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Anchor 1
  • Writer: Sheri McGuinn
    Sheri McGuinn
  • Jun 9
  • 12 min read
Man sitting on deck with drink in hand, watching the sunset over ocean.

James watched the sun slide into the ocean and took another sip of his ginger ale. Maybe his decision to forego alcohol had been hasty. He was only thirty-eight. He was still in good shape, thanks to hitting the gym every morning before work. Work, of course, was not doing so well, not in this economy. Some of his investors had been devastated by the slump, but his own portfolio was already recovering.

“I want your life. The view from this deck, your house, your lady, I want it all. Well, not yours, but I want the whole package.”

James turned to his new assistant. At this kid’s age, James had been determined to make his fortune by the time he was thirty-five. He’d actually achieved all of his goals before that, closer to thirty.

“You’ll have it. Won’t take you long,” said James.

“You think?”

“Sure, Dave. You’re good at closing those sales, and you’re pushing all the right products, the ones that give the company the best return.” That’s what had gotten some of James’ clients into trouble. “You’ll move right up.”

“I heard about that woman who went off on you. That was crazy.”

“Yeah, well, looks like you’re ready for another drink.”

James led the younger man back into the house. He wasn’t going to discuss Mrs. Atwater with Dave. Her husband had committed suicide. Everyone told James it wasn’t his fault the man’s investments had tanked. It was the market… But James knew he should have counseled the man to get out sooner, even though it wasn’t the best move for the company.

Charlotte had insisted on this party for his birthday, including everyone from the office. She wanted him to be the up-and-coming guy she’d hooked up with ten years ago. He’d scared her with his talk of retiring, selling out, maybe getting a sailboat and living on it in the Caribbean.

James was relieved when the last guest left. He just wanted to go to bed.

“Your father called to wish you a happy birthday,” Charlotte said as she put her earrings away.

“When?”

“While you were talking with Bob.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Interrupt you while you’re talking to the head of the company?”

True. He would have been upset with her for doing that a few years ago. Maybe even a few months ago. But today, he’d have taken the call.

“It’s the middle of the night in Kansas. I can’t get back to him now.”

“You can call him tomorrow if you really want to.” Charlotte slid into their bed. “I didn’t think it was that important. It’s not as if the two of you are close.”

She turned slightly, making the silken strap fall off her shoulder, and gave him that smile she’d used to catch him in the first place. What the hell, Dave was right. He had everything he’d ever wanted.

As the weeks wore on, James shrugged off thoughts of retirement. It had been that pushing-forty birthday combined with Mrs. Atwater’s attack, that’s all. He did, however, start making more recommendations that put the customer’s interests first.

When he lost his place as top salesman, he didn’t mention it to Charlotte. Dave was no longer his assistant; he was moving up the ranks on his own, quickly.

When June rolled around, James called his father. “Happy Father’s Day, Dad.”

“James! Good to hear from you. I called on your birthday. You were busy.”

His father had never met Charlotte and never referred to her, as if James were still going through an anonymous string of girlfriends.

“I was hoping you could get away for a week, do some fishing with me,” James offered.

“Actually, I was hoping you could come here for a visit.”

James hadn’t been back since he first left for college. He’d worked his way through school, and it was easier for his father to close the garage for a few days than for James to take time off from multiple jobs. Besides, his mother had died when he was nine. There wasn’t anyone else to see back there.

“You need to get away from that garage, Dad. Come fishing with me. We can meet in San Diego and I’ll charter a boat, see if you can get a Marlin.”

There was plenty of room at the house, James could have had his father come there for a visit and they could still have gone deep-sea fishing, but he told himself his father wouldn’t be comfortable there. He knew he wouldn’t approve of Charlotte. She was gorgeous, an excellent hostess, and had a successful career of her own. She wasn’t interested in marriage or children.

“I was thinking you should meet Sean,” his father said.

“The kid who helps you out at the garage? Hasn’t he gone off to college yet?”

“No, he should have.”

This conversation was going nowhere, like most of their conversations. That’s why it had taken months to return the birthday call. James cut off his father.

“Well, if you can’t get away, you can’t. Let me know when you can and I’ll try to get some time off myself, so we can go fishing.”

“Yeah, we’ll go fishing.” His father paused. “Are you happy, son?”

