Bright Eyes (5 page)

After a few minutes, Chad said, “You got anything to play besides sappy shit?”

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

Chad rolled his eyes. “Do you kiss your mother with yours? You say ‘shit.’ I heard you.”

Guilty as charged. Zeke had gotten a blackberry sticker in his hand that morning and let fly with a few choice words, never once stopping to think that the boy was listening. “I’m an adult.”

“Yeah, like, so what? It’s okay for adults to cuss, but it’s not okay for kids? I don’t get it. My grandpa cusses and so does my dad. Nobody even blinks. Let me say one bad word, and Mom acts like the sky split open to rain snakes.”

Zeke almost stuck to his guns about his being an adult, but somehow that angle of defense stuck in his craw. The kid was right. If adults set a bad example, no one could really blame a boy for following suit.

“From now on, if I cuss, you can. If I don’t, you can’t. How’s that for a deal?”

Chad looked wary. “You’re kidding. Right?”

“Nope. I’m dead serious.”

“Yeah, right. If I cuss, you’ll tell my mom.”

Zeke was determined to clean up his language around the kid, so that wasn’t a worry. “No, I won’t. Do I look like a tattletale?”

“All adults are tattletales.”

“I’m not about stuff like this. Do we have a deal or not?”

Chad shrugged, but Zeke didn’t miss the grin that flirted at the corners of his mouth. “Sure. I got ten bucks that says you’ll cuss at least once before we get home.”

“You’re on.”

After stopping for lunch and running all the errands, Zeke drove home in a mild state of shock. “I can’t believe how much they charged for that damned window glass.”

Chad grinned from ear to ear. “They gotta make a damned living.”

Zeke grimaced and reached for his wallet.

“You’re really gonna pay up?” Chad asked.

“Of course. A wager is a wager.”

Chad accepted the ten spot. A mischievous twinkle danced in his eyes as he stuffed the bill into his pocket. “I got another ten that says you’ll cuss again before the day is out.”

“You’re on.” Zeke returned his attention to the road, convinced that he would win the bet. It was a simple matter of watching his language.

By three o’clock, he owed Chad another ten dollars. As he opened his wallet, he said, “Has it occurred to you that this is an inequitable situation? You owe me a thousand dollars in repairs. Why can’t my cusswords go against your debt?”

Chad shook his head and held out his hand. “My mama didn’t raise no fool. This way, I’m paying off the debt
and
making a profit.”

Zeke couldn’t help but laugh. He was starting to like this kid. “If you put it against your debt, it’ll reduce the number of hours you have to work.”

Chad shrugged. “Working for you isn’t so bad. I’m not bored, anyhow.”

“Is it boring at home?”

“You ever watched Court TV most of the day?”

“Nope, can’t say that I have.”

“Big-time boring. Gramps watches trials and shit.” Chad cast Zeke a sidelong glance. “I had that one coming. You cussed, remember? That means I can. It was our deal.”

Zeke was beginning to regret having made that bargain. “What kind of trials does the old man watch?”

“All kinds. He especially gets off on murder trials. Somebody he doesn’t know killed somebody else he doesn’t know, and he hangs on every word. It totally sucks. He’s fascinated by forensics. Blood splatter patterns and stuff. It’s kind of creepy.”

“Takes all different kinds to make the world go round, I guess.” Zeke tugged a tape measure from his belt. “You ever used a circular saw?”

“You want me to saw boards?” Chad cast a worried glance at the lumber. “I don’t think so. I’d better just wash the house and stuff.”

“I’m the boss on this job,” Zeke said firmly as he handed Chad the safety goggles. “If I say you’re going to cut boards, you’ll cut boards. You can scrub the house later.”

The boy eyed the saw as he might a scorpion. “You don’t know what you’re getting into. I’m real clumsy.”

“Who says you’re clumsy?”

“My dad. He says I was born with ten thumbs and two left feet.”

Zeke didn’t think he would like Robert Patterson. “Bullshit. If you’re clumsy, I haven’t noticed it.”

Chad grinned and thrust out his hand. “That’s another ten to me, bucko.”

“No, it’s not. We didn’t bet last time.”

“Too bad. I would have had you.”

Scarcely able to believe he’d transgressed again, Zeke shook his head. “I never realized I cuss so much.” He arched an eyebrow. “Let it be a lesson to you. Get in the habit, and sooner or later you’ll slip up in front of your mother.”

