“Daddy’s got a job now. When daddies have jobs, they have to
go. Melissa’s dad is gone all the time.”
That was a better explanation than Charlie
could give, so he left it at that. He just wanted a quiet exit—or a
last-minute, heartfelt plea from Susan to stay. Contrition was not
forthcoming, however, so he kept packing. A couple of duffel bags,
three boxes, his bike, and his computer and printer—the basics to
begin a new life. As he was leaving, he saw Susan staring into the
bedroom mirror, pushing up her hair in a new style. Considering her
prospects, no doubt. Perhaps now her prince would come. He
decided not to disturb her.
Chapter Three
Charlie returned to Bayard Terrace and began
hauling in his gear. Kathleen stood in the doorway, her face a mask
of incredulity, her voice rising in pitch as she spoke. “You’re
staying here ?”
“Yes,” he said, brushing past her with his
printer. “That’s the arrangement, right?”
She spoke to the back of his head. “You don’t
have anywhere else to live?”
He turned to face her, his expression
troubled. “Not now I don’t. I thought we had a deal.” He
paused to consider his options. “I suppose I could make a Xerox of
the manuscript—”
“Oh, no. That’s the only one. It’s not
leaving this house.”
“Not even to make a copy?”
“ Especially not to make a copy.”
Her position, though daft, served Charlie’s
purposes, so he pressed on, taking the printer into the study. She
followed, complaining, “I don’t like how this is going. I gave you
money and you haven’t done anything except drive my car around,
without me in it.”
“Well, you’d better make up your mind.”
She followed him back outside. Charlie took
his yellow mountain bike off the car carrier and leaned against it.
“Look, Mrs. Talton, I’m going to get some coffee. When I come back,
you can tell me what you’ve decided. I’ll return your money if you
want. But if you give me a chance, I’ll do a good job.”
“Can you get it published?” she asked.
“Sure,” Charlie said blithely, ignoring his
own concerns about the project. “No problem.”
When he hopped on his bike he realized he’d
left his helmet at Thornbriar. No matter. It seemed like he’d
already suffered a major head injury, anyway. The cold air turned
his cheeks red as he rolled down Bayard Terrace to its dead end and
pedaled to Bay Street Coffeehouse, located in a small set of shops
across an alley from the neighborhood post office. He leaned his
bike against a brick wall. When he opened the door, a bell tinkled.
It was a welcoming place, furnished with old couches and mismatched
chairs. Local artists’ paintings hung on the walls, and the place
was crowded with leisurely Saturday-morning sippers.
At the counter, he ordered a large house
blend from a strangely attractive, short-haired, tattooed and
pierced woman of indeterminate age. Nearly as big as he was, she
wore a black T-shirt with the words AMAZON WOMAN across her ample
chest. He gave her two dollars and said, “Keep the change.”
“I’d love to,” the barista said with an
engaging smile, “But it’s two-fifty.”
“Oh.” Even more red-faced, Charlie pulled out
another bill. He sat on an old wooden chair at a square table by
the door and drank his coffee black, brooding over his unraveling
plan. He’d been saved from a terrible fate for some reason, but now
his opportunity for a new life was slipping away. If he failed …
what was the saying? An apple never falls far from its bridge.
Something like that, anyway .
When he finished his coffee, Charlie pedaled
up the hill and hauled his bike onto the porch. Kathleen opened the
door with a smile bright as sunshine. “Good, you’re back!
Everything’s set.”
Catching a whiff of Trouble, Charlie eyed her
suspiciously.
“He brought the contract,” she said. “Just
left. Come in and look it over.”
Charlie entered, fighting an impulse to gag
at the
go. Melissa’s dad is gone all the time.”
That was a better explanation than Charlie
could give, so he left it at that. He just wanted a quiet exit—or a
last-minute, heartfelt plea from Susan to stay. Contrition was not
forthcoming, however, so he kept packing. A couple of duffel bags,
three boxes, his bike, and his computer and printer—the basics to
begin a new life. As he was leaving, he saw Susan staring into the
bedroom mirror, pushing up her hair in a new style. Considering her
prospects, no doubt. Perhaps now her prince would come. He
decided not to disturb her.
Chapter Three
Charlie returned to Bayard Terrace and began
hauling in his gear. Kathleen stood in the doorway, her face a mask
of incredulity, her voice rising in pitch as she spoke. “You’re
staying here ?”
“Yes,” he said, brushing past her with his
printer. “That’s the arrangement, right?”
She spoke to the back of his head. “You don’t
have anywhere else to live?”
He turned to face her, his expression
troubled. “Not now I don’t. I thought we had a deal.” He
paused to consider his options. “I suppose I could make a Xerox of
the manuscript—”
“Oh, no. That’s the only one. It’s not
leaving this house.”
“Not even to make a copy?”
“ Especially not to make a copy.”
Her position, though daft, served Charlie’s
purposes, so he pressed on, taking the printer into the study. She
followed, complaining, “I don’t like how this is going. I gave you
money and you haven’t done anything except drive my car around,
without me in it.”
“Well, you’d better make up your mind.”
She followed him back outside. Charlie took
his yellow mountain bike off the car carrier and leaned against it.
“Look, Mrs. Talton, I’m going to get some coffee. When I come back,
you can tell me what you’ve decided. I’ll return your money if you
want. But if you give me a chance, I’ll do a good job.”
“Can you get it published?” she asked.
“Sure,” Charlie said blithely, ignoring his
own concerns about the project. “No problem.”
When he hopped on his bike he realized he’d
left his helmet at Thornbriar. No matter. It seemed like he’d
already suffered a major head injury, anyway. The cold air turned
his cheeks red as he rolled down Bayard Terrace to its dead end and
pedaled to Bay Street Coffeehouse, located in a small set of shops
across an alley from the neighborhood post office. He leaned his
bike against a brick wall. When he opened the door, a bell tinkled.
It was a welcoming place, furnished with old couches and mismatched
chairs. Local artists’ paintings hung on the walls, and the place
was crowded with leisurely Saturday-morning sippers.
At the counter, he ordered a large house
blend from a strangely attractive, short-haired, tattooed and
pierced woman of indeterminate age. Nearly as big as he was, she
wore a black T-shirt with the words AMAZON WOMAN across her ample
chest. He gave her two dollars and said, “Keep the change.”
“I’d love to,” the barista said with an
engaging smile, “But it’s two-fifty.”
“Oh.” Even more red-faced, Charlie pulled out
another bill. He sat on an old wooden chair at a square table by
the door and drank his coffee black, brooding over his unraveling
plan. He’d been saved from a terrible fate for some reason, but now
his opportunity for a new life was slipping away. If he failed …
what was the saying? An apple never falls far from its bridge.
Something like that, anyway .
When he finished his coffee, Charlie pedaled
up the hill and hauled his bike onto the porch. Kathleen opened the
door with a smile bright as sunshine. “Good, you’re back!
Everything’s set.”
Catching a whiff of Trouble, Charlie eyed her
suspiciously.
“He brought the contract,” she said. “Just
left. Come in and look it over.”
Charlie entered, fighting an impulse to gag
at the
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