Asked For (28 page)

Magdalena finally straightened in her seat and started the car. James listened to her light up a cigarette and inhale. The car filled with smoke as she let her breath out. She hung the cigarette out the window and let the car creep forward. He leaned back on the seat. If it wasn’t what he was thinking, then what was it? He was either
that boy
or he was James Paine. He couldn’t be both.

Chapter 39

Lana 1940

A small bell jangled as Lana entered the store. A few faces turned, men and women both, then all went back to their own business. Lana closed the door gently, holding onto the bell so it wouldn’t jingle again, and slipped to the nearest aisle.

She had money in her pocket. Cletus had never done that before, but he’d laid money on the table after his breakfast and said, “Go to town. The boys are growing out of their pants.” He hadn’t set much there, but he’d said it would be enough. “Get what we need and try to look decent when you go.” She wondered if this was a penance, an effort to erase the shame of never being there, leaving her without him at his shop. Being caught with more than the stench of burnt metal on his skin.

She’d done her best to look decent, for her own sake as much as his. Her dresses were all worn and plain, faded and cinched around her waist with a tired belt. Magdalena’d stood over her while she fixed her hair, insisting Lana wear some of the makeup Magdalena had given her. Magdalena had said it made her more beautiful, but Lana knew it only masked the emptiness behind her face, nothing more.

She ran a hand over her tired dress as the store opened up in front of her, exploding with odors plentiful and pleasant. She inhaled deeply, drawing in scents different from dirt, cow, grass, and roast pork. It had been so long since she’d been in a store, long enough she’d forgotten how fragrances intertwined with confections, burlap softened pungent spices, and leather competed with soaps. She inhaled again as she drifted down an aisle, turned into another, touching, inhaling, and forgetting her own world.

“Would you like some help?”

Lana glanced up. A man stood above her, the same man she’d seen here before, ages ago when she’d come in with Cletus. He was slender, clean shaven, and balding. A white apron covered the front of him, a crisp collar above and neat shoes below. He smiled.

“No. Thank you, though.” Her face felt hot. She felt like a naughty child, touching things that weren’t hers. “I’m just deciding what I want.”

“Let me or the missus know if you need help.” The man nodded at a counter at the far end of the aisle. A plump woman stood behind it, her curly gray hair bobbing up and down pleasantly as she helped a customer. Lana noticed how much wider the woman’s apron was across her top half than her husband’s. She smiled. They suited each other.

“Thank you.” Lana nodded at the man. He strolled away, and she watched his back. He was peaceful. His wife seemed the same. The whole of the store felt serene. No one yelled, no one was sour. She envied this sort of calm and wished she could buy it instead of dry goods. He disappeared around the end of the aisle, and she continued to stare where he’d been.

“I know how you must feel.”

Lana glanced up.

Mr. Kline stood above her, his face expressionless, the same as it had been at the peace dinner ages ago. She moved away, to the opposite side of the aisle. He followed, and stepped in front of her.

“He’s careless with his home life. It’s in your eyes. I see it there. Will he be as careless in his business, as well?” Mr. Kline was close. Behind his empty expression she saw worry, he was genuinely afraid, but not for her.

Lana backed away, groped her way down the aisle toward the door. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mr. Kline’s eyes stayed on her as she stumbled backwards against the door. The bell clanged again as she pushed it open. It rang as she darted through, letting it close her off from Mr. Kline.

“Mrs. Paine?”

Lana fell against Ida, the woman with dark hair like her brother’s, a blur in Lana’s tears.

“You’re white as a ghost. Are you okay? Are you expecting again?”

Lana nodded, then shook her head. “I was just leaving, going home.”

The bell jangled again, and the door to the store swung open. Mr. Kline stood there, the question, the accusation still on his face.

Lana stumbled backwards, away from Ida. Ida stared from Lana to Mr. Kline, a frown creasing her brow.

“I need to go.” Lana turned away.

Ida’s fingers were around Lana’s arm before she could escape. They were strong, jerking Lana to a stop.

