Christmas in Bethel

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The first book Marc gave me was Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men–the story of two men who care for each other. The second was Steinbeck’s East of Eden–about the conflict between two brothers. If he’s trying to tell me something, I have no idea what it is.

Beth Stilton’s Diary

The strangest thing about living in the house without Lee in it was that I was both always alone and never alone, if you know what I mean. Marc was like a phantom, and I never knew when he would appear. I think he had said the thing about being dressed in case I got lax and started walking through the house in my underwear. Or less.

It was several days after he gave me the books before he showed up again. I was in the kitchen making lunch when he walked up to me.

“Have you seen my mood ring?”

“Your mood ring? No.”

“I lost my mood ring. I don’t know how I feel about that.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know when you’re being serious or not.”

“Usually not,” he said. “I told my wife that she drew her eyebrows too high. She looked surprised.”

“That was funny.”

“Thank you. Have you read the books I gave you?”

“I read Of Mice and Men.”

“Did you like it?”

“Very much. I’m curious about how it inspired Lee to write Bethel.”

“Two men, one sharing his dream of a better world.”

“I see that. Hope.”

He nodded. “Let me know when you finish the other.”

“East of Eden is considerably longer. That will take a while.”

“I won’t be timing you.”

“Thank you. And I had a question. Do you decorate for Christmas?”

“We usually have some bearded guys come and put up the outside lights. I don’t know if Lee remembered to hire them this year. You should ask him.”

“How about inside the house? Do you have any decorations?”

“In the garage, there are two tubs. They’re on the red shelves on the north end. They’re black with yellow tops. They’re marked XMAS.”

“I think I can find those. Would you like to decorate with me?”

“Not really. But you can on this floor.”

“Just down here,” I said. “Thank you.”

“You’ll need help getting the bins down. They’re heavy. I’ll help you with that.”

We walked across the yard to the garage. I had never been inside, since Lee always parked his cars out front or, at least, picked me up there.

“The code is 4455,” Marc said as he punched it in on the keypad next to the first bay. The door opened, exposing a beautiful cherry-red car with a chrome grille, four chrome headlamps, and tall, spoked tires.

“That may be the most beautiful car I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s a 1935 Duesenberg SSJ. It’s worth about three million dollars.” He looked at me. “It’s part of Lee’s collection. I collect pewter soldier figurines and books. He collects cars.”

We walked into the garage. Marc was right, I wouldn’t have been able to get the bins down. As he pulled one from the shelf I noticed a long burn mark on his arm, similar to the ones I’d seen on Lee’s back. There were at least a dozen smaller round marks as well. He noticed me looking and held my gaze until I looked away.

He got the other bin down, then retrieved a hand truck, stacked the bins on top of each other, and pushed them over to the house.

“Will you shut the garage?” he said to me. “Just push the enter button.”

“Sure.”

Before shutting the door, I took one last glance at the beautiful car. I wanted Lee to take me for a ride in it.

“Clive Cussler collected Duesenbergs,” Marc said. “He had more than a hundred and eighty cars when he died. So one isn’t that many.” He pushed the bins inside to the kitchen, where he took them off the cart. “There you go.”

“Thank you.”

“No worries.” He started for the stairs, then stopped. “The scars you saw on my arm are from my mother. She liked to put her cigarettes out on me.” Before I could say anything, he was gone.