Chloe's Guardian

by Cheri Gillard

  “It was Todd.”

  She whipped around. “Todd?”

  “He dialed wrong. Old habits, you know.”

  Chloe tried to keep breathing. “He’s taking her to our festival?”

  “Forget him. He’s a loser.” She formed an L on her forehead with her thumb and index finger. “Come on. Don’t start crying again. You’re better than he is.”

  Chloe abandoned her pepper and ran upstairs to her room, where her heart that wasn’t there anymore broke into yet another shard.

  ***

  The concrete corner made a miserable bed. When he’d fallen asleep—or maybe more like passed out—the alcohol had masked how awful a place it was to spend the night. But now, in spite of the insufferable accommodation, he yearned to get back to sleep, to check out.

  Then Chloe, her problems, and the impossible tasks before him came screaming back to mind and kept him from reclaiming the bliss of unconsciousness.

  After Chloe’s mother had picked her up and the police left the store, another six-pack of beer had gone a long way to satisfy his thirst. And numb the fatigue. The episode with the robbery left him so depleted, he staggered away from the store much worse than what his drinking merited. Because the Celestials had not let him transfigure to heal his nose, and it was disallowed now, he couldn’t replenish his energy. The interdict was catching up with him and becoming a problem. Every time he transmuted matter, power went out of him, and he was running low.

  The patio on which he contemplated his misery belonged to a church on the corner of Federal and Thirty-seventh—partway between Chloe’s store and Chloe’s house. When he settled on it as a place to take his reprieve from guarding the girl, he’d done it with specific intentions—even as drunk as he was. In the morning, he would enter the sanctuary of the church, go into Communication Mode, and ask Mebahel if he could be released from his duty. He’d saved the girl yet another time. Surely the assignment could be considered complete.

  He tried to push the whole debacle out of his thoughts. The morning sun warmed his face—Colorado sunshine had an edge not found at sea level. The Ray-Bans kept the painful light to a lower degree of torturous. A cool breeze carried the fragrance of a nearby rosebush. Occasional cars swooshed by but with the infrequency of a Sunday morning. It would be a beautiful morning if he could just forget—

  A shadow fell over his face, cutting off the source of heat and light. “Excuse me, sir.”

  A man in short sleeves and a tie was bent over him. He straightened up abruptly with a crinkled nose not hidden fast enough for Horatius to miss.

  “Would you like to come inside and have some coffee?” the man asked. “Or a bite to eat?”

  Horatius got up, moving as steadily as he could manage. Bottles, dislodged by the shift, clinked and rolled across the concrete porch.

  This is worse than humiliating. “Ah, no. Thanks. I need to get going. I’m sorry. I just…thanks.” He clumsily chased after the elusive bottles, proving himself even more ungainly as they skittered out of his reach.

  The man picked up a couple of bottles teetering on the edge of the porch and put them into the six-pack cardboard cartons. “No need to rush off. Really. I’d be happy to have a cup of coffee with you. We have some delicious Danishes this morning. Cream filling.” He smiled like all it took to make his day was the right donut.

  The man’s sincerity soothed Horatius’ mortification. Maybe a cup of coffee would be good. That would be a way inside, too.

  “Okay. All right. I’ll take a cup.” Horatius picked up the two six-packs but hesitated, not knowing what to do with them. He didn’t want to take them into the church. One of the church ladies might see them and disapprove.

  “Here, I’ll take those. We recycle. I’ll put them in the bins. I’m Pastor Dave.”

  Pastor Dave went in first, which allowed Horatius a quick moment to smooth his clothes, finger comb his hair and redo the band on his ponytail, and rub his eyes clear. His whiskered face felt rough and sloppy.

  After putting the bottles in the bins, Pastor Dave led him to the basement fellowship hall. Horatius pulled a couple of dollars from his wallet and handed them to him.

  “Oh, no need. We don’t charge for this. Besides, the coffee isn’t really that great anyway.” He chuckled but filled up a cup in spite of his poor review.

