kitchen ahead of me, her body dancing side to side like an excited puppy.
‘Stew,’ I said. ‘Stew and salad and bread.’
‘Is that all?’
‘That’s all.’
‘Why don’t you ever keep any good stuff around?’
‘Like what?’ I asked.
‘Like ice cream or Cokes or something?’
‘Because that’s not what I make my suppers out of.’
‘Oh well,’ she said good-naturedly. ‘If that’s what we gotta have, then that’s what we gotta have, huh?’
I nodded.
I gave her the lettuce to wash and the carrots to slice.
Touché
she shouted to herself and stabbed the knife into the air at unseen dangers. I took it and the carrots and let her shake the dressing instead.
And then as I was putting the stew into bowls, Charity came bounding over and leaned across my arm to see what was happening.
‘Tor?’
‘Yes?’
‘Can I spend the night with you?’
‘No, I don’t think so. It’s a school night.’
‘So? What difference does that make? I’ll still go to school.’
‘You need to go home and get a bath and –’
‘Why?’ she interrupted, looking down at herself. ‘Am I dirty? Don’t you got a bathtub here?’
‘That’s not the point. It’s a school night. You ought to be home in bed and then be able to get up and put on school clothes and get there before the bell rings. It would be too hard from clear over here. We’re practically across town. And I have to leave for work a lot earlier than you have to go to school.’
‘It wouldn’t be so hard. I could do it. I could wear these here clothes. They ain’t dirty. I could get up real, real early. Okay? Can I? Please?’
I shook my head and handed her a bowl of stew. ‘No, not on a school night, Charity. Maybe some weekend. But not on a school night. End of conversation.’
Carefully she carried her bowl over to the table. Setting it down, she climbed up onto the chair. ‘You gonna have a man over here tonight, is that how come I can’t?’
I looked at her. ‘No, Charity. That isn’t how come you can’t. I told you how come you can’t.’
She had already started shoveling her food in, so she just shrugged. ‘Well, that’s all right. I understand. That’s when my mom works too. Every night but Mondays.’
The next morning dawned dark and gray, and when I drove to Garson Gayer at 9:30, the streetlights were still blazing.
Kevin had arrived in the room ahead of me. When I came, he was standing at the window looking out. It was the first time I had ever seen him just standing without being in the process of getting somewhere, unless of course I counted the day before, outside the staff room. He appeared to have momentarily put down the burden of fear.
He did not turn when I entered but continued to stare out of the window. The day was so gray, a bitter November day that spoke only of winter and made the icy darkness ahead of us seem millennia long. It was not snowing. It was doing nothing outside at all. It was silent, motionless and cold, like death.
I came up behind Kevin, put my box down on the radiator below the window and did not speak. I had to admit feeling a little afraid of him, standing there. The other day was not long enough past. I was still sore, and he had demonstrated his strength so well. This wasn’t like it had been with the little children. I was a physically strong person myself and even with the older children, with the boys ten or eleven or twelve, I could easily subdue them when I had to, no matter how out of control they might have been. I had always had the confidence to act without much regard to physical danger because I was tall and in good condition and strong and I knew it. But things were different with Kevin. He wasn’t a child. He was a man. I found it scary to know all I had to rely on were my wits. They didn’t always feel so sharp.
Kevin still did not turn from the window, and something about him made me unwilling to break the silence. I too looked out the window. The small courtyard
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