himself up and off the wall and upright.
Jack could hardly believe his eyes. It really was Betty. She was younger than he remembered, but, of course, she would be. This was four or five years before they'd even met. God, she was beautiful. Light brown hair that looked like gold when the sun hit it. Brown eyes that flashed when she got angry and that adorable little dimple in her chin.
For a moment, Jack wondered if she'd remember him. Would it be fondly or just a fading memory. That's when he realized the truth of it. Of course, she wouldn't recognize him; for her, they hadn't even met yet. He tried to make sense of the paradox. He was his older self, meeting her before his younger self had even had the chance. Damn, younger Jack had managed to screw it up. Not that she gave him much of a chance, but what he wouldn't give to have another. She was kind and wonderful and…yelling at him.
“Listen, you big palooka, I don't know what you think you were doing—”
“I'm sorry,” Jack said, trying to concentrate on the now. She was standing between him and the man, her brown eyes flashing as she jabbed at his chest.
“Well,” she said, brought up a little short by his quick apology. “You should be.”
“I really am sorry,” Jack said. “I thought he was attacking you.”
“Didn't get hugged much as a child, did you?” she said.
It was all he could do not to laugh. That was pure Betty — sharp, funny, incisive, beautiful.
“He was thanking me,” she continued as though she were speaking to a backwards child. “I brought him and his family some things from the studio to tide them over.”
That's when Jack noticed the rest of the family and he felt a hot flush of guilt. The man's wife looked terrified, ready to bolt, but standing her ground, arms around her two small children who were torn between excitement and horror. Their clothes were torn and old, and dirty. The woman's dress was several sizes too large for her and hung off her thin body like it was no more than a hanger in a closet. Next to them, on the discarded crates in the alley was a small box of clothing, a new pair of Mary Janes sitting on top.
Jack quickly took off his hat and pressed it against his chest. He shook his head in apology and addressed the wife. “I'm sorry, ma'am. I didn't mean to frighten you. Any of you,” he added to the kids. The girl curled into her mother's leg and the boy stuck his tongue out at him. Jack gave a quick laugh. “Good for you, kid.”
Jack turned back and Betty sized him up. “Maybe there's hope for you yet.”
Jack's heart stuttered. He knew she hadn't meant it the way he wanted to hear it, but a chance was a chance and he wasn't going to miss this one. “I sure hope so,” he said softly. Then, he stepped forward and held out his hand to the man. “I am very sorry.”
The man looked at Jack's hand. The world had kicked him in the seat of the pants so often he'd learned not to trust anyone or anything. But even after all the abuse the Depression had doled out, he still had the pride innate in every man. He straightened up to his full height and shook Jack's hand. “S'okay.”
“I'd like to make it up to you,” Jack said. “To all of you.” He struggled with what to do.
The man walked over to his family and stood behind his wife. His dirty hand came to rest on her shoulder and Jack saw an inspiring strength in their unity. “You don't have to do nothin', Mister. We're all right.”
The lie and the courage it took to tell went straight to Jack's heart. “Let me at least buy you lunch. There's a great hot dog place just down the street. I'm starving and I bet,” he said looking at the little boy, “you like your dogs with mustard and relish. Am I right? I'm a mustard and relish man myself.”
The little boy licked his lips and looked anxiously up at his parents — a silent plea in his shadowed eyes. The couple was clearly uncomfortable at the offer, but in dire need of the help.
“Just
Jack could hardly believe his eyes. It really was Betty. She was younger than he remembered, but, of course, she would be. This was four or five years before they'd even met. God, she was beautiful. Light brown hair that looked like gold when the sun hit it. Brown eyes that flashed when she got angry and that adorable little dimple in her chin.
For a moment, Jack wondered if she'd remember him. Would it be fondly or just a fading memory. That's when he realized the truth of it. Of course, she wouldn't recognize him; for her, they hadn't even met yet. He tried to make sense of the paradox. He was his older self, meeting her before his younger self had even had the chance. Damn, younger Jack had managed to screw it up. Not that she gave him much of a chance, but what he wouldn't give to have another. She was kind and wonderful and…yelling at him.
“Listen, you big palooka, I don't know what you think you were doing—”
“I'm sorry,” Jack said, trying to concentrate on the now. She was standing between him and the man, her brown eyes flashing as she jabbed at his chest.
“Well,” she said, brought up a little short by his quick apology. “You should be.”
“I really am sorry,” Jack said. “I thought he was attacking you.”
“Didn't get hugged much as a child, did you?” she said.
It was all he could do not to laugh. That was pure Betty — sharp, funny, incisive, beautiful.
“He was thanking me,” she continued as though she were speaking to a backwards child. “I brought him and his family some things from the studio to tide them over.”
That's when Jack noticed the rest of the family and he felt a hot flush of guilt. The man's wife looked terrified, ready to bolt, but standing her ground, arms around her two small children who were torn between excitement and horror. Their clothes were torn and old, and dirty. The woman's dress was several sizes too large for her and hung off her thin body like it was no more than a hanger in a closet. Next to them, on the discarded crates in the alley was a small box of clothing, a new pair of Mary Janes sitting on top.
Jack quickly took off his hat and pressed it against his chest. He shook his head in apology and addressed the wife. “I'm sorry, ma'am. I didn't mean to frighten you. Any of you,” he added to the kids. The girl curled into her mother's leg and the boy stuck his tongue out at him. Jack gave a quick laugh. “Good for you, kid.”
Jack turned back and Betty sized him up. “Maybe there's hope for you yet.”
Jack's heart stuttered. He knew she hadn't meant it the way he wanted to hear it, but a chance was a chance and he wasn't going to miss this one. “I sure hope so,” he said softly. Then, he stepped forward and held out his hand to the man. “I am very sorry.”
The man looked at Jack's hand. The world had kicked him in the seat of the pants so often he'd learned not to trust anyone or anything. But even after all the abuse the Depression had doled out, he still had the pride innate in every man. He straightened up to his full height and shook Jack's hand. “S'okay.”
“I'd like to make it up to you,” Jack said. “To all of you.” He struggled with what to do.
The man walked over to his family and stood behind his wife. His dirty hand came to rest on her shoulder and Jack saw an inspiring strength in their unity. “You don't have to do nothin', Mister. We're all right.”
The lie and the courage it took to tell went straight to Jack's heart. “Let me at least buy you lunch. There's a great hot dog place just down the street. I'm starving and I bet,” he said looking at the little boy, “you like your dogs with mustard and relish. Am I right? I'm a mustard and relish man myself.”
The little boy licked his lips and looked anxiously up at his parents — a silent plea in his shadowed eyes. The couple was clearly uncomfortable at the offer, but in dire need of the help.
“Just
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