He stood up from the springy sofa, walked to the window, and looked down at the quiet street, where only a few pedestrians meandered, and the occasional car zoomed past. The train whistle blew again, and he pictured Joe situating himself in a seat by a window, through which he’d wave at Livvie and her boys, feeling both excited to live near his daughter and grandchildren and regretful to leave his longtime cronies in Wabash. The night before, they’d thrown a pancake supper in his honor and stayed open late to allow folks plenty of time to say good-bye and wish him well. The band that played on the third floor had even come downstairs to play a few numbers. More than once, Will had been tempted to haul out his harmonica, but he’d been too busy flipping pancakes and frying up sausages.
A gentle, cooling breeze blew through the window, ruffling the white curtains. The street was empty now, and long shadows lay sprawled across the pavement, lengthening in the afternoon sun. He decided to take advantage of the weather and set off on a walk to the river. Turning to leave, he felt in his side pocket for his harmonica. Sure enough, it was there. He rarely went anywhere without it, never knowing when it might prove useful to pass the time or simply soothe his nerves.
He went to his bedroom and grabbed his jacket from a hook on the wall, then caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. Man, he looked rough. Maybe it was time to do something about his craggy appearance. Tomorrow afternoon would be a good time to pay the barber a visit. Maybe that would put him in a better position with his pretty boss, which would come in handy when he approached her with his ideas for generating more business at the restaurant.
Once outside, he ambled up the alley, then turned onto Market Street, heading east. He hadn’t taken more than a few steps when he ran headlong into Livvie and her boys. The first things he noticed were the sad looks on all their faces and Livvie’s red, swollen eyes.
***
Well, forevermore! With all the crying she’d been doing, Livvie had hoped not to meet anyone on the walk back from the train station. Her boys, loyal, protective little men that they were, had walked on either side of her, trying to cheer her with rote platitudes. All she wanted to do was go home and wallow in self-pity—after washing her face.
“Mr. Taylor! Our mom’s real sad,” Nathan spouted. He grabbed Livvie’s arm and drew her to a snappy halt, as if he wanted Will to look her good in the face, maybe even take over the responsibility of comforting her. Livvie lifted her gaze to the sky and sniffed as mortification crept slowly up her spine.
“I can see that,” Will said, his voice low and mellow. She imagined his blue eyes scanning her face. “Good-byes to old friends are always hard. Your mother’s feeling bad right now and probably needs some time to think about things. I’m heading down to the river. Would you boys like to come with me? If it’s all right with you, of course,” he added to Livvie.
“Are you goin’ fishin’?” Alex asked.
“Nope. Don’t have any fishing gear. Just thought I’d go check out the river view. Maybe you boys could lead the way.”
“Can we go?” Alex asked.
“Yeah, can we?” Nathan begged, jumping up and down.
“That…would be nice. Thank you, Mr. Tay—Will.” It still felt unnatural to address him by his first name, but that had been their agreement. She could hardly believe it—she was about to have some time to herself, time to nurse her aching heart.
In her apartment, she shrugged out of her spring coat and hung it on a hanger in the little closet by the entry. Then, she moved down the hall, passed the kitchen and dining room on her left and the boys’ bedroom on her right, and went straight into the bathroom. She flipped the light switch, then started the faucet, waiting for the hot water to reach the upstairs. When it did, she plugged the drain with the stopper and waited for the sink to fill. Meanwhile, she inspected her face in the mirror over the sink and gasped, horrified that Will had witnessed her in this state.
“Aargh!” she muttered to her reflection. “What difference does it make what he thinks? Gracious, am I off my rocker?”
When the sink was full enough, she stopped the water, then took a washcloth from the towel rack, rubbed it with a bar of Pears soap, and set to fixing her puffy face.
