They both turned to Logan.
"Dry cereal," he said a bit sheepishly.
"Dry?" Teresa asked. "You got something against dairy products?"
"Rasputin likes milk. And I was down to the bottom of the carton. So it was him or me."
"What? Dueling pistols at dawn?"
"Almost. He gave me his best pathetic starving kitten look. So I lost without a shot fired."
Teresa laughed. "Well, I think Pamela wins the best breakfast award."
A muffled voice on the other side of the room said, "Eggs, bacon, hash brown potatoes, toast, and strawberry jam."
They all turned, and saw the old handyman's legs sticking out from under the sink.
He pulled himself out and stood up, very slowly and painfully. "And coffee," he added.
"Seriously?" Logan said.
He nodded. "Yup."
"You win," Teresa said.
They all agreed with her. Best breakfast of the day.
"But you're on," she added with a competitive gleam in her eye. "Let's see what we can come up with for tomorrow."
"What kind of books do you like, Jenny?"
The girl just ignored her. She sat with her arms crossed defensively and stared out the window.
Teresa hadn't thought about this part of tutoring. The student who didn't want to be there. The one who resented her parents, her teachers, and the tutor who was making her sit in this little tower library looking out at the sunshine when she'd rather be anywhere else but here.
Teresa looked down at her notepad. How was she supposed to help her read if she didn't want to?
The girl pulled out her phone and began texting. She obviously didn't see any reason to learn to read anything longer than a text on a screen. In a world of cell phones and videos and instant messages, why read a whole book? That was the problem.
Teresa opened her mouth to order her to put the phone away, then noticed the cell phone case. NEWT A5, it said.
"The Maze Runner," she said to the girl.
Jenny looked up, startled.
"Newt's the best character," Teresa said.
"Yeah. Thomas is so cute."
"Who's Thomas?"
Jenny looked at her like she'd sprouted two heads. "He plays Newt."
"Ah. In the movies. I haven't seen them."
The girl smirked. "Then you know nothing."
It was Teresa's turn to look smug. "You missed so much," she said. "I guess you aren't a real fan."
Jenny lowered her phone to her lap. "Not a real fan?!"
"If you didn't bother to read the series, you missed most of it," Teresa said calmly. "But I guess you don't care enough about the world to learn more."
Jenny sat there for a minute, then whispered, "there's more?"
Teresa leaned forward. "So much more. A whole world more. And it's waiting for you…."
After a quick lunch from Santos', Teresa climbed the long stairs up to her office tower room again. She still couldn't believe this was her life, working in this amazing setting. She ran up the last few steps, anxious to get back to work.
When she got to the top, she found an elderly Mexican-American man standing outside her office door. He leaned heavily on a cane.
"Are you Mr. Silva?" she asked. "You're a half-hour early."
"I don't want to miss my class," he said in a thick accent.
"I'm sorry," she said. "Didn't you get the message? I was going to meet you downstairs so you wouldn't have to climb all this way."
But he shook his head. He switched to Spanish. "No hay problema," he said. "I need to come up here so my girlfriend doesn't see me. She takes tai chi and all the other classes so she would see what I was doing."
She answered him in Spanish. "Why don't you want her to see? You don't need to be ashamed of not being able to read."
He switched to English. "I am not ashamed. I am keeping it a…," he hesitated, "a secreto."
"Secret."
"Yes. A secret."
She unlocked the office and gestured for him to enter. They sat opposite each other in the center of the room. He laid his cane down on the floor next to him.
"You see," he began, "we sit in the garden in the afternoons at the cottage. And Helena reads to me all the books and we drink tea and eat the cookies."
Teresa nodded.
"She reads books of Agatha Christie, and the books of the Cats Who solve the mysteries, and the books of Edgar Allan Poe which are giving me the heebie-jeebies."
Teresa smiled at his use of the phrase 'heebie-jeebies' which she imagined he'd learned from Helena. "I see."
"And so I want to have a secret and surprise her on her birthday. I want to read the books to her."
"Ah. When is her birthday?"
"Julio the fourteen."
She had no idea if she would still be in Pajaro Bay by next July. "Then you have lots of time to learn," she said aloud.
"Yes. But I am not so young, and it could take me some time to learn how to read the books."
"I'm sure you can do it. Do you know how to read in Spanish?"
"A little. I was not so educated. I work all the time so my son can become the doctor. So I"—again he had switched to Spanish for a few words, but then paused to stick out his lip, looking so much like a little boy that she laughed. "I will do it," he muttered in English. "I did not learn in school because I go to work as a jardinero. So now I will learn to read whole books."
"Yes," she said, seeing the stubborn set to his jaw. "I believe you will. Let's get started."
She didn't have another student until four p.m., so she wandered downstairs for a bit.
In the big ballroom, there was a circle of folding chairs set up.
Logan was sitting in a chair, playing the guitar. Really badly. Beyond badly. But he was trying, and a group of kids were all sitting around the circle, each with an instrument, and each singing along and having a great time.
