Between Lives - 2. Chapter 2

As soon as Nate says they'll take the house, Sophie squeals. She runs to the door, throws it open, and barrels down the stairs, calling for Miss Emma.

Nate frowns after her as he digs into his bulging pocket, presumably to fish out the money Will knows he's keeping there. The first time he'd turned and seen Nate on the street, the money in the boy's left pocket had been as obvious as his fear and determination. Will thought about saying something to him, warning him that he was making himself a target, and in a very dicey part of town no less, but refrained, unsure of the kid's reaction. Nate had already looked wrapped tight enough to snap.

Now he feels obligated to mention it. It's not that there's any more trust between them than there was an hour ago, but his conscience is tugging at him. These kids look to be in enough trouble; he knows they don't need a second dose.

He gestures at Nate's pocket, and the kid's eyes widen. "You shouldn't keep all your cash in such an obvious place," Will says. "You're asking for trouble."

Nate yanks his hand free. In his fist is a wad of crumpled bills. "I can take care of myself," he snaps.

"All right." Will rocks back on his heels and lowers his head, though he keeps a close eye on Nate.

A moment later, Nate swallows hard and glances up through his shaggy bangs. "I—I'm sorry." He looks pale, abashed. The spattering of freckles across his nose stand out even more sharply. "Thanks for your…for your concern, but I know what I'm doing."

Will doubts that. He manages to bite down on most of his amusement, but a soft snort escapes anyway. "If you say so." He spins away, angry for reasons he can't quite put his finger on. What does it matter to him if some runaway prep school brat gets taken for every cent he has?

"Will?"

He turns to see Nate staring down at the money in his fist and chewing on his lower lip. After a moment, Nate stretches his hand out, retracts it, pauses, then shoves the money at Will. "Here. I've already figured what we need to give her today. First month, last month, and two hundred for the security deposit."

The wad of cash feels hot in his hand when he takes it. Nate looks as though he wants to snatch it back, and again Will is struck by a wave of sympathy. He folds the bills, but leaves them in his hand instead of putting them in his own pocket. Doing so may just give the kid a coronary. Drawn, pale, and shaking, Nate reminds him of a junkie in need of a fix.

The idea slides across his mind, then disappears without lingering. The kid's no drug addict. He may have the look, but there's too much life in his eyes – too much hope. Will has some personal experience, after all. Nate is tense and terrified, not drunk and high.

"All right, then," he says, keeping his tone light. "Let's go pay the lady."

A jerky nod is Nate's answer. Will swings the door open and walks slowly, casually to the top of the stairs. Nate shadows him, barely two steps behind.

"Miss Emma?" He catches sight of the old woman at the bottom of the steps, leaning against the wall and giggling while Sophie dances in front of her.

"It's pink! It's pink!" Sophie sings. She clasps both of Miss Emma's hands in hers. "Thank you!"

"No, thank you, darling, for making an old lady smile." She straightens up when Will reaches the bottom of the staircase. "Well, Mr. Rhodes? What do you think?"

"We'll take it." Aware of Nate's eyes boring into his back, he hands over the stack of bills. "This amount should cover the terms we discussed." Frankly, he has no idea if it does or not. He wasn't really listening before, but even after knowing Nate for only an hour, he's sure the kid has things worked to the penny.

Miss Emma takes the money and pockets it without a second glance. Will blinks. He can't help the sudden feeling of dislocation, as though he's entered a different universe, one where everything is just the slightest bit off-kilter. When was the last time he'd witnessed so much blatant trust?

"Here's the key." Miss Emma hands him a single key on a metal ring. "It works both the front and back door. Now, I expect you'll want to get settled in, make arrangements for your things. I'm right next door if you have any questions, and Bran will be here the rest of the afternoon too, so if you need help moving furniture, he'll give you a hand. Won't you, dear?" She pats Bran on the arm, and he nods, but his attention, Will can see, is not on her. He's slouched against the wall, arms folded. There's a half-smile gracing his lips, and it's all for Nate.

Will shoots a glance over his shoulder, curious, but Nate's head is down, auburn hair obscuring his eyes, though an uneven blush has spread across the line of his throat.

"That won't be necessary," he says, swinging back to Miss Emma. "We don't have much, I'm afraid. But I appreciate the offer."

Miss Emma nods, her blue eyes sharp amidst the map of wrinkles surrounding them. She ambles forward and takes his arm. "Walk me home, Mr. Rhodes."

Will's smile freezes. Behind him, Nate makes a low, distressed sound, and before the entire situation can go to hell, Will hooks her arm around his elbow. "I'd be delighted. Nate," he says. "Keep an eye on Sophie while I'm gone."

