Thursday's Child (32 page)
Authors: Teri White
“I think he's dead,” Gar said gently, trying to pull Beau out from under his gruesome burden.
“No, he's not dead,” Beau said insistently. “He can't be. Not again. This can't happen again.” He was patting Turchek's cheek. “Robbie? Robbie, please.”
The cops were still just standing around, looking dumb. Gar glanced at them. “The shot came from over there,” he said, pointing. “But I doubt seriously if anybody's still around.” They went to look anyway, because at least it was something to do.
Gar turned back to Beau. “Robert never even knew what happened,” he said. “He didn't feel anything at all. Come on, Beau, let the cops take care of things now.”
Beau stared at him, then looked down again. He bent and placed a kiss on Robert's face. When he raised his head, Gar could see the dark blood staining his lips. Very carefully, he rested the limp body on the ground and then stood. “I'm going to get the bastard,” he said in a suddenly cold voice. It was only then that Gar noticed Turchek's gun in Beau's hand. “I'm going to get the bastard,” Beau said again. He turned and started to walk off.
Gar grabbed him. “No,” he said. It took several seconds to pry the gun from Beau's bloody fingers. “It's over, Beau.”
Beau looked at him. “Everybody I love gets killed,” he said. “Isn't that funny?”
24
Gar picked up the ball and threw it again. He would tire of the game much sooner than would the dog, who took off after his toy in completely joyous pursuit. Because he was watching Spock and thinking about other things, Gar didn't realize that anybody had approached until Beau actually spoke.
“Hi, Gar,” he said.
Startled, Gar turned around quickly. It had been nearly a month since he'd seen Beau, although they had spoken on the phone every day. By now, he was looking more like the boy Gar had started off hunting: his hair was getting long again and was almost back to its natural blond color. Seeing him now, in the pale-blue sweatshirt and cutoffs, Gar had a quick flash of that other kid, the one with the hurt eyes and bloodstained lips.
“Hi, Beau,” he said finally. “I'm glad to see you.”
“The lady up at the house told me where you'd be.”
“That was Mickey. I mentioned her to you.”
“Uh-huh.” Beau walked over to him. The safety pin was gone from his ear, replaced by a small diamond stud. “Harold drove me over so I could see you.”
“Good.” Gar studied him closely for a moment, not knowing what he might see. But on the surface, at least, Beau looked fine. They walked after the dog.
“I had to come to see you to say good-bye,” Beau said. “I'm going away to school on Monday. Some damned place up in Oregon.”
Gar glanced at him. “Well, maybe the change will be good.”
“Maybe.” Beau didn't sound very sure about that; mostly he sounded resigned. “I made a deal with Saul. One semester. If I don't like it, I don't have to go back.”
“Sounds fair.”
“I guess. If he sticks to it.” He kicked at the sand. “If I write you a letter, will you answer me?”
“Sure. Of course I will. Or call me, if you want to. Collect even,” he said with a smile.
Beau nodded seriously. “Thanks. The thing is, I know that finding people is your job. Just because you were hired to do that, it doesn't make you my friend or anything. You're not, like, obligated.”
Gar felt as if he were walking through a very dangerous emotional mine field here. He wasn't quite sure how to deal with Beau Epstein. “You're right that looking for people is my job, Beau. But you better believe that what happened with you went way beyond the usual.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“I'd like to be your friend. But I know and you know that friendship has to be earned. Just saying it doesn't make it real.”
“I know,” Beau said. “I know what being a friend means.” His tone was vaguely defensive. Or maybe defiant.
“I guess maybe you do,” Gar said carefully.
They walked in silence briefly.
“I'll be back home at Christmas,” Beau said.
“Great. We'll get together then. Raise a little hell or something.”
“I'd like that.” Spock finally brought the ball back and dropped it at Beau's feet. “Can I throw it for him?”
Gar nodded.
Beau picked up the ball and threw it a very long way. As they watched the happy dog run off in pursuit, he said, “Robbie wasn't really going to shoot me, you know. It was all just a game.”
