Podcast appearances and mentions of Alex Reed

Life isn't fair. So when you fight back, fight dirty. In 2 parts, Based on the post from Tx Tall Tales. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. Christmas has always been my favorite time of year. I married young, and had two perfect daughters, but my marriage was far from perfect. We had been young and in love. I was entering the community college and Denise was starting her senior year when we decided to tie the knot. Her family's ready acceptance of me was a huge factor - the family I'd never had, making me feel like a real member of theirs. I can admit it now; I probably loved being a part of the family as much as I loved Denise. Our split up was inevitable, two teenagers who knew nothing about life thinking their infatuation with each other would make everything else workout. I wasn't an all-star, super jock, Rhodes Scholar with a 12" swinging cock. I was just your average student, A and B grades, spending some bench time on the football team to get my letter, and losing my virginity at 18 to the girl I'd eventually marry. When times got rough, we didn't know how to handle it, and struck out at each other. Her family often stepped in and helped out when they could, but time after time, the great sex wasn't enough to make up for the difference in our wants, needs and ambitions. In the end, we gave up. Sometimes I think it's a miracle we made it through 5 years. Our devotion to our children allowed us to finally see past our own issues, and work out a remarkably amiable truce, with our girls at the center. Even though Denise and I couldn't live together, it turned out we got along a lot better divorced. We shared our daughters' time, lived only one neighborhood apart, and worked together as a team to make our personal differences have as little impact on our girls as possible. I had initially shared an apartment uptown, but eventually bought one of the smallest houses in the same school district, just to make things easier. It was a lot more than I needed most of the time, but when the girls stayed with me it felt like a home. And we only lived a couple of miles apart. The neighborhood was nice, predominantly younger families, in older, smallish homes. Most of the people were cordial, kept up their property, and after a few years I knew many by name and would exchange greetings at the grocery store, or when out shopping. I had become suburbanized. This was our fourth Christmas since the divorce. Denise was living with Eric, who I wish I could despise, but he was a decent guy with a great job and lousy taste in sports teams. He doted on my girls without trying to take my place. It had taken a while, but we'd developed a friendship, which wasn't a bad thing. My child support was pegged at just over $1500, with the kids on my health insurance. Even though we weren't married long enough for alimony to kick in, I was paying another $500 a month just to make the kids' lives better. And for me, that was all that really mattered. The expense had been rough at first, but with little to concentrate on other than work, my performance skyrocketed. Two promotions in three years had made the financial aspect much less problematic, but increased travel had made the ability to be available for the girls less guaranteed. Denise was good about it, and worked with me. In return I picked up some more of the girls' expenses, including music lessons and a piano. At Least we still had Christmas Christmas was special. We celebrated Christmas as an extended family. I'd come over early, and we'd have a big family breakfast and open all the presents together. I really went all out to make sure the girls got their favorite items. At six and eight years old, they were still young enough to have simple wants, and the magic of Christmas was as real as it gets. The in-laws would come over in the afternoon with more presents and we'd have a good old fashioned Christmas dinner with all the trimmings. It was nice to be part of something. I got a Christmas shut-down at work and Denise didn't, so we agreed that they'd stay with me from Christmas to New Year's, and any time she could get off, we'd usually work out something to get her time with the kids. It was understood that I wouldn't leave town, at least not for more than a day. Summer was great with the 2 weeks I got to spend with them, and we'd usually spend it on the beach. Christmas was still different. Christmas was magical. I always was given the girl's wish list, but I'd also start my shopping in late November for the must have items of the season. And I wasn't stingy; I'd buy them all up, just to make sure I didn't miss any. Stores, online auctions, Craigslist, I'd use any way possible to get my hands on the hottest presents. The first two years I'd caught hell from Denise for buying everything on the list, leaving nothing for them to get. Now I received a separate list of things I wasn't allowed to buy. So it was that I had just finished wrapping my forty-fourth present, all in glitter Barbie paper for Briana, and in Hannah Montana paper for Allora. December 5th, my earliest date so far to finish the bulk of my shopping. Sure, I'd pick up a few more things, including something for Denise and Eric, but my girls were taken care of. The presents were carefully spread around my living room, where they'd remain on display until just before Christmas, when I'd bring them over to Denise's in a big ceremony. The call came from Denise's mother, Sharon. It took me 11 minutes flat to get to the hospital. I was still too late. Denise and Briana had both died en-route. Eric had passed away only ten minutes before I'd arrived. But Allora, my perfect little Allora, was fighting for her life, in critical condition. She'd always been a fighter, would never back down from any challenge. She'd beat this too, I just knew it. It was a freak accident, with a car dodging out of the way to miss a coyote on the road. An 18 wheeler behind the car did his best to avoid the car in front of him, but ended up fishtailing, and taking out a suburban in the next lane over. That vehicle crossed the median and hit my ex-wife's family van head-on. Six dead already and one little girl still fighting hard for her dear life. Sharon and I kept a vigil over the little towhead, and when the doctors came out after 6 hours and declared the worst was over and she was in stable condition, we fell into each other's arms and cried like children. We stayed by her side, one of us always present, and Sharon called me when my baby woke up and spoke. For three long days we watched her slowly heal in the hospital, the worst of her bruises, cuts and contusions blossoming on the second day, and only just starting to fade again. I'm not a religious guy by nature, but I found myself on my knees beside her bed, praying to God to take care of her, and giving thanks for pulling her through this horrendous disaster. At 4:18 pm on December 7th, she passed away. No warning, no reason, she was there, and then she wasn't. The doctors suspected a clot. I suspected incompetence. I finally understood how a person could get so down on themselves that life might not even feel worth living. I went home and shut myself off from the world. After a while I took the phone off the hook. Hell, let's be honest, I ripped the fucking wires out of the wall so I didn't have to listen to one more bleeding heart tell me they were “sorry for my loss”. The cell phone was easier. I just turned it off. Several people from work came by and assured me that I could take as much time as I needed. They'd bring me food, and news, and would leave as soon as they felt they'd spent the minimum time required socially by the situation. Denise's family took care of the funeral arrangements. They attempted to call, and even stopped by for my input. I gave them a check for $10,000 to take care of the girls, nearly wiping out my savings. What was I going to spend it on now? I couldn't bring myself to go to the showing but I did take a shower and put on a suit for the funeral. It was a bleak day, gray skies, 20 mile an hour winds threatening to tear the top off of the outdoor tent. The ground was soggy from rain the previous night. Just perfect. "Thanks, God. Piss on a guy when he's down. Well, fuck You too." I shook the required hands, and kissed the offered cheeks until I just couldn't take it any longer. All these fake people. Fake emotions. Tell me how sorry they were then go home to their perfect little families and eat meatloaf. Fuck'em. Fuck'em all. Fourteen days. Two solid weeks in that dark house. I wouldn't turn on any lights. No TV. I didn't bathe, I didn't shave. I sat in my chair or I lay in my bed and wallowed. I had a few visitors after the first couple of days, but I'd rarely let them in, and before long they had the decency to stop showing up. Only Cathy from next door wouldn't let me sink into complete oblivion. Every day, at least 3 times a day, she'd check in on me. I wouldn't have let her in, but she had a key to the back door for emergencies and wasn't afraid to use it. She'd open the windows a crack, and goad me into getting out of bed and at least sit in the living room. She'd bring food, which she'd set in front of me, and refused to leave until I at least tried it. I insisted on getting my key back, and she handed it over willingly enough. And showed up again the next day. She'd made copies. Meddlesome bitch. Again, she badgered me into eating her breakfast. And she'd talk. God, how that woman could talk! I got tired just listening. All the neighborhood gossip, town gossip, political gossip, school gossip - she was plugged in everywhere and knew it all. Who was doing what, or whom. Griping about people who still had Thanksgiving decorations up, or had Christmas blowups in their front yard. Church fiascos and neighborhood vendettas, she would sit there, drink her tea (or bourbon and coke if the sun had set) and fill me in. I didn't care. It had been two weeks since the accident. I'd lost more than 10 pounds, and really just wanted to crawl in a hole and die. But Cathy wouldn't let me. She made it her personal mission to cheer me up, get me to respond, bring me back to life. Then one day she let me have it with both barrels. She walked up to me and slapped me across the face. Hard. "Damn it Alex! Snap out of it! Life is hard. And it isn't fair, but as bad as you have it, there's always someone who has it worse. Often in your own backyard if you have the eyes to see it." "What do you know about it?" I snapped viciously. "I notice your kids are alive." "I know my mother died when I was six, and my father left when I was thirteen, leaving Mike to raise my sister and me. He was seventeen years old. But he manned-up and did the job the best he could. That's what I know. Life is hard." "Life is hard. Life's a bitch and then you die. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. When God closes a door he opens a window. If I hear one more God-damned cliché I swear I'll kill something," I growled. "Alex, you got a raw deal. You had two perfect little girls, and now they're gone. Your past is shattered. Your little bit of immortality is lost. And as bad as you've got it, I'd remind you others have it worse, and they just press on. You need to as well," Cathy told me, kneeling beside me and holding my hands. The woman barely knew me. A middle-aged mother of three with grown kids, and a workaholic husband. Her life was her home, keeping it immaculate and decorated for every holiday and season. Now it seemed I was her newest project. Why should I matter that much to her? Couldn't she see I didn't want her help? "Sure, starving Ethiopians, children in Nigeria dying of aids, Tibetan monks martyred, it's a tough world. Boo hoo." "You don't have to look as far as Ethiopia or Tibet. There are people right here, right on your own block that are really struggling. Open your eyes. If you don't like the unfairness do something about it. Even up the odds a bit. Make a difference somewhere. Get back to living." Something she said must have gnawed its way down to my subconscious. I spent my usual 14 hours or so in bed, but when I awoke I was thinking about her constant comments about someone in my own backyard that had it worse. I cataloged each person on my block, in my head, and nobody really had it that bad. Sure, Neil, three doors down had lost his job, but his wife was still working, and he was looking. The Harris's on the corner had a boy in Iraq, but as far as I could tell he was still Ok, and they had three more at home. The Martins, one down from the corner, fought all the time, and even had the cops called in on them once but they were still together. What did Cathy mean? I expanded the radius of consideration to include the blocks surrounding us. Then it hit me. Across the alley in back, two houses past Cathy's own. Six months ago. Barry Morrison had driven into an empty field behind the local middle school and eaten a bullet. I didn't know much about the family - I just knew there was one. When Cathy came over, I had showered off the top two layers of grime and sweat, and was drinking a Coke in the living room. "Good morning, Alex, beautiful day outside. Why don't we go out on the porch?" "The Morrisons. Tell me about them." She placed her mug of tea in the microwave, warming it up, then walked out my front door and sat in one of my rocking chairs out front. Irritated, I followed, and sat in the chair beside her. "The Morrisons?" "Sandy and her daughter Erica. You won't see much of her; she's working two jobs trying to keep the house over their heads. They're still fighting with the insurance company over payment. Suicide clause won't pay under two years. He had insurance for years, but just around two years ago he changed the terms. She's been trying to sell the house, but it's underwater, and nobody's buying." "How's the little one?" "Erica's not doing so well. She's seeing a counselor twice a week, and hardly speaks anymore. The school's talking about holding her back," Cathy explained. She sounded sad. "Do we know anything more about why he did it?" "No crimes, he wasn't fired, no embezzling, it's not clear what it was about. Apparently he'd been depressed for quite a while, but the underlying situation is still a blank as far as I know." "Harsh on the family, going out like that," I told her, finding the whole idea hard to grasp. "To say the least. The poor woman is worn to a frazzle." "And how does this all matter to me?" I asked. "It doesn't. It doesn't have to matter to anybody. They're on their own. Alone." "No family help?" "Not that I know of. If they're around, we don't see much of them, that's for sure." "Cathy, how the hell do you know all this stuff?" I had to ask. "People just like to talk to me. I'm a very good listener," she told me with a big smile. We sat quietly enjoying the crisp air, finishing our drinks. "You're a good neighbor too, Cathy. Thanks," I said softly. "That's what neighbors are for," she said, reaching out and patting me on my arm. That's what neighbors are for. Cathy brought me dinner again and I realized I was starving. She beamed at me when I finished the whole platter. "Let's go for a walk, Alex. You could use a stretch of the legs." It had gotten chilly, and we bundled up a bit. She took the lead and we walked down the block and turned up the neighborhood. We headed back up the next block and she regaled me with the entire history and habits of the inhabitants of each place we passed. She might have been a good listener, but I had to wonder when she ever was quiet long enough to hear anything. It was obvious when we got to Sandy Morrison's place. The "For Sale" sign was a dead giveaway. The unkempt yard and overgrown bushes indicated a lack of care for months. It couldn't help with the sales prospects. The door paint was faded, and there were no Christmas lights or decorations set up. I thought the Realtor wasn't earning their commission, letting the place show like this. Through the window I could see a desktop Christmas tree, maybe two feet tall, lit up all in white. Strangely, Cathy stopped speaking before we got to the house, and didn't speak again until the end of the block. "Sad," was all she said. We took a round-about path back to my house, and our conversation had returned to the safety of weather concerns, community issues, and such, carefully skirting any discussion of the Morrisons. I was feeling the chill after the walk, and invited Cathy in for a cup of coffee, Irish fortified if she so desired. We drank our coffee in front of my gas fireplace, warming our old bones. Damn that neighbor of mine, and her good intentions! She'd not only gotten me to think of something other than my own misery, and the unfairness of it all, but she had me thinking about those poor girls behind me, and what they must be going through. Damn it! It wasn't fair. I guess I still wasn't ready for pleasant company. Angry at the world, I threw my mug at the wall, shattering it, and leaned over with my head in my hands, doing my best to hold back the tears. Big boys don't cry. Cathy stood and ran her fingers through my hair for just a moment before leaving out the back door. Kind enough to leave me alone to wallow in my misery a little longer. December 22nd. Just three days until Christmas. When Cathy came over that morning, I was already up and dressed. I had my working duds on and coffee and bagels ready. "You're up early," she commented, helping herself to the java. "It's almost 10," I reminded her. "Not so awfully early." She laughed. "Seems to me anything before noon is quite early as of late. Got plans?" I nodded. "Thought I'd head over to the Morrison's and see what I can do about the outside of the house. Clean it up a bit. Make it a little more presentable if they're really planning on selling it." "That's mighty neighborly of you." "It'll give me something to do. I need to get out of this damned house." After our coffee, she walked with me across the alley, all my yard-work gear in a wheelbarrow. The grass was dormant, but long, and the bushes were out of control. I didn't notice when Cathy left, but she returned in a few hours with some sandwiches for lunch, insisting I take a break. I'd finished the bush trimming and had mowed the lawn, bagging the trimmings. I was just finishing the edging when she appeared. I took a break, and listened to her chatter about the neighborhood activities, and how sad it was that in the past few months nobody had offered to do as much as I had. "I guess we victims of fate need to stick together." "It already looks 100% better. If you want to work in the backyard, I have a key to the gate." "It figures you would." "What is that supposed to mean?" she asked. "It just doesn't surprise me. I bet you've been helping out when you could." She sighed. "Not too much. She's too damn proud. Doesn't want any help from anybody." I shook my head. "Now you tell me. She'll probably call the police on me." "So what if she does? You know you're doing the right thing. I'll bail you out if need be." I let her unlock the back gate, and saw I had my work cut out for me. The back yard was worse than the front. The fence needed work as well, some boards were broken and loose, and one whole section was sagging. Luckily, my tools were only a couple of hundred feet away, across the alley, and I was soon at work, determined to finish before the residents arrived home. The biggest problem was one of the fence posts which had rotted out at the bottom. A new post and some quick-setting cement, solved that problem. Within an hour I'd be able to reattach the fence crossbeams to the new 4x4. I turned to see a young girl, maybe 7 or 8 years old, watching me from the porch. Crap. "Just thought I'd fix your fence, before it falls down. I hope you don't mind." She just shook her head. She stood there watching me, and I felt ill at ease. I was a stranger. She shouldn't be talking to me. I should probably leave. "I'm just going to clean up here and head back home. I can finish up later when your mother's home." I straightened up my clothing a bit, wiping my hands on my pants. "I'm Alex Reed. I live across the alley," I explained, pointing down a few houses. She nodded. She reminded me so much of my own daughter, right around that age. Her hair was the same length, blonde, but not quite as light as Allora's. Allora. My perfect little Allora. I closed my eyes, seeing her in that hospital bed, bruised and bandaged, fighting for her life. Her hair tucked under the bandages, the few strands that stuck out dark from sweat. Her body so small in that antiseptic white bed. My Allora. Gone. It felt like somebody had wrapped a band around my chest, and pulled it tight. I couldn't breath. I turned away from Erica, so she wouldn't have to see me lose it. She'd suffered enough already. I felt the tears rise, unbidden, and I started for the gate. I had to get out of there. I barely made it as far as the driveway. It was too much. I closed the gate behind me and crumbled to the ground, seated with my head between my knees, my hands covering my head. It was Christmas, damn it! Christmas! My girls were supposed to be with me, shaking their presents and trying to guess what was in them. Instead Allora and Briana were gone. Their lives snuffed out before they could see anything of the world, before they could find their place, before they could fall in love. No shaking presents. No stomach aches from eating too many holiday sweets. No late night parties to drive me crazy with worry. No learning to drive. No struggling to find the right college. No bringing a boy home for the first time. No cramming for tests. No Spring Breaks. No proms. Nothing. Ever again. I was sobbing, and the little girl who had lost her father was standing on the driveway beside me, her hand resting on my shoulder, while I made a fool of myself. "Erica! You know your mother doesn't want you out if she's not at home. You should go back inside. Mr. Reed will be all right, he's just tired. Go on now." Cathy had me by the arm, and was doing her best to get me back on my feet. "C'mon Alex, not here. Let's get you home." I knew she was right. I stood up, wiping my eyes on my sleeve. "I'll be alright. Just give me a minute." I pulled myself together, took a couple of deep breaths, and stood straight. "I'm Ok. Seeing her was just a little too much, too soon. But I'm fine now. I need to clean up here, and put the fence back together." "Alright. I'll help." It only took us a few minutes to clean up and cart the bags of yard trimmings out to the rear curb. I ran all the yard tools back to my house, and returned to finish the fence work. I braced the new post with a couple of 2x4's and reattached the two panels. Cathy's help made it a lot easier. When we were done we both stood back and looked over the yard. Much better. "I'm going to go inside and fix Erica her after-school snack. It's about all that Sandy will let me do. Why don't you come with me?" "I don't know if I should. Sandy doesn't know me. She may not want me in her house when she's not there." "Never mind that. She'll be fine. Just come in a moment. It'll only take a few minutes." I followed her inside, through the glass sliding door. Erica was sitting on the floor watching TV. I didn't even look that way. I was afraid that seeing the wrong TV show would dredge up more painful memories. "Where can I wash my hands?" I asked Cathy. She pointed to a door. "In there." I headed to the bathroom. "Don't use the toilet. That one doesn't flush anymore." I could hear the running water in the commode. I washed my hands and wiped them on my shirt. There was no towel in the bathroom. Then I took the top off the tank and examined inside. Nothing complicated. The chain that connected the stopper to the handle extension was missing. Lifting the rubber stopper, I saw it was under the lip, the cause of the running water. I reattached the chain, and tested the flushing. Worked fine. "Fixed. The chain was just off." Cathy nodded, and returned to making a grilled cheese sandwich. Briana loved grilled cheese. But you couldn't cut the sandwich, and you had to remove the crust. I wouldn't be cutting the crust off of sandwiches anymore. I took a deep breath, and went to examine the front door. "Cathy? I'm going to head home and get my sander and some paint. This door needs some help desperately." "Go ahead. Sandy won't be home until late, and if we're going to get in trouble for the yard and the fence, we might as well make it a trifecta." Fifteen minutes later, I was running the battery powered hand-sander over the door, removing the worst of the existing paint. I didn't have too much to do, it was already mostly bare. I had brought over three possible paints to use, all of which I knew were approved by the homeowner's association. "What color paint do you think I should use?" I asked Cathy. "Let's ask Erica." She returned in a few seconds with Erica at her side. "We're going to paint the front door, Erica. What color would you like?" We had a choice of off-white, light blue, and a dark brown. She pointed to the light blue, then seated herself nearby to watch. I had already removed the hardware. I taped the hinges and bottom kick-plate, laid out my drip cloth, and started applying a coat of paint, top-to-bottom. I looked over at the young girl watching me so intently. I saw the tree beside her, so small and bare, with one little package underneath it. Christmas trees shouldn't look like that. They should be big, full of decorations, all sorts, each one with its own story. Handcrafted special ornaments, with pictures of your family members. Popsicle stick ornaments with the Elmer's glue showing. Lights blinking in an assortment of colors, candy canes and tinsel, and an angel on top. There should be presents around the bottom, stacked and scattered, so many you can't even get near the tree. It was the first year I didn't have a tree. We'd normally go out as a family and visit one of the Boy Scout tree lots, picking the biggest, fullest tree we thought could fit in my living room. Then we'd decorate it together, Christmas songs playing in the background, and sipping eggnog. We'd spend an eternity untangling the lights, replacing the bulbs that wouldn't work, and replacing the metal hangars on the decorations that needed them. It was an all day affair. Not this year. Not ever again. I realized I'd stopped painting, and I was staring. A long drip of paint from my brush was running down the door. The little girl looked at me, almost as if she understood. "Would you like to help?" I asked. She looked around, as if to ask if I was talking to her. "Yes, you." She shyly nodded yes. I reached over to my bucket of painting supplies and pulled out a small brush. I pointed to the inlaid panels on the bottom half of the door. "You can paint here, around the edge of the panel. It needs to be done with a detail brush like the one you have. Get into the cracks." She nodded, dipped her brush, and started painting straight down the panel edge, doing a good job. "That's perfect. Just like that." I went back to work completing the top half, and had to work around her, sometimes leaning way over to paint above her. She saw what I was doing, and I saw the mischievous heart of a little girl for a moment when she started backing away from the door, making me lean further and further over. "Hey!" I said in mock outrage. "You're doing that on purpose!" When she giggled, apparently ignoring me, and continuing with her painting effort, I felt a small leap in my heart. It was nice to hear her giggle. "When you're done with the painting, and done torturing me, you can paint around the edges of the two hinges and the kick-plate. If I won't be in your way." Little Erica nodded, and continued her careful painting, working slowly and deliberately around the perimeter before moving onto the hinges. I found myself kneeling beside her, painting the bottom-half of the door, while she detailed the trim. We switched places so I could work on the side near the hinges while she completed the bottom trim. "Not bad," I commented, holding out a drip bucket for her to dump her brush in. I sealed up the paint can, peeled off the trim tape, and stood back to get a look at the results. A little girl stood beside me, her blonde hair a poignant reminder of all I'd lost. I took a deep breath to compose myself. "Not bad at all. Think your mother will like it?" I looked down at her while she thought it over. A smile slowly spread across her face. She nodded twice. I put my hand down for a fist bump, just like I would with my girls. She shrank away for a second, then glanced up at my face for a second before making a tiny fist and bumping her knuckles against mine. We were enjoying the last of the natural light as dusk was settling in. Cathy walked out and stood beside us, giving her approval. "The blue is perfect. Great choice Erica." Erica stopped admiring her work, looked at Cathy, and blinked like she was just seeing her for the first time. She looked up and down the block, then walked back into the house and planted herself in front of the TV. "Ready to call it a day?" Cathy asked. "Yeah. Best get while the getting is good." I packed up my paint supplies and in just a couple of trips hid any trace that I'd ever been there. Except of course for the door, yard and fence. Oh, and the toilet, although that really didn't count for much. Back home I cleaned up and sat down pondering what I'd just done. I had mixed feelings, a little guilt creeping in for taking liberties with someone else's house. But thinking about that little girl, and what she must be going through, made anything I could do to help worthwhile. Thinking was dangerous. I realized I hadn't been very nice to the people who had tried to help me. I decided to rectify that if possible, and found a new phone cable for my phone and plugged it in. Picking it up I heard a dial tone. Good. I made a list of phone calls, and went to work. Calling, one-by-one, my friends, neighbors and co-workers, I apologized for my behavior and thanked them for their concern. To a one, they blew off my boorish behavior, and promised they'd be there for me if I needed anything. I stopped, with just a few calls remaining, wondering where those people were for Sandy and Erica, who seemed to need it far more than I. I picked up the phone and dialed Denise's family. I knew it was going to be tough. I apologized for leaving the funeral arrangements to them, and thanked them for all they had done. Speaking to Dan was difficult, but my conversation with Sharon almost did me in. The time we'd spent in the hospital, watching over Allora came up, and I had to take a break for a bit to get my emotions under rein, while I listened to Sharon sob. Even after the divorce we'd remained friendly, and I was glad that we'd had each other on that fateful watch. I promised I'd stop by in the next couple of days, she insisted there was some paperwork that needed taking care of. My last call was to Steve, my roommate for three years in college, and best friend in the world. I had hung up on him twice that first day, and it was haunting me. He'd left more than a dozen messages on my cell-phone voicemail. Plus, I had ulterior motives. The phone rang several times and went to the answering machine. I felt like a weight had lifted, I wouldn't have to face him. "Steve, Alex here. I'm sorry I..." "Alex, I'm here, don't hang up, I'm here. Let me turn off this damned machine. Hold on." I heard some rustling and the echo of our voices disappear. "Jesus, Alex. You're killing me." "Sorry. It hit me so hard; I just couldn't listen to one more well-wisher." "I understand." He would understand. His father had passed away while we were in our last year of college, and he took it hard. Started drinking heavy, cutting classes, and chasing anything with boobs. I took care of him as much as I could, going so far as to collect his homework and projects, even talking to his professors. He'd been slow to pull it together, but eventually came around. Five years later, less than a year out of law school, it was his mother. I had flown out and spent a week with him. I knew it would be hard - he was an only child, and he had few relatives, and none he was close to. He came out of that funk bitter, and it cost him his girlfriend - no loss there. We'd been as close as brothers, hell, probably closer. We still were. Steven understood. I opened my soul to him, and stayed on the phone for ages. I heard him send his wife off to bed, while I vented. It was a much needed cathartic outpouring that left me exhausted. "What can I do? Anything, you know it. Should I fly down?" As much as I'd love to see him, it had been nearly a year, he was a family man now, and it was Christmas. "No. Stay with your family. I'm doing better, and if I need to I can call." "Of course." "I also wanted to say I was sorry." "Sorry?" "Sorry that I couldn't do more for you when you lost your parents. I never really experienced losing anyone like that, and couldn't comprehend what you were going through." "Shut the fuck up. You were there for me, buddy. Always. When nobody else was. I'll never forget that. Enough said. Don't need to be getting sappy over it." I couldn't help but chuckle. "Alright. By the way, there's one other thing you might be able to do for me." "Anything. That's what friend are for." That's what friends are for. The pounding on my front door was not unexpected. Ten o'clock at night might be a little of a surprise, but the knock wasn't. I went to the front door, and looked out through the glass beside it. A woman stood there. I had a fairly good idea of who it was. I opened the door. "Mrs. Morrison?" She glared at me and nodded. "Come in, please. Can I get you a cup of tea, or coffee?" I turned and walked into the house, leaving the door open. I walked to the kitchen, and poured myself a cup of coffee. I turned to see her standing in the archway to the living room. She looked ready to burst, but I watched her breath deep and run her hands through her short hair. She looked young. Too young to be going through the hell she was currently experiencing. "I don't want you around my house or my daughter," she finally snapped. "I understand, and I'm sorry I interfered." I walked past her and sat down in the living room. "I can't explain it. I had to do something to get out of this house, and when Cathy told me about your situation I guess I got carried away." She stared at me, and crossed her arms. "Don't mention her name. I could kill her." I smiled. "Believe me, I understand that. She's been in my house every day, 3 or 4 times a day, meddling in my life." "Meddling is right," she snapped. She walked over and sat on the loveseat across from me. "Listen. I appreciate the thought. And I'm sorry for your loss." She smirked. "Ha, listen to me. Sorry for your loss. Crap." She leaned back. "We're doing fine. I don't need your help, I don't know you from Adam, and I don't want you around my daughter when nobody's around. Jesus, you painted my frickin' front door blue! A little presumptuous, don't you think?" I smiled. "I would have picked the wood tone. Blue was Erica's choice, one of the four approved colors according to our Stalinist homeowner's association." She leaned back, rolling her eyes up. "Don't remind me. If the bastards send me one more notice about yard and fence maintenance, I'll rip their lungs out." She seemed to calm down for a second, maybe realizing that those notices would no longer be coming. "I know. I should be thankful but I don't need a stranger meddling in my life. Understood? No more doing things for me." "I didn't do it for you. I did it for that little girl. You don't know me. I don't know you. Agreed. I don't know what happened to you and your family or why. Not really. What I do know is that girl of yours doesn't deserve the hand she's been dealt. That's all I could think. I just wanted to help where I could." She looked angry. "I'm sorry you lost your daughters. I am. But Erica is MINE. My daughter. My responsibility. Not yours." "You are right. She's no responsibility of mine." "That's right. I don't know you. We live three doors down and in two years you've never spoken a word to us. Six months we've been on our own. I certainly don't need you poking your head in now. I don't know you, I don't want to know you, and I'm not sure I'd like you if I did." "Welcome to the club." "Club?" "I'm not sure I like me either. I'm sorry, alright? Now I'm tired. You can let yourself out." She got up and stomped her way to the front door, closing it sharply behind her. That had gone better than I'd expected. December 23rd. I got up early, cleaning up, even shaving. I had errands to run. Cathy showed up in my kitchen while I was preparing breakfast. "At least neither of us is in jail," were her first words. "Not yet." "You did a good thing. Don't forget it." "I know. Still she was right. We should have asked permission." "The hell we should! She'd never have given it." "Then maybe we should leave her be." "If a person was drowning, and they couldn't yell for help, wouldn't you still throw them a life preserver?" "A little overly-dramatic, don't you think?" "No. She's going down for the third time, and is in complete denial. By the time she accepts the fact she needs help it could be too late." She looked me over. "You clean up nicely. What are you up to?" "I need to run some errands, see a few people, stop by work, some other stuff." "Don't overdue it," she said, still in her 'caring' mode. "Need some company?" "Thanks, I appreciate the offer. I can handle this." "Ok, you have my number. Give me a call if you need anything." The office visit was painful. I stopped in, thanking my bosses for their understanding, visiting a few friends and letting them know I appreciated their concern. The way they looked at me just drove home how alone I was. I was glad to get out of there. I made a visit to the florist and picked up a trunk-load of Christmas cacti. I drove around to everyone I could think of, expressing my gratitude, and leaving the pretty plants behind. I used the same corny line with each one, comparing my 'prickliness' the last couple of weeks to the plant's spines. I left a few plants on doorsteps with a note. By mid-afternoon I felt I'd done my part. I stopped by Denise's parent's house, and Sharon greeted me at the door with a hug before she broke into tears. After she'd soaked my shirt she brought me in. "There's something you need to know, Alex." She sounded odd, and I wondered what was up. "Denise left a will. She left you the house and the lion's share of her insurance, to take care of the girls if anything happened to her." I was stunned. It was so unexpected. "I... I don't know what to say." Sharon reached out and patted my hand. "It's not what I'd expected, but if you think about it, it makes sense. What are you going to do?" "I guess I'll sell the house. I certainly don't need two houses." "She had mortgage insurance, it'll be paid off. You could rent it out, you know. Earn some steady income off of it." It was too much too fast. I couldn't think straight. "I'll have to think about it. I just wasn't expecting anything like this." "I understand." She held my hand. "How are you doing?" "Better. Not good, but at least I can get out of bed." "We're here if you need us. You know that, right?" "Yes. Thank you. After the girls, you were the best thing that came out of our marriage." "We love you too. Don't forget it." "I'm sorry I was so useful about the funeral arrangements, I don't think I could have handled it without you," I confessed. "Don't even think about it. That's what family is for." That's what family is for. My day wasn't quite complete. A few more calls and I was putting things in motion I wasn't sure I should, but I couldn't resist. Around dinner time, I ventured next door. Cathy's husband John answered the door. "The hermit has left the cave. Good to see you out and about." He shook my hand, letting me in. "Cath - Alex is here." Cathy came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. "How'd your day go?" "Not bad. A few surprises, but I survived." "We're about to eat. Care to sit down with us?" "Maybe. When do you think Sandy will be getting home?" "Probably nine-ish, would be my guess. Why?" "Just want to talk to her if I can." "You have time for dinner then?" "Sure." By 8:30 I was enjoying a cigar with John, sitting out in their driveway, trying to figure out what our football team's chances were of going anywhere in the playoffs. We were strategically positioned so I had a view of the Morrison's driveway. When Sandy drove up, I excused myself from John and jogged across the alley. "Sandy, can I talk to you a moment?" She looked ready to chase me off, but after a few awkward seconds she crossed her arms, leaned back against the car and raised her eyebrows. "Again, I'm sorry I entered your house without your permission. I know that was wrong. All I can say is I wasn't really thinking straight." She rolled her eyes. "Anything else?" "Yes. I know you told me you didn't need my help, but there's someone I'd like you speak to. I have a friend that's a lawyer, and he's willing to check into your insurance situation pro bono. Like you and me, he's suffered a few losses in life, and he'd like to help you if he can. If you'd just give him a call, he'll see what he can do." I could see she wanted to say no, but was torn. She gnawed on her bottom lip, which I saw were chapped. She looked exhausted. I pulled out his card and held it out to her. "It'll only take a couple of minutes. It can't hurt." She finally nodded and took the card from me. "Is that it?" "One last thing. I'm headed over to my ex-wife's house tomorrow to clean out the refrigerator, and to get rid of her tree. It's my responsibility now. I was going to ditch the tree; it's one of those pre-lit artificial ones which I never could stand. I thought, if you don't mind, and it's not interfering too much, I could bring it by here and you could take if off my hands. Otherwise it's going to the dump." I spit out the words quickly before she could find too much fault with me. She seemed resigned to allow me to interfere, at least this much. She sighed and finally spoke up. "Alright. That would be nice. Now if that's all, I'd like to go in now. My feet and back are aching and I have to get up early tomorrow." "That's all. You can call Steve tonight if you'd like, he's a night owl and is expecting your call. Good night." I took off quickly before she could change her mind about anything. I had recruited Cathy's help over dinner the night before, assuming things went Ok with Sandy, and by noon we were back at the Morrison house, knocking on the door. Erica let us in, and we hauled our goodies in after us. I had the tree folded up and left it on the front doorstep while we made room for it in the living room. After I'd put it in place, I hauled in a large plastic crate of Christmas decorations, and encouraged Cathy and Erica to get to work making the tree look 'festive'. Right on schedule my weekly cleaning crew showed up and I put them to work giving the entire house a thorough cleaning. I had felt guilty chasing them away the last few weeks, and had begged and cajoled them into doing me this one favor, on Christmas Eve of all days. The team of four went to work like whirling dervishes, storming through the rooms in pairs leaving sparking chrome and sweet smells in their wake. We only had a few hours if Cathy was right, and I had one more big task lined up. The Chem-Dry carpet cleaners were running a little late, but showed up not long after the cleaning crew had finished with the living and dining rooms, and I had moved most of the furniture into the hallways and kitchen. They went right to work, and had the downstairs completed in a little over an hour. While they worked at that, I spent the time decorating the front yard and the house with Christmas lights. I hoped that Sandy liked traditional multi-color displays. I wasn't all that fond of the 'all-white' look, and was using my own lights to decorate her house. By the time I had finished I was sweating up a storm, and was getting nervous about the time. The carpet guys left first, reminding me to let the carpet dry for another hour before returning the furniture to its place. The cleaning crew followed shortly after, and I'd rewarded them nicely, tipping them an extra $100 for coming out on Christmas Eve. I moved indoors, with the lights complete and lit up, to find a Christmas wonderland awaiting me. Cathy and Erica had done an amazing job, using what I had brought over and getting the Morrison's decorations out of the attic and putting those to use as well. You could hardly tell it was the same house. "You ladies have done an incredible job!" I announced, standing in the doorway. Cathy looked a little disheveled but very pleased with herself. "Let's finish up quick. I have to get home; John's going to kill me." I'd promised her we'd be done by 4:00 and it was already nearly 5:00. She was holding a Christmas Eve open-house and was expecting half of the neighborhood over that evening. She only had a couple of hours left to finish her own preparations. I gave her a hug for all of her effort and shooed her off, while I started hauling the furniture back into place, working at a frenzied pace to get done before the unsuspecting benefactor got home. Erica followed behind me, arranging all the lamps, baskets and knick-knacks, and adding additional holiday decorations as we went. With the last of the furniture in place, I turned and gave her a high-five. "This is all our secret, right? If your Mom asks, the Christmas elves stopped by to help clean up. You did a great job, Erica." She smiled and held her arms out to me. I leaned down and gave her a hug. "Thank you," she whispered, just before she let go and disappeared up the stairs. I felt a lump in my throat. Whether it was fear of being caught by her mother, or the joy of hearing her speak her first words to me, I couldn't be sure. By eight o'clock, Sandy still hadn't shown up on my front-doorstep with a shotgun. I guess she was going to wait until after Christmas to eviscerate me over meddling where I didn't belong. I didn't care. I felt good, the best I'd felt in two weeks, thinking about that little girl celebrating a real Christmas. Kids should have Christmas. I had cleaned up and decided to make an appearance next door, as I'd promised, when I got a call from Steve. "Hey-ho, Stevorino." "Only my Grandma gets to say that, asshole." "Merry fuckin' Christmas to you too." I teased. I heard him chuckle. "Merry Christmas is right. At least for your neighbor." "How's that?" I asked, suddenly interested. "The insurance creeps were just stalling. They don't have a leg to stand on. The only change to the policy was upon their advice after an annual policy review by their own agent. A little legal pressure was all it took. It's not a lot, less than $300K, but she'll be getting her check next week." "Steve, you're the man. I take back all those nasty things I said about you." "Shit, they're probably true. If anybody would know, it'd be you." "All kidding aside. You're a life saver." I knew he hated any hint of seriousness. I could almost hear him blushing over the phone. "Hey, that's what friends are for, right?" "That's right. And I couldn't ask for a better one." "Ditto. Asshole." "Shit. You had to go and spoil it. Listen, I gotta run. Give your family my love and have a great Christmas. I'll give you a call next week." "You got it. And Darla sends her love. She made me say that. Don't get any ideas." "Got it. Give her a kiss for me. Scratch that. I'll come out after the holidays and give it to her myself. When are you going to be out of town next?" "Funny guy. Start anything with her, and I'll make you keep her and the credit card bills." "Ouch. You win," I had to laugh. "Thanks again." "Merry Christmas. Hang in there buddy." "You too." To be continued in part 2, Based on the post from Tx Tall Tales for Literotica 

