Lie Easy

Jack had been waiting all day for the snow to stop before he got the snowblower out. When two o'clock rolled around and it was still coming down, slow but persistent, he finally got up off the couch. "I'd better go clear off the driveway now so at least there'll be less to clear later," he said to Kathleen, who was gazing out at the front yard and the bare trees caked with white and the quiet road beyond. "I don't want you having to drive on an ice rink tomorrow."

Kathleen turned away from the window. "Oh, well, thanks, Jack," she said. "I was just thinking, the library might not even open tomorrow if this keeps up." She stretched out her stocking-clad legs and looked back outside. "I kind of hope not, to tell you the truth. I could look at this all day! It's the kind of thing I used to dream of when I was a kid, you know."

Jack chuckled as he pulled on his winter coat. "You didn't get that out of your system last year? I thought you California girls liked your eighty-degree Christmases." Kathleen had been his tenant for a bit over a year, and had taken remarkably well to the massive change in climate, he thought, but she still surprised him now and then.

"We do!" Kathleen admitted. "But I didn't move up here expecting it to be just like LA, you know. And I haven't been disappointed."

Jack was certainly happy to hear that, for Kathleen was his favorite among the tenants he'd occasionally taken on since he'd come up to the north country himself nearly a decade before. The two-storey grey-stone house on a secluded hill just outside of town had been love at first sight and it was still his dream-home, but it was just too big for one person.

Especially for one person who wasn't on his own by choice. But Kathleen had never asked him anything about that, which was just one of the many things Jack loved about the young woman who'd sublet his upstairs bedroom for three months, fallen in love with the house like he had and decided to stay.

The maple trees across the highway were bare but for their fresh white blankets on each branch, the goldenrods lining the edge of his property were a distant memory under the snow, and only the spruce tree beside the driveway offered much color to the scene as Jack guided the snowblower down the hill to the road. On each trip back up the driveway, he was treated to the bittersweet sight of Kathleen relaxing inside with the twinkling reminder of the fire and the Christmas tree lights reflecting in the glass. Despite the chill -- or quite possibly because of it -- he found the sight as beautiful from outside as Kathleen had from inside. The smoke wafting from the chimney promised a warm welcome when the job was done, and the bright colors in the window carried him back half a lifetime to his grandmother's apartment.

It was a modest apartment, in a fraying New Jersey suburb that had since gone to crack houses and worse. But it was where he'd known most of the best Christmases of his youth, and the first few Christmases of his adulthood, home from college and then the Navy with Crystal in tow. He'd been apprehensive at first about bringing Crystal home, having seen Grandma's neighborhood by then for what it really was and also having seen the ritzy place where Crystal had grown up. But she'd done a great job of pretending, he'd had to admit then and now. "Jack, I love it, really!" she'd told him in her car on their way back to college after the first of those few golden holidays. "So quaint and cosy, and your grandma's a hoot!"

Grandma was a hoot all right, full of witty perspective on what did and didn't matter after growing up in the Great Depression, and never one to complain. Jack remembered better than he really wanted to, back in those bygone Christmases when they were all still alive, what a genius she was at setting Crystal at ease about their family traditions. "Jack, did you tell her how your grandmother flies in to greet the little kids?" she'd asked him the first year Crystal had joined them.

"Oh, I knew I forgot something," Jack had quipped, inspiring just the bemused look from Crystal that he'd hoped for. Then there'd been just enough time for Crystal to wonder just what Grandma meant before Jack's father had come bounding in from the kitchen and scooped his mother up in his arms. All the little kids -- Jack's two cousins' kids -- had had shrieked with joy as Dad swooped Grandma safely down to their eye level to ask in a mischievous tone what they wanted in their stockings, which were all hung on the windowsill facing Hickman Avenue, weighted with Grandpa's old ashtrays (he'd finally quit smoking, but the living room still had the memory of the smell). Mom and Aunt Pat would always sit on edge on the sofa with Grandpa and beg Dad to be more careful, but he always got Grandma back in her seat without a hitch. That year was no exception, and Crystal had enjoyed the spectacle as much as the little kids had.

From that day to this, Jack had never known a feeling quite as warm as those Christmases, whether Crystal was there or not.

He wasn't wearing his watch, but he was able to judge it was a bit past two-thirty when Mrs. Prentiss and Sean came trudging up the road. He shut down the snowblower at the foot of the driveway and waved. "Merry Christmas!" he called out.