Chapter Seven
“When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.”—1 Corinthians 13:11–12
They found the river at the end of a winding, wooded path past the train station. In the clearing was a little park with several picnic tables and a fire pit surrounded by some makeshift benches made from long boards resting on cement blocks. Traces of debris were scattered on the ground, including scores of cigarette butts and some old canning jars, which Will could only assume had held home-brewed liquor. He figured this was a popular hangout for young adults on Friday and Saturday nights.
The river stretched northeast, parallel to the railroad tracks, until it veered further east and out of sight. Reflecting the afternoon sunshine and clear-blue sky, the water appeared as rippling blue glass dancing prettily over and around fallen branches and protruding rocks. Looking west, Will spotted a canoe with two boaters paddling upstream—an easy task today, considering the calm conditions. He imagined that, after a heavy rainstorm, the river could turn quite fierce, and he’d even heard stories of severe flooding as far north as Canal Street, which was only a block south of Market. The boatmen looked to be having a grand time, and, for a second, he pictured himself maneuvering the river with Livvie, enjoying quiet conversation and allowing the boat to take them where it chose. Downright harebrained notion.
“You boys know how to skip stones?” Will asked, bending over in search of the perfect pebble.
“Nuh-uh,” said Nathan.
“My dad showed me once, but I never got the hang of it,” said Alex.
“Ah. Well, maybe I can take up the lesson where your dad left off. See, you were younger then. Now might be the perfect age to learn.”
“What about me?” asked Nathan. “Ain’t I the perfect age?”
Will chuckled and ruffled the younger lad’s sandy-colored hair. It was close to the shade of his mother’s hair but leaned more toward blond than auburn. “I guess one can never be too young or two old to learn stone-skipping. It takes a lot of practice, though. I know a guy who was able to get seventeen skips out of one stone. I never could beat his record. It’s been a long time since I hurled a good stone across a lake or a calm river. Hope I haven’t forgotten how.”
“Naw, I bet you can still do it,” Alex insisted.
“The trick is to find the perfect stone,” Will told the boys. “Not too big, but big enough to go far when you give it a good toss. Shape and feel are important, too.”
“What’s a perfect rock look like?” Nathan asked, getting down on his knees to dig in the dirt.
“Well, let’s see, here.” Will seized a rock and studied it carefully. “It’s got to fit real nice in the palm of your hand. Like this one, see?” He held it out for the two pairs of blue-green eyes to peruse. My, they took after their mother in looks. Made him wonder about their father. “This one’s not the right shape, though.” He tossed it back down. Nathan’s shoulders slumped with disappointment.
“Don’t worry; we’ll find one. Searching for the right rock is actually a big part of the fun. Come on, help me.”
“What shape does it got to be?” Alex asked.
“Sort of flat,” Will said, “but not as flat as a pancake. It’s got to have some roundness to it.”
They kept up their quiet search, spreading out a bit, bent at the waist with their eyes trained on the ground.
“How’s this one?” Nathan asked a few minutes later. He held up what looked like an ideal specimen.
“Hey, fella! You may have found it.”
“Can you make it skip?” Nathan asked, h
is voice high with excitement.
“Hm. Let’s see, here.” Will took the rock in hand and tested it for size, shape, and smoothness. Then, he glanced out over the river. “Water’s pretty calm. Won’t work if it’s too choppy. And those guys in the canoe are still a ways off. You don’t ever want to try this if there’s folks fishing or swimming, unless you want to get chased right off the riverbank.
“Okay, step one.” He squatted down at their level, and they gathered in close. “Grasp the rock firmly between your thumb and forefinger, gently curling your other fingers under the stone like this, see?” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had an audience with such rapt attention, unless he counted that prison fight he’d gotten into with Fat Lester, one of Welfare Island’s fiercest inmates, some two years ago.
