.


    ¡°Why are you here, Tia?¡±


    One hand stayed on her hip, the other pointed at Miller. For such a small girl, you sure knew when she was around.


    ¡°What were you doing at my club last night?¡±


    ¡°I came to talk.¡±


    Both her hands were in the air in a mocking shrug. ¡°Well, that¡¯s why I¡¯m here now.¡±


    Miller leaned an elbow on the wall of his apartment, accidentally squishing a spider that didn¡¯t crawl away. ¡°Tia, it was a mistake for me to come looking for you, and it¡¯s a mistake for you to be here now.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll talk to her,¡± Klein said meekly through the kitchen window.


    Tia laughed. ¡°You think I wanna talk to you? Boy, I said all I got to say to you ten years ago. I come to talk to the creep who stalkin¡¯ me.¡±


    ¡°Well, Tia,¡± Miller said with a sigh, ¡°like I said, it was a mistake. There¡¯s nothing for us to say to each other.¡±


    He saw Mr. Wilson standing in the parking lot an almost identical stance to Tia, glowering over his thick glasses. Miller caught his glance, and the old man shook his head and walked away, grumbling a whole list of slurs as he did.


    ¡°He did not just say that,¡± Tia said, turning her head. She went walking after him. ¡°Excuse me? What did you just say? Turn around old man! C¡¯mon! Turn yo cracka ass around!¡±


    ¡°Tia!¡± Miller boomed, remembering a time when he could stop a bar fight just by being there.


    She stopped and turned, slowly. ¡°You gon¡¯ defend him?¡±


    Mr. Wilson hurried inside, but opened his window and was shouting threats of calling the police from behind his screen. People were starting to peek out of their doors.


    ¡°Get in,¡± Miller said, opening his door and gesturing harshly.


    Tia sauntered past him, nudging his ribs with her elbow as she went in the door. She turned to him with her finger raised, but he boomed her name again and pointed to the couch. She sat down and was quiet, but her nostrils may as well have been spouting steam.


    Miller sat on the opposite side of the couch, faced her, and put his hands up.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for going to your work. I was out of line. I¡¯d hoped to talk you into doing the right thing and giving your brother his money, but it was wrong for me to approach you while you were working. I¡¯m sorry. Please forgive me.¡±


    Beyond all hope, she calmed down. She looked at her brother.


    ¡°You could have just asked,¡± she said. ¡°But you come after me with a lawyer.¡±


    She looked back at Miller. ¡°What, you think sending a black woman lawyer gonna scare me? I thought you was different, Miller.¡±


    Miller shook his head in disbelief. ¡°She was recommended by a friend because she does these cases pro bono, Tia. Her race has nothing to do with it. And for the record, that old coot out there deserves to have his ass kicked a hundred times over. Don¡¯t think for one second that I was defending him. The only person I¡¯m looking out for is this guy right here.¡±


    And Tia did a thing that cut Miller to the quick. She looked him up and down, her eyes slowing when they passed his fat stomach and purple kneecap.


    ¡°I just want to help your brother.¡±


    She looked at Klein.


    ¡°When you gon¡¯ help yoself? You know what you gotta do. But you always cryin¡¯ ¡®bout bein¡¯ ashamed.¡± She turned back to Miller. ¡°He know what he gotta do. You know what he gotta do. But here he is. Free loadin¡¯. All rashy ¡®cos he too big a man to wear a diaper. You don¡¯t know, Miller. You don¡¯t know what it was like.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Miller said, ¡°I have an idea. Tia,¡± he looked her up and down, his eyes slowing on her Gucci handbag, ¡°you make plenty of money. There¡¯s no reason for you to be hoarding his. Please, have a heart.¡±


    She leaned back like he¡¯d taken a swing at her. ¡°Have a heart? Have a heart? Is you sayin¡¯ I don¡¯t have a heart?¡±. Then she was leaning forward like she was about to take a swing at him. ¡°You don¡¯t even know me, Mr.s Miller. And you might think you know this little man right here, but you don¡¯t. He wore our mama out. Always she try an¡¯ git him to do what he could for hiself, and always he cry ¡®bout dignity, and bein¡¯ ashamed, and how we don¡¯t know what it¡¯s like bein¡¯ him.¡±


    She turned again and leaned over the arm of the couch. Klein looked like he was about to melt, and Miller wanted to puller her back by her overly styled hair, but he grinded his nails into his palms again. Then there was a knock at the door, and a deep voice claiming to be a police officer.