"You too, Mr. Wolczyk!" Sean was very proud to have mastered Jack's last name, so he always passed on the repeated invitations to call him by his first. "But why're you clearing the driveway now when it's still snowing?"

"Sean!" Mrs. Prentiss never missed an opportunity to fret over the slightest chance her son may have caused offense, which he never had with Jack.

"Oh, I know I'll have to clear it again later," Jack said, smiling to let them both know there was no problem. "But it'll be easier to clear if there's less of it."

"Going to the potluck in town, Mr. Wolczyk?"

"Oh, Sean, that's for kids!" said Mrs. Prentiss. "Sorry, Jack."

"No, Mom, they said everyone's invited!"

"Well, maybe I will," Jack said. Seeing Mrs. Prentiss looked surprised, he went on, "I know I've never made it before -- sounds like I'm missing out, huh?"

"If you don't mind a little mingling with other parents," Mrs. Prentiss said. "I find it a little tedious." She turned to her son. "Sean, go check the mail, will you?"

"Later, Mr. Wolczyk!" And Sean was off to the mailbox just beyond the property line.

"I'm sorry, Jack," Mrs. Prentiss said as soon as the boy was out of earshot. "He doesn't know adults don't really like that sort of thing."

"Who says I don't?" Jack smiled.

"Oh, I just thought...well, I really don't know," Mrs. Prentiss admitted. "I just had the impression...not your thing, you know? If you do go, that's lovely. Maybe I'll see you there?"

"Maybe so. Thanks." He nodded farewell and restarted the snowblower to run it back up to the shed, and told himself yet again he ought not be so secretive with the neighbors. Heaven only knew what they all thought they knew about his past. He'd heard whispers here and there and had opted not to set the record straight. Perhaps he should have, but what was done was done -- for now.

In the mudroom, Jack stamped as much of the snow off his boots as he could before opening the kitchen door. The welcome blast of warmth as he opened it had him immediately looking forward to a long afternoon on the couch watching Christmas movies and drinking cocoa, maybe with a touch of Kahlua and maybe with Kathleen joining him. As if on cue, he heard Kathleen in the living room as he took off his coat. "I think he just walked in, Anthony."

Jack's heart sank, and he reluctantly put his coat back on. What had to be done had to be done.

Sure enough, Kathleen appeared in the kitchen door with the phone. "It's Anthony. Mr. Chandler needs a ride."

"Surprise surprise." Jack smiled through his disappointment as he took the phone; no use in shooting the messenger. "Hi Anthony," he said.

"Jack. Hi. I hate to call you out in this weather, but..."

"Mr. Chandler, is it?"

"I cut him off over an hour ago, but he's still in no shape to drive."

"I can just imagine. Okay, I'll be right down."

"Thanks so much, Jack. Let me give you a burger on the house next time you're free."

"That's really not necessary. I'll see you in a few minutes." Jack hung up the phone and handed it back to Kathleen, who was still looking adorable as ever in her flannel shirt and tight jeans, and woolen socks. "Here, I don't want to track any snow in there."

"Can't they call anyone else to take that drunk home?" Kathleen asked.

"In this weather? Probably not." Jack pulled his coat on. "I'll see you when I get back. How about some movies and hot chocolate then?"

"Sounds delightful, Jack. Drive safely."

"That's why they always call me."

Once again, Kathleen wondered just what Jack meant by that as she watched him go back outside. She'd heard more of the whispers in town than Jack himself had heard, and everyone seemed to assume he'd told her everything. The truth was, like everyone else, she'd never been willing to ask. All she knew that the others didn't was the many pictures of his wife and two kids on display throughout the house, all of them dating to when the kids looked no older than five or so. She, like everyone else who'd heard anything about Jack's life before he'd come up here, had been careful not to ask anything about them.

Jack had returned the favor and never pried into Kathleen's reasons for leaving California for the frozen north. Though she suspected he would understand better than most, she liked it like that. Especially at a time like this where the calls for joy and togetherness were almost smothering. She hadn't even liked that as a little girl and she outright hated it now, but she couldn't deny the appeal of how Jack's living room felt like living in a Christmas card. As she curled up on the couch to flip channels, though, she really wished he hadn't had to go out again. But she admired him enormously for doing so.

