PAL OF MINE

by JoAnn Baca

Winslow nearly tripped. The box must have been slipped into his chamber sometime after he had fallen asleep on the night of February 13th, and he hadn’t noticed the brown cardboard carton now sitting by his boots. That is, until he had jumped out of bed and started to bolt for the communal bathing chamber. He who snoozed wasted precious time in line for the shower, and he wasn’t one to cherish waiting. A stubbed toe and a near-fall brought him to a halt, however, and he stared with a frown at what had been placed in his way.

“What the…?”

The carton had the logo of a tool supply company on it, and had seen better days. He unfolded the flaps, his curiosity temporarily dampening his enthusiasm for a quick shower. Inside was a bottle. He lifted it out and stared in shock: a full, sealed bottle of Jack Daniel’s Old No. 7 Brand, his favorite whiskey. Or it had been, in another lifetime, when he’d gone Above to try his hand at an UpTop job and life, and had suddenly…and briefly…had the means to enjoy such a treat. How long had it been since he’d tasted it? Nearly a decade now.

He gently placed the bottle back into the box, grateful that he hadn’t hit it with more force and cracked the glass. What a tragedy that would have been! But…who would have left it for him?

He shoved the box under his bed, away from prying eyes, and made for the bathing chamber, still hoping to get a jump on the day, a thoughtful expression on his face.

* * *

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Seemingly everyone in the dining chamber was hugging and sharing cookies or candy. Winslow grumbled to himself. Stupid holiday.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Winslow!” chirped Rebecca, offering him candy from an open box of chocolates. “Someone put this box on the table…one on every table, in fact!”

Seems like a lot of boxes being left in a lot of places today, he thought to himself. Aloud, he said, more gruffly than he’d intended, “Ain’t nothin’ special about today. Just a made-up holiday.” He shook his head, declining the sweet treat, and made for the coffee pot.

As Winslow grabbed for the coffee to pour into a mug, Vincent stood by, having just filled his own mug with tea, a bowl of oatmeal in his other hand. “Not your favorite holiday, Winslow?” His eyes held the hint of a smile.

“It’s all well and good for you folks with people in your lives who mean a lot to you.” That was a major concession, and only mentioned to Vincent because Winslow had an exceedingly soft spot for his old friend and the lawyer lady who had helped save Vincent and Father. She was good people, Winslow had to admit. And there was something special about the two of them together.

“I remember how difficult days like this were…before Catherine.” Vincent’s voice was low, consoling. “But love can fall unexpectedly into your life. It did…most unexpectedly, into mine.”

Winslow’s face softened the tiniest bit, turning from gruff to…slightly less gruff. “Glad for you, old friend. But crusty old folks like me…”

“I know you’re a softie under all that crust, Winslow.” Vincent bumped shoulders with him and moved on to a table. “Happy Valentine’s Day!” greeted him as he sat.

Winslow took his coffee and left the dining chamber, determined to avoid the silliness permeating the atmosphere there. In the tunnel outside, it was quiet, more like a normal morning. He sighed and took a sip of his morning pick-me-up as he made for his workroom.

* * *

Hard work and focus pushed thoughts of everything else from his mind. It wasn’t until dinnertime that he remembered his surprise gift. He still had no clue who had left it for him, but he wasn’t about to let that mystery interfere with his enjoyment of the gift.

After the meal, there was to be a community gathering in Father’s library to celebrate the holiday, not something he wanted to be part of. So, although expected there, he headed directly to his chamber instead, thoughts of a quiet evening sipping from his bottle of whiskey drawing him, quickening his steps.

As he approached his chamber door, he heard shuffling inside. An intruder? He charged in, prepared to challenge the person rude enough to violate his sanctum, ignoring the unlit lantern placed firmly in the center of the entrance way to discourage visitors.

Inside, he found Cullen perusing the books on two massive bookshelves.

Cullen looked up as Winslow opened his mouth, knowing the big man was about to ask what he thought he was doing. Smirking, Cullen said in a falsetto voice, “Happy Palentine’s Day!”