Chad nodded solemnly. “Yeah, probably. It really upsets her, too, so I’d better watch it.”

“Enough said. Back to you using the circular saw. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to handle one. I’ll show you how.”

“I’m not good at learning new things,” Chad warned him.

Zeke had a sneaking hunch that his father had convinced him of that as well. “No one is good at anything the first few times. It takes practice.”

“I’ll ruin your boards.”

“No, you won’t. They’re long. You can practice on the ends.”

Chad donned the goggles and proved to be a fast study. Lending assistance when needed, Zeke stood over him, intoning all the warnings and safety precautions that his father had once given him.

“Set your blade on the long side of the line, or you’ll cut the board short.”

“Which side is the long side?” Chad asked.

Zeke explained and then touched the penciled line. “You need a board exactly this long. If you cut right here or slightly on the inside, you’ll be a fraction off in length. It’s always better to cut on the long side. Most times you’ll end up with a board just the right length. If you do cut it long, it’s a whole lot easier to shave off a little more than to buy more wood.”

Chad lined up the blade as Zeke had shown him. The saw screamed, and halfway across the board, the teeth got stuck. Zeke quickly grasped the saw handle. “No problem. You just slacked off on the power a little.”

“It tried to buck back at me,” Chad said shakily.

“That’s because the teeth grabbed. You did fine. You had control of the tool and didn’t let it get away from you.” Zeke helped jerk the blade free. “Just start over. Don’t slack off on the power this time. You can do it.”

The saw screamed again as it bit back into the wood. Chad clenched his teeth, gripping the tool with all his strength. When he had cut the width of the board, he flashed a huge grin. “I did it!”

“You sure as hell did.”

“That’s another ten dollars.”

Zeke laughed. “I’ve created a monster.”

Chad nodded. “A rich monster.”

“We didn’t bet,” Zeke reminded him, “and we aren’t going to until I break this habit.”

“That’s positive thinking—that you can break yourself of it, I mean.”

“I do have it bad, don’t I? I can keep a clean mouth around ladies and children, no problem, but around other men, I forget myself.”

“I’m not a man.”

“You’re doing a man’s work. Way I see it, that makes you a man.”

Chad straightened his shoulders. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Just don’t pick up my bad habits. Your mom’ll scalp me with a dull knife.”

“She thinks I’m still a baby.”

“That’s typical. May as well get used to it.”

“Does your mom still think you’re a baby?”

“Absolutely, and I like it that way. Whenever I visit her, she makes my favorite pie. Can’t beat that with a stick.”

Chad grimaced. “If my mom baked a pie, I’d run.”

“Ah, well. When you grow older, she’ll think of something special to do when you go see her.”

“She makes really good oatmeal treats. They’re chocolate, and you just cook them on the stove. I really like them, and they only take three minutes. Even Mom can pay attention that long.”

Zeke chuckled. “Better not let her hear you talking that way. Women are funny about their cooking.”

Chad shrugged. “Not my mom. She knows she’s an awful cook. She’s a good mom, and she’s a good singer. That’s all she really cares about. She says that’s why they invented TV dinners, fish sticks, and stew in a can, for moms like her.”

A good mom and a good singer? From a purely practical standpoint, the lady had to be good at something else in order to earn a living. “What’s her profession?” Zeke asked.

Chad looked mildly exasperated. “One guess, and she isn’t a cook.”

“She sings for a living?”

The boy nodded. “At the Blue Parrot. It’s a supper club.”

Zeke had never patronized the place, but he’d heard good things about it. “Ah. That explains why she pretends the spatula is a mike. She’s practicing.”

“Nah. Trust me, Mom doesn’t need to practice. She just loves to sing.” Chad shrugged. “That’s why she bought a supper club, so she could sing to a real audience.”

“She
owns
the place?”

The boy nodded.

“If she can’t cook, why in the hell did she buy a supper club?”

“You just cussed again.”

Zeke thought back over what he’d said. “I’m sorry. I just find it amazing that a woman who can’t fry eggs would buy a restaurant.”

“She hires the cooking done. Mostly, that works.”

“Mostly?”

“Sometimes the chef gets mad and quits. Then there’s trouble until she can find someone else.”

“What does she do in the interim?”

“In the what?”

“In the meantime—until she can hire a new chef?”

