hinge.
He stepped inside to wrestle the door back into place, then looked around, feeling guilty at this invasionof privacy. But Enrique clearly didn’t have much of a private life. There was nothing at all in the room but a cot fitted with a coarse gray blanket, a folding table and metal chair, two cardboard boxes and a pile of books.
Despite the barrenness of the place and an unpleasant smell that was now almost overpowering, Jon could see that an attempt had been made to keep things clean.
Suddenly he tensed and caught his breath. Behind a ragged curtain in an alcove, he could detect a bulky shape on the floor, and the sole of a running shoe. He hurried across the room, pulled the curtain aside and knelt over Enrique’s body.
The boy was curled in a fetal position, his face deathly pale. He wore filthy, grease-smeared clothes and had vomited on the floor nearby, obviously the source of the offensive smell. At such close quarters, it almost made Jon’s stomach heave, as well.
He felt for a pulse, and discovered that the boy’s heartbeat was faint but regular. Hastily he got to his feet, found a cloth in the sink and soaked it in cold water, then knelt to wipe Enrique’s face and neck. After a few moments, the boy’s eyes fluttered open and focused blankly on Jon’s face.
“Hey, guy,” Jon said, trying to smile. “What’s going on? This is a pretty weird place to fall asleep, you know.”
Enrique blinked in confusion and turned his head away. Suddenly his face turned crimson with embarrassment.
“I was sick,” he whispered, struggling to sit up. “I am…so sorry. Please don’t bother about me. I will be fine.”
“Do you think you can sit up?” Jon reached to put an arm under the boy’s thin shoulders and help him to a sitting position.
“I must clean my floor. Please, Mr. Campbell, I don’t want you to…”
“I’m used to messes, son,” Jon told him comfortably. “I’ve raised four kids and cleaned up more messes than you could imagine. Quit fretting and tell me what’s going on here. Are you just hungry, or what?”
“I’m fine,” Enrique said with a touch of stubborn pride. “I can look after myself now.”
“Sure you can.” Jon helped the boy stand. “Do you feel dizzy?”
But Enrique couldn’t reply. He turned white again and sagged in Jon’s arms, clearly unable to support his own weight.
Without further hesitation, Jon swept him into his arms and carried him outside, pausing to pull the door shut behind him. He settled Enrique in the back seat of the car, over the boy’s feeble protests. Finally he turned the car around and started toward the hospital.
E NRIQUE FELL ASLEEP again while they were driving home and hardly roused as Jon parked and lifted him from the car. Margaret was in the kitchen when he carried the boy into the house. She rushed across the room, wringing her hands in her apron.
“He’s one of the kids I go to school with,” Jon told her as he strode down the hallway toward a guest room, with his housekeeper close behind.
“What’s wrong with him? Shouldn’t he be in the hospital?” she asked.
“I took him to the emergency room. The doctor said he’s just worn-out, dehydrated and hungry. He needs a good rest and a lot of warm fluids.” Jon entered one of the rooms and placed Enrique on a quilted bedspread.
Margaret stood by the foot of the bed and looked down at the thin white face, the dark eyelashes and ragged hair. “Poor thing,” she whispered.
Jon unbuttoned the boy’s shirt. “I’ll undress him and wash him,” he said over his shoulder. “Margaret, could you please find me one of Steve’s shirts and a pair of shorts? And then maybe we’ll see if we can get him to eat something.”
“I have a big pot of soup on the stove. That’ll be perfect for him.” Margaret started briskly toward the hall. “Hello, dear,” she said, greeting Vanessa, who paused in the doorway and peered at her father.
Jon was removing
He stepped inside to wrestle the door back into place, then looked around, feeling guilty at this invasionof privacy. But Enrique clearly didn’t have much of a private life. There was nothing at all in the room but a cot fitted with a coarse gray blanket, a folding table and metal chair, two cardboard boxes and a pile of books.
Despite the barrenness of the place and an unpleasant smell that was now almost overpowering, Jon could see that an attempt had been made to keep things clean.
Suddenly he tensed and caught his breath. Behind a ragged curtain in an alcove, he could detect a bulky shape on the floor, and the sole of a running shoe. He hurried across the room, pulled the curtain aside and knelt over Enrique’s body.
The boy was curled in a fetal position, his face deathly pale. He wore filthy, grease-smeared clothes and had vomited on the floor nearby, obviously the source of the offensive smell. At such close quarters, it almost made Jon’s stomach heave, as well.
He felt for a pulse, and discovered that the boy’s heartbeat was faint but regular. Hastily he got to his feet, found a cloth in the sink and soaked it in cold water, then knelt to wipe Enrique’s face and neck. After a few moments, the boy’s eyes fluttered open and focused blankly on Jon’s face.
“Hey, guy,” Jon said, trying to smile. “What’s going on? This is a pretty weird place to fall asleep, you know.”
Enrique blinked in confusion and turned his head away. Suddenly his face turned crimson with embarrassment.
“I was sick,” he whispered, struggling to sit up. “I am…so sorry. Please don’t bother about me. I will be fine.”
“Do you think you can sit up?” Jon reached to put an arm under the boy’s thin shoulders and help him to a sitting position.
“I must clean my floor. Please, Mr. Campbell, I don’t want you to…”
“I’m used to messes, son,” Jon told him comfortably. “I’ve raised four kids and cleaned up more messes than you could imagine. Quit fretting and tell me what’s going on here. Are you just hungry, or what?”
“I’m fine,” Enrique said with a touch of stubborn pride. “I can look after myself now.”
“Sure you can.” Jon helped the boy stand. “Do you feel dizzy?”
But Enrique couldn’t reply. He turned white again and sagged in Jon’s arms, clearly unable to support his own weight.
Without further hesitation, Jon swept him into his arms and carried him outside, pausing to pull the door shut behind him. He settled Enrique in the back seat of the car, over the boy’s feeble protests. Finally he turned the car around and started toward the hospital.
E NRIQUE FELL ASLEEP again while they were driving home and hardly roused as Jon parked and lifted him from the car. Margaret was in the kitchen when he carried the boy into the house. She rushed across the room, wringing her hands in her apron.
“He’s one of the kids I go to school with,” Jon told her as he strode down the hallway toward a guest room, with his housekeeper close behind.
“What’s wrong with him? Shouldn’t he be in the hospital?” she asked.
“I took him to the emergency room. The doctor said he’s just worn-out, dehydrated and hungry. He needs a good rest and a lot of warm fluids.” Jon entered one of the rooms and placed Enrique on a quilted bedspread.
Margaret stood by the foot of the bed and looked down at the thin white face, the dark eyelashes and ragged hair. “Poor thing,” she whispered.
Jon unbuttoned the boy’s shirt. “I’ll undress him and wash him,” he said over his shoulder. “Margaret, could you please find me one of Steve’s shirts and a pair of shorts? And then maybe we’ll see if we can get him to eat something.”
“I have a big pot of soup on the stove. That’ll be perfect for him.” Margaret started briskly toward the hall. “Hello, dear,” she said, greeting Vanessa, who paused in the doorway and peered at her father.
Jon was removing
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