“I didn’t know what it meant, so I Googled it.”
“You Googled it?”
She inspected the handle bars. “Uh-huh, I mean yes, sir. We don’t have a computer, so I used one in the library.” She slipped him a curious glance, eyes focused on the scar on his cheek. “Some of it I didn’t really understand.”
Yah think?
“But I got the gist of it, and I think you’ll do fine.”
The little pixie left him speechless. “How old are you?”
Blue eyes sparkled with glee. “I’ll be eight on Christmas Eve.”
Eight going on thirty.
“I’m pretty smart. They wanted me to skip some grades at school, but Mama didn’t like that idea, so they put me in some special classes for smart kids.” She looked at his scar again. “Did you get that being a soldier?”
Off balance, he gave a quick nod of his head and tried to focus on the handlebars.
Undeterred, she fidgeted on the step beside him. “I have scars, too. I fell off the monkey bars in first grade and broke my collar bone real bad. And I had my ‘pendix took out when I was five.” She concentrated on his hands as he worked. “Mine don’t hurt, though. Do yours?”
Suddenly, images of the ambush, screams and bullets flying, swamped him out of nowhere. He couldn’t get enough air, and his hands trembled. His heart rate soared, and he froze. Don’t let it in. Concentrate on the now…what you’re doing. Don’t let it in.
He had no idea how much time had passed as he sat there, fingers frozen around the rusted handlebars. When he finally regained a measure of control, he looked up and saw those all-too-seeing eyes focused on him.
She placed a hand on his arm and squeezed. “It does hurt, doesn’t it?” When he offered no reply, she raised up and placed a soft kiss on the wound that went so much deeper than the surface.
“Mama always does that when I have an ouchy.” She rubbed a tiny finger over the puckered scar and sat back down. “I know it doesn’t actually help, but it always makes me feel better inside.”
Max couldn’t move, couldn’t speak as his heart rate slowly returned to normal, and his labored breathing calmed. He looked at the wide-eyed, innocent child beside him, wise beyond her years, and a shard of light pierced through the darkness eating away at his soul. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“You’re welcome. I’m sure Mama would kiss it, too, if you asked her.”
The wrench hit the ground again.
Half an hour later, he watched as Maddie, now bundled up in a scarf and mittens, rode her wobbly bike down the driveway.
“Maddie!” Sky called from the kitchen door. “Time for lunch.”
“But Mama, Max fixed my bike, and I wanted to ride down to Bonnie’s house.”
“Now, Maddie. I have to get you to Miss Gail’s before I go to work.”
The child stopped in front of Max. “Can Max eat, too? He fixed my bike for me. See?”
Instinct told Max an extra mouth to feed might be a burden. “Thanks kiddo, but I need to finish wrapping pipes.” A little white lie to save them all from a potentially embarrassing situation.
“It seems I am in your debt again, Max.” Sky’s cheeks held bright spots of pink, and she didn’t quite meet his gaze.
“No, problem, ma’am. Glad I could help.” He turned to leave, and Maddie spoke up.
“We’re having chicken spaghetti, Max, with garlic bread. Mama makes the best you ever tasted. You have to try it.”
“Maybe another time,” said Max.
“Mama make him stay. He fixed my bike. And he made Blue work.”
“Max?”
His name on her lips was music to his ears, and he looked back.
“You’re more than welcome to join us. That is, if your pipes can wait.”
He started to decline again when Maddie grabbed his hand.
“Good. Come on. You can sit next to me.”
Max had never eaten chicken spaghetti before, but after today, he decided it was one of his favorite dishes. Especially when he added something Sky called Hot Stuff to it. The zesty, sweet-hot mixture resembled pickle relish. She claimed it was like a spicy chow-chow, whatever the hell that was, and went well with the spaghetti dish. Pungent garlic bread, sweet tea, and a simple tossed salad completed the meal.
Maddie chattered away about school and some kid named Bobby Franklin, who apparently had oatmeal for brains.
Sky appeared more relaxed, though she kept an eye on the wall clock.
When the little magpie finally ran out of things to say, Max looked at Sky. “Do you have any outside faucets?”
Brows bunched together, she stared. “One, I think. Back of the house. Why?”
