of sodas right there on the sidewalk and followed him.
The kid peeked my interest earlier that day, outside the diner and walking up Main Street with his guitar case swinging. And now . . . peeking in the church window?
The kid moved across High Park Lane and into the park. Sticking to the shadows, I trotted after him, not moving fast, staying a good length behind, not letting myself get too bent on it. He led the way across the park, through the thickening and swaying shadows, past the benches and trails. He passed the statue, headed toward the sparse woods at the far end of the park.
A moment later, I moved past the statue myself, glanced up at the stony face. It ignored me just as he’d ignored the kid, his blind gaze fixed on some vague spot over the roofs of Main Street.
Much to my surprise, the kid didn’t skirt the edge of the woods—he melted right into them. I stopped for a moment, paused in the darkness. My hands began to ache again.
A stroll through the woods. Okay. A stroll through the woods it would be.
I gave him a good lead, then plunged into the darkness after him, trusting to blind luck that I would be able to keep up. The dead leaves and branches kept him from being as stealthy as he’d been before. The snap and shuffle of his progress through the woods also covered any slight sound I may have made.
Turns out I had a knack for this sneaking around business. I smiled with stupid pride.
We walked for what seemed about a quarter of a mile through the woods, along a barely visible trail. It meandered with seeming randomness, occasionally skipping over a fallen tree trunk or outcropping of huge stones. Sometimes it disappeared entirely—to my untrained eye, anyway—and I had to suppress a sigh of relief each time I found it again. Two or three times, I actually forgot I was even following someone, I got so wrapped up in keeping my eyes on the ground.
Just as I began to question what the hell I was doing, tracking some kid through the nighttime forest for no reason, I came out at the edge of the woods.
A two-lane road, stark and lonely in the moonlight, defined the perimeter of trees. Across the road, a small white house stood beyond an unkempt expanse of yard. The kid trotted up the steps to the front door. Without a backward glance, he went inside and let the door slam shut behind him.
I glanced up and down the road. There were other houses, stretched along the other side, all quiet and spooky-serene. Like the house the kid had disappeared into, they were all pleasant-looking, though a far cry from the lavish homes downtown. Outskirts. Other side of the tracks. Like the inner-city houses in Memphis, except surrounded by woods and silence.
A light went on inside the house, and shadows moved beyond the curtain. Welcome home, Guitar Kid. Make much money today? Play Elise Garrity’s fav, did you? Peek in any church windows? Come here and give me a hug.
I suddenly felt very lonely. A strange man, standing at the edge of the road and looking at a stranger’s house.
Kyle and I grew up without a father. Normally, that thought didn’t trouble me much, but at this moment I felt a distinct loss, as if I’d never known the concept of family. Bullshit, of course. I had a family. I had Kyle, right? So what the hell was I doing? Why did I follow the kid?
“Loser,” I said to myself. I started to turn away, make my way back through the woods, when movement at the window caught my eye. The curtain pushed aside at the far end, and a small, white face looked out.
A boy. I’m not a good judge of the age of children, but I would’ve guessed about eight or ten years old. Blond hair that gleamed in the light from the room. He stared out at the night, looking directly at me.
If he could actually see me, he gave no indication. He just stared, his little face pressed against the window glass, his eyes locking with mine in what seemed like an awareness of my presence.
I stood still, staring back at him,
The kid peeked my interest earlier that day, outside the diner and walking up Main Street with his guitar case swinging. And now . . . peeking in the church window?
The kid moved across High Park Lane and into the park. Sticking to the shadows, I trotted after him, not moving fast, staying a good length behind, not letting myself get too bent on it. He led the way across the park, through the thickening and swaying shadows, past the benches and trails. He passed the statue, headed toward the sparse woods at the far end of the park.
A moment later, I moved past the statue myself, glanced up at the stony face. It ignored me just as he’d ignored the kid, his blind gaze fixed on some vague spot over the roofs of Main Street.
Much to my surprise, the kid didn’t skirt the edge of the woods—he melted right into them. I stopped for a moment, paused in the darkness. My hands began to ache again.
A stroll through the woods. Okay. A stroll through the woods it would be.
I gave him a good lead, then plunged into the darkness after him, trusting to blind luck that I would be able to keep up. The dead leaves and branches kept him from being as stealthy as he’d been before. The snap and shuffle of his progress through the woods also covered any slight sound I may have made.
Turns out I had a knack for this sneaking around business. I smiled with stupid pride.
We walked for what seemed about a quarter of a mile through the woods, along a barely visible trail. It meandered with seeming randomness, occasionally skipping over a fallen tree trunk or outcropping of huge stones. Sometimes it disappeared entirely—to my untrained eye, anyway—and I had to suppress a sigh of relief each time I found it again. Two or three times, I actually forgot I was even following someone, I got so wrapped up in keeping my eyes on the ground.
Just as I began to question what the hell I was doing, tracking some kid through the nighttime forest for no reason, I came out at the edge of the woods.
A two-lane road, stark and lonely in the moonlight, defined the perimeter of trees. Across the road, a small white house stood beyond an unkempt expanse of yard. The kid trotted up the steps to the front door. Without a backward glance, he went inside and let the door slam shut behind him.
I glanced up and down the road. There were other houses, stretched along the other side, all quiet and spooky-serene. Like the house the kid had disappeared into, they were all pleasant-looking, though a far cry from the lavish homes downtown. Outskirts. Other side of the tracks. Like the inner-city houses in Memphis, except surrounded by woods and silence.
A light went on inside the house, and shadows moved beyond the curtain. Welcome home, Guitar Kid. Make much money today? Play Elise Garrity’s fav, did you? Peek in any church windows? Come here and give me a hug.
I suddenly felt very lonely. A strange man, standing at the edge of the road and looking at a stranger’s house.
Kyle and I grew up without a father. Normally, that thought didn’t trouble me much, but at this moment I felt a distinct loss, as if I’d never known the concept of family. Bullshit, of course. I had a family. I had Kyle, right? So what the hell was I doing? Why did I follow the kid?
“Loser,” I said to myself. I started to turn away, make my way back through the woods, when movement at the window caught my eye. The curtain pushed aside at the far end, and a small, white face looked out.
A boy. I’m not a good judge of the age of children, but I would’ve guessed about eight or ten years old. Blond hair that gleamed in the light from the room. He stared out at the night, looking directly at me.
If he could actually see me, he gave no indication. He just stared, his little face pressed against the window glass, his eyes locking with mine in what seemed like an awareness of my presence.
I stood still, staring back at him,
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