“You know it,” James replied. “I’ve got everything I ever wanted.”

***

Two weeks later, James was in his cubicle at work when his cell phone rang. Customers didn’t have that number and calls were only forwarded to it when he was out of the office. His brow knit at the familiar number – the garage. His dad always called in the evening or on weekends.

The kid who worked with his dad blurted out the news. “Jim had a massive heart attack yesterday and died before they could get him to the hospital.”

“Just like that? With no warning?” James felt empty.

“Well he’d had that bypass surgery.”

“What bypass surgery?”

“A couple years ago.”

“He never told me he had any surgery.”

“I guess you were busy,” the kid said scathingly.

“He should have told me.”

“The funeral’s Friday, ten o’clock, at Smith’s. We figured you might be able to take a long weekend and actually show up.”

“We?”

“Yeah, the people who cared about him.”

James forgot quiet voice cubicle etiquette. “Listen, I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but you just worked for him. You get that? Don’t talk to me about my father like that. He was my only family and maybe we didn’t see each other all the time, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t care about each other. You got that?”

James ended the call before the kid could reply. People in the other cubes had stopped working and were staring at him. Now they hastily looked down and got back to their jobs, except Dave. Dave came over to James’ desk.

“Are you alright?”

“My father died.”

“Jeeze, that’s tough. If you need to take some time off, I can watch your accounts for you.”

James stared at Dave for a moment, seeing himself at that age. Of course Dave would watch his accounts for him, and take as many as he could while he was at it.

“The funeral’s Friday. I’ll fly out Thursday night. It might take a few days to arrange for disposal of all his property, but I’ll be gone less than a week. I’ll have my cell and laptop.”

He was surprised when Charlotte insisted on going with him.

“It may take a few days, honey. Do you really want to be in Kansas that long?”

“He was your father. I should be with you.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“Yes, I do. The way that boy talked to you on the phone, you need someone with you who knows you loved your father, that it wasn’t your fault it was so hard for both of you to get away at the same time more often.”

He went online to make reservations while Charlotte made dinner. When he was done, he went to the kitchen and pulled her back against him, and gave her cheek a kiss.

“Thanks for going with me. We’ll fly to Lincoln on Thursday and stay in a decent motel, then drive down to Marysville Friday morning.”

“There isn’t a motel in Marysville?”

“Nothing that shows up online. We should be able to stay at my dad’s house, anyway, once we get there.”

In Lincoln, they rented a Cadillac and stayed at the Marriott. When they got to Marysville the next morning, James drove Charlotte around town to show her the sights.

“It’s changed a lot,” he said. “A lot of businesses are gone, a lot of it’s new.”

“Twenty years is a long time.”

“Yeah, but it didn’t change in my head. Silly, huh?”

“Normal,” Charlotte replied. “I mean, I grew up in L.A., so I’ve watched all the changes happen, but if I hadn’t been there since I was a kid, I wouldn’t know what to expect.”

He drove by his father’s house.

“When I was little, my mother always had a huge garden there, right where they put that trailer. Dad must have sold off the lot. He should have told me if he was having money problems.”

Then they drove past the garage.

“I started working with my dad the summer after my mother died. I was only ten, but he wanted to keep me out of trouble, so he had me helping out, doing clean-up and learning by watching.”

“I can’t imagine you as a mechanic.”

“I was actually pretty good at it.”

“Mechanics always have dirty nails.”

“Yeah. It’s almost impossible to get all the grease off.”

That was the biggest reason he’d never come back. He’d never told Charlotte about losing his virginity with Mary Jo in the back of that old pickup out on the logging road. They’d been lying on the blanket afterwards, enjoying the sun, when Mary Jo took his hand, then pulled back with an instinctive “euw” from the forever grease embedded by his nails. He’d avoided her after that, and when he left for college a few weeks later, he never looked back.

“It’s nine-thirty,” Charlotte said.

He found the funeral home and parked. Mr. Smith wasn’t anyone he remembered, but the man recognized him immediately.

“James, I’m so glad you were able to get here early so you can have a private viewing.”

He led them into the room where James’ father waited in a plain but tasteful casket.

“You got his hands clean,” said James.

“It wasn’t that hard. He’d been working primarily with the customers the last few years. Sean’s been doing all the mechanics.”

