Two Men Walk Into a Bar (At Christmastime) (3 page)

And warmth. Oh, sweet Lord, the sort of perfect warmth that only entered and remained in a man’s life through the deep and everlasting love of his best friend, his lover, his soul mate, his wife.

So the terrible paradox of today was that, instead of being with his wife, he was in Los Angeles alone. And Los Angeles, which was at least forty degrees warmer than Maryland, felt as cold and bleak as Antarctica.

He sighed.
Well
, he thought,
you waited almost ten years to feel alive at Christmas again. I guess another year won’t much matter. Besides, there’s nothing you can do about it now.

“All good?” asked Zach, coming out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and wet hair standing up at odd angles. “There’s beer in the fridge if you’re thirsty.”

“Thanks,” said Asher, mustering a grim but grateful nod before turning back to the TV.

“
Holiday Inn,
huh? Good movie.”

Asher nodded. “Yeah. It’s one of my favorites.”

“And this song . . .”

“You like it?”

“I do. Always have. It’s simple as anything, but there’s something simultaneously melancholy and comforting about it. Think about that, because it’s a strange confluence. Melancholy should be sad, not comforting. But it’s both. Why is that?”

“I don’t know,” said Asher, feeling increasingly forlorn.

“Me neither. But Irving Berlin was a heck of a songwriter to pull it off.” Zach scoffed softly, and Asher turned to look at him, raising his eyebrows.

“I think it’s melancholy because it became popular during World War II. I imagine a bunch of guys sitting on their bunks in a ship berth off the coast of Japan, wishing they were home.” Asher paused. “And it’s comforting because of the words.
Treetops glisten . . . children listen . . . sleigh bells in the snow
.” He sighed, feeling impossibly lower.

“Aaaaand it’s possibly the most depressing fucking song ever. Especially for two married dudes spending Christmas Eve together in LA when they’re supposed to be back on the East Coast with their wives.”

“Amen, brother. But it looks like we’re stuck here. You got a better suggestion? I’m all ears.”

Zach cocked his head to the side in thought, his eyes narrowing as he stared at Asher’s T-shirt for a moment. “Actually? Yeah. I do. Just let me get dressed . . . and grab my guitar.”

***

The cab pulled up in front of Zach and Violet’s apartment building, and Savannah leaned forward to pay the driver before following Violet out of the cab. The driver walked around to the trunk and popped it open, then took the two small suitcases out and placed them on the sidewalk.

“Now don't forget,” said Violet, turning to Savannah as they pulled their suitcases up the sidewalk to the front of the building, “you promised to come for Christmas dinner tomorrow.”

Savannah had managed to find a hotel room for her and Asher at the Beverly Wilshire, but Violet insisted that they return tomorrow to spend Christmas Day together.

“Are you sure?” asked Savannah, grinning at her friend as they waved at the doorman and stepped into the elevator. “Don’t you two, um,
three
, want to be alone tomorrow?”

“Savannah,” said Violet, “after all this, we’re practically family now, and the truth is, Zach and I have no family out here to celebrate with. You
have
to come over. I’ll make a ham and mashed potatoes with gravy—”

“Too bad my mama’s not here. She makes great cheddar biscuits. Hey! I'll call her and ask for the recipe, okay?”

Violet purred a satisfied reply. “Mmmm. I think my cravings are kicking in. That sounds mouthwatering.”

Savannah chuckled, following Violet down an elegant hallway. “You have to meet my mama, Violet. You'd love her.”

“I’m sure I would!” Violet stopped in front of a door and turned to Savannah, her eyes twinkling and merry. “Ready to give two husbands the surprise of their lives?”

Savannah nodded eagerly, barely able to contain her excitement.

With a flourish, Violet turned her key in the lock, stepped into the apartment and yelled, “Surprise! We’re here!”

Hmm
, thought Savannah, trying to peek over Violet’s shoulder.
Crickets. Not exactly the reunion they’d been hoping for.

Violet pulled her suitcase into the narrow front hallway, and Savannah followed, her shoulders slumping to find herself in a tiny, dimly lit apartment with no hot veteran husband anywhere to be found.