Life isn't fair. So when you fight back, fight dirty. In 2 parts, Based on the post from Tx Tall Tales. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. Christmas has always been my favorite time of year. I married young, and had two perfect daughters, but my marriage was far from perfect. We had been young and in love. I was entering the community college and Denise was starting her senior year when we decided to tie the knot. Her family's ready acceptance of me was a huge factor - the family I'd never had, making me feel like a real member of theirs. I can admit it now; I probably loved being a part of the family as much as I loved Denise. Our split up was inevitable, two teenagers who knew nothing about life thinking their infatuation with each other would make everything else workout. I wasn't an all-star, super jock, Rhodes Scholar with a 12" swinging cock. I was just your average student, A and B grades, spending some bench time on the football team to get my letter, and losing my virginity at 18 to the girl I'd eventually marry. When times got rough, we didn't know how to handle it, and struck out at each other. Her family often stepped in and helped out when they could, but time after time, the great sex wasn't enough to make up for the difference in our wants, needs and ambitions. In the end, we gave up. Sometimes I think it's a miracle we made it through 5 years. Our devotion to our children allowed us to finally see past our own issues, and work out a remarkably amiable truce, with our girls at the center. Even though Denise and I couldn't live together, it turned out we got along a lot better divorced. We shared our daughters' time, lived only one neighborhood apart, and worked together as a team to make our personal differences have as little impact on our girls as possible. I had initially shared an apartment uptown, but eventually bought one of the smallest houses in the same school district, just to make things easier. It was a lot more than I needed most of the time, but when the girls stayed with me it felt like a home. And we only lived a couple of miles apart. The neighborhood was nice, predominantly younger families, in older, smallish homes. Most of the people were cordial, kept up their property, and after a few years I knew many by name and would exchange greetings at the grocery store, or when out shopping. I had become suburbanized. This was our fourth Christmas since the divorce. Denise was living with Eric, who I wish I could despise, but he was a decent guy with a great job and lousy taste in sports teams. He doted on my girls without trying to take my place. It had taken a while, but we'd developed a friendship, which wasn't a bad thing. My child support was pegged at just over $1500, with the kids on my health insurance. Even though we weren't married long enough for alimony to kick in, I was paying another $500 a month just to make the kids' lives better. And for me, that was all that really mattered. The expense had been rough at first, but with little to concentrate on other than work, my performance skyrocketed. Two promotions in three years had made the financial aspect much less problematic, but increased travel had made the ability to be available for the girls less guaranteed. Denise was good about it, and worked with me. In return I picked up some more of the girls' expenses, including music lessons and a piano. At Least we still had Christmas Christmas was special. We celebrated Christmas as an extended family. I'd come over early, and we'd have a big family breakfast and open all the presents together. I really went all out to make sure the girls got their favorite items. At six and eight years old, they were still young enough to have simple wants, and the magic of Christmas was as real as it gets. The in-laws would come over in the afternoon with more presents and we'd have a good old fashioned Christmas dinner with all the trimmings. It was nice to be part of something. I got a Christmas shut-down at work and Denise didn't, so we agreed that they'd stay with me from Christmas to New Year's, and any time she could get off, we'd usually work out something to get her time with the kids. It was understood that I wouldn't leave town, at least not for more than a day. Summer was great with the 2 weeks I got to spend with them, and we'd usually spend it on the beach. Christmas was still different. Christmas was magical. I always was given the girl's wish list, but I'd also start my shopping in late November for the must have items of the season. And I wasn't stingy; I'd buy them all up, just to make sure I didn't miss any. Stores, online auctions, Craigslist, I'd use any way possible to get my hands on the hottest presents. The first two years I'd caught hell from Denise for buying everything on the list, leaving nothing for them to get. Now I received a separate list of things I wasn't allowed to buy. So it was that I had just finished wrapping my forty-fourth present, all in glitter Barbie paper for Briana, and in Hannah Montana paper for Allora. December 5th, my earliest date so far to finish the bulk of my shopping. Sure, I'd pick up a few more things, including something for Denise and Eric, but my girls were taken care of. The presents were carefully spread around my living room, where they'd remain on display until just before Christmas, when I'd bring them over to Denise's in a big ceremony. The call came from Denise's mother, Sharon. It took me 11 minutes flat to get to the hospital. I was still too late. Denise and Briana had both died en-route. Eric had passed away only ten minutes before I'd arrived. But Allora, my perfect little Allora, was fighting for her life, in critical condition. She'd always been a fighter, would never back down from any challenge. She'd beat this too, I just knew it. It was a freak accident, with a car dodging out of the way to miss a coyote on the road. An 18 wheeler behind the car did his best to avoid the car in front of him, but ended up fishtailing, and taking out a suburban in the next lane over. That vehicle crossed the median and hit my ex-wife's family van head-on. Six dead already and one little girl still fighting hard for her dear life. Sharon and I kept a vigil over the little towhead, and when the doctors came out after 6 hours and declared the worst was over and she was in stable condition, we fell into each other's arms and cried like children. We stayed by her side, one of us always present, and Sharon called me when my baby woke up and spoke. For three long days we watched her slowly heal in the hospital, the worst of her bruises, cuts and contusions blossoming on the second day, and only just starting to fade again. I'm not a religious guy by nature, but I found myself on my knees beside her bed, praying to God to take care of her, and giving thanks for pulling her through this horrendous disaster. At 4:18 pm on December 7th, she passed away. No warning, no reason, she was there, and then she wasn't. The doctors suspected a clot. I suspected incompetence. I finally understood how a person could get so down on themselves that life might not even feel worth living. I went home and shut myself off from the world. After a while I took the phone off the hook. Hell, let's be honest, I ripped the fucking wires out of the wall so I didn't have to listen to one more bleeding heart tell me they were “sorry for my loss”. The cell phone was easier. I just turned it off. Several people from work came by and assured me that I could take as much time as I needed. They'd bring me food, and news, and would leave as soon as they felt they'd spent the minimum time required socially by the situation. Denise's family took care of the funeral arrangements. They attempted to call, and even stopped by for my input. I gave them a check for $10,000 to take care of the girls, nearly wiping out my savings. What was I going to spend it on now? I couldn't bring myself to go to the showing but I did take a shower and put on a suit for the funeral. It was a bleak day, gray skies, 20 mile an hour winds threatening to tear the top off of the outdoor tent. The ground was soggy from rain the previous night. Just perfect. "Thanks, God. Piss on a guy when he's down. Well, fuck You too." I shook the required hands, and kissed the offered cheeks until I just couldn't take it any longer. All these fake people. Fake emotions. Tell me how sorry they were then go home to their perfect little families and eat meatloaf. Fuck'em. Fuck'em all. Fourteen days. Two solid weeks in that dark house. I wouldn't turn on any lights. No TV. I didn't bathe, I didn't shave. I sat in my chair or I lay in my bed and wallowed. I had a few visitors after the first couple of days, but I'd rarely let them in, and before long they had the decency to stop showing up. Only Cathy from next door wouldn't let me sink into complete oblivion. Every day, at least 3 times a day, she'd check in on me. I wouldn't have let her in, but she had a key to the back door for emergencies and wasn't afraid to use it. She'd open the windows a crack, and goad me into getting out of bed and at least sit in the living room. She'd bring food, which she'd set in front of me, and refused to leave until I at least tried it. I insisted on getting my key back, and she handed it over willingly enough. And showed up again the next day. She'd made copies. Meddlesome bitch. Again, she badgered me into eating her breakfast. And she'd talk. God, how that woman could talk! I got tired just listening. All the neighborhood gossip, town gossip, political gossip, school gossip - she was plugged in everywhere and knew it all. Who was doing what, or whom. Griping about people who still had Thanksgiving decorations up, or had Christmas blowups in their front yard. Church fiascos and neighborhood vendettas, she would sit there, drink her tea (or bourbon and coke if the sun had set) and fill me in. I didn't care. It had been two weeks since the accident. I'd lost more than 10 pounds, and really just wanted to crawl in a hole and die. But Cathy wouldn't let me. She made it her personal mission to cheer me up, get me to respond, bring me back to life. Then one day she let me have it with both barrels. She walked up to me and slapped me across the face. Hard. "Damn it Alex! Snap out of it! Life is hard. And it isn't fair, but as bad as you have it, there's always someone who has it worse. Often in your own backyard if you have the eyes to see it." "What do you know about it?" I snapped viciously. "I notice your kids are alive." "I know my mother died when I was six, and my father left when I was thirteen, leaving Mike to raise my sister and me. He was seventeen years old. But he manned-up and did the job the best he could. That's what I know. Life is hard." "Life is hard. Life's a bitch and then you die. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. When God closes a door he opens a window. If I hear one more God-damned cliché I swear I'll kill something," I growled. "Alex, you got a raw deal. You had two perfect little girls, and now they're gone. Your past is shattered. Your little bit of immortality is lost. And as bad as you've got it, I'd remind you others have it worse, and they just press on. You need to as well," Cathy told me, kneeling beside me and holding my hands. The woman barely knew me. A middle-aged mother of three with grown kids, and a workaholic husband. Her life was her home, keeping it immaculate and decorated for every holiday and season. Now it seemed I was her newest project. Why should I matter that much to her? Couldn't she see I didn't want her help? "Sure, starving Ethiopians, children in Nigeria dying of aids, Tibetan monks martyred, it's a tough world. Boo hoo." "You don't have to look as far as Ethiopia or Tibet. There are people right here, right on your own block that are really struggling. Open your eyes. If you don't like the unfairness do something about it. Even up the odds a bit. Make a difference somewhere. Get back to living." Something she said must have gnawed its way down to my subconscious. I spent my usual 14 hours or so in bed, but when I awoke I was thinking about her constant comments about someone in my own backyard that had it worse. I cataloged each person on my block, in my head, and nobody really had it that bad. Sure, Neil, three doors down had lost his job, but his wife was still working, and he was looking. The Harris's on the corner had a boy in Iraq, but as far as I could tell he was still Ok, and they had three more at home. The Martins, one down from the corner, fought all the time, and even had the cops called in on them once but they were still together. What did Cathy mean? I expanded the radius of consideration to include the blocks surrounding us. Then it hit me. Across the alley in back, two houses past Cathy's own. Six months ago. Barry Morrison had driven into an empty field behind the local middle school and eaten a bullet. I didn't know much about the family - I just knew there was one. When Cathy came over, I had showered off the top two layers of grime and sweat, and was drinking a Coke in the living room. "Good morning, Alex, beautiful day outside. Why don't we go out on the porch?" "The Morrisons. Tell me about them." She placed her mug of tea in the microwave, warming it up, then walked out my front door and sat in one of my rocking chairs out front. Irritated, I followed, and sat in the chair beside her. "The Morrisons?" "Sandy and her daughter Erica. You won't see much of her; she's working two jobs trying to keep the house over their heads. They're still fighting with the insurance company over payment. Suicide clause won't pay under two years. He had insurance for years, but just around two years ago he changed the terms. She's been trying to sell the house, but it's underwater, and nobody's buying." "How's the little one?" "Erica's not doing so well. She's seeing a counselor twice a week, and hardly speaks anymore. The school's talking about holding her back," Cathy explained. She sounded sad. "Do we know anything more about why he did it?" "No crimes, he wasn't fired, no embezzling, it's not clear what it was about. Apparently he'd been depressed for quite a while, but the underlying situation is still a blank as far as I know." "Harsh on the family, going out like that," I told her, finding the whole idea hard to grasp. "To say the least. The poor woman is worn to a frazzle." "And how does this all matter to me?" I asked. "It doesn't. It doesn't have to matter to anybody. They're on their own. Alone." "No family help?" "Not that I know of. If they're around, we don't see much of them, that's for sure." "Cathy, how the hell do you know all this stuff?" I had to ask. "People just like to talk to me. I'm a very good listener," she told me with a big smile. We sat quietly enjoying the crisp air, finishing our drinks. "You're a good neighbor too, Cathy. Thanks," I said softly. "That's what neighbors are for," she said, reaching out and patting me on my arm. That's what neighbors are for. Cathy brought me dinner again and I realized I was starving. She beamed at me when I finished the whole platter. "Let's go for a walk, Alex. You could use a stretch of the legs." It had gotten chilly, and we bundled up a bit. She took the lead and we walked down the block and turned up the neighborhood. We headed back up the next block and she regaled me with the entire history and habits of the inhabitants of each place we passed. She might have been a good listener, but I had to wonder when she ever was quiet long enough to hear anything. It was obvious when we got to Sandy Morrison's place. The "For Sale" sign was a dead giveaway. The unkempt yard and overgrown bushes indicated a lack of care for months. It couldn't help with the sales prospects. The door paint was faded, and there were no Christmas lights or decorations set up. I thought the Realtor wasn't earning their commission, letting the place show like this. Through the window I could see a desktop Christmas tree, maybe two feet tall, lit up all in white. Strangely, Cathy stopped speaking before we got to the house, and didn't speak again until the end of the block. "Sad," was all she said. We took a round-about path back to my house, and our conversation had returned to the safety of weather concerns, community issues, and such, carefully skirting any discussion of the Morrisons. I was feeling the chill after the walk, and invited Cathy in for a cup of coffee, Irish fortified if she so desired. We drank our coffee in front of my gas fireplace, warming our old bones. Damn that neighbor of mine, and her good intentions! She'd not only gotten me to think of something other than my own misery, and the unfairness of it all, but she had me thinking about those poor girls behind me, and what they must be going through. Damn it! It wasn't fair. I guess I still wasn't ready for pleasant company. Angry at the world, I threw my mug at the wall, shattering it, and leaned over with my head in my hands, doing my best to hold back the tears. Big boys don't cry. Cathy stood and ran her fingers through my hair for just a moment before leaving out the back door. Kind enough to leave me alone to wallow in my misery a little longer. December 22nd. Just three days until Christmas. When Cathy came over that morning, I was already up and dressed. I had my working duds on and coffee and bagels ready. "You're up early," she commented, helping herself to the java. "It's almost 10," I reminded her. "Not so awfully early." She laughed. "Seems to me anything before noon is quite early as of late. Got plans?" I nodded. "Thought I'd head over to the Morrison's and see what I can do about the outside of the house. Clean it up a bit. Make it a little more presentable if they're really planning on selling it." "That's mighty neighborly of you." "It'll give me something to do. I need to get out of this damned house." After our coffee, she walked with me across the alley, all my yard-work gear in a wheelbarrow. The grass was dormant, but long, and the bushes were out of control. I didn't notice when Cathy left, but she returned in a few hours with some sandwiches for lunch, insisting I take a break. I'd finished the bush trimming and had mowed the lawn, bagging the trimmings. I was just finishing the edging when she appeared. I took a break, and listened to her chatter about the neighborhood activities, and how sad it was that in the past few months nobody had offered to do as much as I had. "I guess we victims of fate need to stick together." "It already looks 100% better. If you want to work in the backyard, I have a key to the gate." "It figures you would." "What is that supposed to mean?" she asked. "It just doesn't surprise me. I bet you've been helping out when you could." She sighed. "Not too much. She's too damn proud. Doesn't want any help from anybody." I shook my head. "Now you tell me. She'll probably call the police on me." "So what if she does? You know you're doing the right thing. I'll bail you out if need be." I let her unlock the back gate, and saw I had my work cut out for me. The back yard was worse than the front. The fence needed work as well, some boards were broken and loose, and one whole section was sagging. Luckily, my tools were only a couple of hundred feet away, across the alley, and I was soon at work, determined to finish before the residents arrived home. The biggest problem was one of the fence posts which had rotted out at the bottom. A new post and some quick-setting cement, solved that problem. Within an hour I'd be able to reattach the fence crossbeams to the new 4x4. I turned to see a young girl, maybe 7 or 8 years old, watching me from the porch. Crap. "Just thought I'd fix your fence, before it falls down. I hope you don't mind." She just shook her head. She stood there watching me, and I felt ill at ease. I was a stranger. She shouldn't be talking to me. I should probably leave. "I'm just going to clean up here and head back home. I can finish up later when your mother's home." I straightened up my clothing a bit, wiping my hands on my pants. "I'm Alex Reed. I live across the alley," I explained, pointing down a few houses. She nodded. She reminded me so much of my own daughter, right around that age. Her hair was the same length, blonde, but not quite as light as Allora's. Allora. My perfect little Allora. I closed my eyes, seeing her in that hospital bed, bruised and bandaged, fighting for her life. Her hair tucked under the bandages, the few strands that stuck out dark from sweat. Her body so small in that antiseptic white bed. My Allora. Gone. It felt like somebody had wrapped a band around my chest, and pulled it tight. I couldn't breath. I turned away from Erica, so she wouldn't have to see me lose it. She'd suffered enough already. I felt the tears rise, unbidden, and I started for the gate. I had to get out of there. I barely made it as far as the driveway. It was too much. I closed the gate behind me and crumbled to the ground, seated with my head between my knees, my hands covering my head. It was Christmas, damn it! Christmas! My girls were supposed to be with me, shaking their presents and trying to guess what was in them. Instead Allora and Briana were gone. Their lives snuffed out before they could see anything of the world, before they could find their place, before they could fall in love. No shaking presents. No stomach aches from eating too many holiday sweets. No late night parties to drive me crazy with worry. No learning to drive. No struggling to find the right college. No bringing a boy home for the first time. No cramming for tests. No Spring Breaks. No proms. Nothing. Ever again. I was sobbing, and the little girl who had lost her father was standing on the driveway beside me, her hand resting on my shoulder, while I made a fool of myself. "Erica! You know your mother doesn't want you out if she's not at home. You should go back inside. Mr. Reed will be all right, he's just tired. Go on now." Cathy had me by the arm, and was doing her best to get me back on my feet. "C'mon Alex, not here. Let's get you home." I knew she was right. I stood up, wiping my eyes on my sleeve. "I'll be alright. Just give me a minute." I pulled myself together, took a couple of deep breaths, and stood straight. "I'm Ok. Seeing her was just a little too much, too soon. But I'm fine now. I need to clean up here, and put the fence back together." "Alright. I'll help." It only took us a few minutes to clean up and cart the bags of yard trimmings out to the rear curb. I ran all the yard tools back to my house, and returned to finish the fence work. I braced the new post with a couple of 2x4's and reattached the two panels. Cathy's help made it a lot easier. When we were done we both stood back and looked over the yard. Much better. "I'm going to go inside and fix Erica her after-school snack. It's about all that Sandy will let me do. Why don't you come with me?" "I don't know if I should. Sandy doesn't know me. She may not want me in her house when she's not there." "Never mind that. She'll be fine. Just come in a moment. It'll only take a few minutes." I followed her inside, through the glass sliding door. Erica was sitting on the floor watching TV. I didn't even look that way. I was afraid that seeing the wrong TV show would dredge up more painful memories. "Where can I wash my hands?" I asked Cathy. She pointed to a door. "In there." I headed to the bathroom. "Don't use the toilet. That one doesn't flush anymore." I could hear the running water in the commode. I washed my hands and wiped them on my shirt. There was no towel in the bathroom. Then I took the top off the tank and examined inside. Nothing complicated. The chain that connected the stopper to the handle extension was missing. Lifting the rubber stopper, I saw it was under the lip, the cause of the running water. I reattached the chain, and tested the flushing. Worked fine. "Fixed. The chain was just off." Cathy nodded, and returned to making a grilled cheese sandwich. Briana loved grilled cheese. But you couldn't cut the sandwich, and you had to remove the crust. I wouldn't be cutting the crust off of sandwiches anymore. I took a deep breath, and went to examine the front door. "Cathy? I'm going to head home and get my sander and some paint. This door needs some help desperately." "Go ahead. Sandy won't be home until late, and if we're going to get in trouble for the yard and the fence, we might as well make it a trifecta." Fifteen minutes later, I was running the battery powered hand-sander over the door, removing the worst of the existing paint. I didn't have too much to do, it was already mostly bare. I had brought over three possible paints to use, all of which I knew were approved by the homeowner's association. "What color paint do you think I should use?" I asked Cathy. "Let's ask Erica." She returned in a few seconds with Erica at her side. "We're going to paint the front door, Erica. What color would you like?" We had a choice of off-white, light blue, and a dark brown. She pointed to the light blue, then seated herself nearby to watch. I had already removed the hardware. I taped the hinges and bottom kick-plate, laid out my drip cloth, and started applying a coat of paint, top-to-bottom. I looked over at the young girl watching me so intently. I saw the tree beside her, so small and bare, with one little package underneath it. Christmas trees shouldn't look like that. They should be big, full of decorations, all sorts, each one with its own story. Handcrafted special ornaments, with pictures of your family members. Popsicle stick ornaments with the Elmer's glue showing. Lights blinking in an assortment of colors, candy canes and tinsel, and an angel on top. There should be presents around the bottom, stacked and scattered, so many you can't even get near the tree. It was the first year I didn't have a tree. We'd normally go out as a family and visit one of the Boy Scout tree lots, picking the biggest, fullest tree we thought could fit in my living room. Then we'd decorate it together, Christmas songs playing in the background, and sipping eggnog. We'd spend an eternity untangling the lights, replacing the bulbs that wouldn't work, and replacing the metal hangars on the decorations that needed them. It was an all day affair. Not this year. Not ever again. I realized I'd stopped painting, and I was staring. A long drip of paint from my brush was running down the door. The little girl looked at me, almost as if she understood. "Would you like to help?" I asked. She looked around, as if to ask if I was talking to her. "Yes, you." She shyly nodded yes. I reached over to my bucket of painting supplies and pulled out a small brush. I pointed to the inlaid panels on the bottom half of the door. "You can paint here, around the edge of the panel. It needs to be done with a detail brush like the one you have. Get into the cracks." She nodded, dipped her brush, and started painting straight down the panel edge, doing a good job. "That's perfect. Just like that." I went back to work completing the top half, and had to work around her, sometimes leaning way over to paint above her. She saw what I was doing, and I saw the mischievous heart of a little girl for a moment when she started backing away from the door, making me lean further and further over. "Hey!" I said in mock outrage. "You're doing that on purpose!" When she giggled, apparently ignoring me, and continuing with her painting effort, I felt a small leap in my heart. It was nice to hear her giggle. "When you're done with the painting, and done torturing me, you can paint around the edges of the two hinges and the kick-plate. If I won't be in your way." Little Erica nodded, and continued her careful painting, working slowly and deliberately around the perimeter before moving onto the hinges. I found myself kneeling beside her, painting the bottom-half of the door, while she detailed the trim. We switched places so I could work on the side near the hinges while she completed the bottom trim. "Not bad," I commented, holding out a drip bucket for her to dump her brush in. I sealed up the paint can, peeled off the trim tape, and stood back to get a look at the results. A little girl stood beside me, her blonde hair a poignant reminder of all I'd lost. I took a deep breath to compose myself. "Not bad at all. Think your mother will like it?" I looked down at her while she thought it over. A smile slowly spread across her face. She nodded twice. I put my hand down for a fist bump, just like I would with my girls. She shrank away for a second, then glanced up at my face for a second before making a tiny fist and bumping her knuckles against mine. We were enjoying the last of the natural light as dusk was settling in. Cathy walked out and stood beside us, giving her approval. "The blue is perfect. Great choice Erica." Erica stopped admiring her work, looked at Cathy, and blinked like she was just seeing her for the first time. She looked up and down the block, then walked back into the house and planted herself in front of the TV. "Ready to call it a day?" Cathy asked. "Yeah. Best get while the getting is good." I packed up my paint supplies and in just a couple of trips hid any trace that I'd ever been there. Except of course for the door, yard and fence. Oh, and the toilet, although that really didn't count for much. Back home I cleaned up and sat down pondering what I'd just done. I had mixed feelings, a little guilt creeping in for taking liberties with someone else's house. But thinking about that little girl, and what she must be going through, made anything I could do to help worthwhile. Thinking was dangerous. I realized I hadn't been very nice to the people who had tried to help me. I decided to rectify that if possible, and found a new phone cable for my phone and plugged it in. Picking it up I heard a dial tone. Good. I made a list of phone calls, and went to work. Calling, one-by-one, my friends, neighbors and co-workers, I apologized for my behavior and thanked them for their concern. To a one, they blew off my boorish behavior, and promised they'd be there for me if I needed anything. I stopped, with just a few calls remaining, wondering where those people were for Sandy and Erica, who seemed to need it far more than I. I picked up the phone and dialed Denise's family. I knew it was going to be tough. I apologized for leaving the funeral arrangements to them, and thanked them for all they had done. Speaking to Dan was difficult, but my conversation with Sharon almost did me in. The time we'd spent in the hospital, watching over Allora came up, and I had to take a break for a bit to get my emotions under rein, while I listened to Sharon sob. Even after the divorce we'd remained friendly, and I was glad that we'd had each other on that fateful watch. I promised I'd stop by in the next couple of days, she insisted there was some paperwork that needed taking care of. My last call was to Steve, my roommate for three years in college, and best friend in the world. I had hung up on him twice that first day, and it was haunting me. He'd left more than a dozen messages on my cell-phone voicemail. Plus, I had ulterior motives. The phone rang several times and went to the answering machine. I felt like a weight had lifted, I wouldn't have to face him. "Steve, Alex here. I'm sorry I..." "Alex, I'm here, don't hang up, I'm here. Let me turn off this damned machine. Hold on." I heard some rustling and the echo of our voices disappear. "Jesus, Alex. You're killing me." "Sorry. It hit me so hard; I just couldn't listen to one more well-wisher." "I understand." He would understand. His father had passed away while we were in our last year of college, and he took it hard. Started drinking heavy, cutting classes, and chasing anything with boobs. I took care of him as much as I could, going so far as to collect his homework and projects, even talking to his professors. He'd been slow to pull it together, but eventually came around. Five years later, less than a year out of law school, it was his mother. I had flown out and spent a week with him. I knew it would be hard - he was an only child, and he had few relatives, and none he was close to. He came out of that funk bitter, and it cost him his girlfriend - no loss there. We'd been as close as brothers, hell, probably closer. We still were. Steven understood. I opened my soul to him, and stayed on the phone for ages. I heard him send his wife off to bed, while I vented. It was a much needed cathartic outpouring that left me exhausted. "What can I do? Anything, you know it. Should I fly down?" As much as I'd love to see him, it had been nearly a year, he was a family man now, and it was Christmas. "No. Stay with your family. I'm doing better, and if I need to I can call." "Of course." "I also wanted to say I was sorry." "Sorry?" "Sorry that I couldn't do more for you when you lost your parents. I never really experienced losing anyone like that, and couldn't comprehend what you were going through." "Shut the fuck up. You were there for me, buddy. Always. When nobody else was. I'll never forget that. Enough said. Don't need to be getting sappy over it." I couldn't help but chuckle. "Alright. By the way, there's one other thing you might be able to do for me." "Anything. That's what friend are for." That's what friends are for. The pounding on my front door was not unexpected. Ten o'clock at night might be a little of a surprise, but the knock wasn't. I went to the front door, and looked out through the glass beside it. A woman stood there. I had a fairly good idea of who it was. I opened the door. "Mrs. Morrison?" She glared at me and nodded. "Come in, please. Can I get you a cup of tea, or coffee?" I turned and walked into the house, leaving the door open. I walked to the kitchen, and poured myself a cup of coffee. I turned to see her standing in the archway to the living room. She looked ready to burst, but I watched her breath deep and run her hands through her short hair. She looked young. Too young to be going through the hell she was currently experiencing. "I don't want you around my house or my daughter," she finally snapped. "I understand, and I'm sorry I interfered." I walked past her and sat down in the living room. "I can't explain it. I had to do something to get out of this house, and when Cathy told me about your situation I guess I got carried away." She stared at me, and crossed her arms. "Don't mention her name. I could kill her." I smiled. "Believe me, I understand that. She's been in my house every day, 3 or 4 times a day, meddling in my life." "Meddling is right," she snapped. She walked over and sat on the loveseat across from me. "Listen. I appreciate the thought. And I'm sorry for your loss." She smirked. "Ha, listen to me. Sorry for your loss. Crap." She leaned back. "We're doing fine. I don't need your help, I don't know you from Adam, and I don't want you around my daughter when nobody's around. Jesus, you painted my frickin' front door blue! A little presumptuous, don't you think?" I smiled. "I would have picked the wood tone. Blue was Erica's choice, one of the four approved colors according to our Stalinist homeowner's association." She leaned back, rolling her eyes up. "Don't remind me. If the bastards send me one more notice about yard and fence maintenance, I'll rip their lungs out." She seemed to calm down for a second, maybe realizing that those notices would no longer be coming. "I know. I should be thankful but I don't need a stranger meddling in my life. Understood? No more doing things for me." "I didn't do it for you. I did it for that little girl. You don't know me. I don't know you. Agreed. I don't know what happened to you and your family or why. Not really. What I do know is that girl of yours doesn't deserve the hand she's been dealt. That's all I could think. I just wanted to help where I could." She looked angry. "I'm sorry you lost your daughters. I am. But Erica is MINE. My daughter. My responsibility. Not yours." "You are right. She's no responsibility of mine." "That's right. I don't know you. We live three doors down and in two years you've never spoken a word to us. Six months we've been on our own. I certainly don't need you poking your head in now. I don't know you, I don't want to know you, and I'm not sure I'd like you if I did." "Welcome to the club." "Club?" "I'm not sure I like me either. I'm sorry, alright? Now I'm tired. You can let yourself out." She got up and stomped her way to the front door, closing it sharply behind her. That had gone better than I'd expected. December 23rd. I got up early, cleaning up, even shaving. I had errands to run. Cathy showed up in my kitchen while I was preparing breakfast. "At least neither of us is in jail," were her first words. "Not yet." "You did a good thing. Don't forget it." "I know. Still she was right. We should have asked permission." "The hell we should! She'd never have given it." "Then maybe we should leave her be." "If a person was drowning, and they couldn't yell for help, wouldn't you still throw them a life preserver?" "A little overly-dramatic, don't you think?" "No. She's going down for the third time, and is in complete denial. By the time she accepts the fact she needs help it could be too late." She looked me over. "You clean up nicely. What are you up to?" "I need to run some errands, see a few people, stop by work, some other stuff." "Don't overdue it," she said, still in her 'caring' mode. "Need some company?" "Thanks, I appreciate the offer. I can handle this." "Ok, you have my number. Give me a call if you need anything." The office visit was painful. I stopped in, thanking my bosses for their understanding, visiting a few friends and letting them know I appreciated their concern. The way they looked at me just drove home how alone I was. I was glad to get out of there. I made a visit to the florist and picked up a trunk-load of Christmas cacti. I drove around to everyone I could think of, expressing my gratitude, and leaving the pretty plants behind. I used the same corny line with each one, comparing my 'prickliness' the last couple of weeks to the plant's spines. I left a few plants on doorsteps with a note. By mid-afternoon I felt I'd done my part. I stopped by Denise's parent's house, and Sharon greeted me at the door with a hug before she broke into tears. After she'd soaked my shirt she brought me in. "There's something you need to know, Alex." She sounded odd, and I wondered what was up. "Denise left a will. She left you the house and the lion's share of her insurance, to take care of the girls if anything happened to her." I was stunned. It was so unexpected. "I... I don't know what to say." Sharon reached out and patted my hand. "It's not what I'd expected, but if you think about it, it makes sense. What are you going to do?" "I guess I'll sell the house. I certainly don't need two houses." "She had mortgage insurance, it'll be paid off. You could rent it out, you know. Earn some steady income off of it." It was too much too fast. I couldn't think straight. "I'll have to think about it. I just wasn't expecting anything like this." "I understand." She held my hand. "How are you doing?" "Better. Not good, but at least I can get out of bed." "We're here if you need us. You know that, right?" "Yes. Thank you. After the girls, you were the best thing that came out of our marriage." "We love you too. Don't forget it." "I'm sorry I was so useful about the funeral arrangements, I don't think I could have handled it without you," I confessed. "Don't even think about it. That's what family is for." That's what family is for. My day wasn't quite complete. A few more calls and I was putting things in motion I wasn't sure I should, but I couldn't resist. Around dinner time, I ventured next door. Cathy's husband John answered the door. "The hermit has left the cave. Good to see you out and about." He shook my hand, letting me in. "Cath - Alex is here." Cathy came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. "How'd your day go?" "Not bad. A few surprises, but I survived." "We're about to eat. Care to sit down with us?" "Maybe. When do you think Sandy will be getting home?" "Probably nine-ish, would be my guess. Why?" "Just want to talk to her if I can." "You have time for dinner then?" "Sure." By 8:30 I was enjoying a cigar with John, sitting out in their driveway, trying to figure out what our football team's chances were of going anywhere in the playoffs. We were strategically positioned so I had a view of the Morrison's driveway. When Sandy drove up, I excused myself from John and jogged across the alley. "Sandy, can I talk to you a moment?" She looked ready to chase me off, but after a few awkward seconds she crossed her arms, leaned back against the car and raised her eyebrows. "Again, I'm sorry I entered your house without your permission. I know that was wrong. All I can say is I wasn't really thinking straight." She rolled her eyes. "Anything else?" "Yes. I know you told me you didn't need my help, but there's someone I'd like you speak to. I have a friend that's a lawyer, and he's willing to check into your insurance situation pro bono. Like you and me, he's suffered a few losses in life, and he'd like to help you if he can. If you'd just give him a call, he'll see what he can do." I could see she wanted to say no, but was torn. She gnawed on her bottom lip, which I saw were chapped. She looked exhausted. I pulled out his card and held it out to her. "It'll only take a couple of minutes. It can't hurt." She finally nodded and took the card from me. "Is that it?" "One last thing. I'm headed over to my ex-wife's house tomorrow to clean out the refrigerator, and to get rid of her tree. It's my responsibility now. I was going to ditch the tree; it's one of those pre-lit artificial ones which I never could stand. I thought, if you don't mind, and it's not interfering too much, I could bring it by here and you could take if off my hands. Otherwise it's going to the dump." I spit out the words quickly before she could find too much fault with me. She seemed resigned to allow me to interfere, at least this much. She sighed and finally spoke up. "Alright. That would be nice. Now if that's all, I'd like to go in now. My feet and back are aching and I have to get up early tomorrow." "That's all. You can call Steve tonight if you'd like, he's a night owl and is expecting your call. Good night." I took off quickly before she could change her mind about anything. I had recruited Cathy's help over dinner the night before, assuming things went Ok with Sandy, and by noon we were back at the Morrison house, knocking on the door. Erica let us in, and we hauled our goodies in after us. I had the tree folded up and left it on the front doorstep while we made room for it in the living room. After I'd put it in place, I hauled in a large plastic crate of Christmas decorations, and encouraged Cathy and Erica to get to work making the tree look 'festive'. Right on schedule my weekly cleaning crew showed up and I put them to work giving the entire house a thorough cleaning. I had felt guilty chasing them away the last few weeks, and had begged and cajoled them into doing me this one favor, on Christmas Eve of all days. The team of four went to work like whirling dervishes, storming through the rooms in pairs leaving sparking chrome and sweet smells in their wake. We only had a few hours if Cathy was right, and I had one more big task lined up. The Chem-Dry carpet cleaners were running a little late, but showed up not long after the cleaning crew had finished with the living and dining rooms, and I had moved most of the furniture into the hallways and kitchen. They went right to work, and had the downstairs completed in a little over an hour. While they worked at that, I spent the time decorating the front yard and the house with Christmas lights. I hoped that Sandy liked traditional multi-color displays. I wasn't all that fond of the 'all-white' look, and was using my own lights to decorate her house. By the time I had finished I was sweating up a storm, and was getting nervous about the time. The carpet guys left first, reminding me to let the carpet dry for another hour before returning the furniture to its place. The cleaning crew followed shortly after, and I'd rewarded them nicely, tipping them an extra $100 for coming out on Christmas Eve. I moved indoors, with the lights complete and lit up, to find a Christmas wonderland awaiting me. Cathy and Erica had done an amazing job, using what I had brought over and getting the Morrison's decorations out of the attic and putting those to use as well. You could hardly tell it was the same house. "You ladies have done an incredible job!" I announced, standing in the doorway. Cathy looked a little disheveled but very pleased with herself. "Let's finish up quick. I have to get home; John's going to kill me." I'd promised her we'd be done by 4:00 and it was already nearly 5:00. She was holding a Christmas Eve open-house and was expecting half of the neighborhood over that evening. She only had a couple of hours left to finish her own preparations. I gave her a hug for all of her effort and shooed her off, while I started hauling the furniture back into place, working at a frenzied pace to get done before the unsuspecting benefactor got home. Erica followed behind me, arranging all the lamps, baskets and knick-knacks, and adding additional holiday decorations as we went. With the last of the furniture in place, I turned and gave her a high-five. "This is all our secret, right? If your Mom asks, the Christmas elves stopped by to help clean up. You did a great job, Erica." She smiled and held her arms out to me. I leaned down and gave her a hug. "Thank you," she whispered, just before she let go and disappeared up the stairs. I felt a lump in my throat. Whether it was fear of being caught by her mother, or the joy of hearing her speak her first words to me, I couldn't be sure. By eight o'clock, Sandy still hadn't shown up on my front-doorstep with a shotgun. I guess she was going to wait until after Christmas to eviscerate me over meddling where I didn't belong. I didn't care. I felt good, the best I'd felt in two weeks, thinking about that little girl celebrating a real Christmas. Kids should have Christmas. I had cleaned up and decided to make an appearance next door, as I'd promised, when I got a call from Steve. "Hey-ho, Stevorino." "Only my Grandma gets to say that, asshole." "Merry fuckin' Christmas to you too." I teased. I heard him chuckle. "Merry Christmas is right. At least for your neighbor." "How's that?" I asked, suddenly interested. "The insurance creeps were just stalling. They don't have a leg to stand on. The only change to the policy was upon their advice after an annual policy review by their own agent. A little legal pressure was all it took. It's not a lot, less than $300K, but she'll be getting her check next week." "Steve, you're the man. I take back all those nasty things I said about you." "Shit, they're probably true. If anybody would know, it'd be you." "All kidding aside. You're a life saver." I knew he hated any hint of seriousness. I could almost hear him blushing over the phone. "Hey, that's what friends are for, right?" "That's right. And I couldn't ask for a better one." "Ditto. Asshole." "Shit. You had to go and spoil it. Listen, I gotta run. Give your family my love and have a great Christmas. I'll give you a call next week." "You got it. And Darla sends her love. She made me say that. Don't get any ideas." "Got it. Give her a kiss for me. Scratch that. I'll come out after the holidays and give it to her myself. When are you going to be out of town next?" "Funny guy. Start anything with her, and I'll make you keep her and the credit card bills." "Ouch. You win," I had to laugh. "Thanks again." "Merry Christmas. Hang in there buddy." "You too." To be continued in part 2, Based on the post from Tx Tall Tales for Literotica 