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    ¡°You have got to be joking,¡± Miller and Tia said in unison.


    Miller went to the door and looked through the peephole. It was the police, all right.


    ¡°Howdy, officers,¡± he said. He made a point to open it wide so they could see his living room. Tia was on point, leaning back against the couch with her legs crossed and a big smile on her face. Even Klein managed to look relaxed and pleasant.


    ¡°We had a report of a domestic disturbance,¡± said one of the officers.


    Miller shrugged, trying not to ham it up too much.


    ¡°My roommate¡¯s sister¡¯s here to visit. We had a misunderstanding and argued a little, but she came in and we talked it out. I¡¯m sorry if we disturbed anyone.¡±


    The police were polite, and left without much fuss. Still, their arrival made Miller¡¯s heart feel heavy.


    ¡°That punk ass cracka,¡± Tia said as he was sitting back on the couch.


    ¡°Tia,¡± Miller said, ¡°I don¡¯t like him talking that way anymore than I like you talking that way.¡±


    She was quiet for a moment, then apologized. After her apology, there was a long, and very uncomfortable silence, broken at last when Klein asked his sister if she wanted anything to drink.


    ¡°I¡¯m good,¡± she said.


    ¡°Miller makes good iced tea. He puts even more sugar in that mom did.¡±


    Tia¡¯s face couldn''t have been more different than when Miller saw her outside the door. She was calm, sad even. She thanked Miller for the tea while he was making it, and took her cell phone out of her purse. Miller didn¡¯t recognize the brand, but it looked like something Mercedes would use. She made a call, and told the deep voiced man on the other end that she was okay and might be a while. Miller handed them both their tea and opened himself a beer.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said again. She took a sip, then smiled. ¡°Dad always got mad. Said she was gon¡¯ make us diabetic.¡±


    Klein gave her one of his typical, unsmiling chuckles.


    ¡°I gotta say,¡± Miller said, ¡°I¡¯d go into a coma if I drank as much sugar as you guys do.¡±


    Tia smiled. ¡°Daddy always said it would rot out teeth and make us fat. He said ¡®you don¡¯t see any fat ballet dancers, do ya?¡¯ So, when I went into exotic dancing, first thing I did was quit drinkin¡¯ sugar. At least I thought I did. Then I found out how much sugar is in liquor. So, I quit drinkin¡¯ that. But I miss my momma¡¯s tea.¡±


    ¡°I miss my momma,¡± Klein said.


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    It was quiet again, but somehow Miller didn¡¯t feel uncomfortable. They finished their tea quietly, and he occupied himself by thumbing through a pile of unopened envelopes he noticed on his coffee table. They were half buried under a pile of books and magazines, which almost slid off when he grabbed the letters. He caught Tia looking at his clutter in the corner of his eyes. It was a few minutes before she spoke.


    ¡°I¡¯ll think about it,¡± she said.


    She gave Miller a look as she stood, so he offered to walk her to her car. It was a red corvette, the kind Miller would have given his eye teeth to own, A very muscular man with a perfectly symmetrical goatee was waiting in the passenger seat.


    ¡°If he do what he gotta do, I¡¯ll give him his money,¡± she said. ¡°I ain¡¯t spent none of it. But he gotta do what he gotta do.¡±


    ¡°Tia,¡± Miller said, ¡°you can¡¯t make a person do what they should. Try to put yourself in a similar situation. And I don¡¯t mean being disabled, but imagine someone trying to force you to do something. How would you react?¡±


    Her eyebrows shot up her forehead, and Miller imagined a few people had been slapped for trying the thing he¡¯d just suggested.