It's been ages, years, since he's had to ease a child's mind with nothing more than the tone of his voice, but the skill is still there he's relieved to find. Nate gulps, but the tension in his shoulders eases. He grabs Sophie's hand in his, interrupting her twirling dance. "Okay."

"I'll be right back."

"Okay," Nate replies, a bit more strength in his voice.

They start toward the kitchen, where the back door opens onto a small stoop. Will claps Bran on the shoulder as he passes, demanding the youth's attention for a moment. "Thanks for your help, Bran."

An easy grin breaks across Bran's face, and he reaches to shake Will's hand. "Not a problem, Mr. Rhodes. I'm glad you'll be staying." His eyes drift back to where Nate and Sophie stand, and Will turns away before his smile betrays him.

"I'm sure you are. We'll be right back."

Miss Emma is waiting in the kitchen, her arms crossed over her bosom. Will gives a weak smile and shoves his anxiety aside. Still, there's the niggling knowledge that he's breaking the law by helping Nate and Sophie, law that he spent more than ten years upholding. The wisest course of action would be to turn them in to the nearest authorities. Then he flashes back to the meeting on the street and the panic on Nate's face when Will looked at Sophie, and he knows that's not an option.

It's useless, the worry and the guilt, and he dismisses both. But if the subterfuge is ever uncovered, it could go badly for him. His life's no picnic, but jail would be a definite step closer to hell. His mouth goes dry, and suddenly he's thirsty for a drink.

"Ready, ma'am?" His hand, when he takes her elbow, trembles – his physiological alarm clock. He can picture the glass of vodka in his hand, complete with drops of condensation rolling down the outside.

"Call me Emma, Mr. Rhodes. I wanted a word with you, away from the children."

"Of course."

He hovers while Emma descends the uneven steps to the path between the houses, but for as unsteady as she seemed earlier, she traverses the buckled concrete easily and climbs her own back stairs like a spry youngster.

"Here we are," she says. Will follows her into a kitchen slightly bigger and brighter than the one he just left. Cleaner, too. It smells of sugar and cinnamon, like sweets fresh out of the oven. Memories rear up, uninvited, but there's no stopping them. The hum of the exhaust fan, the baking sheets in the sink, the voice of a child as she counts cookies on a cooling rack. The stab of pain behind his eyes catches him off-guard, and he clears his throat to cover his sharp indrawn breath.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes." Will rubs at his temples. "Fine. I'm sorry. I get headaches. They can be unpredictable."

"Oh, you poor thing." She clucks her tongue and pats his arm. "Nate said you work long hours. May I offer a bit of advice, Mr. Rhodes?"

Will hides a grimace. As if he could stop her.

"Don't let this time pass you by. With your children, I mean to say. They won't be here forever. Before you know it, they'll be off on their own, grown and gone, and you'll pine away for these wasted years."

His bitter laugh shocks her. Her hands flutter about her neck for a moment before falling back to her sides.

Will cringes at his gaffe. "I—I know," he whispers. "I know that." Her offhand remark hurts, but he's expert at hiding his pain by now. Mostly, he's relieved. Her nosiness proves one thing: she still believes Nate and Sophie belong to him. "What did you want to talk about, if I may ask?"

"Well!" Emma says with a clap of her hands. "I didn't want this to be awkward for you, especially in front of the children. Nate implied things had been rough recently, and I'd like to help."

"You already have."

"Oh, perhaps. But I can do more."

"Such as?"

"I'm a bit of a packrat, you see."

Will smiled. "That's no crime."

"Some would disagree," Emma says. "Bran, for one. He's been asking me to clear out our garage. He's got his eye on some car, I guess, that needs fixing up." She dismisses the remark with a wave of her hand. "Anyway, there's no way that will ever happen while the place is stuffed with old furniture and boxes and whatnot. Mr. Rhodes, I want you to have at it. Take what you need, if it helps you get back on your feet."

"I—" couldn't possibly accept for Nate, is on the tip of his tongue to say, but that would sound ridiculous, of course. Will figures Nate won't appreciate being indebted to anyone, not that Emma would see it that way, but he suspects taking charity is a new and bitter pill for the boy. Still, if it's true that he and Sophie have nothing between them but what's in their battered backpack, then the offer is a godsend. "I–wouldn't know how to repay you," Will finally says.

"No need." Emma reaches to clasp his hand and her gnarled fingers curl around his. "It feels right. And I always follow my heart."

If only everyone was so wise, Will thinks.

"And besides," Emma continues, "it's high time I let go of some of the past. Those things aren't helping anybody packed away like that."

In the same manner he greeted Sophie earlier, Will brings Emma's fingers to his lips for a quick peck. "Thank you. You're a queen among women, Emma." He winks at her blush. "And I'm sure Bran will appreciate what you're doing."