“Zach?”

“Asher?”

Violet crossed through the living room and opened a door in the far corner of the room calling, “Zach?” But Savannah could tell from the way her voice trailed off that he wasn’t there.

She took a moment to look around the apartment. To her left, there was a counter with two stools and, just beyond it, a small kitchen. A dining table with four chairs sat in a sunny nook next to sliding glass doors that led to a balcony. To her right was a living room with a TV mounted on the wall between two floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the street. And across from the TV were two brown leather chairs, a coffee table, and an inviting gray plush sofa. It was a well-appointed, tidy apartment, with a few pictures of Zach and Violet on the coffee table and two guitars held by hooks on the wall over the sofa, but it didn’t have the warmth of a
home
.

Letting her despondent gaze drop to the sofa again, Savannah’s heart suddenly lifted. On the floor, she spied a black rolling suitcase with an American flag carefully stitched to the seaming. Her heart thumped, and her lips tilted up in a beaming smile. It was Asher’s, proof that he’d been here and would be coming back. And wherever he was, he was all the home she needed.

Violet marched over to Savannah and took her phone out of her pocket, then paused, grimacing. “I’m tempted to text Zach, tell him we’re here, and demand he get his ass back here. But that would totally wreck the surprise, wouldn’t it?”

Savannah nodded, sweeping her eyes around the apartment again. “It sure would.”

Violet’s shoulders slumped, and tears flooded her eyes. “God, I’m so emotional! Damn it!”

“Hey, now,” said Savannah, reaching out to place a comforting hand on her friend’s arm. “Promise you won’t be offended if I make a suggestion?”

“Go for it.”

“Well,” she said, “how about we let them alone for a bit? Wherever they are, let’s not tell them we’re here yet. Meanwhile, we can go find a Christmas tree, some greens, a few lights maybe?”

“Christmas decorations!” Violet beamed. “Yes! Blue lights for the tree and four stockings? We can get a few presents, even! And maybe some eggnog too?”

Savannah giggled. “Cravings?”

“I can’t help it. I want to eat every fattening comfort food ever created!”

“And why shouldn’t you? It’s Christmastime! So what do you say?”

Violet rushed forward to clasp Savannah in a huge hug. “I say yes!”

***

Asher led the way toward Army Sergeant Troy Adams’s room with Zach following behind, his guitar secured over his chest with an old braided strap that Violet had given him at Yale. If anyone had told him that he’d be spending Christmas Eve at the UCLA Medical Center, following a veteran from room to room, taking Christmas carol requests, he would have called them crazy. But now? Here? If he couldn’t be with Violet, Zach couldn’t imagine another place in the world he’d rather be.

“Hey,” said Asher, pausing at the door. “Troy was hurt real bad in 2011. Fallujah. Sniper bullet. Broke a lot of bones in his skull, took his ear, his face was . . . anyway, sometimes he mixes up his words so just, you know . . .”

“I know,” said Zach. “It’s okay. Let’s go.”

Asher nodded gratefully, pushing open the hospital room door.

“Hey, Troy!” he said cheerfully as he headed into the room, and Zach was struck again by the strength and optimism of his new friend. Asher had shared that he’d been a recluse for many years before meeting Savannah, but Zach just couldn’t picture it. He was so outgoing, so easygoing with the injured men and women Zach had met today. But then he remembered himself before Violet had walked back into his life. Soulless. Angry. She had smoothed out his rough edges and reminded him what it felt like to love and be loved. She’d made him the man he was today, and Zach wondered if Asher would say the same about his wife, Savannah. Something told him that yes, he would.

“Who zat?” asked a groggy voice.

“Asher Lee,” said Asher, pulling a chair beside the bed and taking a seat.

“Asher, you ol’ sum-bitch. How the fuck you doin’?”

Asher chuckled as Troy lifted a beefy, tattooed arm from under the covers to shake Asher’s i-Limb hand.

“I’m good. I’m real good. Brenda and the kids comin’ by today?”

