The boy, Nick realized, was dressed only in jeans and a faded gray sweatshirt, the heavy denim jacket and toboggan cap he usually wore, missing. He had his gloveless hands shoved deep into his jean pockets in a failed effort to keep them warm. His ears and nose were red with cold. Carter shivered and Fowler could see the tiny cloud of the boy's breath in front of his mouth.

"Come on in," he ordered. "You're letting my heat out."

The boy hesitated and glanced behind him before stepping through the threshold into the heat. He shuddered as the warm air touched his skin and breathed a sigh of...what, Fowler wondered. Relief? Exhaustion?

He frowned and surveyed the quiet darkness near his door for a second time. He saw no movement in the tiny yard or the courtyard beyond. It occurred to him, probably too late if it were true, that this could be some kind of setup, that there could be a second person easily hidden in the dark. He couldn't imagine this particular student involved in anything like that, but teachers had been assaulted in the parking lot of Lincoln, and two weeks before one had been attacked in the hall of the ancient structure. It seemed a stretch to think of someone following him home but still...He mentally wrote the headlines that would accompany his fate-'Stupid Teacher Slain by Students'.

"Is there somebody with you?" he asked as he scanned the yard.

"No, sir."  Carter stood uncomfortably in the entryway, unsure of entering the room now that he was actually inside. He chewed his bottom lip his brow drawn together frowned as he watched his teacher.

Fowler gestured to the living room, frowned again into the night, and closed and locked the door. He followed the boy, reasoning that if Carter had come to exact revenge for some perceived wrong, he wouldn't call him 'sir'. "How are your grades in my class?" he asked anyway and flicked on the overhead light.

"Good," the boy answered, confusion flattering across his face and disappearing into boredom. "Mostly A's."

"That's what I thought." Nick smiled as if he asked the question of every student who visited him after midnight on Fridays. Which, he decided, he might, since this was the first person to fit the insane criteria.

"Very high end, Mr. Fowler," Carter said, looking around the condo. Expensive, precisely matched furniture, a television set big enough to use as a movie theater and fine artwork melded together to create the look of a 'Better Homes and Gardens' photo. "I thought teaching was a poor man's profession."

Nick thought of the apartment he'd lived in three short years ago, a dinky one bedroom over a single car garage, and wished he still had that life. This one cost him too much. He ignored the comment and threw the stadium blanket he'd been dozing beneath to the boy. "Not exactly dressed for the weather, are you, Mr. Gibbs"

"I expected to be home before dark," the boy responded lamely.

"Guess you didn't quite make it."

"No kidding..." Carter pulled the blanket around his shoulders and up around his ears. "Were you watching wrestling?" He looked at the now dark television and sat uneasily in the chair his teacher indicated. He studied the screen as if he could somehow detect what had been there a few moments before. "I thought I heard it on from outside but, well, you just never seemed like...I don't know...a wrestling fan."

"It was loud enough, but it was a movie, I think." He yawned. "I was grading papers and fell asleep with the set on."

"Who was winning?"  Carter still hadn't looked at him.

"I don't watch wrestling, Carter." Nick peered down at the top of the boy's dark hair. "I don't even know any of their names," he said. "And, anyway, it was just a movie..."  It seemed like a ridiculously weird conversation to be having at almost two o'clock in the morning. Of course, he thought, it would be ridiculous to be having any conversation at almost two in the morning. "I really was grading papers. I guess somebody's put me to sleep. If you're lucky it wasn't yours."

Nick wondered if he was still asleep now, still dreaming this crazy scenario. Outside of a dream, no real kid would show up at a teacher's house at well past midnight on a weekend. No real teacher would let him in. This had to be a continuation of the dream he'd had just before Carter showed up. He glanced at his kitchen, wondering if George would appear to finish the job, or if Rod Sterling would step out to give his Twilight Zone dissertation. He resumed his spot on the couch. "So, what's up?"