"Good Lord in Heaven, what have I let myself in for? He'll have that place swimming in car parts and grease and tools before the week is out. I know I won't be able to stand it."

But her tone is affectionate, and Will chuckles as they make their way out of the kitchen and back across the small yard. It's obvious that Bran has his grandmother wrapped around his finger.

They enter the kitchen to find the three children waiting for them, and with one glance, Will sees that Emma isn't the only one affected by Bran's subtle charm and friendly smile.

Bran is leaning over the island countertop making faces at Sophie. He's kicked off his sandals and his t-shirt has ridden up over the small of his back. A quick glance at Nate's flushed cheeks and surreptitious, roving eyes proves that Bran's efforts haven't gone unnoticed.

The entire scene makes him achingly wistful, and he wonders if he was ever that transparent. And if he had been, how many people noticed. His heart stutters at the thought, then continues its steady beat.

Times are different now. And he hasn't been young for a long time.

Sophie covers her mouth as another unlady-like snort escapes. "Do it again, Bran! The first one!"

Will's eyes once more slide to Nate, hunched next to his sister. He's pretending to watch Sophie, but his eyes dart to Bran every few seconds. A ghost of a genuine smile pulls at his features, but as soon as he sees Will, it's swallowed by his familiar pinched expression.

The anxiety pours from him in waves, and Will smiles, hoping to put him at ease. Nate's return smile looks more like a grimace.

"I have a surprise, kids," he says. "Miss Emma has some furniture and other things that she's going to let us use. Free of charge," he adds when Nate bites his lip.

Bran straightens and spins so fast he loses his balance on the slippery floor. "Grams? Seriously? The stuff in the garage?" Emma nods and he lets out a whoop. Will grins, then laughs when the boy scrambles around the counter to catch his grandmother up in a hug.

"Put me down, you brat!" she cries through her own laughter. "You'll be sorry in a few hours. It's going to take more than a broom and your good intentions to empty that place. I'll need you to help Mr. Rhodes and Nate and Sophie sift through everything. Separate the junk from what's usable."

Bran sets her down and after a quick hug, grabs Sophie's hand. "Sure thing. Come on, Nate." He charges through the kitchen, Sophie on his heels, and while Nate moves to follow, he throws a worried look over his shoulder first. Will nods and winks, and with one more deep breath, Nate slips out of the kitchen and into the backyard.

"He doesn't trust easily, does he?" Emma asks. She's folded her hands in front of her, prayer-like, and she's looking pensively after the children.

He does and he doesn't, Will knows, just from what he's observed of Nate thus far. Constant vigilance exhausts a person, and eventually the boy will have to let his guard down with somebody. When that will happen, Will can't predict. But as Bran's excited voice drifts into the kitchen through the screen door, he thinks the question of who may become Nate's confidant is answering itself.

"Shall we go help?" He offers his arm, and Emma squeezes it, but doesn't grab on.

"You go on. I'll get something going for dinner. Oh no, now don't fuss about it," she says when Will tries to demur. "It'll be hard work, that's for sure. We'll all need a hot meal when it's done."

She shoos him out the door before climbing the steps to her own kitchen. Will lingers, basking in an emotion he hasn't felt in years. He can't pigeonhole the feeling; it's tangled up in long-buried memories: cookies baked from scratch, the slamming of a screen door on a windy day, and people who thrive on helping others.

Still pondering, he sets out through the damp, spongy grass and around an overgrown tangle of hedge roses, following the sound of voices until a smallish one-stall garage comes into view. Bran has lifted the door, proving– just as Emma promised – that it's stuffed to the gills with boxes and dusty furniture.

Nate is standing in front of it, silent and slack-jawed, while inside, Bran and Sophie poke through the tangle of cardboard and scratched-up wood. Will sidles up and lays a hand on Nate's shoulder. "Like Ali Baba's cave. Full of treasure."

Nate starts, but doesn't pull away. A minor, if significant, victory. "It wasn't his cave," he says under his breath. He shoots a glance at Will. "Ali Baba stole the treasure."

Will swallows his sigh. "It was a poor analogy. This is nothing even remotely like stealing."

"I—" Nate lifts a hand to his temple. "I don’t—"

"Nate." Will steps in front of him, blocking his view of the garage, of Bran, and of Sophie. "There's no shame in this. These things are being freely given. And you can't really say no to them, can you?"

Anger flashes in Nate's eyes, and inwardly, Will cheers. Fury, he well knows, is sometimes the only thing that carries you forward. "Fine," Nate says, like the word leaves a sour taste in his mouth. "Fine."

"Fine," Will repeats. "Good. Let's go help then."