“I need to go,” Lana insisted. Ida’s grip intensified, and the woman steered her forward, stepping at a quick gait. “You can let go of me.” Lana wrenched her arm loose and stopped. Ida stopped with her and glanced back. Lana tried not to, but she followed Ida’s gaze. Mr. Kline was gone. Ida looked back at Lana, the handsome face so like her brother’s but pinpointed and sharp, her dark eyes shouting instead of speaking. “I don’t know you, but my brother seems to have taken an extraordinary interest in you. And your family. Now it seems that Mr. Kline has also…”

Lana shook her head. She didn’t understand. “Your brother’s been kind, but…” She glanced back to the store where Mr. Kline had been.

“A woman has to know her place and understand men at the same time. Don’t confuse your needs with their behavior. It’s too easy to flatter yourself, especially when…”

Lana backed away. “I need to go.”

Ida’s eyes stayed on her, drilling staves into the cold barren emptiness she felt inside. Lana pivoted. She tried not to run, but she hurried toward home. The money, money that felt strange in her small cloth bag, was suddenly heavy. The clanking of the coins jangled out what she didn’t want to hear.
It’s too easy to flatter yourself, especially when…
Will he be as careless in his business as he is with his home life?

The cavern where the scream lived swelled, the emptiness so immense the scream seemed diminished, a tiny sound that ricocheted, searching for a way out. She ran when she was out of town and out of sight, but still the accusations and questions stayed with her.

Chapter 40

James 1958

Pop’s shop was hot, the warmest place in town in the winter. James stacked iron rods on top of iron rods, same length, same type.

“See how I did that?” James asked Toby, a boy of twelve Pop had hired to take James’ old job. Toby nodded. “Do it right, or my pop will make you sorry.” James knew Pop had hired more than one boy since James had quit ages ago. None of them had lasted. No one could stand working for Pop. Toby nodded again.

James walked to the welding station, the one Harold used to work at. Harold had finally opened a store across the street from Mr. Morgan’s restaurant, one that had been empty since James could remember. Pop hadn’t asked James to come back and work for him again. James had just shown up after Harold quit. Neither Pop nor James said a thing. James just went to work. He was going to find out if he was a Paine. He’d do his best, and he’d find out what was or wasn’t in his blood.

The fires were hot, forming a formidable wall against the encroaching cold. Pop left the front doors open all year long. It was the only light during the day, except for the flames inside. It was the only air worth breathing. It kept them from the cough one man said welders always got. James didn’t want the cough. He looked up at the snowflakes melting against the wall of heat, a clash of cool beauty and fierce hotness.

Three heavy brackets hit the dirt at James’ feet. Clangs such as that no longer startled him. Surprises and loud noises were Pop’s way of telling him there was something to do. Bars banged and clattered to the ground. James looked up. Pop nodded toward the man beside him, then walked away.

James looked at the man. He tried to be like Harold had been, softer than Pop, good to the customers. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

The man sized up James’ arms. He was muscular beneath his shirt. The sweat made it cling to his skin. He was stronger than he’d ever been. If he hit a baseball now, no one would ever find it; it would go too far. But that didn’t matter. He didn’t hit baseballs anymore.

“Got plenty more of those.” The man jabbed the rails with his boot toe. “They’re out on my truck bed.”

James waited for the man to say more. The man was like Pop, he said nothing, so James looked toward the open door. “Show me where they are.”

What the man wanted was impossible, too large for the shop. James nodded as he stood in the snow, listening to what the man wanted him to construct.
He’s lazy
, James thought.
Too lazy to build a proper building, so he’s cheating and wanting me to do something out of metal instead of him doing it with wood.
James nodded. “Sure,” he said. He sounded like Harold, but his thoughts were like Pop’s. “I can do that.”
But then you’ve got to figure out how to haul it away.

“He’ll do it in sections,” Pop said from behind James. “Then he’ll bring them out to your farm and weld them all together for you.”

James clenched his hands into fists, then straightened his fingers.

“That’d be mighty fine,” the man said. He looked at James. Pop walked away, back into the shop, his boots making crunching noises in the snow.

“I’ll unload this for you,” James said. Already the mountain of metal was blanketed with snow and icy cold. He’d have to store it inside so no one would steal the iron, do bit welding a piece at a time, then carry them outside as the monstrosity grew. It was impossible.