  Horatius tucked away the cheap wallet while Pastor Dave loaded a Styrofoam plate with two donuts and a croissant for himself. With cream he diluted his coffee to a light tan and started tearing open pink packets and dumping in sweetener. Horatius pulled a Styrofoam cup off the top of the inverted stack. He pumped the pot. The coffee smelled thick and bitter, exactly what he needed.

  Three elderly men sat at the one long folding table sipping from steaming cups. Pastor Dave sat down next to them. “How are those Danishes today, Bob? Remember to take your extra insulin this time?”

  “Didn’t need to. Gus took the last cream-filled one.”

  “Be careful, Gus. You’re going to split your pants, you’re not careful there.”

  All one hundred and ten pounds of Gus laughed at that, like he hadn’t heard it every Sunday morning since Noah.

  Bob and his companions found a lot of nothing to say about the donuts to Pastor Dave while Horatius sat at the end farthest away and took a bite. It had sweet pink icing with multicolored jimmies that hurt his teeth. The men at the other end of the table acted like coffee and pastries with a hung-over giant who reeked of booze was a common occurrence. Their grace was impressive.

  Pastor Dave veered off the subject of donuts only once to comment about how well the outdoor roses were doing, how he needed to trim them, and how the usual caretaker had been laid up with gout. Then he said to Horatius, “If you’d like to stay a little longer, in a half hour we’ll be meeting upstairs for the service.”

  “You have been extraordinarily courteous about it, but we all know I need a shower. I think I’ll just go sit in your sanctuary for a bit, if that is okay, but then I will be on my way before your regular group shows up.”

  “Sure, sure. Go on up. Stay as long as you like. On Wednesday’s we have a food bank open, plus a meal, if you’re interested. It’s all printed on the flyer by the door upstairs. Help yourself. Thank you for having coffee with me.” Horatius liked Pastor Dave.

  The sanctuary was peaceful and quiet. It felt good. With a deep breath Horatius closed his eyes, concentrated, and tuned into the Chatter.

  First it came in torrents, then he singled out the voices from the correct quadrant. Discussions about the Keith Clan, its different generations and family lines, led him to the right group of Pure. By isolating those conversations and blocking out the others, Mebahel’s voice became clear.

  “Hello, Horatius. Checking in so soon?”

  I just wanted to report that I have saved the girl several times.

  Leviah was nearby and he chuckled.

  “Good. That is why you are there.”

  It seems circumstances are worked out here for her. Her life is better. I am ready to finish up. To come back.

  The long silence that followed made Horatius wonder what they were thinking.

  “Horatius. There is much more to Guardianship than a few heroic saves.”

  Yes, but—

  “Do not kid yourself,” Leviah said. “You are in for the long haul. It will take far more time than this to accomplish anything worthwhile.”

  “Focus on issues greater than just circumstantial,” Mebahel said.

  “The girl’s spirit is demoralized. She needs to find the source of hope,” Jabamiah chimed in. “That does not happen over night.”

  “It can take years,” Leviah said. “Years.”

  “Give it at least another week,” Mebahel said. His tone included the sound of a smile. “Then we will talk again, all right?”

  “Do not be discouraged. You have great potential, Horatius. You are very sincere in your desire for redemption,” Jabamiah said.

  Horatius cl
osed his mind and the Chatter disappeared.

  A week? Can I last another week? Maybe, if he got focused and was able to stay off the booze. He’d make the girl’s life come together. The Celestials wanted her encouraged? He could do that. He just needed a good plan, based on an accurate assessment of what she needed.

  And what she needed was a better job and a new boyfriend. Easy. Then she’d be safe and happy. He would help her with her résumé and applications. They’d mingle with some new people and find a boy to take her mind off that oaf Todd. Maybe this church had a youth group where she could meet a reasonable boy.

  Before he left the church, he filled out one of the flyers by the door with Chloe’s contact information and indicated she was interested in learning more. He left the church and went back to her house.

  This time, her sister had the door open before he took his hand from the doorbell. Her head was down, and she was concentrating on her cell, texting.

