A Creed in Stone Creek - Linda Lael Miller [89]
Except for Brody’s looks—even in need of a shave and a haircut and decent clothes, he was still a dead-ringer for Conner—he was practically a stranger.
It bruised something in Steven, even thinking that.
Brody. A stranger.
How was that possible?
After supper, Matt reluctantly agreed to take his shower and get into his PJs.
Brody cleared the table, and when everything was in the sink, he paused to pick Matt’s drawing of the stick family up from the desktop, pondering it solemnly.
“Everybody wants the same thing,” he murmured, holding the sheet of paper as though it were somehow sacred. “A family.”
Steven’s throat tightened. “Yeah,” he managed, when he could get the word out. He went to check on Matt next, because his eyes were burning, and while the boy probably wouldn’t notice, he couldn’t risk letting Brody see.
When he came back, after toweling Matt off and digging out the pajamas he’d forgotten to bring into the bathroom with him, the door was standing open and Brody was gone.
Had he left again, already, without even a goodbye?
Considering the possibility, Steven felt his heart skip a beat or two before common sense overtook him. The dog was outside, and Brody was with him.
He went to the doorway.
Brody was hauling a suitcase from under the tarp in the back of his truck. That piece of luggage looked like it was bought at a thrift store, beaten with a tire chain and then dragged down five miles of rough road behind a tractor.
But, then, so did Brody. Life had used him hard, that much was clear.
He might want to talk about it eventually, or he might never say a word. Cussed-stubborn as he was and, conversely, unpredictable, it might go either way.
Brody brought in the suitcase, along with a couple of tattered blankets, the kind they sell cheap in the markets of Tijuana and Nogales, and set everything down on or near the couch.
Steven didn’t say anything. He just went to the door and whistled for Zeke, who was chasing some kind of flying bug around the yard. It was a comforting sight, somehow, a dog playing in the twilight, with the old house standing watch in the near distance.
“I’m done with my shower!” Matt announced turning up at the end of the hall. “And I brushed my teeth, too!”
“Good deal,” Steven said.
“I don’t need a story tonight,” Matt added manfully. “You probably want to talk to Brody and everything.”
Steven smiled. “There’s always time for a story,” he said. Ever since Matt had come to live with him, scared and small and confused, clinging to his blanket and his toy skunk, they’d read out of a book every night. Even when Steven wasn’t home, he’d made sure the babysitter kept up the ritual.
“I’d just like to look at my picture for a while,” Matt said. He sounded mighty philosophical, for a short guy.
My picture. The photo of Zack and Jillie, skydiving on their honeymoon, Steven thought. He was about to say it was right where they’d left it, on Matt’s bedside table.
But the boy scampered across the living-room–kitchen and claimed the drawing he’d made at day camp.
That’s you, and that’s Melissa, and that’s me.
Steven’s eyes started burning again. “If you change your mind about the story,” he said, his voice hoarse, “just let me know.”
Matt nodded, then gave a wide grin. “’Night, Dad. ’Night, Brody.”
Steven just nodded.
“Good night, Colorado,” Brody said seriously.
Matt beamed at that. Summoned the dog. “Come on, Zeke,” he said. “It’s time for bed.”
Zeke, who had been sniffing at his empty kibble bowl, obediently trotted over to Matt, and the two of them vanished down the hallway and into the second bedroom.
“All right if I take a shower?” Brody asked Steven when they were alone again.
“Of course it’s all right,” Steven said, maybe a touch more abruptly than he should have.