“No. But it wouldn’t have mattered if they had.” Tucker stood, shoved his hands into his pockets, his face grim. “How could anything make up for losing your mother, Tom?”
“Well, I don’t guess that happened very often.” Tom muttered the words after a long silence.
“Too many times. In my life I’ve seen more burn victims than I want to. It’s the most painful thing imaginable.” He lifted his head and looked directly at the boy. “But you must know that, right?”
“Me?” Tom bristled. “I never hurt anyone. Just burned buildings that should have been torn down. I kinda speeded up the process.” He smirked, but the grin faded as Tucker kept staring at him.
“They should have! People shouldn’t have to live in places like that just because they’re poor.” His thin shoulders jerked underneath his shirt. “Somebody should have done something. It isn’t right.”
“So you thought you’d make it right, fix things, by getting rid of the buildings. Is that it?”
“Yeah, man. That’s exactly right.” Tom leaned on his heels defiantly.
“I see.” Tucker closed his eyes, pretended he was disinterested. After a moment, he asked, “Did someone build a new building on those sites, Tom? Or were the folks who used to live there left homeless?”
Tom’s mouth pinched in a tight line, but he said nothing.
“Did you replace their burned photos and picture albums, their love letters? All the treasures people collect over a lifetime?” Tucker’s stern gaze dared the boy to lie.
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“I didn’t think about where they’d live after,” Tom admitted quietly.
“But that’s pretty important, don’t you think? Figuring out what happens as a result of your actions?” He stared straight ahead, his eyes on some distant object. “The thing you have to remember, Tom, the thing I’ve had to learn the hard way, is that if there’s a rule, there’s usually a reason.”
“Maybe.” Tom wasn’t giving an inch, his face as determined, as belligerent as ever. “But some rules are just plain wrong no matter what the reason.” He kicked off his sneakers and headed for the hot pool at a jog.
“Then figure out how to change the rules,” Tucker yelled after him. “Without breaking the law.”
Ginny waited a few moments before she headed toward Tucker. He heard her feet crunch a branch and turned with a jerk, then shifted to his original stance.
“You’re very good at that.” She stood beside him and watched the two kids splash each other. “He’ll think about what you’ve said.”
“I hope so. Though I haven’t any right to speak the way I did. I’ve broken more rules than anyone. You should know that.” He offered a lopsided smile. “I’m glad you’re back.”
By mutual consent, they sat on the grass, far enough to speak without being overheard but near enough to make sure the boys didn’t court trouble.
“I’ve been doing some thinking of my own.” He kicked his heel against the turf.
“Anything you want to share?” Please, God, give me wisdom to know how to help him.
“Maybe.” It took him a while to organize his thoughts. “I read those verses you gave your dad for me.” He risked a glance at her. “Ginny, I grew up believing God was there for me. To be honest, I can’t not believe in Him.”
“Go on,” she whispered, to encourage him.
“It’s just that lately, I can’t seem to reconcile what I learned about God with what happened over there. You know? I mean, we were taught He was loving, kind, waiting to be there for us.” He shook his head, his eyes flashing with anger. “Why would a God like that allow the things that go on?”
“That’s an old argument, Tucker. And there are hundreds of reasons I could trot out for you.”
He waited expectantly. When she didn’t speak, he frowned. “But?”
“You’ve heard them all before.” She said it bluntly, with no notion of softening her words. “I could argue pros and cons all night, explain, justify, theorize. But the truth is we will never, ever know God’s reasons until we really know God.”
“I know I haven’t been as faithful as I should have been—”
She cut him off, lifting one hand in a peremptory gesture.
“No. Not faithful. I’m talking about a real, intimate, personal, one-on-one rapport that survives the tough times.”
“Forget it.” He sighed heavily. “I can’t do that.”
“Yes, you can. It isn’t easy, it won’t be fast and you certainly won’t be in control, but you can know God. If you want to.”