“Yep. Later. Timin’ for this procedure sucked balls, though,” groused Troy. “In the hospital over Christmas. But, hell, I’m just grateful I almost got my smile back.”

Zach took another step into the room and looked at the man in the bed. His head was shaved and wrapped with white bandages that covered almost his whole face except his left eye and a small portion of his mouth.

“Who’s this?” asked Sergeant Adams.

Asher grinned up at Zach. “Friend of mine.”

“He’s got a guitar.”

“Yup,” said Asher. “Came to sing you a song.”

Sergeant Adams’s one visible eye blinked as he extended his arm to Zach. “Troy Adams.”

“Zach Aubrey. Sorry you’re in here for Christmas, but I heard you’re getting your smile back.”

“Who told you that?” demanded Sergeant Adams, yanking his hand away and sitting up straighter in his bed as though threatened.

Zach held his ground, but shifted his guitar from his back to his front and plucked one soothing D note. “My friend, Asher Lee, sitting right there by you.”

Troy’s body relaxed as he turned to Asher. “Fuck, Asher. How long you been here?”

“Little while,” he said, smiling at Troy like everything was fine. “I need to know your favorite Christmas song, Troy.”

“My favorite
Christmas
song? Is it Christmastime?”

Asher nodded. “Yep. Christmas Eve.”

“Dang it. And I’m here?”

“Yep,” said Asher. “What’s the name of that song again? The Christmas song you like so much?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Troy, nodding. “‘Star Carol.’”

Asher’s eyes slipped to Zach’s in a half cringe, his shoulders bunching up around his ears. “‘Star Carol’? Now, Troy, I’ve never heard of that one. How about—”

“Simon and Garfunkel version okay?” asked Zach.

“Is there another?” asked Sergeant Adams.

Zach chuckled softly, thinking how much Violet would have respected his choice of an obscure Christmas folk song. “No, sir. There isn’t.”

His fingers worked nimbly over the strings, filling the small, sterile room with the deep, broad chords of the soothing carol.

“Long years ago, on a deep winter night . . .”

Between the three short stanzas, he free-versed a little, drawing out the sweet song until the notes took on a soft, lullaby-like quality. As he started the second verse, he looked up to see a tear fall from Sergeant Adams’s eye and roll down his face. Zach kept playing, singing the words about a tiny baby over the lump in his throat. Stepping around the bed, he picked the chords slower and quieter until he stood right behind Asher, singing the final lines in a whisper—
“Ever and always I think of thee”
—and looked up to see that Troy Adams had fallen fast asleep.

In the quiet of that hospital room, Zach thought of Violet.

He thought of how much he loved her.

How much he missed her.

But he felt her here, right here, right now. The reality was that he wouldn’t have known that song—that obscure little song that had comforted a suffering veteran—if he’d never known her. And suddenly he knew that Violet would find meaning in their separation this Christmas. In fact, once he told her the story, she would smile and say that Zach was exactly where he was supposed to be: singing a lullaby to a veteran, trapped in Los Angeles with a new friend, on Christmas Eve.

***

“I guess that does it!” exclaimed Savannah, looking around the cheerful, decked-out apartment.

The pickings had been a little slim at the local Walmart, but they’d bought up everything they could find. Under the TV between the windows there was a hot-pink and silver tinsel four-foot tree with blue lights, a smattering of mismatched ornaments, and an angel missing half a wing on the top. On the coffee table there was a model train set that Violet had set up. As the train circled a little palm tree that read “Mele Kalikimaka” on the trunk, it played “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.” Savannah had downloaded a dozen Christmas songs to her iPhone, and Violet had plugged it into a docking station for dinner music, and they’d purchased a lasagna from the frozen foods department that was just starting to smell delicious.

Somewhere along the way, Violet had convinced Savannah to cancel her reservation at the Beverly Wilshire and stay on the sofa bed so that they could all spend Christmas Eve and Christmas morning together. And though Savannah had originally had misgivings about intruding on Violet and Zach’s special Christmas, the sparkle in her new friend’s eyes had compelled her to say yes.