Tom was in a hurry; he had left work a bit later than he had said he would, even though it was Christmas Eve, and he had to pick up the Christmas Day dinner and cake before Frenchie’s Deli and Bakery closed. He glanced at the clock on the dash board; it glowed 5:15. The bakery closed at 6:00.  And it wouldn’t be open tomorrow, Christmas Day.

The streets along this short-cut stretch of Chicago were vacant and dark, both on the roads and on the sidewalks; just a few homeless men sitting or lying down in the doorways of a couple of abandoned factories, looking lifeless.  Maybe they were lifeless, he thought, shuddering.

Tom was bent toward the windshield, trying to see his way through the swirling, icy snow.  Suddenly he heard a loud knock – and then his engine died.  “Damn!” he yelled to the car, banging the steering wheel with his fist.  He let the car roll to a stop at the curb.  He was hoping to reach the next street light, but it was nearly a block away.  He sat in the car, wondering what to do now.  The old Mercedes needed towing, but he couldn’t wait for that.  He had to get to Frenchie’s before 6.

He looked down the far length of the street and saw no cars coming his way, much less a taxi.  Glancing in his rearview mirror, he saw the street behind him was equally empty of traffic.  He sat rigidly still, his mind racing.  He pulled out his phone and dialed the usual – Yellow Cab.  A full minute later someone answered the phone.  Tom was about to say where his location was, but a recording advised him that someone would be with him shortly, but also that the average wait for a cab would be 50 minutes to an hour.  He couldn’t wait that long; by the time the cab arrived, if on time, which wasn’t likely, the deli would be closed for the holidays.

Tom pressed his head against the steering wheel, trying to think how he was going to get the Christmas dinner — $350 worth of food for a party of 8 for tomorrow.  Everyone would be there – well, everyone but Tom, Jr., of course. 

Just then he heard someone pounding on the window with a shredded mitten; that alone suggested to him that it was one of the derelicts he saw in the doorways.  But Tom couldn’t see his face.

“Yeah?” Tom yelled.  The mitten was joined by a face bending low, pressed against the window, its breath frosting the glass and making it difficult for Tom to see who it was.

“Looks like you need some help!”  the face making ghosts with its breath shouted.

Trying not to be sarcastic, Tom replied, “Yeah….I do…..the car’s broken….and I’ve got to get to a – get someplace before it closes at 6; have to have it for tomorrow – for Christmas.  Not sure what to do now.  No cab can make it in time.  Thanks anyway for your concern.”  Then Tom added, “I suppose you want some money?”

“Well, that’s not why I came to the window, but if you have some spare change, that would be great; I could use something in my stomach.”

“You mean you need a drink?” 

“Well, I suppose we both do, huh?  But, actually, yes,” replied the man through a thick beard that curled up and over his lips, “a drink would be great about now – it’s in the low 20s, and getting colder, so that might help a bit – if you don’t mind.”

Tom was about to say that he minded very much, giving out drinks to drunks, but he reminded himself that he was doing a lot of drinking himself over the holidays….  some for good cheer, but mostly to drown out the dark thoughts and feelings that always seemed to surface this time of year.

Tom was reaching for his wallet when the man said, “I might be able to help you; it sounded to me like your solenoid just disengaged on you suddenly; mind if I sit for a spell?”

Tom thought to himself, “Yeah…. you mean you just want a place to get warm, and stay warm, for who knows how long, and maybe that line will do it for you,” but Tom pressed the unlock button and motioned for the man to get in.

“Yeah, what makes you think it’s my solenoid?” said Tom, his tone bordering on sarcasm now that he was becoming more irritated with his circumstances.  “Besides, even if it is the solenoid, not much I can do about it now…. and it won’t help me get to the – get to the deli …. I’ve got 350 bucks tied up in food I have to pick up right now, or I’ll be paying for nothing.”

“Got a hammer or hatchet in the trunk?” the man said.

“What?” Tom said, now sounding very much annoyed.  “Look mister, it’s clear you can’t help me, but….uh….you can stay in the car if you like….at least until I have to lock it up when I leave it.”  Tom pulled out his phone once again and began looking for other cab companies to call.

“If you’re going to call a cab, don’t bother.”

“Oh, why?” said Tom.  “Oh….the holidays, they’re all too busy is what you’re saying?”

“Actually, that’s probably true, but taxis never come over here anyway; might tell you they are, but you can forget it.  On the other hand, if you call Uber, you’ll get someone right away,” the man said.

“What?  How would you know about Uber?”

