Time Off for Good Behavior (29 page)

She crinkled her nose at me.
“
No.
”

“
Wise guy.
”
I glanced past her at an unfamiliar screen on the computer.
“
What are you up to here?
”

“
Sit down. You
’
re gonna love this.
”
I sat down in the seat next to her and she turned to me, wringing
her hands in excitement.
“
I
’
ve worked out a system.
”

“
A system?
”
I said, grabbing a fry out of the bag.
“
How long was I gone? Twenty minutes?
”

“
Well, I
’
ve been thinking about it for a while. I
’
ve just implemented it today.
”

Implemented.
Gotta love a kid wh
o uses words like
implemented.

“
This is how it works. Anne Marie
”
—
she pointed to Anne Marie, who was working the train
—
“
chats with the kids while she pulls the train. She gets the names, favorite colors, stuff like that.
”
I leaned back over the computer, a
nd Kacey pointed to the child on Bones
’
s lap.
“
I also rigged up a baby monitor. Hope you don
’
t mind I used some of the petty cash.
”
She picked up the receiving end and turned up the volume, and we eavesdropped on Bones talking to the little girl on his lap.

“
You been studying your letters?
”
he asked her. She nodded without saying a word, in awe of Santa Bones.

“
You can talk, can
’
tcha?
”
Bones asked her. She nodded again.
“
Well, I can
’
t hear ya, but I
’
m very, very old, and sometimes you have to shout with old
men like me,
”
he said.

I smiled, watching him with that little girl, and felt a swell of emotion for the old goat. Kacey raised her hand and made a gesture to Bones, which he acknowledged with a slight nod.

“
So what is it you want for Christmas this year,
Isabelle?
”

“
I want a Barbie,
”
Isabelle said. I slapped my hand against my forehead.

“
Barbie!
”
I stage-whispered to Kacey.
“
For crying out loud, what
’
s the deal with the friggin
’
Barbies?
”

“
I know,
”
Kacey said, shaking her head.
“
Did you know that if Barbi
e was a real woman with those proportions, she
’
d have to carry her kidneys in her purse?
”

I laughed.
“
Your mom is going to regret letting you guys hang out with me after school. You
’
re turning into a full-fledged wiseass.
”

She grinned but didn
’
t turn her e
yes away from the keyboard.
“
I have a whole bunch of themes based on the most popular requests.
”
She bit her lip as she tapped on the keyboard.
“
And here
’
s... Barbie.
”

I checked out the computer screen as the normal, generic Christmas border that we printe
d on the pictures was replaced by a Barbie Christmas theme.

“
Wow,
”
I said.

“
And that
’
s not all. We
’
ve got a ton of them. There are dog themes, cat themes, arts and crafts, NASCAR. And if you
’
re in a pinch, just generic girl and boy themes.
”

“
You created al
l those?
”

Kacey shook her head.
“
I downloaded them off of the Internet on Mom
’
s computer at home. Didn
’
t you know this software has a website?
”

“
A what site?
”

Kacey sighed and continued cla
cking on the keyboard and snapped her fingers at me to take the picture of Isabelle with Bones. I shot the picture, and by the time I got back, Kacey had inserted a note for Isabelle in the corner of the Barbie theme and was sending it to the printer.

She
swirled around in the office chair and looked at me. Her feet didn
’
t even touch the floor.
“
What do you think?
”

I picked up the printout. The border was pink, and Barbie stood in the corner, with a speech balloon coming out of her mouth that said
“
Merry Ch
ristmas, Isabelle!
”

“
I think it
’
s incredible.
”
As I spoke, Anne Marie got the picture from me and inserted it in the cardboard frame. She winked at Kacey.
“
Kid sure runs a tight ship.
”

Isabelle and her mother took the picture from Anne Marie, gushing over
it as they headed for the children
’
s-books section. Anne Marie headed back to work the train, and Bones had another kid on his lap.

