York building, so he figured he was still in the city. Helena
was standing by his side. It smelled like roasted turkey mixed with damp towels. The
white walls were cracked and chipped and the black and white tiled floors were dull with
age. When he leaned forward and looked into a large open room filled with people, he
rubbed his chin and said, “The last place I want to be is at a Christmas party.” Then he tightened his lips and frowned. He heard the sound of Bruce Springsteen’s jagged voice
coming from muffled speakers, singing a hard rock version of an old Christmas carol.
“Wait a minute,” Carl said. “Wasn’t this the same song I just heard in the alley?”
Helena nodded yes and shrugged her shoulders. “The alley is on the other side of
this building.”
Carl closed his eyes and groaned a few times. “My son is freezing to death in an
alley next door. I’m not interested in watching a bunch of fools celebrate Christmas,
Helena. I’m over it.”
Helena tilted her head and smiled. “This isn’t just any ordinary Christmas party,
Carl. Your son was on his way here to get something to eat before he went into the alley
to rest. Let’s go inside.” Then she smoothed down the front of her coat and stepped into
the massive room alone. Her stilettos clicked against the hard tiles.
Carl rolled his eyes and followed her. He knew he didn’t have a choice. He
crossed through wide double doors and looked back and forth. The room appeared to be a
large school gym set up with folding metal tables and chairs. The hardwood floors were
scuffed and scratched, with faded paint lines that had once defined a basketball court.
When he looked up, he saw old basketball hoops on both ends of the room. The nets were
torn and hanging halfway from the hoops. The ceiling was so high every sound rose and
echoed.
He gaped at the people sitting at the tables. He didn’t know anyone. They were all
different ages, sizes, and colors. No one appeared to have anything in common other than
the fact that they were all there at the same time. The table to his immediate left had a
man, a woman, and three small children at one end and a group of older men at the other. The children had dirty faces and they were laughing, poking each other in the chest. And
the table to his right had a group of teenage boys, an older man and woman, and three
middle-aged men with scruffy beards. Everyone in the room was eating food from
medium-sized white dinner plates. Some people raised their voices and shouted, others
murmured quietly, and a few just sat still and stared at their food without saying a word.
Then Carl heard a familiar voice shout, “Over here, this table still hasn’t been
served.” It was Able’s voice, shouting to someone on the other side of the room.
Carl turned fast. Able was carrying a large round platter, walking fast and
weaving in and out of other tables. Able moved toward Carl and pointed to another table
full of people who hadn’t been served their food yet. Carl turned and said to Helena,
“There’s my employee, Able Anderson.”
Then Carl noticed another familiar face. The woman who owed the tearoom
across the street from his antiques shop was carrying another large tray and she was
crossing toward where Able was standing. Carl didn’t know the woman well; he couldn’t
even recall her name. The first day she’d opened her shop she’d introduced herself to
Carl, but Carl had only nodded and turned his head to answer the phone. When he hung
up and saw she was still standing at his desk, he’d told her he didn’t have time to chitchat.
He’d never believed in getting too friendly with the other shop owners on the street. After
all, they were all in competition with each other. If someone was out shopping, they
could buy a bag of tea just as
was standing by his side. It smelled like roasted turkey mixed with damp towels. The
white walls were cracked and chipped and the black and white tiled floors were dull with
age. When he leaned forward and looked into a large open room filled with people, he
rubbed his chin and said, “The last place I want to be is at a Christmas party.” Then he tightened his lips and frowned. He heard the sound of Bruce Springsteen’s jagged voice
coming from muffled speakers, singing a hard rock version of an old Christmas carol.
“Wait a minute,” Carl said. “Wasn’t this the same song I just heard in the alley?”
Helena nodded yes and shrugged her shoulders. “The alley is on the other side of
this building.”
Carl closed his eyes and groaned a few times. “My son is freezing to death in an
alley next door. I’m not interested in watching a bunch of fools celebrate Christmas,
Helena. I’m over it.”
Helena tilted her head and smiled. “This isn’t just any ordinary Christmas party,
Carl. Your son was on his way here to get something to eat before he went into the alley
to rest. Let’s go inside.” Then she smoothed down the front of her coat and stepped into
the massive room alone. Her stilettos clicked against the hard tiles.
Carl rolled his eyes and followed her. He knew he didn’t have a choice. He
crossed through wide double doors and looked back and forth. The room appeared to be a
large school gym set up with folding metal tables and chairs. The hardwood floors were
scuffed and scratched, with faded paint lines that had once defined a basketball court.
When he looked up, he saw old basketball hoops on both ends of the room. The nets were
torn and hanging halfway from the hoops. The ceiling was so high every sound rose and
echoed.
He gaped at the people sitting at the tables. He didn’t know anyone. They were all
different ages, sizes, and colors. No one appeared to have anything in common other than
the fact that they were all there at the same time. The table to his immediate left had a
man, a woman, and three small children at one end and a group of older men at the other. The children had dirty faces and they were laughing, poking each other in the chest. And
the table to his right had a group of teenage boys, an older man and woman, and three
middle-aged men with scruffy beards. Everyone in the room was eating food from
medium-sized white dinner plates. Some people raised their voices and shouted, others
murmured quietly, and a few just sat still and stared at their food without saying a word.
Then Carl heard a familiar voice shout, “Over here, this table still hasn’t been
served.” It was Able’s voice, shouting to someone on the other side of the room.
Carl turned fast. Able was carrying a large round platter, walking fast and
weaving in and out of other tables. Able moved toward Carl and pointed to another table
full of people who hadn’t been served their food yet. Carl turned and said to Helena,
“There’s my employee, Able Anderson.”
Then Carl noticed another familiar face. The woman who owed the tearoom
across the street from his antiques shop was carrying another large tray and she was
crossing toward where Able was standing. Carl didn’t know the woman well; he couldn’t
even recall her name. The first day she’d opened her shop she’d introduced herself to
Carl, but Carl had only nodded and turned his head to answer the phone. When he hung
up and saw she was still standing at his desk, he’d told her he didn’t have time to chitchat.
He’d never believed in getting too friendly with the other shop owners on the street. After
all, they were all in competition with each other. If someone was out shopping, they
could buy a bag of tea just as
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