***

Will loses himself in the task of sorting, moving, and carrying for seventy minutes. The thirty after that are uncomfortable, but he ignores his growing need. Watching Emma and Sophie giggle over old-fashioned hats and photographs helps. The next twenty creep by so slowly he's sure he's going mad. His concentration falters, and his answers become monosyllabic. Nate begins to throw him concerned looks when they pass on the stairs, arms weighted down with long-forgotten pieces of Emma's life. By the time the house look like a home, and Bran is helping Sophie wash her hands for dinner, Will is shaking and nauseated. Desperate.

"I have to go," he tells Nate while they stand on the back stoop. "I'm glad things worked out for you and your sister." He reaches into his pocket for his cigarettes and shakes one into his hand. "If you need anything else, well…I guess you know where to find me. Sorry, I don't have a phone."

"It's okay." Nate's voice is quiet and sad. And also, Will notices with a twinge of self-pity, relieved. "We don't have a phone either. I'm not sure we'll get one. I guess…." His voice trails off.

Will nods and tries to calm his hands enough to work the lighter. After the third failed attempt, Nate pries it from his icy fingers, strikes a flame, and lights the cigarette dangling from Will's lips. "I really appreciate your help today," Nate says.

"Fifty bucks for an hour of work. Like you said, was I really gonna turn it down?" He snatches the lighter and shoves it into his pocket.

The bitterness in his own voice makes the rolling in his guts even worse, but Nate's eyes don't lose their kindness. "I guess not," he replies. "But it was more than an hour, wasn't it?"

The kid's going to try to give him more money, Will realizes, and for one moment, he can hear the extra bottles clinking together in the liquor store's plain, brown bag. Then, from inside the house, Sophie bursts into laughter – and he can't breathe for the shame that chokes him.

He backs away. "No big deal. Take care of yourself. And Sophie."

But as he tries to turn and flee, Nate catches his arm. "Actually." His eyes rake over Will in the growing dusk. "If you're not doing anything tomorrow morning…."

***

The bus drops him at the same stop where he got on three hours before, across the street from the temp agency. The line of men is gone, the doors shut and locked. Will clasps his hand around the fifty dollar bill in his pocket and stares first left, toward the corner where his apartment building stands, then right, toward the flashing neon sign above T. Rick's.

"Make some cash today?"

Will peers through the gloom and catches sight of a shadow huddling in the corner of the bus shelter. "Maybe," he says, hedging. "That you, Marty?"

"Yep." Marty pulls his ratty pea coat closer around his chest and jerks his chin toward the lighted storefront behind them. "Corner liquor's having a sale." Will's eyes stray to the rows of shiny bottles in the window, and he does the math in his head. How far down the road to oblivion will fifty dollars take him?

"Made a little cash, yeah," he admits.

"Found work, then?"

Will closes his eyes against another wave of nausea. "Something like that."

"Lucky you." Marty settles as far back out of the wind as he can and shrinks down inside his coat.

"Yeah."

"Spend it wisely, Grasshopper."

Will gives him the finger, and Marty breaks into wheezing laughter. With a half-hearted wave, Will shuffles to the street corner.

He's unsettled. Whether or not he did the right thing is debatable. Moral arguments aside, he broke the law. Committed fraud. He has fifty bucks in his pocket, taken from the hand of a desperate child. To call himself unscrupulous would be a kindness.

It's inescapable, this slow slide into hell. Good intentions on his left shoulder, poor judgment on the right. He's tired of fighting it. "Nothing but the best for you, my boy," he mumbles under his breath. "Nothing but the best."

The wind still bites, the air still stinks with refuse, and he knows that tomorrow the same group of men will be gathered in front of the building across the street, still hoping to claw their way toward a better life. Poor, deluded idiots.

His snort turns into a hacking cough, and when he next looks up, his feet have carried him away from home and toward Rick's. A block away from the bar's entrance, the smell of liquor reaches his nose, and his mouth floods with saliva. He speeds his pace, trotting the last few steps.

It's easy to pretend he doesn't see the bartender roll his eyes when he slides onto a stool. "Bud on draft?" the bartender asks.

"No," Will says, surprising them both. "Whiskey. The good stuff." He pulls the fifty from his pocket and smoothes it out on the scarred wood.

The bartender clucks his tongue, but complies. He fetches the bottle and glass and pours the shot. Will makes a clumsy grab for it and almost misses, but his other hand saves the day. He uses both to guide the drink to his lips. The first splash down his throat takes the edge off the need. The second dulls it to a low throb.

"Another?" he hears, and he nods.

By the time his fifty dollar bill has become one ten and a five, he's forgotten the sound of Sophie's laughter. He's forgotten how Bran stared at Nate and how Nate stared back, and how the pain of lost opportunity never really goes away.

"Another?"

He nods, and more beautiful amber liquid sloshes into his glass. Some dribbles over the side and onto his fingers. He lifts them to his lips and licks off the stray drops.

It's the last thing he remembers.