Carter smiled weakly, still looking down. "I was...kind of over on this side of town. And you said any time we had a problem that your door was always open, so--"

"I meant my classroom door!" Nick raised his eyebrows in surprise. "My door was always open for a problem at school! I didn't expect you to follow me home!" He spoke before his brain had a chance to turn over what the boy just said. He could have kicked himself the minute the words left his mouth.

Carter stood, embarrassed. "Yeah...sorry, Mr. Fowler. You're right. I was--"

"Sit down," Nick interrupted shortly. "You're here now." He paused, struck by a sudden thought. "How did you find out where I live?"

"The phone book," Carter answered too quickly, shifting uncomfortably.

"Well..." Fowler raised his eyebrows and leaned forward. "That's interesting. That's really, really...interesting. Almost miraculous, really. Because I'm not in the phone book."

The Gibbs boy smiled at his worn running shoes, refusing to meet his teacher's challenging stare. "Sure you are," he countered. "Just not under Fowler. My aunt's a teacher, too, and she's in the phone book, like, under her maiden name. It makes it hard for kids to find her but she can still have friends look her up that way. I figured that since you don't have a maiden name maybe you'd make something up. I thought, you know, a fowl is a bird. So I looked under Nicholas Bird and, like, there you were."

Fowler sat back on the couch, feeling irritation, surprise, and admiration. He remembered a phone call earlier that evening. He'd answered and whoever was on the other end hung up immediately.   "You figured that out, huh?"

"Well, not on the first try. I tried Hunter first, and then Fisher..." Carter looked at his teacher fully for the first time and misread the scowl that swept Nick's face. "This was a bad idea," he started.

Nick drew his brows together and narrowed his eyes. A huge bruise discolored the boy's swollen left eye and his upper lip had been split. He hadn't noticed either that afternoon at school. Nick leaned forward, reached toward the boy's face, and asked sharply, "Who hit you?"

Carter jerked backward to avoid the touch. "I'm okay," he mumbled. "I really shouldn't be here." He started to stand.

"Sit," Nick ordered. He barked the word, harsher and more irritated than he'd intended.

The boy glanced up, hesitated, and stayed perched on the edge of the chair. "Sitting, sir," he said softly.

"Who hit you?" Nick asked again. He spoke quietly this time, willing his voice to remain calm.

"Nobody...I mean, like...I didn't know them. I was out walking around, thinking, sorting through junk, and I...There were four or five guys, hanging around on the street. I tried to walk around them but they started to, like, harass me and it turned into a shoving match...I should have just..." The boy drew in a deep breath, looked just above Nick's head, and sighed slowly. "They hit me a couple of times, called me some names...I guess they made their point, whatever that was."

"Why would they start something like that?"

"I was out by myself." Carter looked at Fowler as if he belonged in the stone Age and shook his head slightly. "Why wouldn't they?"

Nick thought of the neighborhood around the school, around where the boy lived. He would think twice about walking that area after dark, and he was well trained in self-defense. Anybody out by themselves stood a pretty good chance of finding trouble, he thought. "Why didn't you go home?" He examined the bruise and cut from his spot on the couch.

Carter shrugged. "I had a fight with my folks before I left. I can just imagine what he'd say if I came back like this."

Nick arched an eyebrow to acknowledge what the boy said and scooted closer. "Your dad?"

"Stepdad. My dad died when I was, like, five or something. I can just barely remember him."

"That's tough," Nick leaned forward for a more careful inspection. The lip didn't look too bad. He imagined it would heal on its own with little problem. But the eye already showed several different colors and was swollen. Just below the eye, a white area shone where the unknown assailant's fist made contact. "Your eye looks pretty bad," he said. "We ought to think about a trip to the--"

"No!" Carter stood, suddenly animated, and almost panicked. He started shaking his head. "No, thanks, Mr. Fowler. No hospitals!" He started for the front door and Fowler hurried to beat him there.

