Chapter 16

Bill Lefkewicz has chopped and stacked all his wood. He has raked his yard and put the deck furniture away. He has had the furnace cleaned at his own house, and at the two places he rents out. He has put up Christmas decorations, and last weekend he and Eliza bought and decorated a Christmas tree.

He sits in his office on Route 32, and he stares out the window at the cold, cold day, and wonders what on Earth he can do to make himself get into the spirit. He has tried everything he knows, everything.

Well, he thinks, OK, not everything. I haven't volunteered to put a Santa hat on and ring the bell for the Salvation Army. I haven't found a group of people who are planning on going out caroling. I haven't finished my Christmas shopping. I haven't baked cookies.

But Bill Lefkewicz really doesn't feel like doing any of those things. And he doesn't really think that any of those things would help him feel any better.

All he wants to do is close the office down, do home, shut off the lights, take the phone off the hook and stay inside, just like that, until about Jan. 2.

For the first time today, he smiles. I could almost do that, he thinks. If it weren't for Eliza, I could do that. I could just drop off the face of the earth for a little while and no one would notice.

He watches the traffic go by outside. From his office, he can just see the edge of the Tri-Town Foods parking lot, where they're selling Christmas trees. There's not much business today, early on a Friday, but the trees are selling. They always do.

Bill watches as the man selling the trees walks up and down, swinging his arms and then clapping his hands together. A black dog walks with him, up and down. The dog is carrying a stick, and wagging his tail, and watching the man.

Maybe that's it, Bill thinks. Maybe I need a dog.

He thinks about it. He knows there are ferrets and cats at the shelter. There is a dog, too, but it has some medical problems, and Bill's not up for that. But a cat, he thinks, maybe a cat. Cats don't need much.

They do need food, he thinks. And they do need litter. And they need someone to love them. And Bill Lefkewicz isn't so sure that he's got enough love in him to give any of it to a cat.

But he thinks of his empty house, and his empty life, and he wonders.