O'Kelly's was decked out in the glitter and colors of the season, and it was surprisingly crowded for a weekday afternoon. Probably just the bright side of it being a bad day to drive, Jack reasoned as he stepped in. Mr. Chandler was slumped on a stool at the far end of the bar, and the other patrons had wisely given him a wide berth.

"Jack!" Anthony looked delighted to see him, and Jack couldn't really blame him. "Thanks so much, man," he said, coming out from behind the bar and wiping his hands on his apron to shake Jack's hand. "We had a trainee on bar duty at lunch time who didn't know him, and she let him have way too much. At least he hasn't been talking about trying to drive home this time, but he can't walk all the way home in this slop either, you know?"

"Well, he probably could, but I wouldn't want it on my conscience either if he fell in a ditch somewhere," Jack said. Mr. Chandler lived five miles out of town in the opposite direction from Jack's house, along a two-lane highway that led to the nearest interstate -- not a good road to walk on in good weather, never mind in a snowstorm.

"I'm sorry, Jack," Anthony said. "If I'd been on duty I'd have cut him off sooner and he might even be able to drive home."

"Oh, heavens, Anthony, don't even suggest that."

"Sorry!" Anthony, like most of the townspeople, had heard the rumors about Jack's past. "I'm really sorry, Jack."

"It's all right!" Seeing Anthony wasn't convinced, Jack added, "Maybe I will come back for that burger after I get him home?"

"Please do, Jack, it'd be our pleasure." Anthony had to go back behind the counter to attend to a couple of new customers, so Jack could put off the inevitable no longer. He stepped down the bar and patted Mr. Chandler on the back. "Come on, Bob," he said. "I'll drive you home."

Mr. Chandler jumped to attention at his touch. "Jack!" he exclaimed. "Merry Christmas! But nah, I'll be fine for driving as soon as I sleep this bit off."

"No, you won't, Bob, and you can't just sit here all afternoon either." He tugged on Mr. Chandler's jacket to try to get him to stand up. "Come on, I'm taking you home."

"That really isn't necessary!" Mr. Chandler clung to the edge of the bar and did his best to sit his ground. But Jack didn't let up.

"Let me help you, Jack," said Dan Fletcher, the town librarian, who'd been eating his lunch at a nearby table. "Mr. Chandler, he's right, you need to get home and you're not going to be in any shape to drive for a long time yet."

"Thanks, Dan." Jack took Mr. Chandler's left arm and slung it over his shoulders, and Dan did the same with his right, and they dragged him outside with minimal kicking and screaming. "Sorry to interrupt your lunch," Jack said to Dan as they piled him into the passenger seat of Jack's SUV.

"More than happy to help," Dan said. "We all really admire you for this, you know. If I can ever help you out with it..."

"Talk to Anthony," Jack said. "I'm sure he'd appreciate the help."

"Sure thing. Merry Christmas." And Dan went back inside.

From the table nearest the window, a middle-aged woman and a young man -- Anthony had guessed correctly that he was her son -- saw the whole episode and watched as Jack pulled away with Mr. Chandler. As Anthony came by to wipe down the recently vacated neighboring table, the woman asked him, "Does that man always come to collect the drunks?"

"Pretty much," Anthony said. "He's a local hero, kind of a Western movie cliché. He lives out in the woods, no one really seems to know anything about him and he seems happy to keep it that way, as far as I can tell. But when I need to get someone out of here and make sure they don't get behind the wheel like that, he's always willing to help. I've literally called him at two in the morning and he hasn't complained."

"Oh, no, I can just imagine why he's like that," the woman said.

"Yeah, that's what the whole town thinks, including me," Anthony said. "But no one knows for sure. Listen, would you like anything else?"

"Sorry!" said the woman. "We have been taking up space here for too long, haven't we?"

"It's not that," Anthony said, though he was very much aware that he'd cleared their empty lunch plates nearly an hour before.

"Nonsense! We shouldn't be camping out here without ordering anything else. You want dessert, Randy?"

"I ought to get stranded with you more often, Mom," said the young man.

Anthony laughed. "We have a peppermint stick sundae for the holidays, big enough to share."

"Yes, please!" said the woman.

"And a coffee, please," added Randy.

"Make it two," said his mother.

"Coming right up," Anthony said, resisting the temptation to ask what Randy had meant about being stranded.