“But I’ve tried—”
“Have you? Or have you used Him, run to Him for comfort and help only when you couldn’t manage on your own?” She laid her hand over his and squeezed. “I’m not saying that’s wrong, Tucker. I’m just saying God has to be more than a big teddy bear who fixes things when we mess up. Otherwise He wouldn’t be God.”
Ginny rose, wandered closer to the boys. Suddenly, she had no more words. She wasn’t sure of what she was trying to say.
All the way home she’d thought about Tucker’s sudden return to Jubilee. It wasn’t chance. Ginny was certain God had engineered events in Tucker’s life for a reason. It was up to him to figure out why. It was up to her to help him.
“Hey, guys. How’s the water?”
“It’s great. I never knew it came out of the ground warm like this.” Tom was poking and prodding the bubble where the spring erupted from the rock bed. “I wish I could see inside this stone. It’s awesome.”
“Yes, it is. You might try the library after school tomorrow. They’ve got some books on geothermal stuff. I’m sure there would be a diagram, maybe even some photos.”
“The library?” Tom stared at her, a sickly look washing over his features.
“Yes. You know, the redbrick building beside the town office. Houses a lot of books.” She grinned at him.
“Ha, ha.” He flopped into the water, his eyes wary as they met Paul’s. “Think we should check it out?”
“I guess.” Paul rolled over, obviously unconcerned. “I heard they’ve got a whole section of magazines on dirt bikes. I wouldn’t mind seeing what’s new.”
“Yeah. Dirt bikes.” Tom squinted at Ginny. “How am I supposed to know where to look for the—uh, others?”
“There’s a woman behind a desk. She’s the librarian and she knows where to find everything. She’ll probably dig up more information than you could read in a year.”
“Information on what?” Tucker stood behind her, his breath shifting her hair a little.
“Geothermal stuff.” Tom glanced around, his eyes thoughtful. “I used to have a rock collection,” he remembered. “When I was a kid.”
“So did I! There’s some really great ones around here.” Tucker pointed to a cave in the rock face downstream. “I even found fool’s gold in there once.”
“Now you’ve done it, Tom.” Ginny shook her head sadly, but she couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. Here was another incidence where Tucker and the boys shared something in common.
“I did?”
“Once Tucker gets started on rocks, he never stops. He’ll talk about them for the rest of the night.” She sighed. “I was thinking we could go for ice cream before your curfew, but it doesn’t matter.” She turned to leave, fighting hard to keep the laughter inside.
“I could do with some ice cream.” Paul was out of the pool in seconds. He sprinted ahead of her, one finger snagged in the belt loop of his jeans, which floated behind him in the breeze. “Be ready in a second, Ginny.”
“Hey!” Tom hurled himself after Paul. “You told me you weren’t taking any freebies from anybody in this town.”
“Ice cream doesn’t count.” Paul disappeared into the house and returned in a flash, jeans and shirt covering his thin body. Before Tom got inside the house, he’d managed to get his shoes and socks on. “I’m ready to go.”
“So’m I.” To
m tucked his shirt in as he spoke, then hopped from one leg to the other as he replaced his shoes. “What kind of ice cream?”
“The Dairy Shack?” Ginny nodded at their grins. Even Tucker approved. “Though I prefer frozen yogurt.”
“Yogurt?” It came out in unison. Six eyes gaped at her. “No way.”
“Triple chocolate almond fudge.”
“Rocky Road with a twist of tiger stripe.”
“Sour ball bubble gum.”
Ginny stared at Tom. “Sour ball bubble gum? That’s a flavor of ice cream?”
“Yeah. It’s great! It has these pieces of gum that make your mouth pucker after you swallow the ice cream.”
“Hm. I think I’ll pass on that culinary delight.” Adrian stood up, his eyes dancing. “My stomach can’t take it, and neither can my waistline. Good night, boys. I appreciate your help.”
“Uh, good night, Mr. Brown. And thanks a lot for the pizza. I usually get pepperoni, but your vegetable stuff was okay.” Tom grinned at the older man.
Obviously the two understood each other perfectly, Ginny decided.
“Yeah, thanks,” Paul echoed.
