were men who took breaks. They took breaks from life, long hiatuses of evil lowdown opting-out. They lay in bed for months, took the winter off from being human, and then reentered the community when it suited them. They knew that each time people, people like me, would welcome them back, sometimes in spite of ourselves. One was old and one was almost young. Rudy with his beard and his fruit trees, his Count of Monte Cristo, his chain saws, Aldi with his chickens, his briefcase, his willow legs.
We never slept over. No matter how late we stayed, Rudy always tightened the chain back onto the bar, packed up his file, patted Aldi on the back, and said it was time to get going, that we had hard work to do tomorrow.
We never slept over and I can’t say I wanted to. But I sat near to Aldi, those long nights, I sat on the side opposite him so that I was in the shadow of the woodstove, where Rudy couldn’t see, and I slipped my hand into Aldi’s hand, and we kept the pressure on.
One night, Aldi said, “So here we are, Rudy, both of us out of hibernation for once, and the deep midwinter, at that. Is it just this thing with the kid that’s keeping you awake?”
“That and my fruit tree operation,” Rudy said, his saw disassembled before him so he could clean each piece.
“Got you in trouble once already,” Aldi said.
“It’s what keeps me out of trouble,” Rudy said. “If I could only get folks interested. You and me, Aldi. Neither of us loves much, but we both love trees.”
“You don’t love trees any more than I love the fucking county prosecutor,” Aldi said. He was well into his second six-pack of Natural Ice, but still we hadn’t noticed when he’d turned mean. Through all of it, he never let go of my hand.
Rudy said, “Now what are you talking about?”
Aldi said, “I might be old but I’m not blind. I can see what’s happening to my oak.”
Rudy said, “You might not be blind, but you sure are paranoid.” He tried to laugh it off, but Aldi wasn’t laughing.
Aldi said, “You’re like the rest of them, you’re no different.”
“Aldi, we’ve been over this,” Rudy said.
Aldi said, “Biggest job you’ve ever done, huh? A way to get your rocks off. Get a bunch of firewood for free.”
Rudy began to collect saw parts by the handful. He said, “I don’t have to sit here and listen to this.” He tried to capture the unbridled vim he’d use on any other person, but instead his voice softened. “Free firewood? Aldi, you’re keeping all the firewood. I’m doing you a favor, Aldi. I’m doing this for your own good.”
Aldi said, “That’s funny. First you told me you were just holding up your end of the bargain. Remember that? A trade’s a trade?”
Rudy swiped his tools into his bag, shouldered his chain saw, stuck his ponytail in his mouth, and walked out.
Aldi yelled after him, “I won’t burn a stick of that wood, not a stick. You can keep it.”
He gripped my hand so hard I feared something was broken. “Helen?” he asked. “Am I wrong?”
“Aldi,” I said.
“You know what I mean about the tree,” he said. But I didn’t know anything. For years, I had known everything, and it hadn’t exactly been working out. Knowing hadn’t fastened Perley to us, and it hadn’t brought him home yet. Knowing never made anyone love me. With Aldi, I had been trying out what it might be like to hold his hand without understanding why, to sit in the dark and not know a thing.
“Are you going to stay?” Aldi asked, and then I knew I would disappoint him.
“I’m sorry, Aldi,” I said. A finger at a time, I freed my hand.
At the truck, Rudy was waiting.
The last night with Perley we hadn’t known it was the last night. He went to sleep with chocolate chips smeared on his face and then his moms and me whisper-fought through the walls. The last night with my boyfriend, all those years ago, I hadn’t known was our last night, even though he tried to tell me. The last night before cancer took my uncle, I hadn’t known it and neither had he. That night, we watched TV, for Christ’s sake, we didn’t say the things that needed to be said. Always expecting it is the same as never expecting it. There’s no way to be