Momentarily shocked silent, Winslow faltered in his forward momentum, stumbling to a stop. “What in the holy hells are you up to?!” he finally managed to mutter, hoping no one was close by to have heard Cullen’s comment. “Have you lost your damn mind?”

Cullen took a step and prodded the hidden box under the bed with a booted toe, pushing it into view. “I see you got my Palentine’s Day gift, old pal!” He sang a verse from an old Beatles song: “With love…from me…to you!”

“Your…what?” Things were taking an unexpected turn and Winslow was starting to get really uncomfortable. “I…er…I mean…uh…no offense, but I don’t want any Valentine’s Day gift from you.”

Cullen shook his head, stifling a laugh, realizing Winslow had mis-heard his description of the gift. “Didn’t give you one! I left you a PALentine’s Day gift. You know, ‘cause we’re pals.” He shrugged, resigned to explaining in more detail. “Heard someone Above talking about it. Guys without dates meeting up to pass the time on the 14th.” Cullen bent and opened the flaps on the box then hauled the bottle out of it. “This little beauty got ‘found’ on a scavenging trip UpTop.” He brandished it. “Remembered you telling me once how you’d enjoyed a tipple now and then, back when you lived Above for that year or so.”

Winslow nodded, dumbfounded. “Uhhh…yeah. If by ‘enjoyed a tipple’ you mean I liked drinking it, you remembered right. Can’t believe you remembered that though.”

“Friends listen to friends. Remember their likes and dislikes.” Cullen saw the expression on Winslow’s face and tried another tack. “C’mon, let’s kill this bottle before the authorities Above find out how it came to be missing from a delivery van with its back door left open!”

Warily, Winslow nodded. “How do you want to do this?”

“What do you think?” Cullen tried to joke away the situation; he certainly hadn’t intended to cause the other man such discomfort. “Come on.” He clapped his friend on the shoulder. “I figure the dining chamber will be deserted right about now, with everybody at the party.”

He felt Winslow stiffen at the contact. Cullen gazed up at him, sorry now for what he’d thought was a clever approach to his gift-giving. He realized that it had been a mistake to startle the guy, to briefly give him the impression of a different kind of surprise.

“We can always go to the party if you prefer.” He offered the bottle to Winslow. “Put it away for another time?”

Winslow stared hard at Cullen for a minute then finally shook his head. “No party. Dining chamber it is.”

* * *

By the light of the few torches left burning, they entered the deserted dining chamber, selecting a table in a corner. With a flourish, Cullen presented the bottle to his pal, who shook his head in mock disgust and grabbed it from him, tearing off the wax and prying the cap off.

Before he could tip the bottle in a toast towards Cullen and take his first sip, a noise alerted them to the presence of another.

“What’s this then?” William’s voice preceded the portly man, who came up to the table and stood over them, his eyes on the bottle. “This a private party?” he inquired.

“Heck, no!” Cullen pulled out a chair. “You’re just in time, old pal!”

“‘Old pal’?” William hadn’t passed more than a few words with the woodworker in several months, so the term confused him.

In response, Cullen crowed, “Happy Palentine’s Day!”

Winslow shook his head. “Don’t get him started. It’s a thing. Just drink.” He took a slug from the bottle and handed it to William, who sat down and did what he was told.

The bottle had made two passes when a quiet voice sounded from the entryway. “Oh! Sorry. Didn’t mean to intrude.” A figure stood there, dinner dish and cutlery in hand, apparently ready to return the items for cleaning.

Winslow peered into the semi-darkness. “That you, Pascal? Shift over? C’mon in and sit!” When Cullen looked like he was about to offer his standard greeting, Winslow squeezed his shoulder harder than he needed to. “Don’t. Just…drink.”

And thus began a tradition that gradually extended to other “singles” Below, spending Palentine’s Day together with communal good spirits…and spirits of another sort…which they all agreed were much better than chocolate any day.