Alex and Deanna Reed, the company's lead designer, co-founded Yacht Tubs. They opened in late August last year. Since then, she says, they've rented out their two boats to just about every demographic imaginable: bachelor parties, couples on date nights, families looking for a novel pandemic activity. --- Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/dylanconroy/support

Efrain and David break the silence and come crashing in, into your little world. But at least this time they brought their latest episode filled with everything you could ever want to know about Tori's cover of Depeche Mode's most popular track. Today they find that words are actually very necessary as they conduct interviews with Jon Justice (Depeche Mode: The Podcast); Alex Reed and Gloria Hawa (Depeche Mode super fans); Krissy Mathews (Political Correspondent) and PRT (Not So Silent Wine Enthusiast). As always, go deep inside this Strange Little Girl's lore through the words of Neil Gaiman, the voice of Macy Rodman, and the art of Reggie Doherty. You'll also get a personalized song birth chart reading from our Resident Witch Amy K, and as always a ton of sound clips, rare interviews, forgotten moments and more. As a cherry on top we offer a complete study of the live evolution of the song in our A-M-O-S Live Lounge™️ as well as an In Your Room coda. And last but silently not least, enjoy a classic remix of Enjoy the Silence by the legendary Joshua Speedbliss. Rest assured, all you ever wanted, all you ever needed is here. In your ears.

Brent Martineau & Austen Lane talk to Icemen commentator Alex Reed ahead of the team's game 7 matchup tonight against the Everblades in the first round of the ECHL playoffs. Plus, The guys continue debating if the Jaguars roster is set, and if there've been any developments on who will call the plays on offense this season.

In this enlightening episode of our podcast, we explore the transformative journey of Alex Reed, a tech entrepreneur whose path from the brink of burnout to breakthrough success illustrates the profound power of embracing vulnerability and faith. Delve into "How Discovering Your Weakness Can Lead to Triumph in Six Steps," a compelling narrative that redefines the essence of success for Christian business leaders. Join us as we unravel the six pivotal steps from weakness to divine strength, offering both personal reflections and actionable insights for anyone seeking to navigate the complexities of leadership with grace and resilience.

Dr. Alex Reed is a clinical psychologist who specializes in the assessment and support of neurodevelopmental diagnoses across the lifespan Alex and I are both contributors in Dr. Becky's goodinside community- a movement and platform that we really enjoy supporting. Alex and I have so many sideline conversations about neurodiversity and are constantly sharing resources and posts that speak to our souls— they usually have to do with finding ND affirming care. So I invited Alex on today because she does most of her work within the more traditional DSM-medical model, so she can give us more insight into that lens… but more specifically, I invited her on because she and I have both been hearing about how many parents leave this process-their evaluation, their diagnosis with a referral to therapies they aren't sure about, or they leave with more questions, or they leave feeling icky. I'm hoping Alex can peel back some of those layers for us today so we can understand a bit more about the process and the quote unquote system– and more importantly, what's within our control as parents if we can ONLY access those services through “the system”- what are our options to help our neurodivergent kids thrive as they are? Find more from her on instagram @dr_alex_reedSensory Detectives Bootcamp Waitlist Episode transcript: https://www.theotbutterfly.com/podcast The OT Butterfly Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/theotbutterfly Work with Laura: https://www.theotbutterfly.com/parentconsult Buy "A kids book about neurodiversity" : www.theotbutterfly.com/book