“My pleasure.” Adrian disappeared inside.
“We’ve got forty minutes until you two have to be home. Ginny?” Tucker tilted an eyebrow.
“I’m ready. You can pile into my car.”
It took several minutes for them to organize who would sit where. It amused Ginny that Tom studied every move she made, as if he didn’t think she knew how to shift gears.
They chose their ice cream courtesy of Tucker, who insisted on paying, then took the last table.
“Man, this is bad.” Paul licked the drips of tiger stripe off his fingers, his eyes shining.
“That’s junk. Now this is excellent.” Tom held up his sour ball bubble gum confection with its lime-green chunks and bright red streaks.
“You’re both weird. And you have no taste. Chocolate’s always been the number-one seller in this place.” Tucker closed his eyes and savored the rich cocoa flavor. “Pure decadence. I haven’t had ice cream like this in years.”
“Didn’t they have ice cream where you were?” Tom chewed on a piece of gum, forming the words around it.
“Not hardly. Some of them didn’t even have refrigeration.” Tucker’s smile drained away. His eyes lost their glow.
“Someday, if you’ve got time, would you mind telling us about the places you’ve been?” Tom looked to Paul for confirmation. They nodded at each other. “We’d like to know what it was like.”
Ginny froze in her seat, her apricot yogurt forgotten as she waited for Tucker to shut them out. She’d have to take the boys aside later, explain that he—
“Why do you want to know?”
She twisted to stare at him, surprised by the lack of emotion in his voice.
Tom frowned, his eyes on his treat.
“I’m not sure, exactly,” he murmured, obviously puzzling it through. “But when you talk about your work, you get this funny look on your face, as if you’re back there and not here. I’d like to know what was so special about it.”
“Me, too. I never been no place.”
“Anywhere,” Ginny corrected.
“You, neither?” Paul’s eyebrows rose. “We sure missed out, huh?”
So much for the grammar lesson. But that wasn’t important. In a flash, Ginny saw that the boys were giving Tucker a perfect opportunity to talk out the pain of his experiences. Through his words, he could lead, harness and direct their energies. They had potential, abilities. It would take skill and understanding, but she was certain that Tom, Paul and the rest of the boys could be drawn into seeing the possibilities of life.
All they needed was someone like Tucker to motivate them, show them a different path. Tucker could do that. Hadn’t she seen his abilities to motivate on his newscasts?
And Tucker—wouldn’t he benefit from the boys, too? He already had a rapport with Tom. They’d discussed fires, talked about a bombing. Would Tucker open up his heart even more if they asked? Wouldn’t talking about the past help heal him?
“Ginny? Are you listening?” Tucker leaned forward so that his face was directly in front of hers.
“No, I am not,” she told him clearly, trying to hang on to the thread of an idea that had just come to mind. “I haven’t heard a thing you’ve said.” She dumped her dripping cone into the garbage and wiped her fingers. “I have to go home now. Tomorrow is going to be busy. Everybody in the car.”
Three males gave her very funny looks, but they obeyed her summons without comment. When she stopped in her father’s driveway, the boys obediently got on their bikes and pedaled down the street. Tucker stood on the sidewalk, hair askew, face wrinkled in confusion.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No.” She closed and locked the car, then unlocked the front door. “Good night, Tucker.”
“Uh, yeah. Okay. Right.” He stood staring as she stepped inside. “Good night, Ginny.”
She let him take precisely six steps down the sidewalk before she called.
“Tucker?”
He stopped. Looked at her. Blinked. “Yeah.”
“If you want to come over tomorrow evening, we could talk then.”
“Yeah. Sure.” He nodded. “What time?”
“Six-thirty? I’ll make us something to eat.”
“Oh. Okay. That’d be nice. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Ginny watched as he turned, walked a few steps, then turned back. “Good night,” she called.
“Uh-huh.” He kept on walking, muttering to himself. “If that isn’t just like a woman—up one minute, off on a tangent the next. Completely illogical.”
She almost laughed. Instead Ginny closed and locked the door, her lips curving with anticipation.
