(3)
— Originally publshed in The MacGuffin, Spring 2004
Continued from page (2)
“It’s getting dark. I’ll walk you up there.”
The incline was steep, and Archie kept stepping out of his clogs.
Jamey squatted. “Piggyback.”
Archie clambered on with a whoop. He was weightless. “Look at me,”
he said in a piping voice.
“I know,” Roxie chirped. “You’re really way up there.” They laughed.
“He’s never been around men much,” she said to Jamey. “My father he’s a
doctor, too. Surgeon. Henry Gambit. Maybe you’ve heard of him.”
“Vascular surgery. That’s my field.”
She stopped. “Just when I was getting to like you, too.” She resumed
walking, her smile gone. “My dad’s never seen Archie. Archie’s father and I
weren’t married. He got drafted. They sent him home from Nam in a sealed
casket. Archie doesn’t remember him.”
At the entrance to the Pine Inn, Jamey stooped and let Archie slip to
the ground. Still crouching, Jamey turned. “Was that fun, champ?”
Archie bit his lower lip, “Can I—”
“Archie,” Roxie said, “no.”
“What?” Jamey asked.
Archie rubbed his fingertips against the day-old growth of stubble
beneath Jamey’s chin, smiled broadly, and glanced at his mother.
Roxie pulled him back. “That’s enough, sweetie. Thanks so much,
Doctor McIntyre. I didn’t mean to intrude. You’ve been so kind—”
“I enjoyed it.”
She gave him a tremulous smile.
He and Sissy’d had breakfast at the Pine Inn on the fourth day. This
was only the third, but he’d already departed from their original schedule by
skipping the Bach last night. It’d been Weichet Nur, the wedding cantata.
By nine he was toying with Eggs Benedict among the late risers on the
stone patio. That was what Sissy’d had, sitting across from him at a table
sheltered by a bright green beach umbrella. Now he saw another face, a
small one with red hair and freckles and a gap-tooth grin, framed by the
open back of the empty chair.
TOM'S TALES