Part 41 (1/2)
The big guy stood up and walked away. A minute later, a woman who looked better than many her age walks up. It sets Chris on edge whenever she's around, and she seems to know it. If he didn't know any better, he'd say that she liked it.
”You called?”
”Just here to chat, if you got some action goin' on...”
”Don't worry about it, Chris, darling.”
Chris shut his eyes for a moment to gather his calm. ”You know I hate it when you call me that.”
”I do it because you like it so much.”
”I don't like it.”
The smile on her face is lazy like afternoon s.e.x. ”Sure you don't. What did you want to talk about?”
Jim leans back against the bar. ”He's figuring maybe you have some advice about the Pearson boy.”
”Didn't they find his parents-”
”Sure they did,” Chris finished the thought before she could say it. ”Which is part of the problem.”
”I don't know if I follow.”
”I owe them, from before I started staying upstairs, so I figure, the least I can do is make sure the kid gets into good hands.”
”The very least,” Sarah responded. The look on her face is a surprising one, more negative than Chris had expected by a long way.
”What crawled up your a.s.s?”
”You're just going to leave him, just like that?”
”Who said anything about that?”
The look on her face said that she still didn't like something about it.
”I don't know your story, Chris Broadmoor, but I know the look of a man who lost folks. Maybe twelve, thirteen you can act tough and let it go. Kid that age, he needs parents. Both of 'em.”
Chris's shoulders rose up around his ears. ”Yeah, I know.”
”So don't try to p.a.w.n this kid off on somebody.”
He looked down at the bar, took another drink of his water. She was right, he knew. As much as he wasn't the right person for the job, someone had to do it. And he had no right to walk away, right person or no.
Seventeen.
Marie Bainbridge had nights, in school, when she'd had to stay up late under candlelight, reading. Nights where she'd spent her days working on sewing projects and found herself working with only an hour or so more to go.
That hour would turn into two hours, and two hours would turn into three, and finally when she went to bed, she would have a couple of short, fitful hours of sleep before the household rose around her and insisted that no matter how much trouble she'd caused for herself, she couldn't just lay around through the whole morning.
Last night was the first time that she'd been unable to get a single wink of sleep, and it was dragging on her now. A pitcher of hot tea was cooling on the table.
She had the idea only a couple of days before, and it had taken all of this time for anything to come of it. Part of her thought that maybe it was unfair. Unfair to Chris, who even now sat on the roof of the schoolhouse, working on his repairs. Another day, perhaps two, he said. If they were lucky, that was. If they weren't lucky, it could be a week.
The bar was no place for children, though. So she sat in Owen's restaurant at a table with a half-dozen children circled around her, and she moved on. They were learning the letter 'M' today.
It was a good letter. Owen 'M,' for example. Mr. M, who owned the restaurant where they all sat. There was a great big 'M' on the sign outside to show them. 'M'arie, as well. There were a lot of good uses for the letter. The children paid rapt attention.
There were more uses for 'M' than names, of course. Lots of good words, as well. Magic, for one. Mail. Music. Manage was a bit too complex for some of the younger ones. Others came to mind and were immediately stifled before she could embarra.s.s herself.
Marriage. Motherhood. Woman.
She could feel her mind slipping from the teaching. She let her eyes drift around the circle of pupils. Her eyes rested on one longer than the others. The other student who had gotten just as little sleep as she had. Jamie rubbed his eyes in exhaustion, but to his credit he tried his best to pay attention.
He looked better than she'd expected him to, now that he had other children around. Their energy was probably what was keeping him going. Having them around made it easier, she guessed, because unlike her, they weren't constantly worrying and fussing. They weren't there staring at him, like any second he was going to break out in tears and tell her all about how worried he was.
It wasn't that he wasn't upset, because he was. But he hid it. he wanted to hide it, whether Chris was there or not. The nightmares told her all that she needed to know about how he was feeling, but if he wanted to talk about it, he made a very impressive show of pretending not to.
But she knew. She knew, deep down. How was she supposed to laugh and joke and play around with a boy whose parents had just died? All she could think was what it would have been like, to be him. To have to accept something so horrible. Maybe it would have been a different story if they just hadn't come home.
If it were her, she could have easily pretended that they were alive, that they were just taking their time. After a few months, after a few years, maybe something had happened. But of course, there was a good explanation. Eventually, they'd telegram to come along and join them and she'd be reunited.
Jamie didn't have that luxury. He knew they were dead, and they weren't going to be coming back. Not ever. No telegrams, no hope that one day things would turn themselves around.
If that were her, if those were her parents on the back of some stranger's horse... how was she supposed to joke and laugh and smile while such a sweet little boy was practically dying in front of her?
It wasn't hard to notice that it was having an effect on him, though, too. Even only a short night, humorless as it had been, must have been h.e.l.l. He looked like a sh.e.l.l of a boy until she'd managed to get the others gathered around.
He was exhausted, anyone could see that, but there was something else, too, something that sleep couldn't replace. If she didn't know better, she'd call it a sense that, somehow, he could keep going. And there was no replacing that, no matter how hard she tried.
The door behind her opened, the sound of footsteps on the floor drawing her attention. How long had she been sitting there, lost in her own head? She didn't know. The children were talking amongst themselves, the older ones who already pretty much knew the lesson making sure that the younger ones were making their letters correctly. Exactly the way that she would have liked.
Marie turned. There he was, right by the door. The look on his face wasn't pleased, but he didn't look despondent, either.
”Is something wrong?”
He walked over slow. ”Is now a bad time?”
”Not particularly,” she answered. She kept her voice low, to avoid letting the children hear. There was nothing wrong with them hearing, per se, but it was a private conversation between adults, and some part of her wanted to keep it that way. Because it was him.
”I have to call it a day and get ready for work. If you want, you could move back into the schoolhouse tomorrow. There's work yet to be done, but you can't see the sky no more.”
”That's great news. I'll tell the kids right away.”
”Yeah, I'd thought you might feel that way. I'm glad to have been help.”