In the House On Lakeside Drive (3 page)

“Hey, speak for yourself. I didn't finish college,” the thirty-year-old man shouted. “Sam, don't leave marks!”

“Sorry!” Sam's even voice called back as he collapsed his cane and tossed it under his seat.

“Poor kid. He tries, but still he's the last one in the van,” Rachel said.

“It's good practice for him. He needs to learn to speak up for himself, rather than playing peacemaker all the time. Remy and Josh can be overpowering personalities, and I'm just afraid the kid'll get lost in the shuffle.”

As the pair got in and started the van, the sounds of voices clamored behind them. “I want oldies!” “No, new stuff!” “No, how 'bout some jazz?”

Chapter 3

The plates were cleared, the spoons handed out, and a giant hot fudge brownie sundae sat in-between the five occupants of the table. “Wow,” Josh breathed, staring at the frozen concoction that stood before him. “That's the biggest sundae I've ever seen!”

“They didn't have anything like this where you come from?” Remy asked between bites of chocolate brownie.

“Not like this!”

“Mmm,” Evan said, helping himself to the cherry. “
This
was a good idea.

“Mm-hmm,” Sam agreed, his mouth too full of chocolate sauce and vanilla ice cream to elaborate further.

“My god,” Rachel said, watching the guys eat. She contented herself with a small cannoli. “And they say women and chocolate are a dangerous combination.”

Just then the restaurant started to fill up. Shouts of “Hello” and “Hi there!” filled the room as friends waited to be seated. The town of Otter Lake was about midsize—about ten thousand residents in all—but being that it was so close to the much larger town of North Kingston, the location of Gio's Ristorante allowed patrons from both communities to stop in for heaping plates of Italian and local favorites. Already several of Remy and Sam's friends had stopped by to say hello, and Josh was busy trading good-natured insults with his best friend Walter Longoria. The pair was so loud several patrons had to cut their conversations short. “Guys,” Rachel said, giving her patented
stop-now-this instant
stare. Within seconds both young men lowered their voices by several octaves. “Sorry,” Walter said, his high voice racing the word out as he followed his family to their table.

“Place got busy fast for a Thursday night,” Evan said.

“I'll say. It's a wonder there's a table left.” Rachel scanned the large room from her vantage point of the corner farthest from the door. It gave her a good view of everyone in the dining area. There were several families having a late dinner, some of the younger crowd picking up food to take home, and even a few older couples enjoying some coffee and dessert. A trio of men sat in the corner farthest from the little group, and Rachel felt as though one of the men was staring right at her, his pale blue eyes boring into her very being. She shivered slightly at the thought.

“Cold?” Remy asked between bites of ice cream.

“No,” the young woman said, shaking it off. She glanced over again, and the men had set into their plates of food. “Just a little chill. You know Gio keeps the cannolis near-freezing to save the custard.”

“That's what makes them good,” Sam said. He let his spoon clatter into his bowl, his stomach now stuffed with thick pizza and a sizable share of ice cream.

“The sundaes are better,” Remy disagreed. “Especially ones like this.”

Just then, a thin, ragged-looking man came in, his long brown hair looking like it hadn't seen soap in several days. Hard brown eyes flashed through a pair of small round spectacles, and the man's goatee looked as though it couldn't decide whether to curl or tangle into a matted mess. “Oh, shit,” Remy muttered, sinking into his chair. He turned his head toward the table, hoping that his face had gone unseen.

“You know him?” Josh asked, thankfully keeping his voice to a quiet tone.

“Yeah. Wish I didn't.”

The raggedy man came near, almost falling over his own feet as he walked. The smell of liquor and days-old dirt assaulted Sam's nose, and he worked hard to keep his face blank. “Well, well,” the man said, a little too loudly. “I guess they
do
let you out, huh? At least, enough to be seen in public.”

Evan stood up, his slight frame a match for the drunken man. “Hey, leave him alone.”

