The Santa Shop

There were three newsstands along Main Street, and I felt certain I could find everything I needed at any one of them. I reached into my pocket to see how much money I had left. There, I discovered only two very wrinkled ones (my emergency money) and about thirty-seven cents in change.

  The date was easy. A quick glance at any one of the many newspapers declared it was December twenty-second. I had only two days to find my way to this Christmas Leap. Now I just needed to know where Gray was.

  "Would you happen to have a map of Vermont?" I asked the grizzled old man who leaned heavily against his news cart. The arch in his back might have been in response to the relentless wind, which was especially biting that late-afternoon, but I suspected it was a spinal issue.

  "Don't got map."

  I didn't recognize his accent, but his attitude was all too familiar. He was really saying, Get out of here, you bum. You're driving away the paying customers. I was in no mood to create a scene, but neither did I intend to leave until I found out what I needed to know. My eyes darted up and down the full racks. "What are those?" I asked, pointing to a row of what looked suspiciously like road maps.

  The man uncurled his upper back with obvious effort. He was actually six inches taller than I would have guessed, which made him easily four inches taller than my five-foot, ten-inch frame. "No maps. I told you."

  Knowing that I'd likely get the same response from each of the other two newsstand owners, I opted to press on. "Those are maps," I said evenly, "and I want to know how much they cost." I stared hard into the grizzled eyes. They were growing narrower by the second.

  He glared for a moment longer but then nodded curtly. He'd obviously decided that I wasn't going away that easily. "Five dollar. You have? If no, no waste time."

  "I have two," I said showing the crumpled bills.

  Eyes narrowed again. The man's back must have been growing sore because he was sinking back down to my height. "I sorry. I can no take two." His response wasn't as rude as before.

  "Can I just SEE a Vermont map for two dollars?"

  The man studied me through bushy brows. Like a wilting flower, his back had arched all the way back down. His eyes were now an inch below my own. "You travel to family?"

  I didn't want to lie but knew the wrong answer might ruin whatever chance I had. "I'm traveling for Christmas. I need to be in Gray, Vermont by Christmas Eve."

  He relented and I held out my two dollars. In an amazingly quick movement, his wrinkled hand snatched away the bills while his other grabbed the right map off the rack and held it out to me. I felt as though I'd just witnessed a magic trick. Money disappears as map appears. He might have been a pickpocket in an earlier life.

  "No rip," he said.

  I unfolded about half of it and was quickly able to locate the town in question. Vermont wasn't a large state and the towns were clearly indicated. Just as Barwood had said, it was right up near the Canadian border.

  That night passed as slowly as any I could remember. I was cold and miserable, and my few short naps were interrupted both by police warnings and my own thoughts about a certain bridge in Vermont. In all, I moved five separate times before dawn arrived. And, by the time the sun was climbing over the Albany skyline, I was already wandering nervously throughout the city.

  I couldn't explain it exactly, but I was drawn to this Christmas Leap as surely as a magnet was drawn to steel. On the one-year anniversary of Tabitha and Derek's deaths, I intended to pay for my crime. It seemed like an eternity, but finally I began to notice store front gates opening and shopkeepers going in to begin their day. The Greyhound station would likely be open already.

  Clots of fog formed from my breath as I strolled toward the bus depot. Vermont State Highway Fifty-seven went right past the town of Gray. I never had been one for mass transit, but it seemed reasonable to think that one of the bus routes would go somewhere along that highway. If I could get close enough, I could hitchhike or even walk the rest of the way.

  I lost my train of thought as I noticed a number of Christmas wreaths that hung haphazardly from the evergreens that lined the concrete walkway in front of the Greyhound station. A quick glance to the building beyond suggested that they had been above the windows until just recently. Only about half the wreaths still hung in place. Wire hangers and bits of greenery suggested spots where the other wreaths had originally belonged. Strings of Christmas lights from the roofline had been torn down and were hanging like forest vines all across the face of the building. A heavyset man in a gray jumpsuit stood on the walk out front and spoke rapidly into a cell phone as he stared angrily up at the decorations that had been torn asunder. I imagined him to be the depot manager or possibly the person in charge of building maintenance. He was no doubt calling in an electrical crew and ladders.