The guy had had it in for him since their first meeting, wanting to make it clear who was boss inside the prison walls. Will had mostly avoided him, not wanting to fight him but knowing he could easily defend himself if it came to that. And it did on the day Lester had started ribbing him about his past, though he’d known zip about it. He’d attached names to Will’s deceased mother that even the most shameless floozy didn’t deserve and accused his father of doing unforgivable things to him as a boy. That had been the final straw before the brawl had broken out. Inmates had placed bets and cheered loudly; guards had scurried in from everywhere to stop the fight before it spiraled out of control. It had ended when Lester had thrown a punch at Will, who’d ducked, then hurled himself into Lester’s gut, knocking him to the ground. On his way down, Lester’s head had clunked against the cement, rendering him unconscious. Of course, the episode had been answered with a week’s worth of solitary confinement for both of them. Will would have lost his mind if it hadn’t been for Harry’s daily encouragement when he delivered his meals. He’d whispered short passages of Scripture through the tiny opening in the door until the guard had ushered him away. After that, Will had kept his nose clean, a feat made easier when Fat Lester had unexpectedly received transfer papers to another prison. Harry had called it an act of God; Will, a blessed relief.
“What’s step two?” asked Nathan, his impatient tone bringing Will back to the present. He shook off the nagging memory of Fat Lester and the prison fight and stood to his feet. Gazing down at the two lightly freckled, innocent faces, he prayed that, despite his colorful past, he would somehow make a positive impact on the lives of these boys.
“Well, it’s a lot in how you stand,” he said, turning with one side to the water and crouching slightly, legs relaxed.
The boys watched intently and even mimicked his stance, even though neither one held a stone.
“Good, that’s it,” he encouraged them. “Now, see, I curl my wrist like so, and then I do this little snap and release.” He let the stone fly through the air, and all three of them watched it glide over the water, hopping once, twice, thrice, all the way up to eight good skips. “Ah, see? I can do better, though. Didn’t have quite enough spin on it when I snapped and released, and it’s quite possible I wasn’t low enough to the water,” he explained, using the same tone he would in a serious conversation with another adult. “Lots of factors to consider. That’s where the practice comes in handy.”
Nathan started jumping up and down. “I want to try! I want to try!” he squealed.
“Well, all right, that’s the spirit.”
“Me, too!” said Alex.
And off they went in search of more perfect pebbles.
***
When an hour had passed and her newest employee had yet to return her boys, Livvie started to worry. What had she been thinking when she’d allowed Will Taylor to take her sons down to the river, and why hadn’t she stipulated how long they could be gone? She barely knew him, had spoken only briefly to him during his week of training with Joe, and still knew nothing of his past. And yet she’d agreed to let her boys run down to the river with him, this man who’d introduced her son to a deck of cards and taught him Go Fish without her permission. What kind of a mother was she?
She glanced at the clock on the wall and tried to remember exactly what time she’d gotten home. Joe’s train had left at three o’clock on the dot, she recalled, which meant she must have walked through her door around quarter after three. What in the world could they be doing? When 4:45 rolled around, she decided to march down to the river herself to see if she could find them.
She hurried down the street and made her way as quick as she could along the narrow path to the water. Suddenly, a sweet-sounding melody brought her steps to a halt. She listened for a moment, inching forward as she did to stay out of sight. At the first break in the trees, she hunkered down a bit and pulled back a leafy branch to steal a glance though a gap in the foliage. There in the clearing were her boys, seated on a wooden bench on either side of Mr. Taylor, legs dangling, admiring eyes staring up at him, as he played a tune on a mouth organ. She recalled his mentioning that one of his few possessions was a harmonica—not exactly the instrument she would have expected a man of his stature to play.
But then, she heard his rendition of “Rock of Ages.” Oh, how the tender tone floated on the breeze, whispery and almost haunting. From note to note, measure to measure, he embellished the tune with tiny trills. Without forethought, Livvie clutched a hand to her heart and fisted the fabric of her coat. This was a side to Will Taylor she’d never seen—tuneful, soft, and vulnerable. Why had she worried about trusting him with her boys?
