Unexpected Dismounts by Nancy Rue

rare guffaw.
    “He can’t swim,” I said, and made a move toward the steps, but Chief caught my sleeve. “He’s fine. He’s too ornery to drown.”
    Desmond was indeed back on his feet and again gesticulating at imaginary fins. I looked up at Chief, but the moment had passed. It had a way of doing that. One kiss on Christmas Eve was the extent of our physical relationship so far. The way my neck was burning under my scarf … maybe that was a good thing.
    “Let’s walk,” I said.
    Chief let go of my sleeve and followed me down to the beach, though he might as well have thrown me over his shoulder. Just being on the same planet with the man made me positive he could hear me thinking, Come over here and—do—something . His face that near me, his eyes seeing into me that way—it was a miracle I hadn’t crawled inside his jacket, Desmond or no Desmond.
    Or not. Because in all truth, I couldn’t. Not with the risk of Chief backing up and saying, “Are you serious? Is that what you thought this was?”
    I stumbled into the sand and almost had an—what did he call them?—unexpected dismount right there. We were in serious need of a topic change.
    “Desmond!” I called over the wave smashing. “We’re walk ing, we’re walk ing.”
    “Once a tour guide, always a tour guide,” Chief said, eyes twinkling at me. Curse the man. He knew exactly what I was doing.
    “I’m going to have to brush up on my spiel,” I said, and launched too fast into a rendition of my conversation with Erin O’Hare while Desmond loped ahead of us, shaking moonlit droplets from his hair. When I included the dark drawing Desmond had wanted to rip off the display, the sparkle in Chief’s eyes disappeared.
    “That’s not like him,” he said.
    “Can we even say that? I mean, seriously, do you realize how little we really know about what happened to him before he came to us—me?”
    Nice. Talk about your unexpected dismounts.
    “You know what Geneveve told us—you,” he said.
    Did he miss nothing, this guy?
    “But how much time did I actually have with her once she got sober?” I said. “A month? The Sisters have told me some, mostly Mercedes. I sure don’t get much out of Desmond . ”
    “Oh, you get a lot out of him, just not about his past.” Chief did grin then. “One thing you have to say about the kid: He lives in the moment.”
    As was currently being proven by the amount of wet sand that bagged down the seat of Desmond’s jeans. The fact that the child had no hips didn’t help.
    “Should I tell him to pull his pants up?” I said.
    “Nah,” Chief said. “He’ll figure it out.”
    “Hopefully before he steps out of them. Did his grandfather ever tell you anything about him?”
    “All old Edwin ever said was that he was a good kid inside, but he couldn’t take care of him anymore.”
    “That whole family had so much potential,” I said. I had to fight down the thickness that always set in when I talked about Geneveve. “Except Geneveve’s sister who took off and left her in the street with her kid. What’s her name?”
    “I don’t think I ever heard it.”
    “Something pretentious sounding—like Daphne or—was it Millicent?”
    “Moving on,” Chief said.
    “Yeah, well, she did, to Africa or someplace. Anyway, it’s just hard with nobody to ask about what all he’s been through.”
    Chief stopped and nodded my gaze to the wiry half child, half adolescent who was currently on all fours, digging in the sand like a dog.
    “I don’t know, Classic,” he said. “Maybe his past is better left right where it is. It’s his future we’ve got to focus on now. You remember we have a meeting with the adoption people tomorrow. Liz Doyle and Vickie—”
    “Rodriguez. It’s on my calendar.”
    One side of his mouth went up. “I hope you handle them better than you did Willa Livengood.”
    “Have I mentioned that you are slime?”
    “Not so far tonight.”
    I actually opened my mouth to do it, but