  The gray brick exterior of the station looked like many Albany inner city landmarks. It was covered with spray-painted graffiti of all types. From the look of the security guard who wiped frantically with a rag at some of the most offensive comments, the artwork was a recent addition to the station. Every few seconds the guard would dip his rag in a can I assumed to contain paint thinner. A police cruiser sat in the parking lot to the right of me. Inside, I could see an officer jotting notes on a clipboard.

  It was probably a good thing I hadn't tried to sleep near the station last night. The thought had crossed my mind, but I feared it was a little too close to gang turf. The condition of the building proved my assumption to be true. It must have taken a crew of eight or more kids to do this much damage in a single night. As I walked past I felt bad for the guard. It would take him all day to clean even a portion of the spray-painted scrawl, and from the angry grimace on his face he knew it.

  Inside the depot, the floors were concrete and surprisingly clean in comparison to the mess outside. Though I didn't imagine the ticket counters had been open last night, I thought all bus depots were open to passengers twenty-four hours a day. The graffiti gang had obviously not come in, so the doors must have been locked. Though it looked clean, I could smell the cloying scent of cigarettes and body odor. This could be a very hectic place at times, I surmised. There were wooden benches lining the outside walls and sets of back to back benches were placed every few feet along the center of the floor.

  I could see by the large white clock on the wall that it was just a few minutes after eight when I walked up to the only open service window. A pretty brunette woman who appeared to be in her early thirties sat there. She looked me up and down and nodded tightly. I couldn't say why, but my appearance never seemed to bother me until I came in contact with women near my own age. It wasn't embarrassment for attraction reasons, I didn't think. It was more because I was always reminded of my wife. Standing before that young woman, I felt as though Tabitha was seeing through her eyes and was appalled by what she saw.

  "Can I help you?" The ticket attendant was straightforward, but not rude.

  "I don't have money for the ticket right now," I told her, deciding to be truthful from the start, "but I will get the money before I come back."

  Her look softened somewhat. I was glad I hadn't made up some bogus story. "I need to get to Gray, Vermont," I said. "Do you have buses that go that way?"

  "We go every which way," she answered. She punched a few keys on the computer. "If Gray is spelled like it sounds, we have a stop right there in town."

  "How much would it be for a one-way ticket? And when is the last bus that could get me there before Christmas Eve?"

  "Christmas Eve is tomorrow, sir."

  "I know. I really need to get there." I felt the tears pooling at the corners of my eyes. It surprised me how important this had become. Two days before, I had been drifting aimlessly around the streets of Albany, and today I had a goal that burned so brightly it made me cry to think I might fail. I had to get there. I would not let my family down again. I wiped my eyes, embarrassed. "How much time do I have to raise the money?"

  "Let's check," she said, her voice sympathetic. "Can I
get you a pen and paper to write this down?"

  "I can remember," I said. "Not much else on my mind right now."

  She smiled warmly. "You'd have to be back here by nine tonight. We have only one bus that could connect you that far north on time. One way would be seventy-five dollars."

  I felt as though I had just been punched. Seventy-five dollars! There was no way possible I could raise seventy-five dollars in a week, forget in single day. The best beggars I knew didn't make that kind of money. And I wasn't exactly in the attorney profession anymore.

  She must have seen the defeat on my face because she said, "I can do better than that." She punched several more keys and a machine gave out a high-pitched whizzing sound.

  "Here you go. I have the authority to give a thirty-three percent discount for customers who have a legitimate complaint. The high price seems like a legitimate enough complaint to me. Just hand fifty dollars and this ticket to the teller when you come back tonight."

  I dumbly took the ticket. I had learned over the last few months that the homeless don't often see kindness from normal people. We're invisible, and when not invisible we're a source of shame. My eyes began tearing again as my fingers closed around the paper.

  "Open one more time," she said.

  When I did open my hand again, she inserted a bill. "It's the best I can do. I've got two kids, and their dad doesn't pay support like he should." She closed my hand again with her own. "I hope it helps. Good luck."

  "Thank you very much," I said. "Really...thank you."

  I turned away then, not so much for my own benefit as for hers. I could see her own tears beginning to form.

  "Merry Christmas," she said loudly enough for me to hear as I passed through the front doors to the outside walk.

 

  Chapter Five

  The Challenge