“Who the hell asked
you
?” the man spat. “If I want a word with my nephew, I'll have it.”

“There's nothing to say,” Remy spat back. “You're drunk.”

“Should take you home, where you belong, boy.” Small hands tried in vain to shove Evan to one side, and the unkempt face leered at Remy. “Teach you your place, which is not in
public
for everyone to see.”

“No. What's going to happen is you're leaving,” Evan said, taking the man's collar and shoving him away from Remy, who was dangerously close to his breaking point. “Come near him again, I'll see to it Remy presses charges.”

“Boy belongs with me. Not fit to see to his own affairs.”

“Not the way the law sees it,” Evan countered.

“Fuckin' law don't know shit,” Remy's uncle yelled, drawing the attention of more than a few people in the room. “Kid's not right in the head—doctors say so and everything, and what does he do? Runs from the one person he's got left to go live with some uppity gopher and his whore.”

Suddenly a thick hand clapped on the drunkard's shoulder. “Out.
Now.
”

“Got a right to
express
myself.”

“Well, you can
express
yourself to the cops when they come to pick you up,” the restaurant's owner said, his black eyes glinting like pieces of polished coal. Gio Betti didn't approve of drunks in his establishment, and especially not entitled bastards like Cooper Lavelle. Soon a couple of uniformed officers took the raving man off his hands, and the small group in the far corner heaved a collective sigh of relief. “Sorry about that. It shouldn't have happened.”

“Not your fault, Gio,” Remy said, his gratitude evident on his face. “He's an asshole.”

The burly Italian smiled. “You got yourself a good place now. Remember that.”

“I will.”

“Well, that was exciting,” Sam commented drily as the sound of heavy footsteps plodded toward the kitchen.

“That guy's
mean,
” Josh said, too struck to say anything else. “You're not stupid, Remy.”

“Of course not,” Sam affirmed. “If anyone, your uncle's the idiot.”

“Okay, guys,” Rachel said, a warning note to her voice. “Let's drop it.” To Remy, she said, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” the twenty-year-old said, not looking the least bit okay. “I'll be fine.”

“What say we head home?” Evan said, locking eyes with his best girl. “Tomorrow's Friday, after all.”

As the party of five gathered their things, the men at the table on the far side of the room stared at their quarry. “I think we found him,” the man with blue eyes said, a thick Southern drawl tinging the hushed whisper. “'Bout damn time, too.”

Chapter 4

The next few weeks were uneventful. The fall weather meant more work for Evan, seeing as people wanted windows taped over and houses winterized for the season. The list of folks looking to have their yards cleaned meant that the town's most dependable independent project man had to take on help to fill his quota. Many a weekend saw him acting as supervisor to students from OLBC looking to make a few dollars to go toward Christmas, and it meant that he was putting in more hours than normal.

“Is this where to put the dead stuff?” one student asked, his hands filled with rake tines and molding twigs. He stood near a giant pile of yard detritus that threatened to take over a city lot.

“Yep.” Nearby, a couple of girls were focusing on their conversation and less on the leaf bag that threatened to tip over onto the ground. “Hey, Analisa,” Evan called out, catching one's attention. “I don't pay you double to do the same job twice!”

“Sorry, Mr. Evan,” she said sheepishly gathering the bag opening tightly. She loped off to collect the next pile, her right foot dragging a little in her gait.

All in all, each of the kids made about ten bucks a day, and he took another five percent and divided it among the number of workers. On this particular day, he had about twelve students busy in four yards within a block radius. Across the street, Remy stood with his rake, busily trying to help Sam find the opening to the paper leaf bag they had to fill.

“It's right there,” Remy guided, carefully running Sam's fingers across the top of the bag. The pads caught the serrated edge meant to make opening easier. “Feel it?”

“I got it,” Sam said, slipping his digits between the paper sides. Soon he could feel the wet papery leaves sliding into the receptacle, and it didn't take long to fill up. “Wish they made these things bigger, though.”