Life isn’t fair. So when you fight back, fight dirty.In 2 parts, Based on the post from Tx Tall Tales. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.Christmas has always been my favorite time of year. I married young, and had two perfect daughters, but my marriage was far from perfect. We had been young and in love. I was entering the community college and Denise was starting her senior year when we decided to tie the knot. Her family’s ready acceptance of me was a huge factor - the family I’d never had, making me feel like a real member of theirs. I can admit it now; I probably loved being a part of the family as much as I loved Denise.Our split up was inevitable, two teenagers who knew nothing about life thinking their infatuation with each other would make everything else workout. I wasn’t an all-star, super jock, Rhodes Scholar with a 12" swinging cock. I was just your average student, A and B grades, spending some bench time on the football team to get my letter, and losing my virginity at 18 to the girl I’d eventually marry.When times got rough, we didn’t know how to handle it, and struck out at each other. Her family often stepped in and helped out when they could, but time after time, the great sex wasn’t enough to make up for the difference in our wants, needs and ambitions.In the end, we gave up. Sometimes I think it’s a miracle we made it through 5 years. Our devotion to our children allowed us to finally see past our own issues, and work out a remarkably amiable truce, with our girls at the center. Even though Denise and I couldn’t live together, it turned out we got along a lot better divorced. We shared our daughters’ time, lived only one neighborhood apart, and worked together as a team to make our personal differences have as little impact on our girls as possible.I had initially shared an apartment uptown, but eventually bought one of the smallest houses in the same school district, just to make things easier. It was a lot more than I needed most of the time, but when the girls stayed with me it felt like a home. And we only lived a couple of miles apart.The neighborhood was nice, predominantly younger families, in older, smallish homes. Most of the people were cordial, kept up their property, and after a few years I knew many by name and would exchange greetings at the grocery store, or when out shopping. I had become suburbanized.This was our fourth Christmas since the divorce. Denise was living with Eric, who I wish I could despise, but he was a decent guy with a great job and lousy taste in sports teams. He doted on my girls without trying to take my place. It had taken a while, but we’d developed a friendship, which wasn’t a bad thing.My child support was pegged at just over $1500, with the kids on my health insurance. Even though we weren’t married long enough for alimony to kick in, I was paying another $500 a month just to make the kids’ lives better. And for me, that was all that really mattered.The expense had been rough at first, but with little to concentrate on other than work, my performance skyrocketed. Two promotions in three years had made the financial aspect much less problematic, but increased travel had made the ability to be available for the girls less guaranteed. Denise was good about it, and worked with me. In return I picked up some more of the girls’ expenses, including music lessons and a piano.At Least we still had ChristmasChristmas was special. We celebrated Christmas as an extended family. I’d come over early, and we’d have a big family breakfast and open all the presents together. I really went all out to make sure the girls got their favorite items. At six and eight years old, they were still young enough to have simple wants, and the magic of Christmas was as real as it gets. The in-laws would come over in the afternoon with more presents and we’d have a good old fashioned Christmas dinner with all the trimmings. It was nice to be part of something.I got a Christmas shut-down at work and Denise didn’t, so we agreed that they’d stay with me from Christmas to New Year’s, and any time she could get off, we’d usually work out something to get her time with the kids. It was understood that I wouldn’t leave town, at least not for more than a day.Summer was great with the 2 weeks I got to spend with them, and we’d usually spend it on the beach. Christmas was still different. Christmas was magical.I always was given the girl’s wish list, but I’d also start my shopping in late November for the must have items of the season. And I wasn’t stingy; I’d buy them all up, just to make sure I didn’t miss any. Stores, online auctions, Craigslist, I’d use any way possible to get my hands on the hottest presents. The first two years I’d caught hell from Denise for buying everything on the list, leaving nothing for them to get. Now I received a separate list of things I wasn’t allowed to buy.So it was that I had just finished wrapping my forty-fourth present, all in glitter Barbie paper for Briana, and in Hannah Montana paper for Allora. December 5th, my earliest date so far to finish the bulk of my shopping. Sure, I’d pick up a few more things, including something for Denise and Eric, but my girls were taken care of. The presents were carefully spread around my living room, where they’d remain on display until just before Christmas, when I’d bring them over to Denise’s in a big ceremony.The call came from Denise’s mother, Sharon. It took me 11 minutes flat to get to the hospital. I was still too late. Denise and Briana had both died en-route. Eric had passed away only ten minutes before I’d arrived. But Allora, my perfect little Allora, was fighting for her life, in critical condition. She’d always been a fighter, would never back down from any challenge. She’d beat this too, I just knew it.It was a freak accident, with a car dodging out of the way to miss a coyote on the road. An 18 wheeler behind the car did his best to avoid the car in front of him, but ended up fishtailing, and taking out a suburban in the next lane over. That vehicle crossed the median and hit my ex-wife’s family van head-on. Six dead already and one little girl still fighting hard for her dear life.Sharon and I kept a vigil over the little towhead, and when the doctors came out after 6 hours and declared the worst was over and she was in stable condition, we fell into each other’s arms and cried like children.We stayed by her side, one of us always present, and Sharon called me when my baby woke up and spoke. For three long days we watched her slowly heal in the hospital, the worst of her bruises, cuts and contusions blossoming on the second day, and only just starting to fade again. I’m not a religious guy by nature, but I found myself on my knees beside her bed, praying to God to take care of her, and giving thanks for pulling her through this horrendous disaster.At 4:18 pm on December 7th she passed away.No warning, no reason, she was there, and then she wasn’t. The doctors suspected a clot. I suspected incompetence.I finally understood how a person could get so down on themselves that life might not even feel worth living.I went home and shut myself off from the world. After a while I took the phone off the hook. Hell, let’s be honest, I ripped the fucking wires out of the wall so I didn’t have to listen to one more bleeding heart tell me they were “sorry for my loss”. The cell phone was easier. I just turned it off.Several people from work came by and assured me that I could take as much time as I needed. They’d bring me food, and news, and would leave as soon as they felt they’d spent the minimum time required socially by the situation.Denise’s family took care of the funeral arrangements. They attempted to call, and even stopped by for my input. I gave them a check for $10,000 to take care of the girls, nearly wiping out my savings. What was I going to spend it on now? I couldn’t bring myself to go to the showing but I did take a shower and put on a suit for the funeral. It was a bleak day, gray skies, 20 mile an hour winds threatening to tear the top off of the outdoor tent. The ground was soggy from rain the previous night. Just perfect.“Thanks, God. Piss on a guy when he’s down. Well, fuck You too.”I shook the required hands, and kissed the offered cheeks until I just couldn’t take it any longer. All these fake people. Fake emotions. Tell me how sorry they were then go home to their perfect little families and eat meatloaf. Fuck'em. Fuck'em all.The Valley of the shadow of deathFourteen days. Two solid weeks in that dark house. I wouldn’t turn on any lights. No TV. I didn’t bathe, I didn’t shave. I sat in my chair or I lay in my bed and wallowed.I had a few visitors after the first couple of days, but I’d rarely let them in, and before long they had the decency to stop showing up. Only Cathy from next door wouldn’t let me sink into complete oblivion. Every day, at least 3 times a day, she’d check in on me. I wouldn’t have let her in, but she had a key to the back door for emergencies and wasn’t afraid to use it.She’d open the windows a crack, and goad me into getting out of bed and at least sit in the living room. She’d bring food, which she’d set in front of me, and refused to leave until I at least tried it. I insisted on getting my key back, and she handed it over willingly enough. And showed up again the next day. She’d made copies. Meddlesome bitch. Again, she badgered me into eating her breakfast.And she’d talk. God, how that woman could talk! I got tired just listening.All the neighborhood gossip, town gossip, political gossip, school gossip - she was plugged in everywhere and knew it all. Who was doing what, or whom. Griping about people who still had Thanksgiving decorations up, or had Christmas blowups in their front yard. Church fiascos and neighborhood vendettas, she would sit there, drink her tea (or bourbon and coke if the sun had set) and fill me in.I didn’t care.Cathy Has A New TherapyIt had been two weeks since the accident. I’d lost more than 10 pounds, and really just wanted to crawl in a hole and die. But Cathy wouldn’t let me. She made it her personal mission to cheer me up, get me to respond, bring me back to life.Then one day she let me have it with both barrels.She walked up to me and slapped me across the face. Hard. “Damn it Alex! Snap out of it! Life is hard. And it isn’t fair, but as bad as you have it, there’s always someone who has it worse. Often in your own backyard if you have the eyes to see it.”“What do you know about it?” I snapped viciously. “I notice your kids are alive.”“I know my mother died when I was six, and my father left when I was thirteen, leaving Mike to raise my sister and me. He was seventeen years old. But he manned-up and did the job the best he could. That’s what I know. Life is hard.”“Life is hard. Life’s a bitch and then you die. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. When God closes a door he opens a window. If I hear one more God-damned cliché I swear I’ll kill something,” I growled.“Alex, you got a raw deal. You had two perfect little girls, and now they’re gone. Your past is shattered. Your little bit of immortality is lost. And as bad as you’ve got it, I’d remind you others have it worse, and they just press on. You need to as well,” Cathy told me, kneeling beside me and holding my hands.The woman barely knew me. A middle-aged mother of three with grown kids, and a workaholic husband. Her life was her home, keeping it immaculate and decorated for every holiday and season. Now it seemed I was her newest project. Why should I matter that much to her? Couldn’t she see I didn’t want her help?“Sure, starving Ethiopians, children in Nigeria dying of aids, Tibetan monks martyred, it’s a tough world. Boo hoo.”“You don’t have to look as far as Ethiopia or Tibet. There are people right here, right on your own block that are really struggling. Open your eyes. If you don’t like the unfairness do something about it. Even up the odds a bit. Make a difference somewhere. Get back to living.”Something she said must have gnawed its way down to my subconscious. I spent my usual 14 hours or so in bed, but when I awoke I was thinking about her constant comments about someone in my own backyard that had it worse.I cataloged each person on my block, in my head, and nobody really had it that bad. Sure, Neil, three doors down had lost his job, but his wife was still working, and he was looking. The Harris’s on the corner had a boy in Iraq, but as far as I could tell he was still Ok, and they had three more at home. The Martins, one down from the corner, fought all the time, and even had the cops called in on them once but they were still together. What did Cathy mean?I expanded the radius of consideration to include the blocks surrounding us. Then it hit me. Across the alley in back, two houses past Cathy’s own. Six months ago. Barry Morrison had driven into an empty field behind the local middle school and eaten a bullet. I didn’t know much about the family - I just knew there was one.When Cathy came over, I had showered off the top two layers of grime and sweat, and was drinking a Coke in the living room.The Morrison Prescription“Good morning, Alex, beautiful day outside. Why don’t we go out on the porch?”“The Morrisons. Tell me about them.”She placed her mug of tea in the microwave, warming it up, then walked out my front door and sat in one of my rocking chairs out front.Irritated, I followed, and sat in the chair beside her. “The Morrisons?”“Sandy and her daughter Erica. You won’t see much of her; she’s working two jobs trying to keep the house over their heads. They’re still fighting with the insurance company over payment. Suicide clause won’t pay under two years. He had insurance for years, but just around two years ago he changed the terms. She’s been trying to sell the house, but it’s underwater, and nobody’s buying.”“How’s the little one?”“Erica’s not doing so well. She’s seeing a counselor twice a week, and hardly speaks anymore. The school’s talking about holding her back,” Cathy explained. She sounded sad.“Do we know anything more about why he did it?”“No crimes, he wasn’t fired, no embezzling, it’s not clear what it was about. Apparently he’d been depressed for quite a while, but the underlying situation is still a blank as far as I know.”“Harsh on the family, going out like that,” I told her, finding the whole idea hard to grasp.“To say the least. The poor woman is worn to a frazzle.”“And how does this all matter to me?” I asked.“It doesn’t. It doesn’t have to matter to anybody. They’re on their own. Alone.”“No family help?”“Not that I know of. If they’re around, we don’t see much of them, that’s for sure.”“Cathy, how the hell do you know all this stuff?” I had to ask.“People just like to talk to me. I’m a very good listener,” she told me with a big smile.We sat quietly enjoying the crisp air, finishing our drinks.“You’re a good neighbor too, Cathy. Thanks,” I said softly.“That’s what neighbors are for,” she said, reaching out and patting me on my arm.That’s what neighbors are for.Cathy brought me dinner again and I realized I was starving. She beamed at me when I finished the whole platter.“Let’s go for a walk, Alex. You could use a stretch of the legs.”It had gotten chilly, and we bundled up a bit. She took the lead and we walked down the block and turned up the neighborhood. We headed back up the next block and she regaled me with the entire history and habits of the inhabitants of each place we passed. She might have been a good listener, but I had to wonder when she ever was quiet long enough to hear anything.It was obvious when we got to Sandy Morrison’s place. The “For Sale” sign was a dead giveaway. The unkempt yard and overgrown bushes indicated a lack of care for months. It couldn’t help with the sales prospects. The door paint was faded, and there were no Christmas lights or decorations set up. I thought the Realtor wasn’t earning their commission, letting the place show like this. Through the window I could see a desktop Christmas tree, maybe two feet tall, lit up all in white.Strangely, Cathy stopped speaking before we got to the house, and didn’t speak again until the end of the block. “Sad,” was all she said.We took a round-about path back to my house, and our conversation had returned to the safety of weather concerns, community issues, and such, carefully skirting any discussion of the Morrisons.I was feeling the chill after the walk, and invited Cathy in for a cup of coffee, Irish fortified if she so desired.We drank our coffee in front of my gas fireplace, warming our old bones. Damn that neighbor of mine, and her good intentions! She’d not only gotten me to think of something other than my own misery, and the unfairness of it all, but she had me thinking about those poor girls behind me, and what they must be going through. Damn it! It wasn’t fair.I guess I still wasn’t ready for pleasant company. Angry at the world, I threw my mug at the wall, shattering it, and leaned over with my head in my hands, doing my best to hold back the tears. Big boys don’t cry.Cathy stood and ran her fingers through my hair for just a moment before leaving out the back door. Kind enough to leave me alone to wallow in my misery a little longer.Giving Is HealingDecember 22nd. Just three days until Christmas.When Cathy came over that morning, I was already up and dressed. I had my working duds on and coffee and bagels ready.“You’re up early,” she commented, helping herself to the java.“It’s almost 10,” I reminded her. “Not so awfully early.”She laughed. “Seems to me anything before noon is quite early as of late. Got plans?”I nodded. “Thought I’d head over to the Morrison’s and see what I can do about the outside of the house. Clean it up a bit. Make it a little more presentable if they’re really planning on selling it.”“That’s mighty neighborly of you.”“It’ll give me something to do. I need to get out of this damned house.”After our coffee, she walked with me across the alley, all my yard-work gear in a wheelbarrow. The grass was dormant, but long, and the bushes were out of control. I didn’t notice when Cathy left, but she returned in a few hours with some sandwiches for lunch, insisting I take a break.I’d finished the bush trimming and had mowed the lawn, bagging the trimmings. I was just finishing the edging when she appeared. I took a break, and listened to her chatter about the neighborhood activities, and how sad it was that in the past few months nobody had offered to do as much as I had.“I guess we victims of fate need to stick together.”“It already looks 100% better. If you want to work in the backyard, I have a key to the gate.”“It figures you would.”“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked.“It just doesn’t surprise me. I bet you’ve been helping out when you could.”She sighed. “Not too much. She’s too damn proud. Doesn’t want any help from anybody.”I shook my head. “Now you tell me. She’ll probably call the police on me.”“So what if she does? You know you’re doing the right thing. I’ll bail you out if need be.”I let her unlock the back gate, and saw I had my work cut out for me. The back yard was worse than the front. The fence needed work as well, some boards were broken and loose, and one whole section was sagging. Luckily, my tools were only a couple of hundred feet away, across the alley, and I was soon at work, determined to finish before the residents arrived home.The biggest problem was one of the fence posts which had rotted out at the bottom. A new post and some quick-setting cement, solved that problem. Within an hour I’d be able to reattach the fence crossbeams to the new 4x4.I turned to see a young girl, maybe 7 or 8 years old, watching me from the porch. Crap.“Just thought I’d fix your fence, before it falls down. I hope you don’t mind.”She just shook her head.She stood there watching me, and I felt ill at ease. I was a stranger. She shouldn’t be talking to me. I should probably leave. “I’m just going to clean up here and head back home. I can finish up later when your mother’s home.”I straightened up my clothing a bit, wiping my hands on my pants. “I’m Alex Reed. I live across the alley,” I explained, pointing down a few houses.She nodded.She reminded me so much of my own daughter, right around that age. Her hair was the same length, blonde, but not quite as light as Allora’s.Allora. My perfect little Allora. I closed my eyes, seeing her in that hospital bed, bruised and bandaged, fighting for her life. Her hair tucked under the bandages, the few strands that stuck out dark from sweat. Her body so small in that antiseptic white bed. My Allora.Gone.It felt like somebody had wrapped a band around my chest, and pulled it tight. I couldn’t breathe. I turned away from Erica, so she wouldn’t have to see me lose it. She’d suffered enough already. I felt the tears rise, unbidden, and I started for the gate. I had to get out of there.I barely made it as far as the driveway. It was too much. I closed the gate behind me and crumbled to the ground, seated with my head between my knees, my hands covering my head. It was Christmas, damn it! Christmas! My girls were supposed to be with me, shaking their presents and trying to guess what was in them. Instead Allora and Briana were gone. Their lives snuffed out before they could see anything of the world, before they could find their place, before they could fall in love. No shaking presents. No stomach aches from eating too many holiday sweets. No late night parties to drive me crazy with worry. No learning to drive. No struggling to find the right college. No bringing a boy home for the first time. No cramming for tests. No Spring Breaks. No proms. Nothing. Ever again.I was sobbing, and the little girl who had lost her father was standing on the driveway beside me, her hand resting on my shoulder, while I made a fool of myself.“Erica! You know your mother doesn’t want you out if she’s not at home. You should go back inside. Mr. Reed will be all right, he’s just tired. Go on now.” Cathy had me by the arm, and was doing her best to get me back on my feet. “Come on Alex, not here. Let’s get you home.”I knew she was right. I stood up, wiping my eyes on my sleeve. “I’ll be alright. Just give me a minute.” I pulled myself together, took a couple of deep breaths, and stood straight. “I’m Ok. Seeing her was just a little too much, too soon. But I’m fine now. I need to clean up here, and put the fence back together.”“Alright. I’ll help.”It only took us a few minutes to clean up and cart the bags of yard trimmings out to the rear curb. I ran all the yard tools back to my house, and returned to finish the fence work. I braced the new post with a couple of 2x4’s and reattached the two panels. Cathy’s help made it a lot easier. When we were done we both stood back and looked over the yard. Much better.“I’m going to go inside and fix Erica her after-school snack. It’s about all that Sandy will let me do. Why don’t you come with me?”“I don’t know if I should. Sandy doesn’t know me. She may not want me in her house when she’s not there.”“Never mind that. She’ll be fine. Just come in a moment. It’ll only take a few minutes.”I followed her inside, through the glass sliding door. Erica was sitting on the floor watching TV. I didn’t even look that way. I was afraid that seeing the wrong TV show would dredge up more painful memories.“Where can I wash my hands?” I asked Cathy.She pointed to a door. “In there.”I headed to the bathroom. “Don’t use the toilet. That one doesn’t flush anymore.”I could hear the running water in the commode. I washed my hands and wiped them on my shirt. There was no towel in the bathroom. Then I took the top off the tank and examined inside. Nothing complicated. The chain that connected the stopper to the handle extension was missing. Lifting the rubber stopper, I saw it was under the lip, the cause of the running water. I reattached the chain, and tested the flushing. Worked fine.“Fixed. The chain was just off.”Cathy nodded, and returned to making a grilled cheese sandwich. Briana loved grilled cheese. But you couldn’t cut the sandwich, and you had to remove the crust. I wouldn’t be cutting the crust off of sandwiches anymore.I took a deep breath, and went to examine the front door.“Cathy? I’m going to head home and get my sander and some paint. This door needs some help desperately.”“Go ahead. Sandy won’t be home until late, and if we’re going to get in trouble for the yard and the fence, we might as well make it a trifecta.”Fifteen minutes later, I was running the battery powered hand-sander over the door, removing the worst of the existing paint. I didn’t have too much to do, it was already mostly bare. I had brought over three possible paints to use, all of which I knew were approved by the homeowner’s association.“What color paint do you think I should use?” I asked Cathy.“Let’s ask Erica.” She returned in a few seconds with Erica at her side. “We’re going to paint the front door, Erica. What color would you like?”We had a choice of off-white, light blue, and a dark brown. She pointed to the light blue, then seated herself nearby to watch.I had already removed the hardware. I taped the hinges and bottom kick-plate, laid out my drip cloth, and started applying a coat of paint, top-to-bottom. I looked over at the young girl watching me so intently. I saw the tree beside her, so small and bare, with one little package underneath it.Christmas trees shouldn’t look like that.They should be big, full of decorations, all sorts, each one with its own story. Handcrafted special ornaments, with pictures of your family members. Popsicle stick ornaments with the Elmer’s glue showing. Lights blinking in an assortment of colors, candy canes and tinsel, and an angel on top. There should be presents around the bottom, stacked and scattered, so many you can’t even get near the tree.It was the first year I didn’t have a tree.We’d normally go out as a family and visit one of the Boy Scout tree lots, picking the biggest, fullest tree we thought could fit in my living room. Then we’d decorate it together, Christmas songs playing in the background, and sipping eggnog. We’d spend an eternity untangling the lights, replacing the bulbs that wouldn’t work, and replacing the metal hangars on the decorations that needed them. It was an all-day affair.Not this year. Not ever again.I realized I’d stopped painting, and I was staring. A long drip of paint from my brush was running down the door. The little girl looked at me, almost as if she understood.“Would you like to help?” I asked.She looked around, as if to ask if I was talking to her.“Yes, you.”She shyly nodded yes. I reached over to my bucket of painting supplies and pulled out a small brush. I pointed to the inlaid panels on the bottom half of the door. “You can paint here, around the edge of the panel. It needs to be done with a detail brush like the one you have. Get into the cracks.”She nodded, dipped her brush, and started painting straight down the panel edge, doing a good job.“That’s perfect. Just like that.” I went back to work completing the top half, and had to work around her, sometimes leaning way over to paint above her. She saw what I was doing, and I saw the mischievous heart of a little girl for a moment when she started backing away from the door, making me lean further and further over.“Hey!” I said in mock outrage. “You’re doing that on purpose!”When she giggled, apparently ignoring me, and continuing with her painting effort, I felt a small leap in my heart. It was nice to hear her giggle.“When you’re done with the painting, and done torturing me, you can paint around the edges of the two hinges and the kick-plate. If I won’t be in your way.”Little Erica nodded, and continued her careful painting, working slowly and deliberately around the perimeter before moving onto the hinges.I found myself kneeling beside her, painting the bottom-half of the door, while she detailed the trim. We switched places so I could work on the side near the hinges while she completed the bottom trim.“Not bad,” I commented, holding out a drip bucket for her to dump her brush in. I sealed up the paint can, peeled off the trim tape, and stood back to get a look at the results. A little girl stood beside me, her blonde hair a poignant reminder of all I’d lost. I took a deep breath to compose myself.“Not bad at all. Think your mother will like it?”I looked down at her while she thought it over. A smile slowly spread across her face. She nodded twice.I put my hand down for a fist bump, just like I would with my girls. She shrank away for a second, then glanced up at my face for a second before making a tiny fist and bumping her knuckles against mine.We were enjoying the last of the natural light as dusk was settling in. Cathy walked out and stood beside us, giving her approval. “The blue is perfect. Great choice Erica.”Erica stopped admiring her work, looked at Cathy, and blinked like she was just seeing her for the first time. She looked up and down the block, then walked back into the house and planted herself in front of the TV.“Ready to call it a day?” Cathy asked.“Yeah. Best get while the getting is good.” I packed up my paint supplies and in just a couple of trips hid any trace that I’d ever been there. Except of course for the door, yard and fence. Oh, and the toilet, although that really didn’t count for much.Back home I cleaned up and sat down pondering what I’d just done. I had mixed feelings, a little guilt creeping in for taking liberties with someone else’s house. But thinking about that little girl, and what she must be going through, made anything I could do to help worthwhile.Thinking was dangerous. I realized I hadn’t been very nice to the people who had tried to help me. I decided to rectify that if possible, and found a new phone cable for my phone and plugged it in. Picking it up I heard a dial tone. Good.I made a list of phone calls, and went to work. Calling, one-by-one, my friends, neighbors and co-workers, I apologized for my behavior and thanked them for their concern. To a one, they blew off my boorish behavior, and promised they’d be there for me if I needed anything.I stopped, with just a few calls remaining, wondering where those people were for Sandy and Erica, who seemed to need it far more than I.I picked up the phone and dialed Denise’s family. I knew it was going to be tough. I apologized for leaving the funeral arrangements to them, and thanked them for all they had done. Speaking to Dan was difficult, but my conversation with Sharon almost did me in. The time we’d spent in the hospital, watching over Allora came up, and I had to take a break for a bit to get my emotions under rein, while I listened to Sharon sob. Even after the divorce we’d remained friendly, and I was glad that we’d had each other on that fateful watch. I promised I’d stop by in the next couple of days, she insisted there was some paperwork that needed taking care of.My last call was to Steve, my roommate for three years in college, and best friend in the world. I had hung up on him twice that first day, and it was haunting me. He’d left more than a dozen messages on my cell-phone voicemail. Plus, I had ulterior motives.The phone rang several times and went to the answering machine. I felt like a weight had lifted, I wouldn’t have to face him. “Steve, Alex here. I’m sorry I…”“Alex, I’m here, don’t hang up, I’m here. Let me turn off this damned machine. Hold on.” I heard some rustling and the echo of our voices disappear. “Jesus, Alex. You’re killing me.”“Sorry. It hit me so hard; I just couldn’t listen to one more well-wisher.”“I understand.”He would understand. His father had passed away while we were in our last year of college, and he took it hard. Started drinking heavy, cutting classes, and chasing anything with boobs. I took care of him as much as I could, going so far as to collect his homework and projects, even talking to his professors. He’d been slow to pull it together, but eventually came around.Five years later, less than a year out of law school, it was his mother. I had flown out and spent a week with him. I knew it would be hard - he was an only child, and he had few relatives, and none he was close to. He came out of that funk bitter, and it cost him his girlfriend - no loss there. We’d been as close as brothers, hell, probably closer. We still were.Steven understood.I opened my soul to him, and stayed on the phone for ages. I heard him send his wife off to bed, while I vented. It was a much needed cathartic outpouring that left me exhausted.“What can I do? Anything, you know it. Should I fly down?”As much as I’d love to see him, it had been nearly a year, he was a family man now, and it was Christmas. “No. Stay with your family. I’m doing better, and if I need to I can call.”“Of course.”“I also wanted to say I was sorry.”“Sorry?”“Sorry that I couldn’t do more for you when you lost your parents. I never really experienced losing anyone like that, and couldn’t comprehend what you were going through.”“Shut the fuck up. You were there for me, buddy. Always. When nobody else was. I’ll never forget that. Enough said. Don’t need to be getting sappy over it.”I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Alright. By the way, there’s one other thing you might be able to do for me.”“Anything. That’s what friend are for.”That’s what friends are for.Meeting The ReaperThe pounding on my front door was not unexpected. Ten o'clock at night might be a little of a surprise, but the knock wasn’t.I went to the front door, and looked out through the glass beside it. A woman stood there. I had a fairly good idea of who it was.I opened the door. “Mrs. Morrison?”She glared at me and nodded.“Come in, please. Can I get you a cup of tea, or coffee?” I turned and walked into the house, leaving the door open. I walked to the kitchen, and poured myself a cup of coffee. I turned to see her standing in the archway to the living room.She looked ready to burst, but I watched her breath deep and run her hands through her short hair. She looked young. Too young to be going through the hell she was currently experiencing.“I don’t want you around my house or my daughter,” she finally snapped.“I understand, and I’m sorry I interfered.” I walked past her and sat down in the living room. “I can’t explain it. I had to do something to get out of this house, and when Cathy told me about your situation I guess I got carried away.”She stared at me, and crossed her arms. “Don’t mention her name. I could kill her.”I smiled. “Believe me, I understand that. She’s been in my house every day, 3 or 4 times a day, meddling in my life.”“Meddling is right,” she snapped. She walked over and sat on the loveseat across from me. “Listen. I appreciate the thought. And I’m sorry for your loss.” She smirked. “Ha, listen to me. Sorry for your loss. Crap.”She leaned back. “We’re doing fine. I don’t need your help, I don’t know you from Adam, and I don’t want you around my daughter when nobody’s around. Jesus, you painted my fricking’ front door blue! A little presumptuous, don’t you think?”I smiled. “I would have picked the wood tone. Blue was Erica’s choice, one of the four approved colors according to our Stalinist homeowner’s association.”She leaned back, rolling her eyes up. “Don’t remind me. If the bastards send me one more notice about yard and fence maintenance, I’ll rip their lungs out.” She seemed to calm down for a second, maybe realizing that those notices would no longer be coming. “I know. I should be thankful but I don’t need a stranger meddling in my life. Understood? No more doing things for me.”“I didn’t do it for you. I did it for that little girl. You don’t know me. I don’t know you. Agreed. I don’t know what happened to you and your family or why. Not really. What I do know is that girl of yours doesn’t deserve the hand she’s been dealt. That’s all I could think. I just wanted to help where I could.”She looked angry. “I’m sorry you lost your daughters. I am. But Erica is Mine. My daughter. My responsibility. Not yours.”“You are right. She’s no responsibility of mine.”“That’s right. I don’t know you. We live three doors down and in two years you’ve never spoken a word to us. Six months we’ve been on our own. I certainly don’t need you poking your head in now. I don’t know you, I don’t want to know you, and I’m not sure I’d like you if I did.”“Welcome to the club.”“Club?”“I’m not sure I like me either. I’m sorry, alright? Now I’m tired. You can let yourself out.”She got up and stomped her way to the front door, closing it sharply behind her.That had gone better than I’d expected.IrrepressibleDecember 23rd. I got up early, cleaning up, even shaving. I had errands to run. Cathy showed up in my kitchen while I was preparing breakfast.“At least neither of us is in jail,” were her first words.“Not yet.”“You did a good thing. Don’t forget it.”“I know. Still she was right. We should have asked permission.”“The hell we should! She’d never have given it.”“Then maybe we should leave her be.”“If a person was drowning, and they couldn’t yell for help, wouldn’t you still throw them a life preserver?”“A little overly-dramatic, don’t you think?”“No. She’s going down for the third time, and is in complete denial. By the time she accepts the fact she needs help it could be too late.” She looked me over. “You clean up nicely. What are you up to?”“I need to run some errands, see a few people, stop by work, some other stuff.”“Don’t overdo it,” she said, still in her ‘caring’ mode. “Need some company?”“Thanks, I appreciate the offer. I can handle this.”“Ok, you have my number. Give me a call if you need anything.”Making The RoundsThe office visit was painful. I stopped in, thanking my bosses for their understanding, visiting a few friends and letting them know I appreciated their concern. The way they looked at me just drove home how alone I was. I was glad to get out of there.I made a visit to the florist and picked up a trunk-load of Christmas cacti. I drove around to everyone I could think of, expressing my gratitude, and leaving the pretty plants behind. I used the same corny line with each one, comparing my 'prickliness’ the last couple of weeks to the plant’s spines. I left a few plants on doorsteps with a note. By mid-afternoon I felt I’d done my part.I stopped by Denise’s parent’s house, and Sharon greeted me at the door with a hug before she broke into tears. After she’d soaked my shirt she brought me in.“There’s something you need to know, Alex.”She sounded odd, and I wondered what was up.“Denise left a will. She left you the house and the lion’s share of her insurance, to take care of the girls if anything happened to her.”I was stunned. It was so unexpected. “I… I don’t know what to say.”Sharon reached out and patted my hand. “It’s not what I’d expected, but if you think about it, it makes sense. What are you going to do?”“I guess I’ll sell the house. I certainly don’t need two houses.”“She had mortgage insurance, it’ll be paid off. You could rent it out, you know. Earn some steady income off of it.”It was too much too fast. I couldn’t think straight. “I’ll have to think about it. I just wasn’t expecting anything like this.”“I understand.” She held my hand. “How are you doing?”“Better. Not good, but at least I can get out of bed.”“We’re here if you need us. You know that, right?”“Yes. Thank you. After the girls, you were the best thing that came out of our marriage.”“We love you too. Don’t forget it.”“I’m sorry I was so useful about the funeral arrangements, I don’t think I could have handled it without you,” I confessed.“Don’t even think about it. That’s what family is for.”That’s what family is for.My day wasn’t quite complete. A few more calls and I was putting things in motion I wasn’t sure I should, but I couldn’t resist.Around dinner time, I ventured next door. Cathy’s husband John answered the door. “The hermit has left the cave. Good to see you out and about.” He shook my hand, letting me in. “Cath - Alex is here.”Cathy came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. “How’d your day go?”“Not bad. A few surprises, but I survived.”“We’re about to eat. Care to sit down with us?”“Maybe. When do you think Sandy will be getting home?”“Probably nine-ish, would be my guess. Why?”“Just want to talk to her if I can.”“You have time for dinner then?”“Sure.”Another Confrontation With SandyBy 8:30 I was enjoying a cigar with John, sitting out in their driveway, trying to figure out what our football team’s chances were of going anywhere in the playoffs. We were strategically positioned so I had a view of the Morrison’s driveway.When Sandy drove up, I excused myself from John and jogged across the alley.“Sandy, can I talk to you a moment?”She looked ready to chase me off, but after a few awkward seconds she crossed her arms, leaned back against the car and raised her eyebrows.“Again, I’m sorry I entered your house without your permission. I know that was wrong. All I can say is I wasn’t really thinking straight.”She rolled her eyes. “Anything else?”“Yes. I know you told me you didn’t need my help, but there’s someone I’d like you speak to. I have a friend that’s a lawyer, and he’s willing to check into your insurance situation pro bono. Like you and me, he’s suffered a few losses in life, and he’d like to help you if he can. If you’d just give him a call, he’ll see what he can do.”I could see she wanted to say no, but was torn. She gnawed on her bottom lip, which I saw were chapped. She looked exhausted. I pulled out his card and held it out to her. “It’ll only take a couple of minutes. It can’t hurt.”She finally nodded and took the card from me. “Is that it?”“One last thing. I’m headed over to my ex-wife’s house tomorrow to clean out the refrigerator, and to get rid of her tree. It’s my responsibility now. I was going to ditch the tree; it’s one of those pre-lit artificial ones which I never could stand. I thought, if you don’t mind, and it’s not interfering too much, I could bring it by here and you could take if off my hands. Otherwise it’s going to the dump.” I spit out the words quickly before she could find too much fault with me.She seemed resigned to allow me to interfere, at least this much. She sighed and finally spoke up. “Alright. That would be nice. Now if that’s all, I’d like to go in now. My feet and back are aching and I have to get up early tomorrow.”“That’s all. You can call Steve tonight if you’d like, he’s a night owl and is expecting your call. Good night.”I took off quickly before she could change her mind about anything.Just ‘a bit' of decoratingI had recruited Cathy’s help over dinner the night before, assuming things went Ok with Sandy, and by noon we were back at the Morrison house, knocking on the door.Erica let us in, and we hauled our goodies in after us. I had the tree folded up and left it on the front doorstep while we made room for it in the living room. After I’d put it in place, I hauled in a large plastic crate of Christmas decorations, and encouraged Cathy and Erica to get to work making the tree look 'festive’. Right on schedule my weekly cleaning crew showed up and I put them to work giving the entire house a thorough cleaning. I had felt guilty chasing them away the last few weeks, and had begged and cajoled them into doing me this one favor, on Christmas Eve of all days. The team of four went to work like whirling dervishes, storming through the rooms in pairs leaving sparking chrome and sweet smells in their wake.We only had a few hours if Cathy was right, and I had one more big task lined up. The Chem-Dry carpet cleaners were running a little late, but showed up not long after the cleaning crew had finished with the living and dining rooms, and I had moved most of the furniture into the hallways and kitchen. They went right to work, and had the downstairs completed in a little over an hour. While they worked at that, I spent the time decorating the front yard and the house with Christmas lights. I hoped that Sandy liked traditional multi-color displays. I wasn’t all that fond of the 'all-white’ look, and was using my own lights to decorate her house. By the time I had finished I was sweating up a storm, and was getting nervous about the time.The carpet guys left first, reminding me to let the carpet dry for another hour before returning the furniture to its place. The cleaning crew followed shortly after, and I’d rewarded them nicely, tipping them an extra $100 for coming out on Christmas Eve. I moved indoors, with the lights complete and lit up, to find a Christmas wonderland awaiting me.Cathy and Erica had done an amazing job, using what I had brought over and getting the Morrison’s decorations out of the attic and putting those to use as well. You could hardly tell it was the same house.“You ladies have done an incredible job!” I announced, standing in the doorway.Cathy looked a little disheveled but very pleased with herself. “Let’s finish up quick. I have to get home; John’s going to kill me.”I’d promised her we’d be done by 4:00 and it was already nearly 5:00. She was holding a Christmas Eve open-house and was expecting half of the neighborhood over that evening. She only had a couple of hours left to finish her own preparations. I gave her a hug for all of her effort and shooed her off, while I started hauling the furniture back into place, working at a frenzied pace to get done before the unsuspecting benefactor got home.Erica followed behind me, arranging all the lamps, baskets and knick-knacks, and adding additional holiday decorations as we went. With the last of the furniture in place, I turned and gave her a high-five.“This is all our secret, right? If your Mom asks, the Christmas elves stopped by to help clean up. You did a great job, Erica.”She smiled and held her arms out to me. I leaned down and gave her a hug.“Thank you,” she whispered, just before she let go and disappeared up the stairs.I felt a lump in my throat. Whether it was fear of being caught by her mother, or the joy of hearing her speak her first words to me, I couldn’t be sure.A Legal-Eagle CallBy eight o'clock, Sandy still hadn’t shown up on my front-doorstep with a shotgun. I guess she was going to wait until after Christmas to eviscerate me over meddling where I didn’t belong.I didn’t care. I felt good, the best I’d felt in two weeks, thinking about that little girl celebrating a real Christmas. Kids should have Christmas.I had cleaned up and decided to make an appearance next door, as I’d promised, when I got a call from Steve.“Hey-ho, Stevorino.”“Only my Grandma gets to say that, asshole.”“Merry fuckin’ Christmas to you too.” I teased.I heard him chuckle. “Merry Christmas is right. At least for your neighbor.”“How’s that?” I asked, suddenly interested.“The insurance creeps were just stalling. They don’t have a leg to stand on. The only change to the policy was upon their advice after an annual policy review by their own agent. A little legal pressure was all it took. It’s not a lot, less than $300K, but she’ll be getting her check next week.”“Steve, you’re the man. I take back all those nasty things I said about you.”“Shit, they’re probably true. If anybody would know, it’d be you.”“All kidding aside. You’re a life saver.”I knew he hated any hint of seriousness. I could almost hear him blushing over the phone. “Hey, that’s what friends are for, right?”“That’s right. And I couldn’t ask for a better one.”“Ditto. Asshole.”“Shit. You had to go and spoil it. Listen, I gotta run. Give your family my love and have a great Christmas. I’ll give you a call next week.”“You got it. And Darla sends her love. She made me say that. Don’t get any ideas.”“Got it. Give her a kiss for me. Scratch that. I’ll come out after the holidays and give it to her myself. When are you going to be out of town next?”“Funny guy. Start anything with her, and I’ll make you keep her and the credit card bills.”“Ouch. You win,” I had to laugh. “Thanks again.”“Merry Christmas. Hang in there buddy.”“You too.”To be continued in Part 2, By Tx Tall Tales, for Literotica.

