Read Online Here by Mistake by David Ciferri - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: David Ciferri
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Quint said. “I’m nuts t’say it, but I believe y’all.” He closed the Digest and set it on the counter. “Now I don’t know what the hell to do.”
Brandon looked up quickly. “What d’you mean? Just get us back in Aunt Faye’s house. We’ve got to get to the niche.”
“Y’said y’self it didn’t work when y’all tried it a second time,” Quint said with a shrug. “I think y’all need more help than I know how t’give.” He avoided looking Brandon in the eye. “What if we bring the police in? They might hook us up with folks who could really do something.”
“What?” Brandon exclaimed. “We could’ve gone to them ourselves if we were crazy enough.”
Quint looked wearily out the window. “I just don’t know.”
Brandon was trembling. For the first time he felt really scared he wouldn’t get home. And Sarah and Stephen! He had brought them to this crazy place, and now the police were going to grab them. Blood was pounding in his ears. He couldn’t get his breath. “Quint, the police’ll just stick us in some kids’ home somewhere. We’ll never get back.” Tears ran down his face, and he didn’t care. “Quint,” he begged, “we can’t go to anybody else. Please help us!”
Quint closed his eyes and bowed his head. He stayed that way for a long time. “Okay,” he said quietly, at last.
SIX
Back to the Birmingham House
They took seats around the kitchen table. Quint tore open the brown paper bag—the writing on it said: “Dante’s French Market Bakery”— and gave everyone two square, sticky doughnuts.
“Beignets,” he said. “They cooled off on the way back.”
Brandon bit into one and realized he was hungry. “Wow, this is great.” He ate his beignets and felt a little better. He couldn’t take his eyes off Quint.
Quint poured milk for his guests and ran some water into a steel percolator. He scooped coffee into the basket and placed the pot on the stove. After setting the flame, he took his seat at the table and put his face right in Brandon’s. “And if it’s not too much trouble,” he said sharply, “just what the hell are y’all starin’ at?”
Brandon flinched and slid his chair back. “Sorry. I’m just trying to . . . match you up with the Quint I know.”
“Oh, really?” Quint asked, taking a bite of his beignet. “And who’s that? Who am I in 2005?”
Glad to have piqued his interest, Brandon brought his chair back to the table. “Well, you’re definitely you. As soon as I saw you I knew you. But now you’re . . .”
“What?”
“You’re more like me—than like you.”
Quint’s gray eyes smiled.
“You saw the picture,” Brandon said. “That’s you. You’re big. Your hair’s gray. Your voice is a lot deeper. And you don’t sound so Southern.”
Quint laughed. “I don’t sound . . .”
“Your accent’s not so strong in 2005,” Brandon said. Sarah and Stephen nodded.
“But you’re still sloppy,” Sarah said teasingly. “Your house still looks like a bomb went off in it.”
“Only it’s scattered with computer disks along with the papers,” Stephen put in. “When computers come along you’ll be using them.”
“Believe it or not, my man, we have computers in 1965.” Quint smiled.
“I don’t mean something that takes up a whole room,” Stephen said smugly. “I mean something that sits on your desk. Or something you carry around with you.” He bit his lip. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to diss your computers, sir. It’s not your fault they’re primitive.” He gasped. “I didn’t mean that, I mean, I mean . . . they’re great, for now.”
Quint laughed again and patted Stephen’s shoulder. “How’s it I end up in New York?” he asked Brandon. “I don’t like the cold at all.”
“After you got out of college, Aunt Faye asked you to work with her money. You moved to Rollings for the job. You do the same work for lots of people. It looks really boring, but you like it.”
“Workin’ with
Brandon looked up quickly. “What d’you mean? Just get us back in Aunt Faye’s house. We’ve got to get to the niche.”
“Y’said y’self it didn’t work when y’all tried it a second time,” Quint said with a shrug. “I think y’all need more help than I know how t’give.” He avoided looking Brandon in the eye. “What if we bring the police in? They might hook us up with folks who could really do something.”
“What?” Brandon exclaimed. “We could’ve gone to them ourselves if we were crazy enough.”
Quint looked wearily out the window. “I just don’t know.”
Brandon was trembling. For the first time he felt really scared he wouldn’t get home. And Sarah and Stephen! He had brought them to this crazy place, and now the police were going to grab them. Blood was pounding in his ears. He couldn’t get his breath. “Quint, the police’ll just stick us in some kids’ home somewhere. We’ll never get back.” Tears ran down his face, and he didn’t care. “Quint,” he begged, “we can’t go to anybody else. Please help us!”
Quint closed his eyes and bowed his head. He stayed that way for a long time. “Okay,” he said quietly, at last.
SIX
Back to the Birmingham House
They took seats around the kitchen table. Quint tore open the brown paper bag—the writing on it said: “Dante’s French Market Bakery”— and gave everyone two square, sticky doughnuts.
“Beignets,” he said. “They cooled off on the way back.”
Brandon bit into one and realized he was hungry. “Wow, this is great.” He ate his beignets and felt a little better. He couldn’t take his eyes off Quint.
Quint poured milk for his guests and ran some water into a steel percolator. He scooped coffee into the basket and placed the pot on the stove. After setting the flame, he took his seat at the table and put his face right in Brandon’s. “And if it’s not too much trouble,” he said sharply, “just what the hell are y’all starin’ at?”
Brandon flinched and slid his chair back. “Sorry. I’m just trying to . . . match you up with the Quint I know.”
“Oh, really?” Quint asked, taking a bite of his beignet. “And who’s that? Who am I in 2005?”
Glad to have piqued his interest, Brandon brought his chair back to the table. “Well, you’re definitely you. As soon as I saw you I knew you. But now you’re . . .”
“What?”
“You’re more like me—than like you.”
Quint’s gray eyes smiled.
“You saw the picture,” Brandon said. “That’s you. You’re big. Your hair’s gray. Your voice is a lot deeper. And you don’t sound so Southern.”
Quint laughed. “I don’t sound . . .”
“Your accent’s not so strong in 2005,” Brandon said. Sarah and Stephen nodded.
“But you’re still sloppy,” Sarah said teasingly. “Your house still looks like a bomb went off in it.”
“Only it’s scattered with computer disks along with the papers,” Stephen put in. “When computers come along you’ll be using them.”
“Believe it or not, my man, we have computers in 1965.” Quint smiled.
“I don’t mean something that takes up a whole room,” Stephen said smugly. “I mean something that sits on your desk. Or something you carry around with you.” He bit his lip. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to diss your computers, sir. It’s not your fault they’re primitive.” He gasped. “I didn’t mean that, I mean, I mean . . . they’re great, for now.”
Quint laughed again and patted Stephen’s shoulder. “How’s it I end up in New York?” he asked Brandon. “I don’t like the cold at all.”
“After you got out of college, Aunt Faye asked you to work with her money. You moved to Rollings for the job. You do the same work for lots of people. It looks really boring, but you like it.”
“Workin’ with
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