James didn’t want to sound ignorant of his father’s life, so he didn’t ask why his father had stopped working on cars, or who had made all the funeral arrangements, or any of the other questions that had started bubbling up as he drove Charlotte around town.

“I’d like a few moments alone with him.”

“Of course.” Mr. Smith led Charlotte out of the room.

James stood staring at the body that had once housed his father.

“Were you proud of me?”

He’d never asked before. Now he’d never be sure. There had been compliments, congratulations on promotions, that sort of thing, but he’d always had a sense there was an underlying disappointment. Mostly, they’d stuck to safe conversations. Except his father’s last question, ‘Are you happy?’ He’d said yes, but was it true?

“James, honey, people are starting to arrive for the viewing.”

He looked up at Charlotte and nodded. “I’m ready.”

He was shocked at the number of people who came through in the next hours to show their respect for his father. He’d been a good man, an honest mechanic, not a prominent man, but a key figure in the community.

“When my husband first died and I didn’t have any income, your father kept my car running until I could find work and start to pay him back.”

The same sort of story repeated throughout the morning. Most of the people he didn’t recognize. He did notice Mary Jo was among those who followed them to the cemetery for the interment. She didn’t seem to be with anyone in particular.

Finally it was over. Charlotte stood by James as people shook his hand and offered their last condolences as they headed for their cars. Mary Jo came up and gave him a quick hug.

“I’m so sorry.” There were tears in her eyes. “He was a wonderful man.”

Charlotte put her arm around James. “We know. We’ll miss him terribly.”

Mary Jo gave Charlotte a long look and nodded, then walked away.

“While other people were talking to you, the attorney let me know he’s arranged to disclose the will formally this afternoon at four,” said Charlotte. “He gave me his card with the address. He said that young man who worked with your father will also be there, that he’s in the will.”

That made sense. His father would remember a loyal employee.

A young man greeted them outside the attorney’s office. He offered his hand to James somewhat stiffly. “I’m Sean. Sorry I couldn’t make it to the funeral. Had an emergency repair.”

“Dad would have understood.”

They went into the office together and were shown into a meeting room where they all sat at a table made for much larger groups.

“Well, James,” the lawyer cleared his throat. “Did your father ever tell you his plans for the garage?”

“Not really.”

“Well, your father decided he wanted the garage to stay open, you know…”

James’ first thought was that his father had put in a clause to assure the kid would have the first chance to buy the place. Then the cold certainty that his father had left the garage to Sean settled into James’ stomach.

But the lawyer continued, “What your father decided is to leave the garage to the two of you, fifty-fifty. If you both want to sell, you can do that only after working together at the place for a year.”

“What!” Charlotte was the one who shouted; James was speechless.

“James can’t do that,” Charlotte explained. “He’s got a good job; he can’t walk away from it for a year and expect it to be there when he gets back.”

“That’s always an option,” said the lawyer. Then he turned to James. “But if you don’t come back within a month and stay for a year, the garage is all Sean’s to keep or sell.”

‘Are you happy?’ had been his father’s last question. He’d lied, but his father had heard the truth. A year break might be exactly what he needed to regroup and plan a new career. But he’d need a place to live.

“What about the house?” James asked.  

“You dad sold the house long ago,” said the lawyer, surprised. “You didn’t know that?”

“No, he always joined me for vacations. It was the only way to get him to take time off from work.” No one seemed to believe this half-truth.

“Jim split the property when I was a kid and set himself up in a trailer,” said Sean. “He sold the house to my mother.”

Maybe the kid was his illegitimate half-brother. His father had never been involved with a woman while James was growing up, but after he left, it would have been reasonable for him to get involved with someone.

“The trailer and the property that’s on is yours, James,” said the lawyer.

“So I could stay in it and work the garage with Sean here for a year, then we can sell the place and you can get out of this town.” He finished with a nod to the kid, a truce offering.

“That’s fine with me,” said Sean. “I loved working at the garage, but that was because Jim was there.”

“Your father practically raised Sean,” the lawyer explained.

How could he not have realized? Why wouldn’t his father have said something? There was no striking resemblance, but there was enough. The kid had to be his half-brother.

“There must be a way to break this will.” Charlotte’s voice cut through the uncomfortable silence. “James would lose more by giving up his job than he’d ever get from selling a garage in this little town.”