    ¡°See,¡± he said.


    ¡°Mr. Miller, you got yo way of helpin¡¯ my brother, and I got mine.¡±


    She got in her car and drove away. Seconds later, Miller heard sirens and saw flashing lights coming up the back way to their lot.


    ¡°For crying out loud,¡± he said as the lights rounded the corner on the other side of the car park, stopping near his apartment. He hurried as quickly as he could, especially when he heard Santiago woofing and saw Rosa with her hands to her face. He picked up his pace, ignoring the pain in his knee, and saw that the white outline of an ambulance.


    ¡°Klein!¡± he shouted, walking so fast he almost doubled over from the pain.


    What happened? He thought desperately. They were getting along. He was fine. So many scenarios flashed through his mind, and each one grew wilder than the next. No matter how little sense they made, he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling in his gut. The ambulance was there, right outside his apartment, whether it made any sense to him or not. But, when he got close enough to see the stretcher, it did make sense, and seeing what happened did offer him some relief, but he was no less sad.


    The hardest thing to see was Mr. Wilson. He was hysterical, fighting against the paramedics to get to his wife. She had as much color in her skin as a sheet of paper, but he was screaming that she was fine and that they had no right to take her away from him.


    ¡°I wonder who called it in,¡± Miller said to Rosa.


    Klein was in the doorway, watching blankly.


    ¡°I did,¡± Rosa said. ¡°I heard him shouting to her, but he wasn¡¯t angry. I was confused, so I went to their window and I could smell her. I know the smell, because I found my grandfather that way when I was a girl.¡±


    ¡°Poor fella,¡± Miller said. ¡°Hey, why don¡¯t we all have dinner together? I could use some company. I bet Klein could too.¡±


    ¡°Yes. That would be nice.¡± Then she looked at Klein. ¡°Maybe you should ask Klein first, though.¡±


    Back in the living room, Klein agreed to having Rosa over.


    ¡°I could use the distraction,¡± he said.


    ¡°Me too. Seems like Tia¡¯s changed a little.¡±


    Klein shook his head, then looked over his shoulder to the window. The blinds were two-thirds down and half closed. It was close to evening and the sun was pale, trickling in thin sheets that glowed on the brown carpet. Miller could hear birds, neighbor kids shouting, and Santiago¡¯s giant feet padding around outside.


    ¡°Whatcha thinkin¡¯ about, bud?¡±


    Klein took his time responding, keeping his eyes fixed on the window the whole time he sat there quiet. Eventually he sighed and turned his head to look at Miller.


    ¡°It¡¯s the same every time. We talk about Mom and Dad, and for a little while she isn¡¯t mean. But she¡¯s not nice. Maybe I¡¯m a snob or something, but not being cruel isn¡¯t good enough. She knew that I knew what she was doing, and even though I still loved her and didn¡¯t judge her, though, to be completely honest, I think what she does is shameful, I still treated her the same as ever and just kept on trying to be a good little brother. But she assumed I judged her and treated me like dirt.¡±


    ¡°Was there ever a time you guys got along?¡±


    Klein shook his head. ¡°Only in pictures. When we got older, she was embarrassed by me, and it showed, even at home. The older we got, the worse it got. Then mom died and everything went to hell. I want to believe that she¡¯s changed, but the best she can ever manage is taking a break from insulting me for a little while. I want more than that from my sister. I feel like...¡±


    He couldn¡¯t finish, but he seemed to want to.


    ¡°Like you don¡¯t have a sister?¡± Miller guessed.


    Klein nodded.


    Most of the conversation came from Miller and Rosa, but Miller could tell Klein was happy to have her and Santiago there. As dogs always do, Santiago knew Klein needed comfort, so he kept on standing up and putting his paws on the arms of Klein¡¯s chair and licking him.


    Klein needed the mop that night, and it was one of his worst episodes that Miller could remember.