church.
She took a step backward. “What do you want?”
“Please…” He put his hands out, palms up, in supplication. “I—I’m sorry about, you know, that thing with the sign.”
“Were you waiting here just to tell me that?”
Leon Jenkins—now she remembered his name—shoved his hands in the pockets of baggy jeans. “I—you’ve got to help me.”
“I doubt I have to do anything.” She stepped forward to make up for the ground she’d lost. Anger shot through her as she remembered how vulnerable she’d felt when he’d stood in front of her with a sledgehammer. “And unless you’re really not very smart, you realize there are people nearby, yes? People who will come if I scream.”
“Don’t scream!” He looked around. “I mean, there’s no reason to scream. God, that will make things a whole lot worse.”
“I doubt your God has a thing to do with this. Maybe you ought to leave.”
“But I can’t! It’s my dad. He’s inside. And, well, somebody’s got to help me get him outside so I can take him home.”
She had no idea what he was talking about, and her expression must have said so.
“My dad, he’s, you know, mad at Reverend Sam. Real mad. Furious. I came home all wet and, like, soaked from that walk. And I had to tell him what happened. And I didn’t blame anybody. I told him it was just me being stupid.”
For the first time she noticed a bruise on his cheek. “He hit you?”
“He never hits me. I…tripped.”
She would just bet he’d tripped. Right into his father’s fist. She was beginning to feel sorry for the boy, and sorrier for falling prey to pity.
“Why does somebody need to get your dad and bring him outside?”
“Because he’s drunk, that’s why! And if I go in there by myself…”
Good old dad would hit him again. She saw the fear, and, worse, she saw the love. The boy was worried about his father’s safety.
“Leon—that’s your name, yes?”
He nodded.
“I don’t see what I can do about this.”
“Somebody’s got to do something.”
“I can go find the minister. Maybe Sam will know what to do.”
“No, he hates Reverend Sam. He really hates him. That’s why he came. He says he’s going to find him and show him what he thinks of him, once and for all.”
She wondered if the boy dealt with this problem often. It explained a lot about the way he had behaved that morning.
She debated her role. She had no reason to get involved except one. She liked teenaged boys, understood them as well as any parent, and unfortunately, this one was tugging at her heartstrings.
“¡No cabe duda que jamás cambiaré! Por mucho que juré no volver a arriesgarme el pellejo por desconocidos, ¡Ahí voy de nuevo!”
“What?”
“Short version? I said I’m a fool. But I’ll go in with you and look for your father. What should we say to get him outside?”
“He won’t hit a woman. He never did, not even when my mom said she was going to leave him.”
“Did she leave?”
He nodded. “A long time ago.”
The heartstrings were twanging. Mama had left the young boy to the mercies of an abusive father, and Leon had watched her leave. Considering all this, he was a model of deportment.
“What will he say if I ask him to come outside to look at something in front of the church?” she asked.
“He might come.”
“If he does, will you be able to get him in…” She stopped. “Do you drive? Are you old enough?”
“I drive. I followed him here in the pickup.” He waited. She didn’t answer, just lifted a brow expectantly. “I’m fifteen,” he admitted. “I just have a learner’s permit, but better me driving home than him, right?”
She supposed so. “You’ll come with me?”
“If we get him outside, I can get him in the truck.”
She muttered in Spanish as she opened the front door. She didn’t ask what the boy’s father looked like. She hoped there weren’t too many angry men in the building to choose from. She wandered a
She took a step backward. “What do you want?”
“Please…” He put his hands out, palms up, in supplication. “I—I’m sorry about, you know, that thing with the sign.”
“Were you waiting here just to tell me that?”
Leon Jenkins—now she remembered his name—shoved his hands in the pockets of baggy jeans. “I—you’ve got to help me.”
“I doubt I have to do anything.” She stepped forward to make up for the ground she’d lost. Anger shot through her as she remembered how vulnerable she’d felt when he’d stood in front of her with a sledgehammer. “And unless you’re really not very smart, you realize there are people nearby, yes? People who will come if I scream.”
“Don’t scream!” He looked around. “I mean, there’s no reason to scream. God, that will make things a whole lot worse.”
“I doubt your God has a thing to do with this. Maybe you ought to leave.”
“But I can’t! It’s my dad. He’s inside. And, well, somebody’s got to help me get him outside so I can take him home.”
She had no idea what he was talking about, and her expression must have said so.
“My dad, he’s, you know, mad at Reverend Sam. Real mad. Furious. I came home all wet and, like, soaked from that walk. And I had to tell him what happened. And I didn’t blame anybody. I told him it was just me being stupid.”
For the first time she noticed a bruise on his cheek. “He hit you?”
“He never hits me. I…tripped.”
She would just bet he’d tripped. Right into his father’s fist. She was beginning to feel sorry for the boy, and sorrier for falling prey to pity.
“Why does somebody need to get your dad and bring him outside?”
“Because he’s drunk, that’s why! And if I go in there by myself…”
Good old dad would hit him again. She saw the fear, and, worse, she saw the love. The boy was worried about his father’s safety.
“Leon—that’s your name, yes?”
He nodded.
“I don’t see what I can do about this.”
“Somebody’s got to do something.”
“I can go find the minister. Maybe Sam will know what to do.”
“No, he hates Reverend Sam. He really hates him. That’s why he came. He says he’s going to find him and show him what he thinks of him, once and for all.”
She wondered if the boy dealt with this problem often. It explained a lot about the way he had behaved that morning.
She debated her role. She had no reason to get involved except one. She liked teenaged boys, understood them as well as any parent, and unfortunately, this one was tugging at her heartstrings.
“¡No cabe duda que jamás cambiaré! Por mucho que juré no volver a arriesgarme el pellejo por desconocidos, ¡Ahí voy de nuevo!”
“What?”
“Short version? I said I’m a fool. But I’ll go in with you and look for your father. What should we say to get him outside?”
“He won’t hit a woman. He never did, not even when my mom said she was going to leave him.”
“Did she leave?”
He nodded. “A long time ago.”
The heartstrings were twanging. Mama had left the young boy to the mercies of an abusive father, and Leon had watched her leave. Considering all this, he was a model of deportment.
“What will he say if I ask him to come outside to look at something in front of the church?” she asked.
“He might come.”
“If he does, will you be able to get him in…” She stopped. “Do you drive? Are you old enough?”
“I drive. I followed him here in the pickup.” He waited. She didn’t answer, just lifted a brow expectantly. “I’m fifteen,” he admitted. “I just have a learner’s permit, but better me driving home than him, right?”
She supposed so. “You’ll come with me?”
“If we get him outside, I can get him in the truck.”
She muttered in Spanish as she opened the front door. She didn’t ask what the boy’s father looked like. She hoped there weren’t too many angry men in the building to choose from. She wandered a
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