Her condescension lay heavily in the room.

“Actually,” said James, “I’ve been thinking of making a career change anyway. The year will give me time to sort out the future.”

Charlotte glared at him.

“It’ll take a few weeks to clear things up so I can come back,” said James.

“We’ll clean up the trailer for you,” said Sean. All seemed to be forgiven.

 

Charlotte didn’t talk to him about it until he turned in his two weeks’ notice.

“I went with you to stop you from doing something this stupid. You’re never going to be happy anywhere. Why not keep a good job where you don’t have to be a grease monkey?”

“I need a change. I want to do work that’s useful.”

“You help people plan their future.”

“I help them lose it...”

“Well, I’m not moving to have my future in Podunk. I have a good job here and I’m keeping it. And I’m keeping the house. You’ll be glad when you come to your senses.”

“The garage is only for a year, but I’m not coming back to this life,” said James. “I don’t want to work for a system that pretends to care about people. I want to do something that’s tangible, give people something they really need instead of convincing them to buy whatever will make the most profit for a corporation.”

He moved most of his personal belongings into storage. He and Charlotte worked out an agreement on the house and had a lawyer draw it up formally. When Sean called to let him know the trailer was ready, but not very big for two people, he admitted the relationship was at an end.

***

“Are you sure you’re not going to come to your senses and come back?” asked Charlotte. “You’re not taking much.”

“I’m going to be living in a trailer for the next year. I won’t have room for anything else. I’ll get my other things out of storage when I know what I’m doing next.”

She gave him a stiff hug and watched him drive away.

Three days later, he got to Marysville mid-morning and drove straight to the garage. The big doors were open and Sean was working on an engine. He came out to greet James, wiping his right hand on a rag, then holding it out. James ignored the remaining grease and shook hands.

“Glad you’re here,” said Sean. “Mom’s been helping out with the phone and paperwork, but she’s using her vacation time to do it.”

“Your mother?”

Sean looked over James’ shoulder and grinned. “Come on, he’s here finally.”

James turned into a hug, then Mary Jo stepped back and smiled at him.

“Welcome home.”            


The audio version of this story is at


Defining Moments is a series of character studies and defining moments- short sketches to whet your appetite. If you’d like reading more about one of these characters, leave a comment.

Thanks.


Author Sheri McGuinn in bucket hat at Machu Pichu

 
 
 
  • Writer: Sheri McGuinn
    Sheri McGuinn
  • Jan 10, 2019
  • 5 min read

Updated: Mar 9

Okay – we’re back to fiction. This one’s a stand-alone story from my dark side.

“Your girlfriend’s here.”

Miguel grinned over the counter as he passed Frank two lunch specials. Frank turned his head and saw Angie slide into her booth in the back corner of Oak Street Diner.

“She’s not my girlfriend, Miguel.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Keep it up and I’ll start letting people know you’re the owner.”

“You’re not that crazy,” Miguel quipped.

Miguel liked cooking. The first thing he did when he bought the place was hire Frank to run the front end of the restaurant. People assumed Frank was the new owner and they valued his personal attention. Miguel knew that service was as important as good food to build a solid customer base, so he gave Frank a percentage of the net on top of his salary and tips.

Miguel went back to the grill and Frank carried the specials to the lawyers at table five. They were embroiled in a discussion that didn’t stop as each in turn leaned back to let Frank put a plate in front of them. He could have mixed up the order and they wouldn’t have noticed. It wasn’t always about talking to people; sometimes it was about knowing how to serve without interrupting.

He picked up a menu out of habit as he walked back to Angie, but he knew she always ordered tea and a toasted cheese sandwich—the cheapest items they offered.

“How are you, Angie?” Frank asked as he handed her the plastic folder.

“It’s gone to the jury,” she replied tensely. “They’ll find him guilty, won’t they?”

Angie needed someone to listen to her. She’d appeared the first day of the trial and had eaten lunch at the diner every court day since.

He smiled. “You’re the expert, the one watching the proceedings.”

“Oh, no. I just hear them talking when they come out.” Her hushed tone was apologetic for the misunderstanding.

“I thought you said you were doing research for a writing class. Shouldn’t you be in the courtroom?”

“I can’t. That man is evil.” She seemed to shrink as she said it.