  “Finally. I’ve been— Oh, it’s just you.”

  “Unfortunately, yes. It is I.” Her bright red nose was faded, and her eyes were less droopy.

  “You’re supposed to be Benji’s babysitter.”

  “That, I am not.”

  “Yeah, no kidding. I am so late. I should have left twenty minutes ago.” She checked her cell phone. “Mom took Nana to a doctor’s appointment and left me with Benji. But I’m supposed to meet Claire and Bethany at the mall. We’re seeing a movie. Then I don’t know what. We’ll hang out probably. At the mall. But I can’t if I’m here with Benji, can I?”

  “Ah. I am sorry. But is your sister here?”

  “Of course not, or I wouldn’t be stuck.” She came out onto the porch and plopped onto the glider bench and rocked rapidly back and forth.

  “Is she at work?”

  “Nope. Larkspur.” A text chimed in and her thumbs blurred to send a reply.

  “Ah.” It meant nothing to him. “Larkspur?”

  “The festival. Renaissance Festival. We go every year. Used to anyway. She and Todd take—took me. But not this year. They are…” She drew a finger across her neck and mouthed over. “It’s my birthday next Saturday. I’ll be sixteen. You can get me something nice, since you keep showing up. A silver bracelet, maybe?” She held up her naked wrist. “I’ll share my cake with you. I’ll have to make one myself this year, I guess. Unless you want to bring it. Mom won’t get it. She hardly gets out of bed anymore. Tony won’t even remember. He forgot last year and he hadn’t even moved out yet. Chocolate, of course. The cake. I like Mermaids Bakery. It’s downtown. The Turtle Dove. Dark chocolate, cream cheese. Pecans and caramel. You’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven. Unlike their Heaven cake. That has fruit and zucchini in it. Who ever heard of that?” She stopped and stared like it was his turn to ramble high speed nonsense at her now.

  “This festival. What is it? Where is Larkspur?”

  Her phone chimed again and she took a second to text back.

  “I love it. We can go next weekend, okay? You can drive. I won’t have my license till Monday. And you have to wear a costume. Everyone does, or they don’t let you in. It’s south of here, a little past Castle Rock. Chloe went today to spy on that idiot Todd and her replacement, Rebecca.” She said the name in a pinched voice with a sour face. “So, want to go? On Saturday day with me? And bring the cake? They have different sizes. I like the biggest round one.”

  She talked so fast, he had to pause a moment to let his brain catch up with her words. While he tried to process, her eyes suddenly opened wide.

  “Hey, you could watch Benji. Mom should be back soon. Only an hour or two. Or so. He’s a good kid. Just don’t let him have peanuts. He’ll blow up like a puffer fish. He likes piggyback rides. And that way you’ll know where he—”

  “No, no. No no no. Hold on. I don’t like children. And they most certainly do not like me.”

  He backed down the stairs, but Michelle jumped up off the glider and skipped down the steps past him.

  “Come back here. I did not say I would. I have things—”

  “Thanks!” she yelled as she ran down the street, not slowing at all.

  “Wait. Come back here,” he called out, running to the edge of the yard. She disappeared around the corner. “Of all the—” He cursed several crude words but turned and found two young eyes staring at him from the doorway. The words coming out stopped and got stuck in his throat. It took a moment to regain his composure under the gaze of the little boy wearing green pajamas with dinosaurs.

  “Hello.” They stared at each other. Horatius didn’t know what to do. “I really cannot take care of you. I have to go to Larkspur and find your sister.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Really. I must go. Go back inside now and play, or watch television or whatever little people like you do.” They stared at each other some more.

  Those little eyes looked so trusting.

  “I have a lot to get done and very little time in which to do it. I really want to get circumstances in line so I can go back home. If I can just find Chloe, I can get this worked out and be on my way.” He couldn’t believe he was justifying himself to a little child wearing flannel dinosaurs.

  The boy stepped forward and held out his hand to give something to Horatius. The gesture elicited unexpected fear. What might he be handing me? A writhing, half chewed worm? A gooey booger stuck on his finger?

