Read Online Ivory and the Horn by Charles De Lint - Free Book Online

drawer back into the wall. Dennison watched until the drawer closed with a metal click, then finally turned away.
    “You’re taking this too personally,” Stone said.
    “It’s always personal.”
    Stone put his arm around Dennison’s shoulders and steered him toward the door.
    “It gets worse every time something like this happens,” Dennison went on. “For every one I help, I lose a dozen. It’s like pissing in the wind.”
    “I know,” Stone said heavily.

    The bright daylight stung Dennison’s eyes when he stepped outside. He hadn’t had breakfast yet, but he had no appetite. His pager beeped, but he didn’t bother to check the number he was supposed to call. He just shut off the annoying sound. He couldn’t deal with whatever the call was about. Not today. He couldn’t face going into the office either, couldn’t face all those hopeless faces of people he wanted to help; there just wasn’t enough time in a day, enough money in the budget, enough of anything to make a real difference.
    Ronnie Egan’s lifeless features floated up in his mind.
    He shook his head and started to walk. Aimlessly, but at a fast pace. Shoe leather on pavement now, but he couldn’t hear it for the sound of the traffic, vehicular and pedestrian. Half an hour after leaving the morgue he found himself on the waterfront, staring out over the lake.
    He didn’t think he could take it anymore. He’d put in seven years as a caseworker for Social Services, but it seemed as though he’d finally burned out. Ronnie Egan’s stupid, senseless death was just too much to bear. If he went into the office right now, it would only be to type up a letter of resignation. He decided to get drunk instead.
    Turning, he almost bumped into the attractive woman who was approaching him. She might be younger, but he put her at his own twenty-nine; she just wore the years better. A soft fall of light-brown hair spilled down to her shoulders in untidy tangles. Her eyes were a little too large for the rest of her features, but they were such an astonishing grey-green that it didn’t matter. She was wearing jeans and a “Save the Rainforests” T-shirt, a black cotton jacket overtop.
    “Hi there,” she said.
    She offered him a pamphlet that he reached for automatically, before he realized what he was doing. He dropped his hand and stuck it in his pocket, leaving her with the pamphlet still proffered.
    “I don’t think so,” he said.
    “It’s a serious issue,” she began.
    “I’ve got my own problems.”
    She tapped the pamphlet. “This is everybody’s problem.”
    Dennison sighed. “Look, lady,” he said. “I’m more interested in helping people than trees. Sorry.”
    “But without the rainforests—”
    “Trees don’t have feelings,” he said, cutting her off. “Trees don’t cry. Kids do.”
    “Maybe you just can’t hear them.”
    Her gaze held his. He turned away, unable to face her disappointed look. But what was he supposed to do? If he couldn’t even be there for Ronnie Egan when the kid had needed help the most, what the hell did she expect him to do about a bunch of trees? There were other people, far better equipped, to deal with that kind of problem.
    “You caught me on a bad day,” he said. “Sorry.”
    He walked away before she could reply.

    Dennison wasn’t much of a drinker. A beer after work a couple of times a week. Wine with a meal even more occasionally. A few brews with the guys after one of their weekend softball games—that was just saying his pager left him alone long enough to get through all the innings. His clients’ needs didn’t fit into a tidy nine-to-five schedule, with weekends off. Crises could arise at any time of the day or night— usually when it was most inconvenient. But Dennison had never really minded. He’d bitch and complain about it like everybody else he worked with, but he’d always be there for whoever needed the help.
    Why hadn’t Sandy Egan call him last night? He’d told