The boy with the guitar was on the edge of the group again, this time standing just outside the circle. Teresa watched him, felt his hesitation as he so clearly wanted to sit in the empty chair in front of him, but still couldn't bring himself to do it.
At a break between songs, Logan said to him, "help us out. Please. We're terrible."
The guy pulled the chair out, a bit away from the others. Then he sat down in it and began to strum along to the next song.
His musical presence helped the group find their focus, and they were almost all on the beat together by the end of the song, following the boy's lead to bang their tambourines and toot their flutes almost in unison.
They cheered when they finished, and several gave him big thumbs up signs. The boy smiled shyly, and then started another familiar song, and they all played along.
Teresa leaned against the wall and watched for a while. Logan was really good with the kids, and she felt herself liking him even more as she watched him do something embarrassing, making a fool of himself, and still keep going because it was working to reach even the more wary kids.
After a while, she noticed there was someone else outside the group, watching the same way she was.
It was a teenage girl, maybe sixteen or so. She was a cute Latina girl, with a heart-shaped face and spiky, super-short hair that looked almost like she'd shaved her head a few months ago and was letting it grow back.
She definitely didn't look like one of the homeless kids. She wore a nice Catholic school uniform: navy sweater, white polo shirt, plaid skirt, tights, and sneakers, all with the logo of a private girls school in San Francisco.
She looked like a wholesome kid who was pretending to be tough. Her hair had reached pixie length, and it stuck up at all angles. With her cute face and childlike wide eyes, she gave off a huggable, adorable quality.
Except for her expression. That wasn't huggable. It was more stay back, or get punched in the nose. The combination was odd enough that Teresa automatically scanned her hands, neck, and face for tattoos. Of course there were none. None of
the typical symbols of someone with gang connections. No, this was a good girl who looked a bit frightened and lost, almost like she wasn't sure what she was doing here.
Then, as she watched, the girl's expression softened, and Teresa felt herself smile as she saw what she was looking at.
The girl was staring at guitar boy. Not just staring, but adoring him, drinking him in with her eyes, like he was the cutest boy she had ever seen and she wasn't sure what to do about it.
Teresa knew that feeling. Logan was still encouraging the kids to play, and still making her own heart go pitter-patter with every word he said.
She wasn't sixteen anymore, but oh boy did she know the feeling the girl had.
So she wandered oh so casually over to the side of the room where the girl stood.
She ended up leaning against the wall next to the girl, who took no real notice of her, she was so fascinated by the boy playing guitar.
"He's cute, isn't he?" Teresa said casually. "Do you know his name?"
The girl nodded. "Austin Cooke," she said reverently. "He's the most talented person in the whole world."
Teresa smiled. The girl didn't even look her way. "He's very talented," she agreed. "I think he has a gift."
"A gift," the girl whispered. "Yes."
"I'm sure he thinks you're cute, too…?"
She paused, and the girl said softly, "Mena."
"Ah. I'm sure he thinks you're cute, Mena."
"He doesn't even know I'm alive."
The whispered words were so plaintive Teresa wanted to give her a hug, but instead just said, "he has other things on his mind at the moment. Be patient. He'll notice you."
She reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind the girl's ear. "You're very noticeable. Give him time."
The girl pulled away. "He just... he's special."
"Do you know him well?"
She shook her head.
"Have you ever talked to him?"
She shook her head again, a bit sheepishly.
"I know the feeling."
The girl started to nod, then apparently realized she was talking to one of the dreaded grownups and not another kid, because she turned to face her.
When she saw the gentle smile on Teresa's face she scowled. Her whole body went stiff, and her fists clenched at her sides. She stepped back like she thought Teresa was making fun of her.
Teresa tried to say something light to jolly her out of her embarrassment, but the girl backed away. "Get away from me! just get away!" she shouted.
The girl ran out of the room, but not before looking back over her shoulder with an expression of pure hate.
The music had stopped, and Logan had come over to her. "What was that all about?" he asked.
Teresa turned away from the closed door. "Nothing. I think I embarrassed her. Do you know her?"
He shook his head. "She's a new one. Never seen her before. We are getting a lot of kids here I don't know. I wonder if she's another homeless kid."
Teresa shook her head. "She looked too well dressed to be homeless. But Austin definitely is."
"Austin?"
"Guitar Boy. I got his name from the girl, whose name is Mena."
"Good job. You're a regular detective."
"It's a start," she said. She watched Austin slink away from the group, heading to the kitchen for the second round of doughnuts that had been set out. "You know," she said, "it's hard to believe there's a homeless camp in a place like Pajaro Bay."
"Not in town, no. But down the coast, there's an abandoned railroad line that runs near the ocean. Ever since I was a kid they talked about it. One of those places you weren't supposed to go, because monsters would get you. That kind of thing. I'm wondering if I should check it out. See how many people are there, and if we need to do some kind of outreach to them. People on the street are in a world of hurt."
"A world of danger," she said.
"Yeah." He frowned. "It's a bit overwhelming sometimes, you know? There's so much to do, and I'm not sure where to start."
"I think you're making a good start. You're bringing them in."