“Listen mister, I probably know more than you do about what’s going on – I have all day and night to read; and people leave newspapers everywhere – don’t cost me a cent….besides, I used to drive cab – I would know about these things.  Anyway,” he added, “if you call Uber, you’ll get someone right away – or at least a lot faster than you’ll get a cab; that’s for sure!”

“I don’t know how to do that – listen –”

“Just download the app – takes 30 seconds!”

Tom looked at the man, then started tapping away. In less than a minute he had the app downloaded on his iPhone and, when prompted, added his PayPal information, certain to shade the screen with his hand to protect his personal information.

“Okay….just tap the contact bar and tell ‘em where you are.  They’ll tell you how long and what kind of car to watch for.”

“Where am I? I know I’m on Division, but….”

“Tell ‘em, ‘near Grace Ct.’”

Tom tapped some more…. “Says there’ll be a Honda Fit here in 12 minutes – if so, then I’m going to make it; thanks!”

“Don’t mention it; glad I could help a bit.”

Both men were quiet, breathing awkwardness.

“So, if you don’t mind my asking,” Tom broke the silence, “….how did you end up here….on the street, I mean?  If you don’t mind telling me, I mean,” said Tom.

“No.  Not at all….it’s been a lot harder living it than it is telling about it.  Not much to tell, though, really.  Maybe 10 years ago I learned my only daughter had a girlfriend….you know, was a lesbian.   It was against my religion, you know.  I told her that unless she.…well, I told her if that’s the way it was going to be, then don’t ever come home again.”  The man paused, sniffing.  “My wife and I broke up over it.  I took to drinking a lot.  Finally, it got to be Christmas about two years ago, and I got a letter in the mail – from a woman whose name I don’t recall ever hearing before.  She said simply that my daughter, Gloria, had died, and that she wanted to make sure I kne.…and knew that Gloria never stopped loving me.” The man turned to look out the window…. Haven’t been able to hold a job since then; no one’s fault but mine.”

Tom said nothing, as if he were lost in his own thoughts.  Thoughts of Tom, Jr.  His only son among three girls.  He also had told a child, his son, Tom, Jr., to not come home ever again….and certainly to never come home with his boyfriend; he’d had none of that in his house – his upstanding Christian home.  Tom looked out his own side window.  “Funny,” responded Tom, “almost the very same thing happened to me….almost.”  The man in the passenger seat turned to look at Tom. 

“Well, if it’s ‘almost,’ then count yourself fortunate, Mr.”

Tom paused for a long moment. “Excuse me a minute, I need to leave the car to make a call,” Tom said quickly.

“Go right ahead….okay if I don’t leave….not quite yet, anyway.?”

“Oh, sure….stay as long as you need….even after I’m gone; till the wrecker comes, anyway.”

Tom abruptly opened the car door and stepped out, standing next to the parking lights.  He tapped the phone.

“Hello?”  the phone answered. 

“Son? Tom?” There was no reply.  “Don’t hang up; please.  I’m simply calling to say.…well, to say….I’m not asking for forgiveness – just apologizing….for everything, son.  And wanting you to know that we’d love to have you come home – I’d love to have you come home…..tomorrow, for Christmas, if you can – if you will.  And….and, of course, bring your boyfriend – please; we really want to meet him.”

Tom was silent for a moment and then said, “Great!  See you tomorrow – no, don’t bring anything, and for God’s sake don’t worry about any presents!  Your coming home will be the best Christmas present we could ever get!” 

Tom was putting the phone back in his pocket, and was about to turn to go back to his car when he saw another car about a block away, the headlights flashing on and off a couple times.  Tom ran toward the lights, waving his arms.

“You’re a God-send, man!” said Tom as soon as the driver had pulled up and reached over to open the door for Tom.  “Oh, just one second, I have to say goodbye to someone; be back in a jiffy!”

Tom turned to go back and say thanks to the man in the car, hand him a 20, and then invite him to stay inside the car as long as was still there, but the passenger seat appeared to be empty.  Tom trotted over to the window, bent down and peered inside, but, again, saw no one.  He stood and glanced down the street, first one way and then the other.  Nothing….just a few footprints in the fresh snow that headed toward the corner a hundred feet away.  Tom dashed to the corner and turned it, ready to hail the man, but the man wasn’t around the corner either.   Tom glanced in all directions for any evidence of the man. Then, just as he was about to rush back to his ride, he glanced down at the ground and noticed that the man’s footprints went no further in the snow than the post with the street sign on top. He looked up, cupping his eyes from the glare of the headlights. 

Nothing….of course; just the street sign: “Grace Ct.”