“You're not kidding,” Remy agreed, pulling his thin coat tighter around his shoulders. He blew on his hands, wishing he had thought to bring a pair of gloves from the garage.

“Forgot your gloves again?”

“Yeah. Not like they'd have done much good, thin as they are.”

“So go get some new ones.”

Remy scowled, though the gesture was lost on his friend. “If only it was that easy. My damn uncle is tying up my money again.”

“Your government check?”

“Yeah. The idiot thinks that if he freezes my bank account, he can ‘convince' me to move back in with him,” Remy explained. “I called my lawyer. He's working to straighten it out.”

“You're keeping tabs on it?”

“Uh-huh.” Another fistful of leaves hit the bag. “What's worse is that I'm late with the rent for Miss Rachel. I don't wanna get bounced because of that asshole.”

“Remy, you know she wouldn't do that. Does she know?”

“I said something to her.”

“Then it should be okay. Don't worry. I don't think she's gonna evict you because your uncle's being a jerk.” Sam sat the filled bag down, reaching over to where he knew the pile of empty ones lay.

“I know. I just wish there was some way of keeping the asshole out of my stuff, is all. I don't like waiting.”

“Patience is a virtue,” Sam said, half singing.

“But not one of mine,” Remy sang back, laughing. He looked at his best friend, standing like a toy soldier holding a gunny sack in front of him. “Why are you out here?” he said. “I mean, you've never got money problems…”

“True. Dad sends the check like clockwork. Wish he'd come to see me, though.”

Remy stopped in mid-rake. “He hasn't seen you?”

“Nope. Not in over a year. It's okay.” The look on Sam's face said otherwise.

“No, it's not. Why hasn't he come to see you?”

Sam shrugged. “Dad's been focused on getting me more mobile, better equipped to take care of myself. I can't complain—I want that too—but sometimes I think he wishes he had a son that wasn't, y'know, broken.

“You're not broken,” Remy said sharply. The idea of someone not liking Sam just because of his blindness bothered Remy. “Wired different, parts slightly settled in shipping, but not broken.”

“True. But I have an older brother who's planning on going to med school, and an older sister who's graduating summa cum laude from U of M law school next month. Which kid sounds like the best choice to talk about during Thanksgiving dinner with the other relatives?”

“Well, don't you see your brother and sister?”

“Loren called me last week. He's stuck studying for his finals all through the holiday, and Leslie's about to start a new job with a good firm in Grand Rapids. Even I know that it's not a good idea to take time off when you first start a job.” Sam smiled a half-smile. “And then there's me. I'm still in school, no diploma at nineteen, and my only real ambition is to try and teach life skills to other folks like me.”

Remy smiled. “You're doing great at it. Plus, I don't know a whole lot of blind people who can fence.”

The mention of the word made the six-foot-tall Sam suddenly leap into position, his feet at perpendicular angles to each other and his stick pointed out like a fencing sword. In one graceful motion, he leaned forward and lunged, extending his arm and stick out as though he were about to run Remy through. Remy quickly turned his rake handle toward his friend and parried Sam's lunge, and soon the two were locked in a good-natured bout of fencing. Sam finally followed through on a feint, jabbing Remy in the shoulder and claiming the “point.” “And I'm good at it, too.” He smiled.

“Hey, guys,” Evan called out. “Almost done? We've got at least one more yard to do before it gets dark.”

“Yeah, Evan,” the pair called back, scrambling to bag up the rest of the yard litter. Folding up the last bag, they scurried down the street, following the sounds of excited voices eager to collect their day's pay. Behind them, a lone figure followed, keeping slightly off to the side and out of notice. He had been watching Remy and Sam with an appraising eye, and he had been mildly surprised at Sam's miniature fencing demonstration.
Not a sight I thought I'd ever see,
the man thought as he casually sidled on by, escaping any real scrutiny through the din.