not in an annoying way. He was also clearly a rookie, probably fresh out of the barracks down in Concord.
“I’ll be outside,” Jesse said and turned for the door.
“Be with ya in a sec, kid.” Deputy Mills said and gave him a wink.
He got fifteen shots. Deputy Mills checked every one of them and had him delete all but five. By the time he got back to the Herald, he had deleted another three, believing, and rightly so, that Mrs. Abernathy would have had something to say had there been more.
Jesse spent the rest of the day doing odd jobs around the office. When Julia left at half past four, he made a point of not noticing what time it was. Mrs. Abernathy, who always knew what time it was, played along for fifteen minutes, then sent him on his way.
When he got home, Jesse put on his best pair of jeans and the only shirt he owned with a collar. When he was ready to leave, his mom followed him out to the porch and handed him a fifty-dollar bill.
“Mom, I’ve got a job. I’m not broke, seriously!”
“You run errands. For what, ten bucks a day? I know that old cow. She won’t be parting with more than that. Now take it.”
She stuffed the bill into the pocket of his jeans.
“She doesn’t pay me ten bucks a day. She gives me a hundred dollars a week. And she’s not a cow.”
By the time he passed the familiar town sign (Welcome to Morisson – Population: just right!), the first wave of nerves had started to come over him. He had spent the day deliberately not thinking about this evening on the understanding that the more he did, the more on edge he would become. Now it appeared the effort had been in vain.
When he reached Farmland, Morisson’s premier and only farm machinery dealership, he pulled off the road and stopped.
– – –
Jesse had first met Amanda in second grade, on what had probably been the worst day of her life. At least up until then. In those days, he and Bill Perry had been Siamese twins, played in the same imaginary rock ‘n’ roll band and had developed the closest thing to telepathy that existed outside the Twilight Zone. On that particular day, Bill was in the hospital having his tonsils removed. Jesse had been on his way back to the locker room after PE when he heard someone crying behind the bleachers and went to investigate. He had found her sitting on the ground with her arms around her knees. When he had moved closer, she put her hands over her chest and he saw that the back of her T-shirt had been torn from neck to hem.
The sight of her sitting there, trying to cover herself up with arms that were shaking as if it had been January instead of one of the warmest days in June, had made him feel both sad and angry at the same time. Without thinking, he’d taken off his own T-shirt and held it out to her then walked back to the sports field. When she still hadn’t emerged several minutes later, he’d gone back. She’d been standing just around the corner. His T-shirt ended just above her knees. With the lack of tact characteristic of most eight year olds, he’d said, “No one will believe that’s yours. My mom sews name tags into all my clothes.”
For a moment neither of them had said anything, then, as if on cue, they both burst out laughing. And by the invisible stroke of magic that is also characteristic of most eight–year-olds, they were friends.
In that instant, the two of them fit to split and unaware the world was still turning, Jesse’s young mind formed a simple, yet very powerful, idea. He thought he loved her.
Like Jesse, Bill didn’t have a sister. That meant neither boy had developed any serious fear of the cooties. Amanda had slipped almost seamlessly into their friendship, not tearing it apart, but adding a new dimension to it, like a good pitcher joining an already successful baseball team. Amanda never did give him his T-shirt back and for eleven years Jesse had kept his feelings to himself.
When he finally did get around to breaking the news to
“I’ll be outside,” Jesse said and turned for the door.
“Be with ya in a sec, kid.” Deputy Mills said and gave him a wink.
He got fifteen shots. Deputy Mills checked every one of them and had him delete all but five. By the time he got back to the Herald, he had deleted another three, believing, and rightly so, that Mrs. Abernathy would have had something to say had there been more.
Jesse spent the rest of the day doing odd jobs around the office. When Julia left at half past four, he made a point of not noticing what time it was. Mrs. Abernathy, who always knew what time it was, played along for fifteen minutes, then sent him on his way.
When he got home, Jesse put on his best pair of jeans and the only shirt he owned with a collar. When he was ready to leave, his mom followed him out to the porch and handed him a fifty-dollar bill.
“Mom, I’ve got a job. I’m not broke, seriously!”
“You run errands. For what, ten bucks a day? I know that old cow. She won’t be parting with more than that. Now take it.”
She stuffed the bill into the pocket of his jeans.
“She doesn’t pay me ten bucks a day. She gives me a hundred dollars a week. And she’s not a cow.”
By the time he passed the familiar town sign (Welcome to Morisson – Population: just right!), the first wave of nerves had started to come over him. He had spent the day deliberately not thinking about this evening on the understanding that the more he did, the more on edge he would become. Now it appeared the effort had been in vain.
When he reached Farmland, Morisson’s premier and only farm machinery dealership, he pulled off the road and stopped.
– – –
Jesse had first met Amanda in second grade, on what had probably been the worst day of her life. At least up until then. In those days, he and Bill Perry had been Siamese twins, played in the same imaginary rock ‘n’ roll band and had developed the closest thing to telepathy that existed outside the Twilight Zone. On that particular day, Bill was in the hospital having his tonsils removed. Jesse had been on his way back to the locker room after PE when he heard someone crying behind the bleachers and went to investigate. He had found her sitting on the ground with her arms around her knees. When he had moved closer, she put her hands over her chest and he saw that the back of her T-shirt had been torn from neck to hem.
The sight of her sitting there, trying to cover herself up with arms that were shaking as if it had been January instead of one of the warmest days in June, had made him feel both sad and angry at the same time. Without thinking, he’d taken off his own T-shirt and held it out to her then walked back to the sports field. When she still hadn’t emerged several minutes later, he’d gone back. She’d been standing just around the corner. His T-shirt ended just above her knees. With the lack of tact characteristic of most eight year olds, he’d said, “No one will believe that’s yours. My mom sews name tags into all my clothes.”
For a moment neither of them had said anything, then, as if on cue, they both burst out laughing. And by the invisible stroke of magic that is also characteristic of most eight–year-olds, they were friends.
In that instant, the two of them fit to split and unaware the world was still turning, Jesse’s young mind formed a simple, yet very powerful, idea. He thought he loved her.
Like Jesse, Bill didn’t have a sister. That meant neither boy had developed any serious fear of the cooties. Amanda had slipped almost seamlessly into their friendship, not tearing it apart, but adding a new dimension to it, like a good pitcher joining an already successful baseball team. Amanda never did give him his T-shirt back and for eleven years Jesse had kept his feelings to himself.
When he finally did get around to breaking the news to
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