"I'd a-been right as rain in an hour or so, y'know!" Mr. Chandler whined as Jack pulled out onto Route 352. "And what about my car?"

"You can come get it tomorrow, if the roads are clear," Jack said. The storm seemed to be picking up.

"You gonna come pick me up for that, too, Jack?"

"I'm not your chauffeur, Bob."

Mr. Chandler laughed. "And I'm not a drunk, Jack. I tell ya, I'd-a been fine in an hour or two if they'd just let me sleep it off."

"You can't just sleep in a bar."

"Is that what you used to do, Jack?"

"No."

"Everybody says it's something like that, why you're such a do-gooder. Was it you or someone else that ruined your life?"

"None of your fuckin' business, Bob."

"You hate me, don't you? You hate all drunks, but I'm no drunk. Do you hate me?"

Jack chuckled to keep from losing his temper. What was the line from Casablanca? If I gave you any thought I probably would? No sense in denying he gave Mr. Chandler a lot more thought than he deserved, though. He could say that about quite a few people in town, if it came to that. But it was better than letting anyone drive drunk, that he knew.

"You shouldn't hate me, Jack. I never killed no one."

"Not yet anyway."

"What a grouch. Don't you remember it's Christmas, Jack?"

"Kind of hard to forget in this weather, isn't it?"

"You do need to learn to be happier, Jack. Everybody says so."

"Is that so?" Then he had to slow down so abruptly the SUV fishtailed a bit, as there was a roadblock ahead. As they crawled ahead through the snow, it came into focus: a sedan butting halfway out into the road, its front end stuck in a ditch. Two other cars were parked on their side of the road trying to help the driver of the sedan get unstuck, but it was hopeless -- the front wheels were spinning in the slush and mud and getting no traction at all. In the oncoming lane, an old truck had stopped to avoid a collision in case the sedan came unstuck -- and the drivers behind him weren't happy about it and were honking up a storm.

"Wait here," Jack said, and he put the SUV in park and got out. He wasn't at all surprised that Mr. Chandler ignored his directive and stumbled out onto the snowy shoulder, and he was soon glad of that as he heard him retching. One of the women standing by the stuck car saw it and turned away in disgust.

"Need a tow, folks?" he asked.

"I think so," said the other woman, who was standing helplessly by as the older man hit the gas again and again. "We tried sticking some stray branches under there for traction, but they didn't do anything."

"And we can't find anything else to use," said the one who had watched Mr. Chandler throw up. "Looks like he's digging himself in deeper every time!"

"Okay, here's what we'll do," Jack said. "One of you please stand over there and hold up your hand to make sure no one tries to drive through the other way, and I'll pull around your cars and pull him out."

"What about your friend over there?" one of them asked, and Jack turned to see Mr. Chandler flailing in the snow, making a pathetic attempt at snow angels.

"I think he's just fine where he is for now," Jack said.

He shuffled back to the SUV, a bit relieved when Mr. Chandler didn't appear to take any notice, and drove slowly around the two cars while the two women held up the traffic on the left lane. Once he was positioned just behind the stuck car, he opened the tailgate and drew out a nylon tow strap that he'd been fortunate enough to never need before. He knocked on the window of the stuck car and told the panicked driver to shut off the engine.

"What if I can't get it started again?" said the old man.

"Then I'll give you a lift into town. But I need to get under the car and I don't want the engine running for that!"

"If you say so," sighed the old man, and he killed the engine.

Jack enlisted the women to help him feel under the bumper for some sort of hook in the frame. "There's always one in the front end, but that won't help us today," he said.

"What about the bumper?" one of the women asked.

"We'd just pull it clean off."

They found a notch behind the rear axle that Jack guessed was probably their safest option, and he slipped the hook in. "Now go tell him to start the car and put it in reverse," he told the women as he dusted the snow off his jeans and jacket, and he went back to the SUV.

Jack could hear the man flooring it and the resulting furious spinning of his wheels before he even had his engine started again. It occurred to him a split-second too late that he was inviting a collision if the car got unstuck too suddenly, but in any event it took several seconds of Jack inching forward in first gear before the car did gain any traction. The old man slammed on his brakes once the car was free, and it spun out on the slick road and nearly collided with the old truck, but ultimately no damage was done. Jack turned his engine off and emerged to cheers from the waiting drivers, and undid the tow strap.