Talking in Your Sleep...

“Oh, I have seen you. Warren, he’s a good boy.”

Watching her twist around on the ladder Rafe got nervous.

“If you would like, I could give you a hand with those lights. That ladder doesn’t seem too stable. Warren has a good one in the garage. Why don’t you come down and let me go get it?”

She smiled. “That would be wonderful.”

Rafe moved forward, holding the ladder firmly as she started to step down, relieved he’d come outside when he had—if she’d fallen, it could have been serious, even from only six feet up. On the job, he’d frequently been called for older people who’d taken simple falls in their own houses, falls that had caused their deaths in some cases.

“What’s your name, ma’am?”

“Oh, sorry, I’m Bessie Woods.” She lowered herself slowly. Finally with both feet on the ground, she smiled up at Rafe, shaking her head at the ladder. “My husband passed on last spring. I didn’t really plan to do much for the holiday. My family is worried and doesn’t want me alone, so I just found out they’re all coming here next week to spend a few days before Christmas. I’ll go home with them for the New Year. I couldn’t have the grandkids showing up with not a single Christmas light on the house.”

She sounded a little grumpy. Rafe nodded, straightening the ladder, silently cheering her family for not abandoning their matriarch. She might not think she wanted the Christmas cheer and the company, but she’d be happier for it once everyone was around. The holidays were so hard for people who’d lost loved ones.

“Well, let’s see what we can do about that.”

She patted his arm and moved to the side so he could remove the ladder from where it leaned against the porch.

“We’ll do that, and then you can come in and I’ll make you some lunch.” She didn’t ask him, she told him, and he chuckled, not even bothering to argue. She looked up at the ladder.

“My Butch had that ladder for years. I was always yelling at him to get a new one or he’d break his neck. He never did, so I figured it must be good enough. Have to admit, though, I miss him every day. He used to take care of all these things, and…” Her voice faded, choking slightly, and Rafe’s heart squeezed.

“How long were you married?”

“Fifty-seven years. Four children of our own, eleven grandkids, four great grands,” she declared proudly, and Rafe was doing some quick math in his head.

“They’re all coming for Christmas?” He looked at the small house, wondering how they’d fit.

She laughed. “Oh, no, just my youngest son’s family—he lives the closest. The rest are scattered all over the country, though I see them often enough.”

“Good to have a close family,” he stated and realized for the first time that he actually was spending the first Christmas without his own. For some reason, his urge to escape the city, and the job, had blanked out that realization. He knew they’d understand—he’d missed several holidays when he’d had to work—but he’d never been away, completely, for the entire time. His sisters were busy, too—two of them were married; the other, a single lawyer, didn’t seem to have much interest in marriage.

The four of them were always in and out of their parents’ house, around the neighborhood, several times each week. None of them had ever considered leaving New York. It had been a shock for them when Rafe had announced he was heading to California, if only for a little more than a month. They’d been apprehensive, but supportive. They knew he was having problems, and he knew they were only a phone call away.

His eyes drifted over across the street, to his neighbor’s house. Did she have family? People who cared? She appeared to be very alone. He felt a twinge of sympathy if that was the case.

“Where are you from, Rafe?” Bessie interrupted his thought.

“New York City.”

“Ah, been there once. Too loud for me.”

He laughed. “Bessie, what do you think about giving this ladder to the Goodwill—they’ll repair it for someone else’s use, and we can get you a sturdier stepping stool, though not for outside jobs.

“That sounds like a smart idea.”

He looked over at the house next to Warren’s where nothing was stirring.

“Can I ask you a question, Bessie?”

“Depends on what it is.”

“Do you know the name of the woman across the street?”

She eyed him shrewdly. “That’s Joy Clarke.”

Joy, he thought, liking the name. He’d never known a Joy before.

“As far as I know, she’s free as a bird,” Bessie added knowingly. “Used to be a young man who visited pretty often, stayed some nights, if his car in the driveway is any indication, but that was a while ago. I didn’t like him.”

“You met?”

“No, but I didn’t like how he came speeding up the street in his fancy car, the radio blasting. A real man doesn’t need to draw attention to himself like that. She doesn’t have much to do with anyone, from what I can tell. Probably has her reasons. She does come around collecting for charity now and then, but that’s about it. I don’t know much, but I do know you look like a man who’s interested.”

He pulled back. “No, no…not that way. There’s a neighbor issue I need to talk to her about. Thought it would go easier if I knew her name, at least.”

“Whatever you say.”

It was clear Bessie wasn’t buying his story, though he took her teasing in good humor. She hustled in to make the promised lunch—and to get more lights now that she had someone to help hang them. He went to get Warren’s ladder, and wondered about Joy as he strung the lights. He noticed there wasn’t a single holiday decoration in her yard.

Bessie served him one of the best bowls of chicken soup he’d ever had, even if it did make him sweat in the sweltering heat. Cooling off, relatively speaking, he sat on the step out front untangling some outdoor extension cords he’d found in Warren’s garage. Joy emerged, looking as if she were going somewhere, keys in hand, and he decided to make another approach.

“Joy!” he called from across the street, setting the cords down and seeing she was surprised he knew her name. Crossing to meet her, he tried to ignore the way she tensed up when he neared.

“Sleeping in late on Saturday, huh?”

“I’ve been busy. How’d you know my name?”

“Bessie mentioned it.”

“Bessie?”

He tilted his head toward the house across the street. “Bessie? The older lady who lives there, in the white house—just lost her husband?”

“Oh, yes. Right.”

“I caught her trying to hang some Christmas lights and almost killing herself up on a ladder, so I’m helping her out. Wondered if you might want to come over and give us a hand? I could use someone on the ground to feed me the extension cord while I’m up on the roof. She makes a mean chicken soup.”

“Sorry, I have to get going. I need to replace those groceries.” She didn’t bother hiding the stiff accusation in her tone. “And run some errands.”

“Don’t you ever relax?”

She was clearly taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re always so tense, so tight. You’ll give yourself high blood pressure.”

She arched an eyebrow. “I guess you’re an expert, seeing as you’re an EMT?”