"Maybe it's my fabulous musical ability. Or the free food."
She laughed. "Probably the food. I don't really think it was your guitar playing."
"Yeah." He laughed, too. "That was pretty awful."
"But it got Austin into the group. Good move."
"You, too. I heard your student Jenny talking with her mom about how she was going to read The Maze Runner with you."
"Wow. I'm surprised. I thought she was ignoring me. I got her to talk about her favorite movie, and then told her about the book version and what she was missing."
"Apparently it sunk in. Getting them talking about movies and leading them to related books is a good idea." His cell phone rang and he glanced at it. "Elevator installer," he said, and gave her a quick thumbs up while walking away. "I think we'll make a good team," he said in parting.
"Yeah," she said softly to his retreating back. "I think we'd make a good team."
Chapter Ten
Teresa left her office at the end of the work day, then paused to admire the sunlight on the stairs before heading down.
She walked down slowly, still astonished that she actually got to work in this magical setting.
When she reached the second floor landing, she saw she wasn't alone. Austin sat on the window seat, the afternoon light glinting his scraggly hair and making the mahogany guitar glow. In that setting, he looked almost handsome, despite his obvious dishevelment.
He heard her footsteps as she came closer, and looked up.
"Hi," Teresa said softly. "Working on another song?"
He shook his head, but she tried again.
"Mena told me your name is Austin. Is that so?"
A tiny nod.
"You have friends here, you know."
Again, the shake of the head.
"I think so. I like you. And Logan does. And I'm sure Mena likes you very much."
"She should go away," he said.
"Don't be so hard on her," Teresa said. "She has a crush on you."
He shook his head. "No."
"Yes, she does. Didn't you notice? She thinks you're special."
"She doesn't know me," he mumbled.
"Well, that's the way crushes are. She doesn't know everything about you yet, but she wants to find out. She likes what she sees and would like to get to know you. Is that so bad?"
He shook his again, more violently. "She's a nice girl." He said it as if that made her out of reach.
"She seems like one. If you talked to her, you might find out how nice she is. She's pretty cute, isn't she?"
He shrugged, but she saw a blush start on his cheek as he looked down at the guitar strings.
"I think each of you could use a friend. So you might give it a try."
"No," he said flatly. "Can't do that."
"Why not?"
"She wouldn't like me if she knew me."
"Because you're so unlikeable? You seem pretty likable to me."
"You don't know me either."
"Nope. I don't. Not yet. But I know you're talented. And I think you're pretty nice. And I think the girl does, too."
"She wouldn't like me if she knew me."
"Why?" She saw the familiar signs of needle tracks on his hand. "Because of the drugs? People can love you even if you're sick. You just need some help getting on your feet."
He rejected that, pulling back from her, making himself small and remote from her though he was still sitting just feet away from her. She saw it then. It wasn't the drugs. It was whatever horror had driven him to take the drugs. That was what he feared people seeing. That awfulness he'd internalized was why he was convinced he was unloveable. She knew the feeling. Knew it too well.
She sat down next to Austin at the far end of the window seat. He let her do it. She didn't say anything, but just sat still while his hands automatically went to the guitar, strummed at the strings. The ch
ords varied, stuttered, then finally, a mournful tune formed from the notes, sounding sad and lonesome and quite beautiful.
"Do you think she wouldn't care about you if she knew the truth?" she finally asked, very softly.
He stopped playing. Shook his head. "Nobody cares."
"Nobody?" She didn't point out to him that he was here, that he had come here, day after day, lurking just on the fringe of the community, wanting to be part of it, probably caring more deeply about it than most of the people here. "Isn't there anyone at all looking out for you?"
He shook his head. No one cared if he lived or died. She knew that feeling too. Until now, until Detective Graham and Pajaro Bay, she had known that feeling.
She had spent her teen years knowing that her death would only have bothered her family because of the loss of income. They would have shrugged, and then moved on to some other way to eke out a living without her.
She had cared more about their survival than they had of hers. They hadn't cared about her, but she had cared deeply for them.
"What about you?" she asked Austin. "Is there anyone you care about?"
The faint whisper made her lean closer. "Alastor," he said, and then repeated it when she didn't hear him clearly. "Alastor. My dog," he mumbled into his guitar. "I found him in the woods. All alone."
"And he needed you," she said. "You gave him that name?"
He nodded.
"Does he have one eye?" she asked, thinking of the character Alastor Moody, a teacher in the Harry Potter series who was scarred from all the battles he had fought.
He looked surprised, then nodded. "Yeah. He's pretty scarred up." Then he added, "I saw them movies."
"And that's where you got the idea." It was a creative name, and fit with her impression that Austin was doing a lot of deep thinking while he lurked silently on the edge of society. "Did you ever read the books?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Not into reading."
"You never got the chance," she said, and he nodded. "Nobody ever read books to you when you were little," she guessed, and he nodded slightly again.
"I know how it is."
His glance held malice. Of course she couldn't know. Teri Forest wouldn't know about things like that.
Sunshine Cottage Page 10