The man moved inside and talked to Pop while James unloaded the iron. His shirt became soaked with sweat and snow. He wanted to pull it off and put his jacket on instead, but he didn’t. Pop was watching. He could feel his eyes like tiny beads of fire. He worked long; he worked hard. Pop shook the man’s hand, and the man rode away, his tires noisy in the snow.

James sorted and stacked long, rusty, cold rails of metal while Pop looked on. What James had learned to do with the welding rods he did with this man’s unruly mess. James made noise, more noise than he’d ever made before. It was music to his ears, the ring of frustration. He heaved, he dragged, he kicked, and he threw. It took the rest of the day. It took all of his fury.

Pop shut down the shop at the end of the day. He closed the gas bottles. He dowsed the lamps. Pop said goodbye to his workers and shut the huge front doors. After he’d latched them, he walked to the small door he’d leave through, locking it behind him. James followed, his jacket slung over his shoulder, the icy snow a blessed relief on the heat of his muscles. Pop stepped to the truck and climbed inside.

“I’m not riding with you,” James said. “I’ll be home later.”

Pop started the truck and backed away. James watched him, listened to the deep throaty growl of the engine he’d grown up terrified of, the sound that haled his pop coming home, the roar that had said
hurry
all his life. The truck disappeared, tracks mashed in the snow, the rumble of its engine fading away. James waited until Pop was completely gone and he was alone on the walk. It was peaceful, it was still. He shivered. It felt good.

James cut behind Pop’s building and into the alley between it and the main street stores. He veered to the right and entered Mr. Morgan’s restaurant from the rear. He could hear the familiar clang of pans and dishes, the rush for the evening crowd. Ida shouted orders, and someone said they got it. He was too tired to smile. He nodded at the cook who glanced up as he made his way to the main restaurant. He spotted the first empty table and dropped into a chair. It was the one he’d sat in when Mr. Morgan hired him ages ago. He draped his jacket over the seat next to him and settled back against the wall, watching the din around him.

James drifted away with the hum of the restaurant. He closed his eyes and rested, a blanket of soothing sounds and smells easing his tired muscles, trading places with the stench of rust and burnt metal.

“This is for you,” a voice said. James started and opened his eyes. “I thought you looked like you needed a steak and a stout cup of coffee, but Mr. Morgan said to give you this.” The waiter disappeared. James looked down at the table. A dish of three mountains of ice cream sat there, each covered with chocolate lava, fruit, and candies sprinkled on their sides like trees in a forest. He looked up. He looked through the bustle of bus boys and waiters, harried waitresses and customers. Mr. Morgan stood behind the fountain, wiping his hands on a white towel. He grinned and nodded. The busy restaurant closed in again, obliterating Mr. Morgan from view. James looked down at the sundae in front of him. He felt it crack open. The door to his soul.

The restaurant was quiet when James finally stood to leave. He’d savored the sundae, letting each drop explode in his mouth. If Andy’d been here for this one, he wouldn’t have got a single bite, again. James had smiled through the whole dessert, and he smiled as he walked to pay.

Mr. Morgan was at the cash register, his employees cleaning the tables, Ida somewhere in the back. His dark eyes smiled at James as he approached. “On the house,” Mr. Morgan said as James fished in his pocket for what little money he had.

“What?”

“You looked like you needed it,” Mr. Morgan said.

James glanced at the bill he’d extracted from his pocket. Mr. Morgan was right. Again. Something about a sundae did open up the door to the soul. Each spoonful took James back in time, to days of boyhood, baseball, and mysteries that were carefully veiled back then. James nodded and looked into those eyes that felt like home. “I did. It made me forget some of the rough stuff and reminded me of good things. Thank you.” He extended the dollar.

Mr. Morgan raised his palm, warding off James’ offer.

“You’ve given me a lot of good things, Mr. Morgan.” James stuffed the bill back into his pocket. “I never thanked you, but I’m thanking you now. Like your good advice. Your help. Compliments to me and my family. You drove me to the tryout.”

Mr. Morgan looked James in the eye. “I gave you one other thing.”

James frowned. He wasn’t sure what he’d missed. There’d been a lot, but he thought he’d summed it up well.