Life isn’t fair. So when you fight back, fight dirty.In 2 parts, Based on the post from Tx Tall Tales. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.Christmas has always been my favorite time of year. I married young, and had two perfect daughters, but my marriage was far from perfect. We had been young and in love. I was entering the community college and Denise was starting her senior year when we decided to tie the knot. Her family’s ready acceptance of me was a huge factor - the family I’d never had, making me feel like a real member of theirs. I can admit it now; I probably loved being a part of the family as much as I loved Denise.Our split up was inevitable, two teenagers who knew nothing about life thinking their infatuation with each other would make everything else workout. I wasn’t an all-star, super jock, Rhodes Scholar with a 12" swinging cock. I was just your average student, A and B grades, spending some bench time on the football team to get my letter, and losing my virginity at 18 to the girl I’d eventually marry.When times got rough, we didn’t know how to handle it, and struck out at each other. Her family often stepped in and helped out when they could, but time after time, the great sex wasn’t enough to make up for the difference in our wants, needs and ambitions.In the end, we gave up. Sometimes I think it’s a miracle we made it through 5 years. Our devotion to our children allowed us to finally see past our own issues, and work out a remarkably amiable truce, with our girls at the center. Even though Denise and I couldn’t live together, it turned out we got along a lot better divorced. We shared our daughters’ time, lived only one neighborhood apart, and worked together as a team to make our personal differences have as little impact on our girls as possible.I had initially shared an apartment uptown, but eventually bought one of the smallest houses in the same school district, just to make things easier. It was a lot more than I needed most of the time, but when the girls stayed with me it felt like a home. And we only lived a couple of miles apart.The neighborhood was nice, predominantly younger families, in older, smallish homes. Most of the people were cordial, kept up their property, and after a few years I knew many by name and would exchange greetings at the grocery store, or when out shopping. I had become suburbanized.This was our fourth Christmas since the divorce. Denise was living with Eric, who I wish I could despise, but he was a decent guy with a great job and lousy taste in sports teams. He doted on my girls without trying to take my place. It had taken a while, but we’d developed a friendship, which wasn’t a bad thing.My child support was pegged at just over $1500, with the kids on my health insurance. Even though we weren’t married long enough for alimony to kick in, I was paying another $500 a month just to make the kids’ lives better. And for me, that was all that really mattered.The expense had been rough at first, but with little to concentrate on other than work, my performance skyrocketed. Two promotions in three years had made the financial aspect much less problematic, but increased travel had made the ability to be available for the girls less guaranteed. Denise was good about it, and worked with me. In return I picked up some more of the girls’ expenses, including music lessons and a piano.At Least we still had ChristmasChristmas was special. We celebrated Christmas as an extended family. I’d come over early, and we’d have a big family breakfast and open all the presents together. I really went all out to make sure the girls got their favorite items. At six and eight years old, they were still young enough to have simple wants, and the magic of Christmas was as real as it gets. The in-laws would come over in the afternoon with more presents and we’d have a good old fashioned Christmas dinner with all the trimmings. It was nice to be part of something.I got a Christmas shut-down at work and Denise didn’t, so we agreed that they’d stay with me from Christmas to New Year’s, and any time she could get off, we’d usually work out something to get her time with the kids. It was understood that I wouldn’t leave town, at least not for more than a day.Summer was great with the 2 weeks I got to spend with them, and we’d usually spend it on the beach. Christmas was still different. Christmas was magical.I always was given the girl’s wish list, but I’d also start my shopping in late November for the must have items of the season. And I wasn’t stingy; I’d buy them all up, just to make sure I didn’t miss any. Stores, online auctions, Craigslist, I’d use any way possible to get my hands on the hottest presents. The first two years I’d caught hell from Denise for buying everything on the list, leaving nothing for them to get. Now I received a separate list of things I wasn’t allowed to buy.So it was that I had just finished wrapping my forty-fourth present, all in glitter Barbie paper for Briana, and in Hannah Montana paper for Allora. December 5th, my earliest date so far to finish the bulk of my shopping. Sure, I’d pick up a few more things, including something for Denise and Eric, but my girls were taken care of. The presents were carefully spread around my living room, where they’d remain on display until just before Christmas, when I’d bring them over to Denise’s in a big ceremony.The call came from Denise’s mother, Sharon. It took me 11 minutes flat to get to the hospital. I was still too late. Denise and Briana had both died en-route. Eric had passed away only ten minutes before I’d arrived. But Allora, my perfect little Allora, was fighting for her life, in critical condition. She’d always been a fighter, would never back down from any challenge. She’d beat this too, I just knew it.It was a freak accident, with a car dodging out of the way to miss a coyote on the road. An 18 wheeler behind the car did his best to avoid the car in front of him, but ended up fishtailing, and taking out a suburban in the next lane over. That vehicle crossed the median and hit my ex-wife’s family van head-on. Six dead already and one little girl still fighting hard for her dear life.Sharon and I kept a vigil over the little towhead, and when the doctors came out after 6 hours and declared the worst was over and she was in stable condition, we fell into each other’s arms and cried like children.We stayed by her side, one of us always present, and Sharon called me when my baby woke up and spoke. For three long days we watched her slowly heal in the hospital, the worst of her bruises, cuts and contusions blossoming on the second day, and only just starting to fade again. I’m not a religious guy by nature, but I found myself on my knees beside her bed, praying to God to take care of her, and giving thanks for pulling her through this horrendous disaster.At 4:18 pm on December 7th she passed away.No warning, no reason, she was there, and then she wasn’t. The doctors suspected a clot. I suspected incompetence.I finally understood how a person could get so down on themselves that life might not even feel worth living.I went home and shut myself off from the world. After a while I took the phone off the hook. Hell, let’s be honest, I ripped the fucking wires out of the wall so I didn’t have to listen to one more bleeding heart tell me they were “sorry for my loss”. The cell phone was easier. I just turned it off.Several people from work came by and assured me that I could take as much time as I needed. They’d bring me food, and news, and would leave as soon as they felt they’d spent the minimum time required socially by the situation.Denise’s family took care of the funeral arrangements. They attempted to call, and even stopped by for my input. I gave them a check for $10,000 to take care of the girls, nearly wiping out my savings. What was I going to spend it on now? I couldn’t bring myself to go to the showing but I did take a shower and put on a suit for the funeral. It was a bleak day, gray skies, 20 mile an hour winds threatening to tear the top off of the outdoor tent. The ground was soggy from rain the previous night. Just perfect.“Thanks, God. Piss on a guy when he’s down. Well, fuck You too.”I shook the required hands, and kissed the offered cheeks until I just couldn’t take it any longer. All these fake people. Fake emotions. Tell me how sorry they were then go home to their perfect little families and eat meatloaf. Fuck'em. Fuck'em all.The Valley of the shadow of deathFourteen days. Two solid weeks in that dark house. I wouldn’t turn on any lights. No TV. I didn’t bathe, I didn’t shave. I sat in my chair or I lay in my bed and wallowed.I had a few visitors after the first couple of days, but I’d rarely let them in, and before long they had the decency to stop showing up. Only Cathy from next door wouldn’t let me sink into complete oblivion. Every day, at least 3 times a day, she’d check in on me. I wouldn’t have let her in, but she had a key to the back door for emergencies and wasn’t afraid to use it.She’d open the windows a crack, and goad me into getting out of bed and at least sit in the living room. She’d bring food, which she’d set in front of me, and refused to leave until I at least tried it. I insisted on getting my key back, and she handed it over willingly enough. And showed up again the next day. She’d made copies. Meddlesome bitch. Again, she badgered me into eating her breakfast.And she’d talk. God, how that woman could talk! I got tired just listening.All the neighborhood gossip, town gossip, political gossip, school gossip - she was plugged in everywhere and knew it all. Who was doing what, or whom. Griping about people who still had Thanksgiving decorations up, or had Christmas blowups in their front yard. Church fiascos and neighborhood vendettas, she would sit there, drink her tea (or bourbon and coke if the sun had set) and fill me in.I didn’t care.Cathy Has A New TherapyIt had been two weeks since the accident. I’d lost more than 10 pounds, and really just wanted to crawl in a hole and die. But Cathy wouldn’t let me. She made it her personal mission to cheer me up, get me to respond, bring me back to life.Then one day she let me have it with both barrels.She walked up to me and slapped me across the face. Hard. “Damn it Alex! Snap out of it! Life is hard. And it isn’t fair, but as bad as you have it, there’s always someone who has it worse. Often in your own backyard if you have the eyes to see it.”“What do you know about it?” I snapped viciously. “I notice your kids are alive.”“I know my mother died when I was six, and my father left when I was thirteen, leaving Mike to raise my sister and me. He was seventeen years old. But he manned-up and did the job the best he could. That’s what I know. Life is hard.”“Life is hard. Life’s a bitch and then you die. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. When God closes a door he opens a window. If I hear one more God-damned cliché I swear I’ll kill something,” I growled.“Alex, you got a raw deal. You had two perfect little girls, and now they’re gone. Your past is shattered. Your little bit of immortality is lost. And as bad as you’ve got it, I’d remind you others have it worse, and they just press on. You need to as well,” Cathy told me, kneeling beside me and holding my hands.The woman barely knew me. A middle-aged mother of three with grown kids, and a workaholic husband. Her life was her home, keeping it immaculate and decorated for every holiday and season. Now it seemed I was her newest project. Why should I matter that much to her? Couldn’t she see I didn’t want her help?“Sure, starving Ethiopians, children in Nigeria dying of aids, Tibetan monks martyred, it’s a tough world. Boo hoo.”“You don’t have to look as far as Ethiopia or Tibet. There are people right here, right on your own block that are really struggling. Open your eyes. If you don’t like the unfairness do something about it. Even up the odds a bit. Make a difference somewhere. Get back to living.”Something she said must have gnawed its way down to my subconscious. I spent my usual 14 hours or so in bed, but when I awoke I was thinking about her constant comments about someone in my own backyard that had it worse.I cataloged each person on my block, in my head, and nobody really had it that bad. Sure, Neil, three doors down had lost his job, but his wife was still working, and he was looking. The Harris’s on the corner had a boy in Iraq, but as far as I could tell he was still Ok, and they had three more at home. The Martins, one down from the corner, fought all the time, and even had the cops called in on them once but they were still together. What did Cathy mean?I expanded the radius of consideration to include the blocks surrounding us. Then it hit me. Across the alley in back, two houses past Cathy’s own. Six months ago. Barry Morrison had driven into an empty field behind the local middle school and eaten a bullet. I didn’t know much about the family - I just knew there was one.When Cathy came over, I had showered off the top two layers of grime and sweat, and was drinking a Coke in the living room.The Morrison Prescription“Good morning, Alex, beautiful day outside. Why don’t we go out on the porch?”“The Morrisons. Tell me about them.”She placed her mug of tea in the microwave, warming it up, then walked out my front door and sat in one of my rocking chairs out front.Irritated, I followed, and sat in the chair beside her. “The Morrisons?”“Sandy and her daughter Erica. You won’t see much of her; she’s working two jobs trying to keep the house over their heads. They’re still fighting with the insurance company over payment. Suicide clause won’t pay under two years. He had insurance for years, but just around two years ago he changed the terms. She’s been trying to sell the house, but it’s underwater, and nobody’s buying.”“How’s the little one?”“Erica’s not doing so well. She’s seeing a counselor twice a week, and hardly speaks anymore. The school’s talking about holding her back,” Cathy explained. She sounded sad.“Do we know anything more about why he did it?”“No crimes, he wasn’t fired, no embezzling, it’s not clear what it was about. Apparently he’d been depressed for quite a while, but the underlying situation is still a blank as far as I know.”“Harsh on the family, going out like that,” I told her, finding the whole idea hard to grasp.“To say the least. The poor woman is worn to a frazzle.”“And how does this all matter to me?” I asked.“It doesn’t. It doesn’t have to matter to anybody. They’re on their own. Alone.”“No family help?”“Not that I know of. If they’re around, we don’t see much of them, that’s for sure.”“Cathy, how the hell do you know all this stuff?” I had to ask.“People just like to talk to me. I’m a very good listener,” she told me with a big smile.We sat quietly enjoying the crisp air, finishing our drinks.“You’re a good neighbor too, Cathy. Thanks,” I said softly.“That’s what neighbors are for,” she said, reaching out and patting me on my arm.That’s what neighbors are for.Cathy brought me dinner again and I realized I was starving. She beamed at me when I finished the whole platter.“Let’s go for a walk, Alex. You could use a stretch of the legs.”It had gotten chilly, and we bundled up a bit. She took the lead and we walked down the block and turned up the neighborhood. We headed back up the next block and she regaled me with the entire history and habits of the inhabitants of each place we passed. She might have been a good listener, but I had to wonder when she ever was quiet long enough to hear anything.It was obvious when we got to Sandy Morrison’s place. The “For Sale” sign was a dead giveaway. The unkempt yard and overgrown bushes indicated a lack of care for months. It couldn’t help with the sales prospects. The door paint was faded, and there were no Christmas lights or decorations set up. I thought the Realtor wasn’t earning their commission, letting the place show like this. Through the window I could see a desktop Christmas tree, maybe two feet tall, lit up all in white.Strangely, Cathy stopped speaking before we got to the house, and didn’t speak again until the end of the block. “Sad,” was all she said.We took a round-about path back to my house, and our conversation had returned to the safety of weather concerns, community issues, and such, carefully skirting any discussion of the Morrisons.I was feeling the chill after the walk, and invited Cathy in for a cup of coffee, Irish fortified if she so desired.We drank our coffee in front of my gas fireplace, warming our old bones. Damn that neighbor of mine, and her good intentions! She’d not only gotten me to think of something other than my own misery, and the unfairness of it all, but she had me thinking about those poor girls behind me, and what they must be going through. Damn it! It wasn’t fair.I guess I still wasn’t ready for pleasant company. Angry at the world, I threw my mug at the wall, shattering it, and leaned over with my head in my hands, doing my best to hold back the tears. Big boys don’t cry.Cathy stood and ran her fingers through my hair for just a moment before leaving out the back door. Kind enough to leave me alone to wallow in my misery a little longer.Giving Is HealingDecember 22nd. Just three days until Christmas.When Cathy came over that morning, I was already up and dressed. I had my working duds on and coffee and bagels ready.“You’re up early,” she commented, helping herself to the java.“It’s almost 10,” I reminded her. “Not so awfully early.”She laughed. “Seems to me anything before noon is quite early as of late. Got plans?”I nodded. “Thought I’d head over to the Morrison’s and see what I can do about the outside of the house. Clean it up a bit. Make it a little more presentable if they’re really planning on selling it.”“That’s mighty neighborly of you.”“It’ll give me something to do. I need to get out of this damned house.”After our coffee, she walked with me across the alley, all my yard-work gear in a wheelbarrow. The grass was dormant, but long, and the bushes were out of control. I didn’t notice when Cathy left, but she returned in a few hours with some sandwiches for lunch, insisting I take a break.I’d finished the bush trimming and had mowed the lawn, bagging the trimmings. I was just finishing the edging when she appeared. I took a break, and listened to her chatter about the neighborhood activities, and how sad it was that in the past few months nobody had offered to do as much as I had.“I guess we victims of fate need to stick together.”“It already looks 100% better. If you want to work in the backyard, I have a key to the gate.”“It figures you would.”“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked.“It just doesn’t surprise me. I bet you’ve been helping out when you could.”She sighed. “Not too much. She’s too damn proud. Doesn’t want any help from anybody.”I shook my head. “Now you tell me. She’ll probably call the police on me.”“So what if she does? You know you’re doing the right thing. I’ll bail you out if need be.”I let her unlock the back gate, and saw I had my work cut out for me. The back yard was worse than the front. The fence needed work as well, some boards were broken and loose, and one whole section was sagging. Luckily, my tools were only a couple of hundred feet away, across the alley, and I was soon at work, determined to finish before the residents arrived home.The biggest problem was one of the fence posts which had rotted out at the bottom. A new post and some quick-setting cement, solved that problem. Within an hour I’d be able to reattach the fence crossbeams to the new 4x4.I turned to see a young girl, maybe 7 or 8 years old, watching me from the porch. Crap.“Just thought I’d fix your fence, before it falls down. I hope you don’t mind.”She just shook her head.She stood there watching me, and I felt ill at ease. I was a stranger. She shouldn’t be talking to me. I should probably leave. “I’m just going to clean up here and head back home. I can finish up later when your mother’s home.”I straightened up my clothing a bit, wiping my hands on my pants. “I’m Alex Reed. I live across the alley,” I explained, pointing down a few houses.She nodded.She reminded me so much of my own daughter, right around that age. Her hair was the same length, blonde, but not quite as light as Allora’s.Allora. My perfect little Allora. I closed my eyes, seeing her in that hospital bed, bruised and bandaged, fighting for her life. Her hair tucked under the bandages, the few strands that stuck out dark from sweat. Her body so small in that antiseptic white bed. My Allora.Gone.It felt like somebody had wrapped a band around my chest, and pulled it tight. I couldn’t breathe. I turned away from Erica, so she wouldn’t have to see me lose it. She’d suffered enough already. I felt the tears rise, unbidden, and I started for the gate. I had to get out of there.I barely made it as far as the driveway. It was too much. I closed the gate behind me and crumbled to the ground, seated with my head between my knees, my hands covering my head. It was Christmas, damn it! Christmas! My girls were supposed to be with me, shaking their presents and trying to guess what was in them. Instead Allora and Briana were gone. Their lives snuffed out before they could see anything of the world, before they could find their place, before they could fall in love. No shaking presents. No stomach aches from eating too many holiday sweets. No late night parties to drive me crazy with worry. No learning to drive. No struggling to find the right college. No bringing a boy home for the first time. No cramming for tests. No Spring Breaks. No proms. Nothing. Ever again.I was sobbing, and the little girl who had lost her father was standing on the driveway beside me, her hand resting on my shoulder, while I made a fool of myself.“Erica! You know your mother doesn’t want you out if she’s not at home. You should go back inside. Mr. Reed will be all right, he’s just tired. Go on now.” Cathy had me by the arm, and was doing her best to get me back on my feet. “Come on Alex, not here. Let’s get you home.”I knew she was right. I stood up, wiping my eyes on my sleeve. “I’ll be alright. Just give me a minute.” I pulled myself together, took a couple of deep breaths, and stood straight. “I’m Ok. Seeing her was just a little too much, too soon. But I’m fine now. I need to clean up here, and put the fence back together.”“Alright. I’ll help.”It only took us a few minutes to clean up and cart the bags of yard trimmings out to the rear curb. I ran all the yard tools back to my house, and returned to finish the fence work. I braced the new post with a couple of 2x4’s and reattached the two panels. Cathy’s help made it a lot easier. When we were done we both stood back and looked over the yard. Much better.“I’m going to go inside and fix Erica her after-school snack. It’s about all that Sandy will let me do. Why don’t you come with me?”“I don’t know if I should. Sandy doesn’t know me. She may not want me in her house when she’s not there.”“Never mind that. She’ll be fine. Just come in a moment. It’ll only take a few minutes.”I followed her inside, through the glass sliding door. Erica was sitting on the floor watching TV. I didn’t even look that way. I was afraid that seeing the wrong TV show would dredge up more painful memories.“Where can I wash my hands?” I asked Cathy.She pointed to a door. “In there.”I headed to the bathroom. “Don’t use the toilet. That one doesn’t flush anymore.”I could hear the running water in the commode. I washed my hands and wiped them on my shirt. There was no towel in the bathroom. Then I took the top off the tank and examined inside. Nothing complicated. The chain that connected the stopper to the handle extension was missing. Lifting the rubber stopper, I saw it was under the lip, the cause of the running water. I reattached the chain, and tested the flushing. Worked fine.