Frank had read the headline stories when it happened, before Angie ever set foot in the restaurant. Neighbors had called 911 because they heard the young mother screaming. The police response was slow. When they arrived the victim was alone in the house; she’d been bludgeoned to death. Her infant was nowhere to be found.

It was that missing baby that made a common fatality of domestic abuse become the focus of news for months. It was also what left some doubt in Frank’s mind about the boyfriend’s guilt.

“They still haven’t found the kid, have they?” he asked.

“No.” Angie was blinking back tears. “He killed that baby, too.”

“I’ll bet her ex- killed her and took off with his kid.” Frank knew from the papers that the defense was offering that explanation.

“You can’t believe that!” Angie glared at him in shock.

Frank held back his response – did she prefer believing the child was dead?  That was worse than her obsession with this drama that had nothing to do with her. Well, if the jury was out, this was probably her last day in the restaurant. He continued pleasantly professional.

“You having the usual?”

Angie nodded and politely handed him the unopened menu.

“I’ll go get your order started.”

Miguel already had the sandwich and tea ready.

“What if she’d chosen something different today?” Frank asked.

“You know she wouldn’t. I put extra cheese into it. I swear she’s skinnier than she was when we first saw her. You like a woman with some curves, don’t you?”

“She’s just a customer.”

“Why do you always talk with her so much, then?”

“That’s what she’s here for, not the food… It’s a good thing you like your kitchen. This place would fold in a month if you were out front.”

“You should show more respect for the man who signs your check.” Miguel grinned and shoved the plate and metal teapot across the counter.

Frank took them back to Angie.

“Here you go.”

He turned her cup right side up and poured some tea while she adjusted her plate in front of her.

“He is guilty,” she whispered. “It’s not the first time.”

“I didn’t know that,” Frank apologized. “With that kind of testimony, of course they’ll find him guilty.”

He saw a brief flash of terror cross her face before she looked down at her plate and mumbled a thank you. His skin prickled; he wondered if she had mental problems. There was probably a clinical term for getting so wrapped up in someone else’s tragedy, something more specific than obsession.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” he asked.

She shook her head without looking up. He thought about sitting down for a few minutes, starting a chat about something innocuous to distract her, but the door chimed the presence of a new customer. Hopefully she wouldn’t have a major breakdown during the lunch rush.

Frank didn’t have a chance to talk to Angie again until he took her the check. She had cash ready.

“Here,” she said. “Keep the change. I need to get back in case they come in with a verdict quickly.”

“We’ll miss you.”

It was important to be polite to every customer, even one you’d gratefully never see again.

Angie headed to the restroom and Frank deposited the cash. His next customer was at the table by the door. Mike McCarthy, who covered the courthouse beat, had his computer out, ready to use their Wi-Fi. He waved away the menu Frank offered.

“What’s today’s soup?” he asked.

“Broccoli cheese.”

“I’ll have a bowl. No, make that a cup.”

“No sandwich?”

“Not today.” McCarthy grimaced. “My appetite’s off. The jury came in, not guilty.”

“You think they were wrong?” asked Frank.

“I interviewed the neighbors. There was another girlfriend with a baby before this one. That girl told them he got so angry when the baby cried that it scared her. They said she made it sound like it was her fault for letting the baby disturb him – typical abused spouse crap.”

“What did she tell the cops?”

“They couldn’t find her. A year before he killed this one, she disappeared with her kid and no one’s seen her since. So all they had was hearsay from the neighbors.”

Frank saw Angie coming from the restroom. He owed her an apology.

“Angie, this is Mike McCarthy, a reporter. He says you were probably right, that the guy’s previous girlfriend disappeared with her kid.”

“All the publicity this got, she’d have come forward, if she could,” McCarthy added. “Until someone else is lucky enough to get away from him alive, that prick’s free to go do it again.”

They both turned at Angie’s primal wail. “No! He got off?”

The men nodded. Tears flooded her terrified face as she sucked in a breath painfully.

“Did you know…” McCarthy started as Angie ran out the door.

McCarthy closed his computer and started after her. Frank was going to follow them, but a touch at his sleeve stopped him.

“Excuse me,” said the customer. “I need my check. I have a meeting…”

“Come back to the register and I’ll ring that up for you,” Frank said automatically.

