Читать книгу Buried Treasure - Jack B. Downs - Страница 13

6 / James

James stared at the picture he’d taken from his drawer. This was never going to work. Even if Anne continued to like him, her father would never let her date a boy like James. When he saw Two Little Savages under her arm, he should have kept his mouth shut. But it had been one of his favorite books—ironic, since his father left it behind when he headed west, perhaps to start a new family he could ruin. Turns out she was reading it for the second time.

“I think it’s dumb that girls can’t be boy scouts,” she’d said to him at the checkout desk. The librarian had smiled, and Anne glared at her. “Everyone knows boys have all the fun,” she’d said, her eyes glittering. Though Anne had a ready smile, James was drawn to her fire. Lots of girls had liked him—they joked in high school that he was the JD of WiCo High. He’d seen James Dean in a movie, and didn’t think they looked at all alike. James had not met a girl who interested him until Anne. She knew what she wanted. And, at least for now, she wanted to be with James.

For all his mystique, James had no skill with girls. His friends assumed that because girls liked him, he must be experienced. He was aloof, and some girls took that as a dare. Mostly though, he just wanted to be left alone. Until Anne. James wasn’t worried about Anne’s feelings for him, but he didn’t trust his feelings for her. They could be dangerous. He could stand being hurt. He was not sure he could tolerate her leaving, if he let her get close to him.

She had given him this picture of her at their last meeting, in the library. “Something to keep the rats at bay,” she’d smiled. He’d fingered it, feeling her eyes on his face. Anne was beautiful. In the picture she was standing next to an elm. She wore shorts and a sleeveless blouse, and her light brown hair was pulled back from her face, her hands clasped in front. Her gaze was steady and sure, her smile confident. He could feel himself falling into her eyes. When he looked up from the picture, those same eyes gazed straight into his. He couldn’t trust himself to speak. Finally she giggled and turned away.

Now, in the quiet of his room, he mulled the changes in his life. His father had returned, but he was different somehow. He didn’t drink, for one thing. It didn’t make James hate him any less. James had watched his father fade, beginning with the clear morning on Washington Street. No one else had seemed to notice, in all the ruckus of David’s disappearance. But James had watched in anguish as his father grew fainter, like the dot on the TV screen after it’s turned off. When Nana had asked him about the guardianship, he’d brushed it off the way he’d shrug about what to do with his father’s old hat. No difference to me.

James had steeled himself to be cruel to his father in return for Sam’s coming back. But Anne had happened, and it was hard to remain focused on his anger. Instead, his reaction to his father had been more of a polite indifference. A distraction. He was delighted and worried with Anne’s attention. Was this the way life worked? Good and bad things happened together? First David disappearing, then his mother leaving—those were bad. Because of his confused feelings for his father, he was actually glad when Sam left. Since that period, he had tried to find his own peace with just Nana and Dylan for his family.

Father Mullenix down at the church had assured him, when his mother left, “Time… takes time.” He’d been right, of course. James liked the quiet, confident priest, who always seemed to be waiting when James would create an excuse to visit. Over time, James became a fixture at the church during the week, doing odd chores around the rectory and grounds. But never on Sunday. He resisted Father’s coaxing to come to mass, and he respected the priest for not pushing it.

James liked the older priest and the times they sat and talked passed naturally. At first, he’d expected Father to ask about his dad, or to lecture him about giving his dad a break. But the priest hadn’t mentioned Sam. He had thought about talking to Father about Anne, and his concerns about Anne’s father. But Anne was Methodist, and he was sure that would be the end of it as far as the priest was concerned.

James slipped the picture back in its hiding place at the sound of Dylan on the stairs. Time for baseball.