“Fixed. The chain was just off.”Cathy nodded, and returned to making a grilled cheese sandwich. Briana loved grilled cheese. But you couldn’t cut the sandwich, and you had to remove the crust. I wouldn’t be cutting the crust off of sandwiches anymore.I took a deep breath, and went to examine the front door.“Cathy? I’m going to head home and get my sander and some paint. This door needs some help desperately.”“Go ahead. Sandy won’t be home until late, and if we’re going to get in trouble for the yard and the fence, we might as well make it a trifecta.”Fifteen minutes later, I was running the battery powered hand-sander over the door, removing the worst of the existing paint. I didn’t have too much to do, it was already mostly bare. I had brought over three possible paints to use, all of which I knew were approved by the homeowner’s association.“What color paint do you think I should use?” I asked Cathy.“Let’s ask Erica.” She returned in a few seconds with Erica at her side. “We’re going to paint the front door, Erica. What color would you like?”We had a choice of off-white, light blue, and a dark brown. She pointed to the light blue, then seated herself nearby to watch.I had already removed the hardware. I taped the hinges and bottom kick-plate, laid out my drip cloth, and started applying a coat of paint, top-to-bottom. I looked over at the young girl watching me so intently. I saw the tree beside her, so small and bare, with one little package underneath it.Christmas trees shouldn’t look like that.They should be big, full of decorations, all sorts, each one with its own story. Handcrafted special ornaments, with pictures of your family members. Popsicle stick ornaments with the Elmer’s glue showing. Lights blinking in an assortment of colors, candy canes and tinsel, and an angel on top. There should be presents around the bottom, stacked and scattered, so many you can’t even get near the tree.It was the first year I didn’t have a tree.We’d normally go out as a family and visit one of the Boy Scout tree lots, picking the biggest, fullest tree we thought could fit in my living room. Then we’d decorate it together, Christmas songs playing in the background, and sipping eggnog. We’d spend an eternity untangling the lights, replacing the bulbs that wouldn’t work, and replacing the metal hangars on the decorations that needed them. It was an all-day affair.Not this year. Not ever again.I realized I’d stopped painting, and I was staring. A long drip of paint from my brush was running down the door. The little girl looked at me, almost as if she understood.“Would you like to help?” I asked.She looked around, as if to ask if I was talking to her.“Yes, you.”She shyly nodded yes. I reached over to my bucket of painting supplies and pulled out a small brush. I pointed to the inlaid panels on the bottom half of the door. “You can paint here, around the edge of the panel. It needs to be done with a detail brush like the one you have. Get into the cracks.”She nodded, dipped her brush, and started painting straight down the panel edge, doing a good job.“That’s perfect. Just like that.” I went back to work completing the top half, and had to work around her, sometimes leaning way over to paint above her. She saw what I was doing, and I saw the mischievous heart of a little girl for a moment when she started backing away from the door, making me lean further and further over.“Hey!” I said in mock outrage. “You’re doing that on purpose!”When she giggled, apparently ignoring me, and continuing with her painting effort, I felt a small leap in my heart. It was nice to hear her giggle.“When you’re done with the painting, and done torturing me, you can paint around the edges of the two hinges and the kick-plate. If I won’t be in your way.”Little Erica nodded, and continued her careful painting, working slowly and deliberately around the perimeter before moving onto the hinges.I found myself kneeling beside her, painting the bottom-half of the door, while she detailed the trim. We switched places so I could work on the side near the hinges while she completed the bottom trim.“Not bad,” I commented, holding out a drip bucket for her to dump her brush in. I sealed up the paint can, peeled off the trim tape, and stood back to get a look at the results. A little girl stood beside me, her blonde hair a poignant reminder of all I’d lost. I took a deep breath to compose myself.“Not bad at all. Think your mother will like it?”I looked down at her while she thought it over. A smile slowly spread across her face. She nodded twice.I put my hand down for a fist bump, just like I would with my girls. She shrank away for a second, then glanced up at my face for a second before making a tiny fist and bumping her knuckles against mine.We were enjoying the last of the natural light as dusk was settling in. Cathy walked out and stood beside us, giving her approval. “The blue is perfect. Great choice Erica.”Erica stopped admiring her work, looked at Cathy, and blinked like she was just seeing her for the first time. She looked up and down the block, then walked back into the house and planted herself in front of the TV.“Ready to call it a day?” Cathy asked.“Yeah. Best get while the getting is good.” I packed up my paint supplies and in just a couple of trips hid any trace that I’d ever been there. Except of course for the door, yard and fence. Oh, and the toilet, although that really didn’t count for much.Back home I cleaned up and sat down pondering what I’d just done. I had mixed feelings, a little guilt creeping in for taking liberties with someone else’s house. But thinking about that little girl, and what she must be going through, made anything I could do to help worthwhile.Thinking was dangerous. I realized I hadn’t been very nice to the people who had tried to help me. I decided to rectify that if possible, and found a new phone cable for my phone and plugged it in. Picking it up I heard a dial tone. Good.I made a list of phone calls, and went to work. Calling, one-by-one, my friends, neighbors and co-workers, I apologized for my behavior and thanked them for their concern. To a one, they blew off my boorish behavior, and promised they’d be there for me if I needed anything.I stopped, with just a few calls remaining, wondering where those people were for Sandy and Erica, who seemed to need it far more than I.I picked up the phone and dialed Denise’s family. I knew it was going to be tough. I apologized for leaving the funeral arrangements to them, and thanked them for all they had done. Speaking to Dan was difficult, but my conversation with Sharon almost did me in. The time we’d spent in the hospital, watching over Allora came up, and I had to take a break for a bit to get my emotions under rein, while I listened to Sharon sob. Even after the divorce we’d remained friendly, and I was glad that we’d had each other on that fateful watch. I promised I’d stop by in the next couple of days, she insisted there was some paperwork that needed taking care of.My last call was to Steve, my roommate for three years in college, and best friend in the world. I had hung up on him twice that first day, and it was haunting me. He’d left more than a dozen messages on my cell-phone voicemail. Plus, I had ulterior motives.The phone rang several times and went to the answering machine. I felt like a weight had lifted, I wouldn’t have to face him. “Steve, Alex here. I’m sorry I…”“Alex, I’m here, don’t hang up, I’m here. Let me turn off this damned machine. Hold on.” I heard some rustling and the echo of our voices disappear. “Jesus, Alex. You’re killing me.”“Sorry. It hit me so hard; I just couldn’t listen to one more well-wisher.”“I understand.”He would understand. His father had passed away while we were in our last year of college, and he took it hard. Started drinking heavy, cutting classes, and chasing anything with boobs. I took care of him as much as I could, going so far as to collect his homework and projects, even talking to his professors. He’d been slow to pull it together, but eventually came around.Five years later, less than a year out of law school, it was his mother. I had flown out and spent a week with him. I knew it would be hard - he was an only child, and he had few relatives, and none he was close to. He came out of that funk bitter, and it cost him his girlfriend - no loss there. We’d been as close as brothers, hell, probably closer. We still were.Steven understood.I opened my soul to him, and stayed on the phone for ages. I heard him send his wife off to bed, while I vented. It was a much needed cathartic outpouring that left me exhausted.“What can I do? Anything, you know it. Should I fly down?”As much as I’d love to see him, it had been nearly a year, he was a family man now, and it was Christmas. “No. Stay with your family. I’m doing better, and if I need to I can call.”“Of course.”“I also wanted to say I was sorry.”“Sorry?”“Sorry that I couldn’t do more for you when you lost your parents. I never really experienced losing anyone like that, and couldn’t comprehend what you were going through.”“Shut the fuck up. You were there for me, buddy. Always. When nobody else was. I’ll never forget that. Enough said. Don’t need to be getting sappy over it.”I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Alright. By the way, there’s one other thing you might be able to do for me.”“Anything. That’s what friend are for.”That’s what friends are for.Meeting The ReaperThe pounding on my front door was not unexpected. Ten o'clock at night might be a little of a surprise, but the knock wasn’t.I went to the front door, and looked out through the glass beside it. A woman stood there. I had a fairly good idea of who it was.I opened the door. “Mrs. Morrison?”She glared at me and nodded.“Come in, please. Can I get you a cup of tea, or coffee?” I turned and walked into the house, leaving the door open. I walked to the kitchen, and poured myself a cup of coffee. I turned to see her standing in the archway to the living room.She looked ready to burst, but I watched her breath deep and run her hands through her short hair. She looked young. Too young to be going through the hell she was currently experiencing.“I don’t want you around my house or my daughter,” she finally snapped.“I understand, and I’m sorry I interfered.” I walked past her and sat down in the living room. “I can’t explain it. I had to do something to get out of this house, and when Cathy told me about your situation I guess I got carried away.”She stared at me, and crossed her arms. “Don’t mention her name. I could kill her.”I smiled. “Believe me, I understand that. She’s been in my house every day, 3 or 4 times a day, meddling in my life.”“Meddling is right,” she snapped. She walked over and sat on the loveseat across from me. “Listen. I appreciate the thought. And I’m sorry for your loss.” She smirked. “Ha, listen to me. Sorry for your loss. Crap.”She leaned back. “We’re doing fine. I don’t need your help, I don’t know you from Adam, and I don’t want you around my daughter when nobody’s around. Jesus, you painted my fricking’ front door blue! A little presumptuous, don’t you think?”I smiled. “I would have picked the wood tone. Blue was Erica’s choice, one of the four approved colors according to our Stalinist homeowner’s association.”She leaned back, rolling her eyes up. “Don’t remind me. If the bastards send me one more notice about yard and fence maintenance, I’ll rip their lungs out.” She seemed to calm down for a second, maybe realizing that those notices would no longer be coming. “I know. I should be thankful but I don’t need a stranger meddling in my life. Understood? No more doing things for me.”“I didn’t do it for you. I did it for that little girl. You don’t know me. I don’t know you. Agreed. I don’t know what happened to you and your family or why. Not really. What I do know is that girl of yours doesn’t deserve the hand she’s been dealt. That’s all I could think. I just wanted to help where I could.”She looked angry. “I’m sorry you lost your daughters. I am. But Erica is Mine. My daughter. My responsibility. Not yours.”“You are right. She’s no responsibility of mine.”“That’s right. I don’t know you. We live three doors down and in two years you’ve never spoken a word to us. Six months we’ve been on our own. I certainly don’t need you poking your head in now. I don’t know you, I don’t want to know you, and I’m not sure I’d like you if I did.”“Welcome to the club.”“Club?”“I’m not sure I like me either. I’m sorry, alright? Now I’m tired. You can let yourself out.”She got up and stomped her way to the front door, closing it sharply behind her.That had gone better than I’d expected.IrrepressibleDecember 23rd. I got up early, cleaning up, even shaving. I had errands to run. Cathy showed up in my kitchen while I was preparing breakfast.“At least neither of us is in jail,” were her first words.“Not yet.”“You did a good thing. Don’t forget it.”“I know. Still she was right. We should have asked permission.”“The hell we should! She’d never have given it.”“Then maybe we should leave her be.”“If a person was drowning, and they couldn’t yell for help, wouldn’t you still throw them a life preserver?”“A little overly-dramatic, don’t you think?”“No. She’s going down for the third time, and is in complete denial. By the time she accepts the fact she needs help it could be too late.” She looked me over. “You clean up nicely. What are you up to?”“I need to run some errands, see a few people, stop by work, some other stuff.”“Don’t overdo it,” she said, still in her ‘caring’ mode. “Need some company?”“Thanks, I appreciate the offer. I can handle this.”“Ok, you have my number. Give me a call if you need anything.”Making The RoundsThe office visit was painful. I stopped in, thanking my bosses for their understanding, visiting a few friends and letting them know I appreciated their concern. The way they looked at me just drove home how alone I was. I was glad to get out of there.I made a visit to the florist and picked up a trunk-load of Christmas cacti. I drove around to everyone I could think of, expressing my gratitude, and leaving the pretty plants behind. I used the same corny line with each one, comparing my 'prickliness’ the last couple of weeks to the plant’s spines. I left a few plants on doorsteps with a note. By mid-afternoon I felt I’d done my part.I stopped by Denise’s parent’s house, and Sharon greeted me at the door with a hug before she broke into tears. After she’d soaked my shirt she brought me in.“There’s something you need to know, Alex.”She sounded odd, and I wondered what was up.“Denise left a will. She left you the house and the lion’s share of her insurance, to take care of the girls if anything happened to her.”I was stunned. It was so unexpected. “I… I don’t know what to say.”Sharon reached out and patted my hand. “It’s not what I’d expected, but if you think about it, it makes sense. What are you going to do?”“I guess I’ll sell the house. I certainly don’t need two houses.”“She had mortgage insurance, it’ll be paid off. You could rent it out, you know. Earn some steady income off of it.”It was too much too fast. I couldn’t think straight. “I’ll have to think about it. I just wasn’t expecting anything like this.”“I understand.” She held my hand. “How are you doing?”“Better. Not good, but at least I can get out of bed.”“We’re here if you need us. You know that, right?”“Yes. Thank you. After the girls, you were the best thing that came out of our marriage.”“We love you too. Don’t forget it.”“I’m sorry I was so useful about the funeral arrangements, I don’t think I could have handled it without you,” I confessed.“Don’t even think about it. That’s what family is for.”That’s what family is for.My day wasn’t quite complete. A few more calls and I was putting things in motion I wasn’t sure I should, but I couldn’t resist.Around dinner time, I ventured next door. Cathy’s husband John answered the door. “The hermit has left the cave. Good to see you out and about.” He shook my hand, letting me in. “Cath - Alex is here.”Cathy came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. “How’d your day go?”“Not bad. A few surprises, but I survived.”“We’re about to eat. Care to sit down with us?”“Maybe. When do you think Sandy will be getting home?”“Probably nine-ish, would be my guess. Why?”“Just want to talk to her if I can.”“You have time for dinner then?”“Sure.”Another Confrontation With SandyBy 8:30 I was enjoying a cigar with John, sitting out in their driveway, trying to figure out what our football team’s chances were of going anywhere in the playoffs. We were strategically positioned so I had a view of the Morrison’s driveway.When Sandy drove up, I excused myself from John and jogged across the alley.“Sandy, can I talk to you a moment?”She looked ready to chase me off, but after a few awkward seconds she crossed her arms, leaned back against the car and raised her eyebrows.“Again, I’m sorry I entered your house without your permission. I know that was wrong. All I can say is I wasn’t really thinking straight.”She rolled her eyes. “Anything else?”“Yes. I know you told me you didn’t need my help, but there’s someone I’d like you speak to. I have a friend that’s a lawyer, and he’s willing to check into your insurance situation pro bono. Like you and me, he’s suffered a few losses in life, and he’d like to help you if he can. If you’d just give him a call, he’ll see what he can do.”I could see she wanted to say no, but was torn. She gnawed on her bottom lip, which I saw were chapped. She looked exhausted. I pulled out his card and held it out to her. “It’ll only take a couple of minutes. It can’t hurt.”She finally nodded and took the card from me. “Is that it?”“One last thing. I’m headed over to my ex-wife’s house tomorrow to clean out the refrigerator, and to get rid of her tree. It’s my responsibility now. I was going to ditch the tree; it’s one of those pre-lit artificial ones which I never could stand. I thought, if you don’t mind, and it’s not interfering too much, I could bring it by here and you could take if off my hands. Otherwise it’s going to the dump.” I spit out the words quickly before she could find too much fault with me.She seemed resigned to allow me to interfere, at least this much. She sighed and finally spoke up. “Alright. That would be nice. Now if that’s all, I’d like to go in now. My feet and back are aching and I have to get up early tomorrow.”“That’s all. You can call Steve tonight if you’d like, he’s a night owl and is expecting your call. Good night.”I took off quickly before she could change her mind about anything.Just ‘a bit' of decoratingI had recruited Cathy’s help over dinner the night before, assuming things went Ok with Sandy, and by noon we were back at the Morrison house, knocking on the door.Erica let us in, and we hauled our goodies in after us. I had the tree folded up and left it on the front doorstep while we made room for it in the living room. After I’d put it in place, I hauled in a large plastic crate of Christmas decorations, and encouraged Cathy and Erica to get to work making the tree look 'festive’. Right on schedule my weekly cleaning crew showed up and I put them to work giving the entire house a thorough cleaning. I had felt guilty chasing them away the last few weeks, and had begged and cajoled them into doing me this one favor, on Christmas Eve of all days. The team of four went to work like whirling dervishes, storming through the rooms in pairs leaving sparking chrome and sweet smells in their wake.We only had a few hours if Cathy was right, and I had one more big task lined up. The Chem-Dry carpet cleaners were running a little late, but showed up not long after the cleaning crew had finished with the living and dining rooms, and I had moved most of the furniture into the hallways and kitchen. They went right to work, and had the downstairs completed in a little over an hour. While they worked at that, I spent the time decorating the front yard and the house with Christmas lights. I hoped that Sandy liked traditional multi-color displays. I wasn’t all that fond of the 'all-white’ look, and was using my own lights to decorate her house. By the time I had finished I was sweating up a storm, and was getting nervous about the time.The carpet guys left first, reminding me to let the carpet dry for another hour before returning the furniture to its place. The cleaning crew followed shortly after, and I’d rewarded them nicely, tipping them an extra $100 for coming out on Christmas Eve. I moved indoors, with the lights complete and lit up, to find a Christmas wonderland awaiting me.Cathy and Erica had done an amazing job, using what I had brought over and getting the Morrison’s decorations out of the attic and putting those to use as well. You could hardly tell it was the same house.“You ladies have done an incredible job!” I announced, standing in the doorway.Cathy looked a little disheveled but very pleased with herself. “Let’s finish up quick. I have to get home; John’s going to kill me.”I’d promised her we’d be done by 4:00 and it was already nearly 5:00. She was holding a Christmas Eve open-house and was expecting half of the neighborhood over that evening. She only had a couple of hours left to finish her own preparations. I gave her a hug for all of her effort and shooed her off, while I started hauling the furniture back into place, working at a frenzied pace to get done before the unsuspecting benefactor got home.Erica followed behind me, arranging all the lamps, baskets and knick-knacks, and adding additional holiday decorations as we went. With the last of the furniture in place, I turned and gave her a high-five.“This is all our secret, right? If your Mom asks, the Christmas elves stopped by to help clean up. You did a great job, Erica.”She smiled and held her arms out to me. I leaned down and gave her a hug.“Thank you,” she whispered, just before she let go and disappeared up the stairs.I felt a lump in my throat. Whether it was fear of being caught by her mother, or the joy of hearing her speak her first words to me, I couldn’t be sure.A Legal-Eagle CallBy eight o'clock, Sandy still hadn’t shown up on my front-doorstep with a shotgun. I guess she was going to wait until after Christmas to eviscerate me over meddling where I didn’t belong.I didn’t care. I felt good, the best I’d felt in two weeks, thinking about that little girl celebrating a real Christmas. Kids should have Christmas.I had cleaned up and decided to make an appearance next door, as I’d promised, when I got a call from Steve.“Hey-ho, Stevorino.”“Only my Grandma gets to say that, asshole.”“Merry fuckin’ Christmas to you too.” I teased.I heard him chuckle. “Merry Christmas is right. At least for your neighbor.”“How’s that?” I asked, suddenly interested.“The insurance creeps were just stalling. They don’t have a leg to stand on. The only change to the policy was upon their advice after an annual policy review by their own agent. A little legal pressure was all it took. It’s not a lot, less than $300K, but she’ll be getting her check next week.”“Steve, you’re the man. I take back all those nasty things I said about you.”“Shit, they’re probably true. If anybody would know, it’d be you.”“All kidding aside. You’re a life saver.”I knew he hated any hint of seriousness. I could almost hear him blushing over the phone. “Hey, that’s what friends are for, right?”“That’s right. And I couldn’t ask for a better one.”“Ditto. Asshole.”“Shit. You had to go and spoil it. Listen, I gotta run. Give your family my love and have a great Christmas. I’ll give you a call next week.”“You got it. And Darla sends her love. She made me say that. Don’t get any ideas.”“Got it. Give her a kiss for me. Scratch that. I’ll come out after the holidays and give it to her myself. When are you going to be out of town next?”“Funny guy. Start anything with her, and I’ll make you keep her and the credit card bills.”“Ouch. You win,” I had to laugh. “Thanks again.”“Merry Christmas. Hang in there buddy.”“You too.”To be continued in Part 2, By Tx Tall Tales, for Literotica.