“Was it?” Gar said quietly.
“Yes,” Beau said fiercely. “He loved me. He wouldn't have hurt me.”
Gar didn't see much point in arguing over it now. “Well, probably you're right.”
“I am.” He was quiet for a time, as if trying to pick just the right words. “We just wanted to get away, that's all.”
Gar stopped walking and looked at him. “You understand that I couldn't just let you go, don't you? I had to try and stop you.”
It was a long time before Beau replied. “I understand,” he said. “At first I didn't, but now I do. Mostly.”
“I'm glad of that.”
Beau stopped suddenly and looked at him with a steady gaze. “But there's something I want you to understand, too,” he said quietly.
“What's that?”
“Robbie was a good friend. I know he made a lot of mistakes and maybe he did some things that were bad, but to me, he was a good friend. Can
you
understand that, Gar?”
After a moment, Gar nodded. “I think so. I can try to, anyway.”
“Thank you. So now you believe me when I say that Robbie wasn't going to shoot me? He wouldn't hurt me, ever.”
It was nice to think so anyway.
Beau bent suddenly and picked up a stick. He held it over one shoulder and marched along, looking like a little tin soldier. “This place I'm going,” he said, “it's a military school. The same one my father went to.”
“Terrific,” Gar muttered. Actually, of course, he didn't think it was terrific at all. It sounded like a really stupid idea to him.
Beau seemed to know what he was thinking and his voice was almost amused when he spoke. “Well, the dumb school didn't turn Jonathan into a soldier. He went practically straight from there to Woodstock. I don't exactly think I'm West Point material either.” He shrugged. “It seems like poor Saul didn't learn anything the first time around.”
“He loves you.”
“I guess he does. Some people just don't handle love very well. That's what Jonathan said about Saul once.”
“Well, you can survive the school.”
“Oh, sure.” His shoulders straightened a little. “The secret is, never let them see you sweat.”
“Promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“If you run away from the school, you'll come here. I don't want to have to go looking for you again.”
Beau almost smiled. “Okay.” He was quiet again. Then he brought the stick around, sighting down its length as he pretended to track a target in the distance. “I'll probably have to learn how to shoot guns and everything.”
Gar couldn't think of anything smart to say in response to that.
Beau looked at him suddenly and really did smile. The cheery expression didn't extend as far as his eyes, however, which were still an icy blue.
Despite the heat of the afternoon, Gar felt an almost physical chill go through him as he met the cold gaze. Beau, still smiling, abruptly brought the stick down and broke it over his leg. It made a loud
crack
that echoed in the silence around them.
“Screw 'em,” Beau said.
“That's the attitude,” Gar agreed. “Screw the bastards.”
Beau grinned again, a real smile this time, warm and not at all scary. Then he took off after the dog.
Gar thought that the boy would probably be okay. It wasn't going to be easy, but if he had one friend sticking by him, Beau could come through this mess in pretty good shape.
That made it sound so simple, of course, and Gar knew it wasn't simple at all.
But it was possible. And, he thought, worthwhile.
Beau found the ball before the dog and raised one hand in a V-for-victory sign, grinning at Gar.
Or maybe it was the old peace sign Beau was making.
The sharp crack of the breaking stick was still echoing in Gar's mind, however. He had a feeling that the sound would be with him for a very long time. Maybe it would even wake him up in the middle of some dark night. But he put that thought aside for the moment and trudged after Beau, who was laughing aloud as he scrambled through the sand with the dog.
For the moment, that was enough. In this life, you took your victories where you found them.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1991 by Teri White
Cover design by Drew Padrutt
This 2015 edition published by
MysteriousPress.com
/Head of Zeus
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 9781784089979
Head of Zeus Ltd
Clerkenwell House
45-47 Clerkenwell Green
London EC1R 0HT
EBOOKS BY TERI WHITE
FROM
MYSTERIOUSPRESS.COM
AND HEAD OF ZEUS