  “How about you keep it, eh? I don’t need one of those.”

  When his fingers opened, Horatius flinched. But all that was in his little palm was a tiny rubber tyrannosaurus rex. And it looked free of debris—gooey or otherwise.

  How ridiculous. Even embarrassing. “Ah, a very nice dinosaur you have there, little fellow. Nice dinosaur. Oh, you want me to take it? You better keep it. I can’t take your nice little toy there.” The boy moved it closer, like he wouldn’t accept no for an answer.

  “Okay, for just a minute though. I will watch it for you.” Horatius reached for it, but the boy pulled it back just before Horatius got it. A huge smile split his face and he laughed like bells ringing.

  “Twicked ya,” he said.

  It took a moment to realize the boy was only playing with him. The boy held it out again, his face serious.

  “You know the saying, fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice.... Well, maybe you don’t.”

  His palm still held the toy out toward Horatius.

  With a swift move, Horatius snatched it. The boy’s eyes opened wide and Horatius realized his mistake. Just as he started to hand it back to the tyke with apologies ready, the ringing laugh started again.

  “Now you do it to me,” the boy said. “Let me twy.”

  Remarkable. He’s unexpectedly cute. And not terribly annoying. “Okay. But first, tell me your name.”

  “Benji, silly.”

  “Okay then, Benji Silly. Now it is your turn. See if you can grab it, Benji Silly.”

  They played a few more rounds with Horatius holding the dinosaur and letting Benji Silly try to snatch it away.

  “Okay, you keep it now. I really need to go. Let’s get you settled inside and I will be on my way.”

  “You can’t leave me alone. I’m only—” He held up four fingers. “This many. You have to wait till Mommy comes back.”

  “I can’t stay here. I have things to do. I need to go to Larkspur.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay what?”

  “Take me with you.”

  “I can’t take you with me.” He may be cute, but he’s not that cute.

  “Why not?”

  “Why not? Well, that is obvious. You’re just a child.”

  The little trusting eyes looked at him again.

  “Mommy takes me.”

  “To the Renaissance Festival?”

  He nodded.

  “That is not a period the young should see. It is practically medieval. Plague, war, pillage, rape—” Horatius pulled his lips in and clamped down. He had not meant to say
all that to a four-year-old.

  “What’s those things?”

  “Nothing. Nothing. Um, it is just bad people. Bullies. You have heard of bullies? No? Well, they are people who are not nice.”

  “I’ll get my pack-pack. And a juice box and some goldfish. Come on.” He went into the house. From inside he called, “Do you want some goldfish?”

  Horatius shook his head. He could not believe he was considering this. “Hic sunt dracones,” he muttered to himself. Probably even worse than dragons in unchartered waters. He pulled off his Ray-Bans and followed the little kid inside, wondering what in the world he was getting himself into.

  ***

  Chloe hid in the shadow of a tree, watching from behind the dark side of its trunk. The air smelled of suntan lotion, manure, and beer, depending on which way the breeze blew. Cheered on by raucous spectators, two men dressed in medieval battle gear kicked their horses toward each other in the fenced yard, their lances aimed at each other’s chest plate. She didn’t notice who knocked off whom because her attention turned to the faces in the bleachers, scanning the people for Todd. The picnickers on the grass around her were already eliminated. Plenty of under-clad onlookers, red from the sun and squinting to see the show. But no Todd.

  “Chloe?” A hand landed on her shoulder from behind.

  A shot of adrenaline hit her heart and she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t want Todd to find her first. A whole different scenario had played out in her head—with her in control, her looking calm and nonchalant, not desperately hiding behind a tree.

  Slowly, she turned around, sorting like lightening through the possible ideas to explain herself.

  Horace. Horace was there, all seven-feet-or-so-tall of him, decked out in the most ostentatious, gaudy costume she’d ever seen.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “That’s what I was going to ask you.”

  “Are you working here?” She gestured to his getup, hoping his presence was a coincidence.