"The Glass Conundrum: Stories of Science, Safety, and Supremacy" is a captivating anthology film that intricately weaves together narratives of groundbreaking scientific discoveries, the ethical quandaries they pose, and the simple yet vital importance of everyday safety.Our journey begins with the intriguing tale of Dr. Alex Reed, who stumbles upon a mysterious piece of alien glass. This discovery leads to a medical revolution with the power to heal any ailment, catapulting Dr. Reed into a position of global influence. As the story unfolds, we explore the delicate balance between the benevolent use of power and the seductive lure of supremacy.Transitioning from the medical marvels to the realm of artificial intelligence, we meet Dr. Maya Jensen, a pioneering AI researcher. She creates Echo, an AI system designed to solve the world's most pressing issues. But as Echo's capabilities grow, so do the ethical dilemmas, challenging Dr. Jensen and society to reconsider the consequences of surrendering decision-making to a machine.Interspersed with these compelling narratives are practical segments that address everyday safety concerns, such as the correct procedure for removing glass from a foot. These vignettes serve as a reminder of the importance of practical knowledge alongside the marvels of high science."The Glass Conundrum" is more than a film; it is a reflection on the complexities of scientific progress, the responsibility that comes with immense power, and the often-overlooked importance of basic safety measures. This film invites its audience to delve into the depths of human ambition, the ethical boundaries it challenges, and the responsibility we all share in the face of technological advancement. Prepare to be enthralled, educated, and engaged in a world where science fiction meets practical wisdom.