When the song ended, Nathan spoke first. “How’d you learn that thing?”
“My granddaddy taught me when I was just about this high.” Will held out his hand parallel to the ground.
“That’s how high I am,” Nathan said.
“Then, I expect I was about your age. Once he taught me the basics, I just took off with it.”
“Maybe you can learn me ’n’ Alex how to play it.”
“Well, maybe I can. You got to have a passion for it, though.”
“What’s passion?”
“Passion is…well, it’s like a great love for something that just won’t let go of you.”
“Then, I gots a passion for Coca-Cola,” Nathan declared.
Will laughed out loud and patted the youngster’s tawny head.
“I got a passion for rock-skipping,” Alex chimed in. “Can we do that again?”
“Another time, maybe. Right now, we’d best get you boys on back to your place before your mother comes looking for us.”
At that, Livvie made a hasty about-turn, tiptoed away from the stand of bushes—and, she hoped, out of earshot—and set off at a run up the path, lungs burning, hair flying behind her.
***
Will and the boys crossed to the other side of the street at the corner of Huntington and Market. Half a block from the restaurant, he spotted Livvie, sitting in a chair in the shade of the awning. She fanned her face—a strange sight, since today was not unbearably hot.
“You think our mom’s done crying?” Alex asked.
“I wouldn’t ask her, if I were you. You never can tell what might set off a woman’s faucet,” Will answered. He was hardly an expert on females, but it did seem that they had an inexhaustible supply of tears, and that the dam could break at any given moment, allowing them to spill forth.
“What faucet?” asked Nathan.
“Her tears, dummy,” said Alex.
“Your brother’s not dumb, just curious,” Will said, his eyes trained on the feminine creature just yards away now. “I’d play things cool, if I were you boys; act like nothing even happened. And, whatever you do, don’t remind her about Joe’s leaving.”
“Yeah, we don’t want t’ make her more sadder,” Nathan agreed.
“Watch this,” Alex said. “Hey, Mom!” He ran ahead of them toward the building. “Guess what we did?”
Livvie looked up and granted them a pleasant smile. It was the only genuine one he’d seen—pointed directly at him, anyway. Her dimples deepened, and, for th
e first time, he noticed her two top front teeth, one perfectly straight, the other turned in just so. Only one word came to mind when he laid eyes on her. Well, two, actually: sweet and charming.
In the restaurant kitchen, he began to fix them a light supper of roast beef sandwiches and leftover vegetable soup, even though Livvie had insisted at first that he need not go to any fuss. It was his day off, after all, she’d reminded him.
“Gotta eat, anyway,” he’d said. “I might as well make enough for everybody.”
Now, she said, “Well, at least tell me what I can do to help.”
“You can get the dishes and tableware ready, if you want.”
“Can I have a Coke?” Alex asked.
“Ooh, I want one, too!” Nathan shouted.
“Water will do just fine,” Livvie said. “The soda pop is reserved for customers.”
“But we never get t’ have it,” Alex whined. “Ain’t ever’thing in this place ours?”
Will kept his eyes down and sliced each sandwich in half, while Livvie set four plates in front of him and reached for the glasses. “No, everything is not ours. It…well, it mostly belongs to the bank.”
“But the bank don’t work here,” Alex argued.
Will fought to keep his mouth shut tight and his lips in a straight line.
“Oh, I guess you can have a small glass of cola, but just this once,” she said.
Both boys cheered, and the subject of the bank was quickly dropped.
When they were seated together at a rectangular table, Will noticed right away how they resembled a little family. He and Livvie sat side by side, their shoulders bumping from time to time, and her boys, seated across from them, devoured their suppers and talked nonstop about their lesson in stone-throwing. They included every detail—how Will had broken his own record by getting ten skips in one throw, and how neither of them had been able to get so much as one, but they weren’t discouraged, because Mr. Taylor had told them it took a lot of practice.
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