Chapter 22: Reconnecting

16 June 1991 – West Ware Road, Enfield, Massachusetts

A few weeks of driving around didn’t do me any good, Jeff thought as he ran back to his parents’ house.

He’d run up to Enfield Village this morning, a round-trip of about five miles. This was a normal run for him but the last mile was proving to be tougher than expected.

Just because you’re not a soldier any more, that’s not a reason to slack off, Airborne. Now, suck it up.

The world still slept though the sun was already over the horizon at quarter to six. There certainly weren’t multiple groups calling cadence as they ran around Enfield. The silence was abnormal. Walking back in to his parents’ house also felt unusual to him. It was no longer ‘his house.’

Jeff took a quick shower before heading to the kitchen. He started the coffee maker once there, then began mixing waffle batter. Two pounds of locally-made bacon went into the oven to bake; the bacon wouldn’t curl and, since it was a self-cleaning oven, he didn’t have to worry about the spatter. A cantaloupe was the next to be sacrificed to the gods of breakfast.

“Can you move to Boston so I can get this kind of service every morning?” Kara asked as she entered. She poured herself a mug of coffee, mixing in an unholy amount of sugar and cream.

“You want any coffee with that?”

“Watch it, fellah. I’ll bite your kneecaps.”

Kara put her coffee mug down to give her big brother a hug. She enjoyed the relationship they built in high school before he graduated; she missed that the last four years. She knew that they’d never recapture that kind of closeness now that they were both adults, but she still wanted a good relationship with him.

“Well, doesn’t this warm my heart?” Marisa smiled at her two children from the doorway.

“Morning, Mom,” they said in stereo.

“What’s on the menu?”

“Waffles, bacon, cantaloupe, juice, coffee,” Jeff announced.

“I’m going to miss this when you move out again, Jeff,” Marisa sighed. Jeff raised an eyebrow. “What? You were in the Army for four years, Jeff. Wounded in Panama. Lost your best friend in the Iraqi desert. You’re still my Little Boy, but you’re not a little boy any longer. You won’t be here forever.” Jeff smiled sadly at his mother.

“You’re right, Mom. On my run I saw that Bilzarian’s looking for help again. Physical labor was good for me in high school, it should be good for me again; I might even be able to get out onto the floor helping the customers now.”

“You should go by anyway.”

“Why, Mom?”

“They lost Mr. Bilzarian, Senior, a month ago.” Jeff closed his eyes.

Another death. Jeff thought.

“I’ll go by right after breakfast. I’m also going over to Swerve and ask about EMT classes.”

“EMT classes? What brought this on?”

“That accident in Ohio. I ran into one of the firefighters who responded the morning I left. He said I have a future in that line of work, that I have good skills. Plus, I helped a little boy and his mom that day; that felt pretty good. I don’t have anything else lined up, so I might as well check that out.”

“I can see you doing that,” Kara commented.

Jeff walked into Bilzarian Hardware for the first time since high school. Displays were in different spots, different products were being advertised, but the mix of faint chemical smells was the same. He smiled at the memories. He enjoyed working here.

“Can I help you, Sir?” a young man asked him. Jeff read the boy’s name tag. He blinked in surprise.

“Charlie? Charlie Bilzarian?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Holy cow! Charlie, it’s Jeff Knox! When did you grow up? You were nine just yesterday!”

“Hi, Mr. Knox. Yeah, Mom and Dad say the same thing,” Charlie laughed. “I’ll be a senior in high school in the fall.”

“A senior? Aw, geez. And what’s this ‘Mr. Knox’ nonsense? Do I look like my dad, Charlie? You used to call me ‘Jeff.’ I just got home yesterday, Charlie. I’m sorry about your grandfather.” Charlie’s face grew somber.

“Thanks, Jeff. I know he was eighty-five, but ... he was Granddad, you know?”

“I do. Time gets all of us eventually. Is your dad here today?”

“He’s upstairs, trying to start to clean out Granddad’s apartment.”

The Bilzarian family lived above the store for decades. Mr. B., Junior, moved out when he went to college. Mr. B., Senior, lived alone in the apartment after Mrs. Bilzarian died in 1979.

“Okay if I go up to see him?”

“He’d appreciate seeing you. Every summer I hear him mutter ‘none of the high school kids I’ve hired have been worth a damn since Jeff Knox.’”

“Present company excluded, of course.”

“Yeah, right! The standards are twice as high for me as the third generation Bilzarian in the store. I don’t mind, though, since I want to be in the business like Dad and Granddad. How can I lower the boom on someone some day if I don’t measure up to begin with?”

“Good attitude, Charlie. That’ll serve you well down the road. Don’t be too hard on yourself, though.” Charlie nodded.

“Come on through the back. You can use the back stairs by the loading dock.” Charlie led him into the employee-only area of the store. The current crop of summer help stared at the man Charlie escorted through the stock area. “Go on up. Good to see you again, Jeff.”

“You too, Charlie.” Jeff took the stairs two at a time.

“Charlie?” Mr. B’s voice called from inside the apartment. “Is that you?”

“Not quite, Mr. B. Where do you want me to drop the ten pallets of manure?”

Steve Bilzarian looked down the back hall with surprise on his face.

