Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47241 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47241 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Not that I actually believed in Santa. I was a grown woman. But I still got into the holiday spirit and sent a letter to him each year. It was fun. Also, maybe a bit cathartic. For example, last year I asked for bigger hearts for everyone in the world who seemed to not care anymore. Then I asked for clarity regarding my relationship with Mike.
“If he’s not the one, Santa, just move him out and move Mr. Right in. I’m tired of taking my annual holiday photo alone in front of my tree, even if I am incredibly grateful for my family and friends. No complaints there! But it’s starting to feel like something’s missing during the holidays.”
I also added that if he couldn’t help with any of those things, I’d settle for a trip to that spa in Greenland. How fun to sip hot cocoa on a cold winter night and watch the stars near the North Pole.
Some day. First, though, I had a tropical cruise to do.
I cracked open a can of noodle soup and popped the bowl in the microwave while I changed into my flannel PJs. As I sat looking over my list of to-dos for the weekend, my mind started wandering to the alleyway.
Was Tent Man still there? Had Jason passed along my message? I got up and peeked out my living room window, catching a glimpse of the corner of a red tent.
“Seriously?” It was a snowy hell out there.
Honestly, I didn’t know why, but I felt…annoyed. Genuinely, thoroughly annoyed. Where did he get off freezing to death next to my garage?
Maybe he’s dead already.
I slid on my boots and red coat and grabbed my keys, ready to unleash some winter safety tips. But the moment I stepped outside, my irritation turned to genuine concern. In the last forty minutes, the temperature had dropped another fifteen degrees. Yes, I had a built-in thermometer called nipples. They weren’t just rock hard, they were asking for mercy.
Wind gusting, snowflakes pelting my eyeballs—so unpleasant—I fought my way down the slippery concrete stairs to the gate and out to the alley.
I marched through what was now five inches of snow toward the red tent. A dim light was on inside. “Hey, Tent Man! You in there?”
I didn’t hear a reply, but I wasn’t exactly expecting him to welcome me after our last interaction.
“Hey. You need to go somewhere warm,” I yelled. “You’ll literally die out here, and the last thing I need is to think of some dead guy who froze during a nasty storm every time I take out the trash. So get your ass out of there, okay? I’ll drive you anywhere you need to go.”
Silence.
“Tent guy?”
Silence.
My heart started pounding while booger-cicles formed on the end of my freezing nose.
“Fuck this.” I bent down and unzipped the tent’s opening. I poked my head inside to find the man lying motionless under a blanket. I gave his foot a squeeze, but he didn’t react.
“Oh no.” I crawled inside and started shaking him. “Hey! Wake up. Can you hear me?” He was still breathing, but his skin was cold. “You need to open your eyes. Wake up!” I smacked his bearded cheek, but nothing.
Christ, he’s dying. And unfortunately, I’d left my cell in my apartment.
“Just hang on, okay? I’m going to call for help. I’ll be back in two seconds.”
I turned to leave just as he groaned, “No, no ambulances.”
I frowned. “Oh, you think you get a say in this?”
He didn’t respond.
“I’m going upstairs, and I’m calling nine-one-one.”
“No. I…won’t go to any hospital,” he grumbled.
“So you’re a fugitive. I knew it. Where did you escape from? San Quentin? Rikers?”
“No insurance,” he muttered.
“Well, that doesn’t matter. It’s an ER, and you’re turning into a block of ice.”
“No hospitals.”
It dawned on me that maybe he was one of those people who didn’t believe in modern medicine. Or, perhaps, he genuinely loathed hospitals. Either way, leaving him here a few minutes longer could mean death.
“Let’s get you up. Where are your shoes? Do you have any?” I looked over my shoulder to find perfectly shined black leather boots and a red duffel bag. He also had several books and a reading lamp. Everything was tidy and organized.
I slid his feet into his boots. He didn’t even complain despite the bandage on his foot.
“Come on, buddy.” I maneuvered him up into a crouch and got him outside. Just past the tent flaps, I noticed an empty bottle of rubbing alcohol. “Is that what you drank? Seriously?”
“Disinfection.”
“Oh. Sorry.” I shook my head at myself, putting his arm around my shoulders. “You just need to hang on to me. And please, whatever you do, don’t complain, insult me or tell me to fuck off. This is happening.”
He didn’t argue, so we began the ascent. We almost fell a dozen times, but I miraculously managed to keep us upright as the wind howled and whipped through our clothes, numbing my ears.