I climb out of the Jeep and cross over the snow-covered cobblestone pathway that leads up to him. Freezing wind brushes against my face, stinging my bare cheeks. Neighbors live at a distance and can’t hear when a call out to him through the tundra-like conditions, “Hey, what’s going on, Darsey?”
He stands, shakes his head. Chattering, he replies, “Can I get some heat?”
“Yeah. Of course. You don’t even have to ask. Let’s go inside.”
* * * *
We get comfortable. He takes a piss after removing his thick layers. I turn on a few lights and ask what he wants to drink. He passes on coffee, tea, or something warm.
From the downstairs bathroom off the kitchen, leaving the door open while he drains his system, he replies over one of his shoulders, “Can I have something stronger?”
“Whiskey? Vodka? Barenjager? Rum?”
“I’m German. I’ll take Barenjager. Warm up some milk. I can have it with that.”