“Jeff Knox? How the hell are you?” Jeff shook hands with his first boss.

“Better now that I’m home, Sir. Mom told me about your dad this morning, Sir. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks, Jeff. Have a seat.” The two men sat at the kitchen table. “To be honest, I’m surprised Dad lived this long; I thought for sure he’d follow right after Mom, but he hung in there. I’m glad Charlie got the chance to know him.”

“I’m glad I got the chance too, Sir. I know he helped a lot of people out around here over the years.” Steve nodded.

“He gave a bunch of us our starts, that’s for certain. He left a big hole.” The two sat in silence for a moment. “So, how long are you home for?”

“For good, Sir. I’m out of the Army.”

“You’re out? I figured you for a lifer. And call me ‘Steve.’ Anyone who’s been shot at for our country is old enough to call me Steve.”

“Thanks, Steve. I was probably headed towards my twenty at least, but my best friend was killed in the Gulf, and that future died with him. What I want has changed.”

“What do you want now, Jeff?”

“Someone to come home to every night. A wife. Kids. The same things I wanted before Ken was killed, but with more conditions.”

“Like, not getting shot at?”

“That would be a good start.”

“What’s next for you then?”

“Studying to be an EMT. Finding a place to live. Asking you for a job.”

“You want to work here again?”

“I loved working here in high school, Steve. Where else can you get paid for working out? Those fifty- and hundred-pound bags don’t move themselves. I could ride herd on the kids you have working here, too. Be the designated asshole?”

“Take the heat off me, in a sense?”

“Sure.”

“I could only offer you five fifty an hour, maybe five seventy-five max.”

“Forty hours?”

“Yep.” Steve looked around. A light bulb went off in his head. “How about this? Five twenty-five and you live here, above the store?”

“At what rent, Steve?”

“None.” Jeff was shocked. The apartment was huge.

“None?”

“None,” Steve confirmed. “You work for me, get this place cleaned up, and I get a little extra security knowing there’s someone I trust upstairs. Heat and hot water are generated for the store anyway; electric would be on you, though. I’ve been up here almost two hours and haven’t accomplished anything. There are too many memories in this apartment for me to work efficiently. You’d be doing Carol and me a huge favor.” Carol was Steve’s wife.

“I might get kinda busy, going to EMT school and all. I don’t know what’s involved yet, or what else I’ll get involved with now that I’m home. What about when I pass my EMT class and want to start working as one somewhere?”

“We figure that out down the road. The rent will still be better than anywhere else around. What do you say?”

“Can I get my cleaning and paint supplies from the store?”

“Right off the stockroom shelves. Just tell me what you take so I can keep track of inventory. You’ll have a key to the store and the alarm code. Depending on when your classes are, I might ask you to either open or close.”

“When can I start?”

Jeff stayed the week at his parents’ place before moving to Bilzarian’s. Marisa was sad to see him leave, but was glad that he’d be close. He slept on a camping pad while he cleaned up the apartment since he disposed of the mattresses soon after moving in.

The Bilzarians left on a long summer vacation the week he moved in and left Mike Huntley, the store manager, in charge. One of the high school kids tried to act all important when Jeff gathered more cleaning supplies that first weekend.

“You can’t just come in here and take that!”

“I have authorization,” Jeff commented calmly not even turning around. He continued placing supplies in a box.

“Not from me, you don’t!” the kid said. Jeff turned and gave him a stare.

“Listen up, Genius. You don’t matter to me. You ain’t even on my radar. Do you have the phrases ‘Panama’ and ‘the Persian Gulf’ stored in your brain housing group anywhere?” The kid looked confused. “That’s your skull, Genius. You know why those two places are significant?” The kid nodded.

“You may have learned about them in history class, but I know about them because I was there. While you were popping zits onto the bathroom mirror I was in both of those places watching friends die. I answer to one person here and that person ain’t you. Do you read me, Genius?” The kid nodded furiously. Jeff returned to the apartment with his cleaning supplies.

Jeff restored the apartment to its former glory with a week’s hard work; he worked twelve hours a day minimum. The senior Bilzarian was a smoker throughout the years he lived in the space. Copious amounts of elbow grease, along with a helpful cleaner/degreaser, removed the years of tobacco smoke residue from the ceilings, walls and woodwork.

Fresh paint and lemon oil finished the job. Jeff even did all of the minor repairs which went untouched as Mr. Bilzarian, Senior, grew older. He now lived free of charge in two thousand square feet of pristine apartment that should be commanding hundreds in rent.

Jeff decided to check out a store he discovered down the street the day after he finished the apartment. The store, named ‘The Haberdashery,’ was just that, a men’s store. One of the owners greeted Jeff and soon had him in front of mirrors checking out new suits. Jeff bought three, plus various items to make many more outfits. He promised to return for other items in the future.

As he stepped out of the dressing room for the final time he spotted a familiar figure. That person checked out a display of silk ties. A younger man stepped up to the person and made a comment; the person turned their back.

The man stomped away past Jeff muttering, “Frigid bitch.” Jeff smirked and walked quietly over to the person.

Disguising his voice he said, “You know, if you get three more of those we can test their strength in my bedroom.”