“Get your rest, Tucker. I have a hunch you’re going to need it.” She climbed the stairs, grabbed a notepad and sank down on her bed, scribbling madly as the idea took form and shape in her mind.
At last she had it all down. Ginny read the words to herself, delight rising inside.
“Thanks for the idea, God. It’s a dilly.”
Chapter Six
“Ah—could you say that again? You want me to do what?”
Tucker’s mouth flopped open. Virginia Brown could not possibly have said what he thought he’d heard. Could she?
“Come on, what’s the big deal, hotshot?” Her green eyes sparkled with the dare.
Ah, now she was reverting to childhood names. Two could play at that.
“The big deal, pipsqueak, is that I know zilch about organizing a boy’s group. Nada. Nothing.” It must be the shoes, he decided. Nobody, not even Ginny, could be clearheaded wearing shoes like that.
“What is there to know? You were a boy once. You have a college degree. You’re qualified.” She perched beside him on the granite boulder behind the church, the same one they’d shared years ago, the one on which they’d always decided major issues. “It doesn’t have to be anything formal. Just fun.”
Tucker shook his head, determined not to be sucked into her scheme.
“No, Ginny. No way. Absolutely not.” Those spindly little heels must be four inches high, at least. She wasn’t thinking clearly, that was it. Otherwise she’d never have suggested such a thing.
“But—”
“I will not be some kind of Boy Scout troop leader. No.”
One hand smoothed her skirt over her knees while the other tried to control that mane of curls. She winked at him.
“Actually, hotshot, you already are their leader. They tag around with you when they’re not in school. Yesterday you played ball with them. Today they sat beside you in church. You’re already doing it.”
“No, I’m not.” Let her stick that bottom lip out. She could pout all she wanted. He would not be responsible for those kids. It was impossible, crazy. And he wasn’t doing it.
“Hey, Ginny. Is the picnic still on?” Tom couldn’t hide the eag
erness any more than he could stop licking his lips. “The fried chicken and stuff?”
Tucker did a double take. “He’s not talking about my picnic, is he? My chicken?” He was! Tucker could see the truth all over her face. “You conned me! Just for that I should refuse to come.”
“Okay.” She shrugged as if she couldn’t care less. “Mrs. Bains told me your favorite sandwich was peanut butter and jelly. I’m sure they have lots of that in their cupboards.”
Too late he remembered that the coach had taken his wife to the city for the weekend to see their grandchildren. Where the peanut butter and jelly idea had come from, he didn’t know, but he was sick to death of eating it.
Sudden suspicion dawned. Ginny? She wouldn’t have told them such a thing—would she? Tucker groaned. He knew full well she would, and probably had.
“I could go to the café, you know.” Like he’d turn down her chicken for restaurant food. Tucker almost laughed at himself.
“You certainly could. Enjoy yourself.” Ginny used his shoulder to steady herself as she balanced on those death traps she called sandals. Slowly, carefully, she walked away.
“Of course, you’ll need a reservation, because Sunday brunch is always busy.” Her voice sounded smug. “I have to go. Dad’s waiting in the car. I’ll meet you at home, guys.”
“You’re not coming on the picnic?” Tom stood in front of Tucker. His thin frame was slouched in his starched white shirt as if he were terribly uncomfortable. “Aw, that’s no fun. We don’t wanna picnic with a girl!”
“Not that Ginny’s not a great girl, but we were hoping to do some fishing.” Paul, the peacemaker, tried to mend the breach after one look over his shoulder at Ginny’s retreating figure. His voice dropped. “Besides, she said she’d make us pie for dessert.”
“You guys are a sucker for any kind of food, you know that?” Like he wasn’t?
“Not any kind. I don’t eat liver.”
“Very discriminating of you, I’m sure.” Tucker shoved to his feet, steaming apple slices under a golden crust vivid in his mind. He knew when he was beaten. “Yeah, all right. I’m coming.”
They walked the few short blocks to her house, conversation rapid, interspersed with boasts from the boys about who had caught the biggest fish in his lifetime.
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