"Fine," he agreed as he steered the boy back to the living room. Carter immediately shrugged the teacher's arm from around his shoulders. "Just settle down! I won't take you to the hospital, okay? Happy? Let me get us some sodas and we'll talk about what to do with you until morning. Is that all right?"

The boy frowned up at him, trying to make up his mind.

"I'll change that to hot chocolate or coffee if that sounds better. I just need to heat the water. Give me a minute, okay? Let me get you warmed up at least, and then if you still want to go we'll work it out, okay?"

Carter considered a second longer and nodded uneasily.

"Okay then. Give me just a minute." Fowler held his hands up in a 'stay' gesture and walked back to the kitchen, watching the boy the whole time, motioning him to remain on the couch.

Once in the other room Nick stopped and closed his eyes. He felt too tired to think clearly. "Fowler, what are you doing?" he asked himself, shaking his head as he filled two mugs with water, placed them into the microwave, and set the timer. "You have a student here without his parent's permission. He's been injured, it's past the city curfew...It's way too late for him to be here. This is an incredibly bad idea. Just call his folks and get it over with, Genius."

He retrieved two hot chocolate packages and a package of marshmallows, placed them on the countertop, and pulled a thick phone directory out of a drawer. He flipped through until he got to a surprisingly long list of Gibbs'.

He frowned. Stepfather, Carter said. It would be listed under the stepfather's last name. He wondered if he'd ever met Carter's mom at the school open house, if he'd heard her last name before. He closed his eyes, trying to envision some paper he'd sent home, returned with a parent's signature, but realized that with his eyes shut he was nodding off. He began to randomly flip through the thick book as he thought, but after a minute he slowed to a stop.

An image of monster-parents, fangs bared and claws threatening, flashed through his mind. He couldn't do it, he decided as he closed the phonebook. At least not until he knew more about what had happened. He would be breaking school policy and putting himself in harm's way, he knew, but he could survive without the job. And he felt some moral need to make sure nothing had happened at the boy's home.

The microwave dinged and Nick started. He glanced guiltily over his shoulder for Carter and put the book back in the drawer. He hastily poured the contents of the packets into the cups, stirred, and added a handful of marshmallows to each. He ate the few that fell onto the impeccable countertop. He worried that the boy would be gone when he got back to the living room, although he hadn't heard the front door, and it would be hard for the boy to sneak out without being heard. He grabbed the small first aid kit he kept in the kitchen cabinet, tucked it under his arm, picked up the mugs, and headed for the living room.

He stopped in the doorway. Carter was slouched onto the overstuffed arm of the leather couch, head pillowed in the crook of his elbow, snoring softly. The stadium blanket still covered the boy's shoulders and most of his head.  Nick bit his lower lip and set the mugs on the coffee table. He watched the boy for a minute, picked up his cell phone, and dialed.

Author Notes

In the first part of this chapter, Nick Fowler opens the front door of his condo to find one of his students, Carter Gibbs, standing in the cold. Coatless, the boy is obviously freezing. Although it's too late for the kid to be out, Nick invites him in, trying to figure out what's going on. And now you're all caught up! :) Thanks much for reading. Blessings!

The microwave dinged and Nick started. He glanced guiltily over his shoulder for Carter and put the book back in the drawer. He hastily poured the contents of the packets into the cups, stirred, and added a handful of marshmallows to each. He ate the few that fell onto the impeccable countertop. He worried that the boy would be gone when he got back to the living room, although he hadn't heard the front door, and it would be hard for the boy to sneak out without being heard. He grabbed the small first aid kit he kept in the kitchen cabinet, tucked it under his arm, picked up the mugs, and headed for the living room.

He stopped in the doorway. Carter was slouched onto the overstuffed arm of the leather couch, head pillowed in the crook of his elbow, snoring softly. The stadium blanket still covered the boy's shoulders and most of his head. Nick bit his lower lip and set the mugs on the coffee table. He watched the boy for a minute, picked up his cell phone, and dialed.