He was reaching for the ticket when tires squealed, there was a heavy thud, then the blare of a horn stuck on.

The regular closest to the window stood with his cell phone in hand, shouting, “An ambulance! Send an ambulance! In front of the courthouse! Someone got hit by a car!”

His stomach in a knot, Frank took care of the customer’s ticket.


© 2024

 
 
 
  • Writer: Sheri McGuinn
    Sheri McGuinn
  • Dec 27, 2018
  • 3 min read

Updated: Dec 11, 2020

A stand-alone story, first published in The Maverick, Show Low AZ.

Glaring sunlight intruded on Alec’s dreams. He rolled over, willing himself to go back to sleep. Then the phone jarred him up and out of bed. He dragged the quilt behind him as he dashed to answer it.

“Santa got me skis!” The young voice was bursting. “Did you get my present?”

“Yes, I’m opening it now,” lied Alec. The present had been opened as soon as it arrived.

“Do you like it?”

Alec smiled, looking at the misshapen blob of clay. “It’s wonderful. Did you make it yourself?”

“Yes! It’s a pen holder. We made them at school.”

An older voice in the background said, “My turn, Honey,” then “Merry Christmas.”

“Yeah, you too.” The tears in his throat annoyed him.

“Thanks for the check.”

“Figured Santa could use it,” Alec replied gruffly.

“That’s for sure . . .”

That was all they had to say; there was more than one kind of distance between them.

Alec tried to shrug off the holiday blues by making himself a real breakfast – eggs, sausage, and pancakes with real maple syrup. When they were a family, she always made coffeecake on Christmas morning.

He dawdled over his food, staring out the window, watching the jays, and then he took his time cleaning up. Dishes washed, dried, put away. Counters and stove-top wiped clean. He even swept the floor.

Still morning, he thought. No one else will call. Maybe there’s enough snow for a ski up on the mountain – only got out once last year.

Alec pulled his cross-country skis and poles out of the garage, then rummaged through closets until he found his boots and special wool socks. He decided to wear his heavy coat. He’d probably be too hot, but he didn’t push himself the way he used to.

It was past noon as he headed out of town.

The railroad tracks were too open; the wind had blown them bare. He kept driving, looking for the wooded trail he’d hiked last summer. Finally he found it – at least the map painted on the large wooden board looked familiar.

It was sheltered, and enough higher to have gotten more snow.

There were no other vehicles at the trailhead, but the path had been skied on sometime in the last couple days – since the last snow. He put on his skis and started awkwardly. After a few minutes, the rhythm came back to him and he started moving right along. At first the trail led up steeply. He unzipped his coat and was still sweating, but it felt good.

I’ll be fine as long as I keep moving, he thought.

He was glad when the trail looped around and headed downhill. But it was steep, and the light was getting tricky as the sun sank into the trees. He’d forgotten dusk would come earlier on this side of the mountain. He had to slow down.

His shirt clung to him like an icy glove. The trail was getting harder to follow. Going around a curve slowly, he nearly fell when his right ski grabbed a rock. He paused.

I could break a leg and freeze to death out here, he thought. But what difference would it make? No one would miss me; no one would really care.

Suddenly the hair on his body bristled, pushing the wet shirt away from his skin. He looked around in the dusk, but couldn’t see anything. Yet every nerve was tingling. He didn’t dare risk falling by going too fast, so he skied with his poles swinging broadly.

“Hark the Herald Angels Sing…” He bellowed out Christmas carols to frighten off whatever was out there in the dark.

Suddenly, he saw bright light ahead. As he got closer he saw a truck sitting at the trailhead, its headlights on his car. Happily, Alec glided into the parking area and released his skis. He heard the truck door open.

“Hey there.”

The voice sounded friendly, but panic gripped Alec when he looked up to see a large man standing with his back to his truck, holding a long-barreled gun pointed in his direction.

“Man, I’m glad to see you,” said the stranger. “Pulled over ‘cause I was nodding off, then I seen them big cat tracks all around your car and figured you were a goner. I’ll just stand by here ‘til you’re ready to go.”

Alec stowed his gear, got into his car, and started it up. He rolled the window down as the man got into his own truck.

“Thanks,” he called, grateful to be alive.

“No problem. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”



 
 
 


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