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“Veronica?” I heard Mr. Chalmers holler back from across the street, most likely standing on his front porch in his long johns. It was too dark out to see much of anything.
“Yes, Mr. Chalmers. Everything's all right!”
“I saw amangoing into the house.”
I looked at Jack and lifted an eyebrow. “See?”
Jack scratched the back of his head in a gesture I was starting to recognize as frustration. “No, I don't fucking see a thing.”
“He's crazy,” I replied as I circled my finger around by my ear.
Jack looked at me as ifIwas crazy. “I'm aware of that. Tell me something I don't know.”
“Hang on,” I told Jack. “Mr. Chalmers, it's just Jack Reid, Owen Reid's nephew!”
There was silence, then, “Owen Reid's nephew?”
I opened the door all the way and went out onto the porch, hugging my arms around me to stay warm. The bitter air bit into my cheeks. I pulled the sweatshirt's hood up onto my head. Coldness seeped through my wool socks. I shifted from foot to foot to keep them warm. “Mr. Chalmers, it's too cold to standoutside. Everything's all right. Thank you for watching out for me. I'll be safe with Jack Reid.”
I wasn't really so sure about that. Between having his skull bashed and being shot at, he might actually be a bit dangerous. And knowing what it felt like to be beneath him, our bodies aligning perfectly for a variety of naughty things, I wasn't sure of anything anymore.
“All right then,” Old Mr. Chalmers shouted back. “I'll check on you in the morning.”
I waved into the darkness then went inside and closed the door, grateful for the heat.
Jack still stood where I left him, shaking his head, most likely in disbelief. “Got anything to drink?”
“Beer in the fridge.” I slipped the hood off and rubbed my hands together. Beer might be good at a time like this, but I was cold. And that called for hot chocolate. I joined Jack in the kitchen.
Jack leaned a hip against the counter and took a big swig of beer from the bottle. He was wearing a heavy jacket and winter boots. Someone must have gone shopping.
“Explain,” he said.
I poured milk into a mug and put it into the microwave to heat. “You don't remember Old Mr. Chalmers?” I thought for a moment. “No, you wouldn't. You didn't live downtown.”
Jack had lived with his parents a few miles south of town until he was fourteen when they'd pretty much dumped him on his uncle. They'd gone off to Europe or some foreign destination and never came back. At least I'd never seen them and my mother would have told me if they had.
“He's a Vietnam vet who didn't come back the same. He thinks Violet and I are his long-lost daughters.”
Jack eyed me over his beer.
“He doesn't really have a daughter, but since we look the same, he thinks he has two. Odd, but it makes sense to him.”
The microwave dinged and I carefully put the mug on the counter. “Violet and I watch out for him, make sure he gets his mail and newspaper. Just stop by and talk with him. Another neighbor helps him with the snow blower and, in the summer, the yard work. He's the same one who loads his shotgun with bird seed. The Colonel takes him to the American Legion activities.”
I opened the pack of cocoa, poured it into the hot milk and stirred.
“It's a small town so we all help him out. He's really a sweet man,” I added, hoping Jack might think so, too.
“When he's not shooting at you,” Jack grumbled.
I picked up the mug and warmed my fingers. “Right, when he's not shooting at you.”
“I'll come in through the back yard from now on. Recycling?” He waved the empty bottle in the air. I pointed to the plastic tub on the side of the fridge. “I'm going to bed.”
Oh, right. Bed. “Um, there's only one bed.”
“Couch?”