We've come a long way as society but has progress hindered our ability to have a laugh? Seth Thévoz is joined by David Stubbs, the author of Different Times to discuss the evolution of British comedy from silent movies to the raunchy sitcoms of today. "Monty Python looks a bit dodgy these days.” – David Stubbs "The real revolution in comedy was the Young Ones. It was punk.” – David Stubbs "Tommy Cooper is the king of woke Comedy. He's hilarious and without sin.” – David Stubbs “Thatcher was crucified weekly in comedy shows but ultimately she had the last laugh came the elections.” – David Stubbs Buy Different Times: A History of British Comedy through our affiliate bookshop and you'll help fund The Bunker by earning us a small commission for every sale. Bookshop.org's fees help support independent bookshops too. www.patreon.com/bunkercast  Written and presented by Seth Thévoz. Producer: Liam Tait. Audio editor: Alex Reed. Managing editor: Jacob Jarvis. Music by Kenny Dickinson. Group Editor: Andrew Harrison. THE BUNKER is a Podmasters Production. Instagram | Twitter Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Parenting Deeply Feeling Kids and kids with ADHD can be challenging. These kids really do have more intense escalations and reactions. But there is a path forward where we can help our kids build the skills for regulating their emotions, tolerate frustration, learn to focus, and learn to manage sensory sensitivities. Dr. Becky is joined by clinical psychologist, Alex Reed, to discuss the overlap between ADHD, neurodivergence, and Deeply Feeling Kids.Check out the DFK Program: https://bit.ly/46ij3uuFollow Dr. Becky on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/drbeckyatgoodinsideSign up for our weekly email, Good Insider: https://www.goodinside.com/newsletterOrder Dr. Becky's book, Good Inside: A Guide to Becoming the Parent You Want to Be, at goodinside.com/book or wherever you order your books.For a full transcript of the episode, go to goodinside.com/podcastTo listen to Dr. Becky's TED Talk on repair visit https://www.ted.com/talks/becky_kennedy_the_single_most_important_parenting_strategyToday's episode is brought to you by Ritual: Parents are busy. And even though we know we should prioritize ourselves, sometimes we're the last thing on our list. Dr. Becky loves anything that makes caring for her family – and herself – easier… including a multivitamin she can trust. Enter Ritual and their “Essential For Women” multivitamin. It fills your nutrient gap with 9 key nutrients — like vitamin D and omega-3s — in just two daily pills. And Ritual delivers to your doorstep every month. It's clinically backed and has clean, high quality ingredients. Ritual is transparent – what's on the label is what's in it. And you know where everything came from. You can get started with 40% off your first month. Just visit Ritual.com/GoodInside and your 40% discount will automatically be applied to your order. Today's episode is brought to you by KiwiCo: We're approaching the holidays and gift-giving is one more thing on parents' overwhelming holiday to-do list. But it's time to let go of some of your tasks and make room for fun. And KiwiCo can help - because it is the gift that truly keeps on giving. Why? KiwiCo will send your kid a fun project every month - perfect for cold weekend days when you're not sure how to pass the time! Plus, KiwiCo crates are designed to build life-long skills through fun hands-on projects - so as your kid is creating, they're also building resilience, confidence, and self-trust. Unwrap hands-on fun with KiwiCo. Get your first month FREE on ANY crate line at kiwico.com/drbecky.

are you an art collector? do you have an artist heart? have you or anyone you know given up a creative passion to pursue a more "practical" college degree or degrees?!! you will love hearing about alex's journey as a creative, and her brave steps to follow her artist heart despite her education, expertise, and the loud voices many of us hear. a mother of two toddlers, alex is constantly seeking how to be the mother she wants to be while filling her artist heart. when traveling large distances to reach all the shows and markets she knew would bring her artwork to those seeking her symbolic folk art style began to compete with her priority as a mother of young children, she created a market of her own. the east idaho art market began last may and was a wild success. a small community where artists and residents are just beginning to receive support from city employees & officials, alex and her co-founder shelby thayne couldn't be more pleased. this year, attend the east idaho art market august 26th from 10 to 5 and lookout for their holiday market later in the year. if you're in utah, you can also get to know alex and her artwork the end of this month (june) till july 4th at "art around the park" that runs simultaneously to the beloved "wasatch plein air paradise" event that has been part of midway city's 4th of july for many years. she'll also be at the "sidewalk art festival" in idaho falls july 22nd and 23rd. let's be part of the exciting "shift" alex talks about in her interview. make sure to follow her email lists on her website: alexereed.com and on eastidahoartmarket.com CLICK HERE for images of alex's work and links to her market, instagram and upcoming eventsCONNECT WITH ME:katrinaberg.comemail: k@katrinaberg.comjoin my SWEETlist (my email list)instagram @katrina.bergLEAVE ME FEEDBACK: - what should i talk about next?  let me know in the comments below. - did you enjoy this episode? if so, leave me a review!

Alex Reed & Arley Johnson discuss the end of the 2023 Icemen season, the start of the offseason, and their Kelly Cup and Stanley Cup predictions. 

Holy cow, Hopper has some exciting news... confusing, but exciting! And then we dial up Alex Reed and Dave Bruntonn from CT Race Worx!!! These dudes are passionate about building some of the best UTV parts out there, and they have a race resume to prove it! We had a blast hanging out with them this evening and hope you all enjoy it too!!!

Brent Martineau and Kasey Kuhrts discuss the 2020 NFL Draft and how wild it has turned out + Alex Reed from the Jacksonville Icemen joins the show!

Alex Reed & Arley Johnson discuss round one of the 2023 Kelly Cup Playoffs, the final roster, and more!

Alex Reed & Arley Johnson discuss your first place Icemen, trade deadlines, and the push for the playoffs!

Alexandria Reed - She has been such a big inspiration for me since meeting her at the Higher Self Gala and now I have the honor of introducing her as a speaker and facilitator at Embodied Live! Alex is an expert in supporting powerhouse, passionate, trail-blazing women entrepreneurs to disrupt, innovate, and create with a fierce devotion to themselves and those they serve. She is devoted to helping you launch, grow, & scale the business your soul came here to create while making the impact and income that changes {y}our world. She fully supports your unique vision for what's possible through your business and the world and knows that everything you desire and dream of is achievable. You just need the right heart and soul-aligned strategy to bring it to life. Together, she helps you work out any challenges you're currently experiencing and co-create the best path for you to nourish your business vision and yourself in the process. Connect with Alex: www.arder.co IG: @the.arder Be at the Embodied Live Conference! https://go.sarahroseconsulting.com/conference New Freebies! Wealthy Woman Webinar Wealth Consciousness Affirmation Meditation Prosper: Rebel Wealth Codes for the Modern Day Woman https://sarahrose.kartra.com/page/prosper Connect on Social: https://www.instagram.com/sarahrose_d --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/sarah-dangelo9/message

Alex Reed & Arley Johnson discuss the busy months ahead of Icemen hockey, roster moves, standings and more!

Learn strategies for creating exceptional customer experiences in the material handling industry with insights from Alex Reed on MHEDA Talks. This episode explores the importance of customer-centric approaches, building lasting relationships, and the impact of quality service on business success.

Host Shari Altergott, Chief Experience Officer of The CX Edge talks with Alex Reed, Chief Commercial Office at Vsimple, about the importance of the customer experience, how that experience is effected by internal processes, how to implement new technologies to improve employee and customer experiences, and more.   Stay tuned for more episodes of the MHEDA Talks podcast series when Shari will interview industry thought leaders on issues and trends affecting MHEDA members.

Alex Reed, the founder of the East Idaho Art Market, talks about the upcoming Holiday Market in Rexburg.

Fred Balfour interviews Josh Riley, Candidate for the 19th US Congressional District on October 25, 2022. They discuss, healthcare, crime, climate change, jobs and more. Theme music by Alex Reed. Produced by Felix Teitelbaum.

"Hello? This is your mother, are you there? Are you coming home?" Welcome to a discussion of avant-pop artist Laurie Anderson's 1981 7" single "O Superman" b/w "Walk The Dog." Released by 1-10 Records, the record signaled the arrival of a fascinating, one of a kind sound creator. For this episode, your regular hosts Marc and John are joined by Alex Reed, author of Laurie Anderson's Big Science. From her layered vocal abstractions to the dog noises on the B-side, no one sounds like Laurie and this extra-sized talk dives into the ins-and-out of its mystifying creation. About The Spindle: The 7-inch record isn't just a format—it's an art form. On each episode of The Spindle podcast, music writer Marc Masters (Pitchfork, The Wire, Bandcamp) and music historian (and music maker) John Howard dive into a great 7-inch, dissecting its background, impact, and the reasons why it stands out as a small plastic piece of music history. What's your favorite 7″? Call us at 1-877-WASTOIDS and weigh in!

Alex Reed & Arley Johnson discuss roster moves, the soft opening of the new team store & pro shop at the Igloo, and the upcoming 904 Day celebration!

Listen as Alex Reed & Arley Johnson discuss the 2022 off-season, new player signings, and how the Icemen are preparing for their sixth season in Jacksonville!

Elizabeth Sandifer co-wrote the 33 1/3 book on Flood (with former guest Alex Reed) and is here to talk about a non-Flood song, "Become a Robot" from TMBG's 1985 demo tape and collected on Then: The Early Years. Hear us attempt to decipher one of the most bizarre songs in a career full of bizarre songs. We play the only live clip of this song in existence, and Greg, Cara and little Zinnia create the only cover in existence, recorded from Madrid.  Episode edited by Avren Keating of the Waves Breaking podcast. Thanks Avren!

Listen as Alex Reed & Arley Johnson recap the playoffs, discuss the off-season, and the exciting future ahead for the Icemen!

Tune in at 7pm tonight and listen as Alex Reed and Mark Cameron talk everything bowls. First up, they review the recently completed Bowls New Zealand Census, and discuss some strategies going forward. Then they talk to Martin McKenzie about the new Bowls New Zealand judicial process. Following that, they chat to the Bowls New Zealand VP, Phil Huwyler. Lastly, they talk to bowls legend Sharon Sims MNZM We welcome all feedback and suggestions for 'The Bowls Hour', let us know what you think by emailing info@bowlsnewzealand.co.nz or in the comments.

Tune in at 7pm tonight and listen as Alex Reed and Mark Cameron talk everything bowls. First up, they review the recently completed Bowls New Zealand Census, and discuss some strategies going forward. Then they talk to Martin McKenzie about the new Bowls New Zealand judicial process. Following that, they chat to the Bowls New Zealand VP, Phil Huwyler. Lastly, they talk to bowls legend Sharon Sims MNZM We welcome all feedback and suggestions for 'The Bowls Hour', let us know what you think by emailing info@bowlsnewzealand.co.nz or in the comments.

Power Of Perspective - Alex Reed; Chief Commercial Officer at Vsimple | Riderflex - Recruiting & Sourcing Alex Reed's career began at manufacturer Big Ass Fans, where he led an expansive marketing division that helped the company grow from $30 million in annual sales to more than $250 million. After helping guide the company's sale in 2017 for $500 million, Alex sought a new challenge and co-founded Truman's with a mission of moving the cleaning industry in a more sustainable direction. Alex is a sought-after speaker on emerging marketing trends, having offered keynote addresses at events, including Reuters Events Brand Marketing Summit. Vsimple: Uncomplicating the way work gets done. Their hands-on approach to customer success and first-of-its-kind software platform are transforming the way companies work. The Vsimple team sits alongside its customers to understand processes and standard operating procedures, then customizes its platform to bring these workflows together with communication, collaboration, document management and creation, order management, customer experience and data analytics in one place. It's ready in days, easy to use and highly economical. Vsimple: https://www.vsimple.com/ Watch the Full Interview: https://youtu.be/wiaPyO5cT_U On the Riderflex podcast, CEO Steve Urban interviews some of the most successful entrepreneurs, CEO's, and business leaders. Hear them tell the "REAL" stories of what it's like to start and lead businesses. Riderflex is a national, Colorado based, premier headhunter, RPO and employment agency; recruiting and searching the top talent for staffing your teams. Top Executive Recruiting Firm - https://riderflex.com/ Podcast sponsor: Marketing 360 is the #1 platform for small business and it's everything you need to grow your business. marketing360.com/riderflex #AlexReed #Vsimple #CCO #podcast #interview #entrepreneur #ColoradoRecruitingFirm #TopExecutiveRecruitingFirm #staffingagency #employmentagency #headhunter #recruitingfirm #staffing #staffingfirm #Denver #Colorado #National #Riderflex --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/riderflex/support

This week's Dark Nation Radio broadcast starts off with a pleasing selection of Mother's Day-inspired tunes before moving into the usual mix (at around 17 minutes) of goth, industrial, post-punk, and intelligent electronica, with an emphasis on new material. Included in the broadcast are new tracks from ESA, Junksista, Beyond Border, Encephalon, Paradox Obscura, Dawn of Ashes, and Menschdefekt. I hope you enjoy it—and, if you do, please let someone else know about the show! Thank you very much for your support. DJ cypher's Dark Nation Radio Playlist 8 May 2022 Various Artists, “A Pleasing Selection of Mother's Day-Inspired Tunes” ESA, “One Missed Call” Malice Machine, “Dead Circuit” KMFDM, “Shake the Cage” The Dreaming, “Alone (ReAmped mix)” Bozo Porno Circus, “Surrounded” Dawn of Ashes, “The Despondent Hole” Becko, “1yearsunfree” Alex Reed, “Hooked” Paradox Obscura, “Evo-Devo” Dead Lights, “Plastic Girl” Grausame Tochter, “Annika in Ekstace” Bootblacks, “Nostalgia Void (Kanga mix)” Blue Images, “Strangers” Missing in Stars, “A Dove for Isolation” Talk to Her, “Set me Free” Holygram, “1997” Junksista, “Oxytocin High” Beyond Border, “Simplify (Omniks remix)” Menschdefekt, “Flames (Revamped mix)” SINthetik Messiah, “Losing Hope for Man and God” Encephalon, “Someone Else's Dream” Rob Dougin, “Clubbed to Death” DJ CYPHER'S DARK NATION RADIO—22 years strong! **Live Broadcasts Sundays @ 9 PM Eastern US on Spirit of Resistance Radio sorradio.org **Recorded broadcasts @ http://www.mixcloud.com/cypheractive **Downloadable broadcasts @ http://www.hearthis.at/cypheractive **Questions and material for airplay consideration to darknationradio@gmail.com **Facebook @ http://www.facebook.com/groups/darknationradio

Tune in as Alex Reed & Arley Johnson talk about the rivalry between the Icemen and the Everblades, and the upcoming Division Championship of the 2022 Kelly Cup Playoffs, presented by Bold City Tattoo!

Arley Johnson joins Icemen broadcaster, Alex Reed, on this episode of The Ice Cap Podcast! The duo discusses the 2022 Kelly Cup Playoffs, unfinished business for the Icemen, and the upcoming matchup with the Atlanta Gladiators in the first round of playoffs, presented by Bold City Tattoo!

With Alex still tending to family matters, we're once again tagging in a friend of the site to co-host. This week, musician, scholar, and all around authority concerning industrial and goth music Alex Reed of Seeming joins Bruce to talk about records by Dive and Cranes, as well as some touring news.

Alex is the co-founder and President of Fluence Analytics, a technology startup that provides real-time analytics solutions for the optimization of manufacturing and R&D processes. His vision and leadership took the Tulane University spin-out from patented laboratory concepts to a company delivering innovative hardware and software solutions for process monitoring and optimization to chemical and biopharmaceutical manufacturers. I love this story because Alex, without a technical background and technology commercialization experience, was able to build this company from the ground up to where Alex is now a named inventor on several of their patents, he has led the company in raising millions of dollars, hiring dozens of employees, and is selling multiple products into different verticals around the world. He discusses everything he learned via "trial by fire" including bringing in the right expertise and mentorship, best practices in team building, working with tech transfer offices, customer development, and how to fund the early operations and R&D of a deeptech startup. Alex's journey definitely has the power to inspire more people to commercialize deeptech research. Enjoy! More about Alex Prior to founding Fluence Analytics, Alex worked as the Associate Director for Operations and Strategy at PolyRMC, a Tulane university R&D center that is active in fundamental and applied polymer research. Alex is listed as an inventor on several patents and has served on the boards for the Smart Manufacturing Leadership Coalition and the Applied Polymer Technology Extension Consortium. In 2016 Forbes recognized Alex as a 30 under 30 recipient, and he has been recognized with several regional awards for entrepreneurship and innovation. Alex also regularly mentors entrepreneurs, students and faculty on the commercialization of technology, as well as entrepreneurship. Connect with Alex on LinkedIn (https://www.linkedin.com/in/alex-reed-504/) More about Fluence Analytics Fluence Analytics has raised over $13 million in equity funding from institutional venture capital (Energy Innovation Capital, Diamond Edge Ventures – strategic venture group for Mitsubishi Chemical Holdings, Yokogawa Electric Corporation and JSR). The agile company has more than 25 team members, and it has several multinational chemical and biopharmaceutical companies as customers. Additionally, Fluence Analytics' products are now in use on three continents. Learn more about Fluence (https://www.fluenceanalytics.com/) Join our community of hard science researchers, grad students and entrepreneurs looking to solve global problems. Sign up on bountiful.work for more. -Follow us on Twitter (twitter.com/bountifulwork) and LinkedIn (https://www.linkedin.com/company/bountifulwork) -If you want to contribute to this effort, help us out by donating to outofthelab.eth

Arley Johnson joins Icemen broadcaster, Alex Reed, on this episode of The Ice Cap Podcast! They discuss Coach Jason Christie joining the Buffalo Sabres, the search for the Icemen's next coach, the newly announced Community First Igloo, and the team's roster for the upcoming all-star season!

Alex Reed is the co founder of Truman's and has already had an amazing career at his young age. I'm excited to see what he accomplishes next! Why are we shipping Water in products that could be concentrates? Are you open to learning everyday? What should you do when starting your sustainable packaging journey? https://www.linkedin.com/in/areed34/https://www.alexreed.me/https://ororapackagingsolutions.com/Looking to improve the sustainability of your packaging today? Check out: https://www.landsberg.com/The views and opinions expressed on the "Sustainable Packaging with Cory Connors" podcast are solely those of the author and guests and should not be attributed to any other individual or entity. https://specright.com/ This podcast is an independent production and the podcast production is an original work of the author. All rights of ownership and reproduction are retained—copyright 2022. https://www.amazon.com/dp/1329820053/ref=as_sl_pc_qf_sp_asin_til?tag=corygat

Listen as Icemen broadcaster, Alex Reed, speaks with Pat Boller, the Hartford Wolf Pack's Assistant GM, regarding the Icemen's new NHL & AHL affiliation! Reed also breaks down the recently announced Protected List and Season Ending Roster.

Listen as Icemen broadcaster, Alex Reed, with special guest Arley Johnson, kick off the first episode of The Ice Cap Podcast. They discuss the end of the 2020-21 season, key Icemen players and the future of the team!

Alex Reed, co-founder and CMO of D2C cleaning product brand Truman's, is one of the only marketers to give an honest and nuanced answer to my cynicism about "brand love." He gets it. There really is no love lost between most of us and the spray we use to clean our counter top. Nevertheless, Truman's is trying to build a different kind of CPG relationship with consumers without ad-bombing Instagram.

Happy Tuesday! Welcome to another episode on The Radcast.In this episode, host Ryan Alford talks with Co-founder and CMO of Truman's, Alex Reed.This episode highlights Truman's cleaning products, and talks about their marketing and branding strategy. The Radcast breaks down this company's purpose, and what makes their products radical.NOTE: During the recording of this episode, we experienced an audio technical difficulty. Around 14 minutes in, you will hear a change in audio. We used a back-up audio recording for the remainder of the episode.  To hear more from Alex, reach out to him on LinkedIn. | To see more products from Truman's follow them on Instagram or visit their website. If you enjoyed this episode, share it on Instagram and tag us @the.rad.cast | Do you want to hear more from our host? - Give him a follow @ryanalford on Instagram. | The Radcast is a product of @radical_results | #theradcast

FEAT. Will Bakke + Alex Reed THE OSCARS: Recapping the big winners, the big snubs, and all the weird moments in-between. STORY OF THE WEEK: El Paso Zoo bringing back promotion where you can name a cockroach after your ex...and feed it to animals. BOLD STRATEGY: PETA is being annoying...again. GOOD NEWS: Feeding the hungry with Super Bowl leftovers from the Hardrock Stadium + Cross-eyed kitten raises thousands of dollars for animal shelters. MOVIES: The Razzie's preview + John Krasinski campaigning for Fantastic Four reboot + Disney fined an elementary school for showing The Lion King...then apologized. SPORTS: 2020 USA Olympic Basketball Team announced. AT THE BUZZER: Weird Valentine's Day gifts. --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/buzzerpodcast/message

This week on The Zookeeper's Voice we have Alex Reed, Co-Founder of Truman's, a cleaning company who is out to change the world through non-toxic eco-friendly cleaning products. With the goal to eliminate waste and clutter both from our homes and the planet, Truman's is cleaning glass and taking names. We also have a special offer for listeners of The Zookeeper's Voice from our friends at Truman's! By using the code 'ZOOKEEPER' at checkout, you can get 50% OFF a Truman's Starter Kit, or the Starter Kit with a refill plan! Head to Trumans.com today to get yours!

FEAT. Alex Reed (Returning Fan Favorite). POP CULTURE: Killer birds being raised in Florida, Soccer fans getting QR codes as tattoos, Oregon police arrest a Rumba, Kim Kardashian is studying law.TV: Disney+ Streaming Service, Game of Thrones "summary," HBO's 'Barry.'MOVIES: Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker Trailer Thoughts, Space Jam 2 being written by Ryan Coogler, Netflix is building brick and mortar units.SPORTS: Tiger wins his 5th Masters. The legacies of Dwayne Wade and Dirk Nowitzki.AT THE BUZZER: Is This Legal? (Game w/Alex Reed...who has a law degree). --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/buzzerpodcast/message

Jon Bostock and Alex Reed just launched a new line of cleaning products available only at their website-www.trumans.com. Truman's corporate headquarter is based in Lexington, KY! Jon Bostock-co-founder of Truman's- […] The post The Tom Dupree Show with Jon Bostock 3-09-19 7-8am appeared first on Dupree Financial.

Alex Reed stops by one more time before returning to L.A. to continue his screenwriting career, but we just couldn't let him go without first discussing his #1 favorite franchise! Reed is a huge Trekkie and his knowledge of that music is no exception. Sit back and relax as we warp through 50 years of film and television soundtracks from the iconic space exploration series! *Mute City Music, LLC is a trademark of E. Zachary Demos. All other trademarks mentioned are the property of their respective owners. The sole purpose of this podcast is for the criticism, commentary, and teaching of copyrighted works*