Chad laid a new board across the sawhorses. “She has to do the cooking until she can find somebody new. That’s why the Blue Parrot’s almost bankrupt.”

Zeke grabbed the try square. “It must be hard for her to support you kids if the club isn’t doing well.”

“My dad would send her money if she didn’t harp at him all the time. Every time she sees him, she starts running at the mouth and ticks him off.”

The way Zeke saw it, no matter how ticked off a father became, he was still morally obligated to support his kids. “Your mom must have reason to harp at him.”

“She pretends to be mad about all kinds of things, but the truth is, she’s just jealous. Dad has always had girlfriends. For a long time, she didn’t seem to care, and then, all of a sudden, she divorced him. Now she’s, like, a complete witch every time she sees him.” Chad’s brown eyes grew suspiciously bright behind the goggles, and his cheeks turned an angry red. “I don’t know what her deal is. She was fine with it for a long, long time, and then, bang, she went ballistic. Nothing’s the same anymore, and I never get to see my dad.”

The picture forming in Zeke’s mind of the Pattersons’ marriage wasn’t pretty. “Your father can see you any time he chooses to, Chad. Your mother says he lives right here in town.”

“What do you know about it?” Chad backed away a step. “He travels all the time on important business, and when he’s in town, he’s got meetings and stuff. He wants to see me. He just can’t! And my mom doesn’t help matters.”

Zeke held up a hand. “Whoa. I didn’t mean to step on your toes.”

“Then don’t bad-mouth my dad. You don’t even know him.”

“That’s true,” Zeke agreed, “and I didn’t intend to bad-mouth him. I’m just trying to point out that things aren’t always the way they appear on the surface. Maybe your mom has other reasons for being mad at your father, reasons she hasn’t shared with you.”

“My dad is a good dad, and he loves me! He
does.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Zeke said carefully. “If I had a son like you, I’d be proud as punch.”

That took the wind out of Chad’s sails. He blinked away tears and bent his head to kick at a sliver of wood. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

It was true. Zeke did want to make Chad feel better. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t sincerely meant the compliment. “You’re a good-looking young man, and you’re sharp as a tack.”

Chad looked up. Tear tracks glistened on his cheeks below the goggle cups. “I’m not smart. All’s I ever get is B’s. My dad got straight A’s in every subject without even studying, and he was good at sports, too.”

“And you’re not, I take it.”

“I suck at sports.”

“Maybe you just haven’t found the right one yet.”

“I’ve tried everything.” He kicked at the wood again. “I’m not too bad at baseball, but I’m nowhere near as good as my dad was.”

Zeke was beginning to actively dislike Robert Patterson. “When I was your age, I sucked at sports, too. It wasn’t until I started riding horses and roping competitively that I found my real niche. Don’t cubbyhole yourself. Keep trying new things. Sooner or later, you’ll find where your talents lie, and you’ll excel.”

Chad made a face. “Who wants to be good at riding and roping? You can’t get a varsity letter for that.”

“No varsity letters, that’s true,” Zeke agreed. “But if you get good on a horse, there are plenty of buckles and trophies to win. My sister, Bethany, was the state champion three years running in barrel racing and would have gone to the nationals but for a riding accident. She has more championship buckles than anyone I’ve ever known, and you can wear those all your life. A varsity letter—” Zeke broke off and shrugged. “Well, hey, a grown-up would look pretty silly wearing a letterman’s sweater to town.”

“I guess.” Chad glanced at Zeke’s belt. “That a championship buckle?”

Zeke turned up the ornate oval of silver and gold for the boy’s inspection. “Roping, my specialty. It’ll separate the men from the boys in nothing flat.”

Chad pursed his lips. “I used to ride horses.”

“Too bad you’ve lost interest. I have a couple. We could have done some riding and roping. Much as I enjoy my horses, it’s not as much fun alone.”

“I haven’t lost interest.”

After studying Chad’s tear-streaked face for a long moment, Zeke concluded that he’d never met a boy in more serious need of a friend. “Hmm,” he settled for saying. “I’ll keep that in mind. No better way to relax than to throw a few lassos and go for a ride. Gives a man time to reflect on things and clear his head.”

Chad straightened his shoulders. “I hear you.” Then he frowned. “If you’ve got horses, where are they?”

“Rented pasture. Best roping horses you’ll ever clap eyes on.” Zeke handed Chad the tape measure. “I showed you how last time. Your turn to mark the board.”