“
Damn,
”
I said.
“
I
’
m finding it increasingly hard to believe you
’
re only twelve.
”

She laughed.
“
I
’
m an old soul.
”

I resisted
an impulse to ruffle her hair.
“
Where
’
s your brother? Your mom
’
s going to be here to pick you guys up soon.
”

She clacked frantically on the keyboard, keeping up with the wish list of a little boy named Oliver.

“
Around here somewhere.
”

She snapped her fing
ers at me. I framed up Oliver and Bones and clicked twice.
“
Okay, I
’
m gonna go find him. You stay here, all right?
”

Kacey nodded and pulled a Pooh Bear border up in the program. I watched her for a minute, awed by her. So young. So smart. She had everythin
g going for her and probably didn
’
t even know it.

She threw a glance at me.
“
What?
”

“
Nothing,
”
I said.
“
I
’
ll be right back.
”

I found Alex standing in front of a display of blank journals, picking them up one by one and flipping through them.

“
Whatcha doin
’
?
”
I asked, coming up behind him. He jumped and screamed.

“
Jesus Christ, Wanda!
”
he said, putting the book back on the shelf.
“
You scared the hell out of me.
”

“
Jesus Christ, Alex, don
’
t say Jesus Christ.
”
I pulled the book he
’
d been looking at off the shel
f.
“
Since when are you interested in journals?
”

“
I
’
m not.
”

I flipped through it. It was lined, for writing.
“
Do you write?
”
He shrugged. The teenager
’
s answer to everything, from yes-or-no questions to the composition segment on their English exam. The onl
y questions they ever answer in detail are
“
What do you want from McDonald
’
s?
”
and
“
What kind of car do you want when you turn sixteen?
”

I raised my eyebrows at him.
“
What do you write?
”

He shrugged again.
“
I don
’
t know.
”

I thunked him on the head with the
book.
“
Yes, you do. Look, I swear, I won
’
t make fun.
”

He glanced at me through the bangs he insisted on not cutting. A second later he mumbled,
“
Short stories, mostly.
”

I nodded, tucking the journal under my arm and heading to the counter. He followed beh
ind me.

“
What are you doing?
”
he whispered harshly
“
I like the journal. I need a journal. I
’
m buying it for me,
”
I hissed back.

As soon as it was purchased, I thrust the bag at him, hitting him in the gut with it and getting in return a soft but
satisfying
“
Ooomph!
”

“
I thought you said this was for you.
”

“
It is. We haven
’
t done anything with the puppet show yet. I need a play.
”

“
Oh, man.
”
Obligatory protest requirement met, he accepted the book from me and followed me toward the Station.
“
You
’
re g
onna make me write a stupid puppet play?
”

I shrugged.
“
It
’
s up to you whether it
’
s stupid or not.
”
I pulled out the chair next to Kacey at the desk.
“
Now sit down and eat your burger.
”

***

Things were winding down at the Santa Station, about fifteen minu
tes to closing, when I sent Anne Marie home to study for her history test the next day. There were only a few customers in the store, and not one kid, as far as I saw. Bones had left his Santa hat, wig, and coat in a lump on his Santa throne while he went
off to visit the men
’
s room, grumbling about how even legends and myths needed to take a whiz every now and again. So I was alone, fiddling around with the computer, when I heard Walter
’
s voice behind me.

“
Wanda?
”

I looked up and saw him peering down at me
from the other side of my desk. He was wearing a gray coat over a gray suit and a bright red tie. He looked good, and he looked like he smelled good. I wondered if there was a way I could get close enough to smell him without breaking my rules of reinven
t
ion, and my heart started hammering at the thought of what I
’
d do if I got that close.

Crap.
This wasn
’
t going to be good, but there was no escape. I smoothed out my elf tunic, tried to scrape up whatever fledgling remnants of confidence my psyche could mu
ster, and plastered on a smile.
“
Hey, you.
”

Boom. Boom. Boom.
My heart was hammering at full tilt. I wondered if he could see it pounding through the tunic. I was glad I
’
d put the kibosh on the whole elf ear thing. At least I wouldn
’
t discover later that I
’
d had an entire conversation with Walter with an errant lobe sitting on my shoulder.

“
So,
”
I said,
“
what are you doing here?
”