Through the receiver, he heard a phone in a nearby condo bang against the bedside table as it was clumsily answered. "What?" a sleep-filled voice demanded.

"Hey, Jonathon, this is Nick. I didn't wake you, did I?" Nick glanced at his watch, certain that he had done just that.

"Nick who?" the groggy voice asked.

"Nick Fowler! Your neighbor! Boyhood buddy, college roommate, best man at your wedding...All that?" Nick figured he'd better pull 'all that' up in Jonathon's brain before he made his request.

"This isn't the hospital?"

"The hospital? No, man! It's me! I need a favor."

"Then the building better be on fire." Jonathon was beginning to wake up.

Nick raised his eyebrows. "Would it make you happy if the building was on fire? Jonathon, that's a side of you I never--"

"Something important better start coming out of your mouth, Nick, or I will surgically remove your tongue."

Nick made a face at that thought. "I need a favor," he repeated.

"No favors between dusk and dawn." Jonathon yawned. "Take two aspirin and talk to me tomorrow."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Nick urged hurriedly, trying to interrupt the click he expected to hear at any moment. "I need you to come and check out this kid. He showed up at my door a few minutes ago, he's all beat up and I need somebody to tell me how bad. It looks pretty bad to me, Jonathon, and I really need your help..." Nick listened to a long moment of silence and wondered if Jonathon had fallen back asleep. "Hello? Jonathon?"

"That's what emergency rooms are for, Nick." Jonathon sighed tiredly and cleared his throat.

"Well, he won't go." Nick smiled. Jonathon sounded awake now. He'd argue the point, but in the end, he'd show up, grumbling about the time. "I just want to make sure he's not going to die of an aneurysm or something before morning. He's in my living room, on my couch. Do you know how that'd look on my teaching record? I'd probably lose my job, have to move in with you and--"

"Nicholas! I'm in my warm condo, in my warm bed with my beautiful, warm wife. It's cold outside. I hate to get cold in the middle of the night. It is the middle of the night, isn't it?" Jonathon sighed again. "Send him home. That's where he belongs, anyway."

"Good idea. I actually thought of that all by myself. I can't do that yet, either. Jonathon, this is a really good kid. He makes good grades, asks all the right questions, he has a good attitude, which is a miracle in itself where I teach...He's the kind of kid that I want to help...if he needs help. And he obviously does, because he came here."

It had taken a few minutes for his brain to rise out of the mush of sleep, but now he knew exactly who the boy was. Carter had been put into his advanced class because of incredible test scores in his freshman year. Although he was two years younger than most of his classmates he'd quickly proven his place among the older students and become one of Nick's favorites. His writing assignments showed thought and insight. His enthusiasm was a refreshing change.

"You'll just call back if I hang up, won't you."

"Yeah. Every 30 seconds until you come over." Nick hadn't planned on it, but it sounded like a good idea. He'd have to remember to thank Jonathon for suggesting it.

Another heavy sigh. "I'll be there in five," Jonathon gave in. "Don't call back. Dianne's still asleep. And tell your kid not to die before I get there."

Fowler watched the boy sleep while he waited. He wasn't really afraid of Carter dying in his living room. But Nick knew enough to know that head wounds could be tricky, and he wanted someone else to help him decide if the boy was badly injured or not. Jonathon was the logical choice for that job, and he owed Fowler about a thousand favors. And it would work to his advantage that he'd found a way to get a doctor to come on a house call if Carter's parents tried to make trouble about this visit.

He yawned and wondered what had really happened -- If it was simply a shoving match or if the kid had reasons to be afraid of going home.

If any of this was real. He still felt like he was in the middle of some Twilight Zone-style dream.
 

Author Notes

Thanks for reading! :) Blessings, Deb

Chapter 4
Chapter 2 - part 1

By DeboraDyess

There was a single, sharp rap on the door and Nick opened it immediately.
  
Jonathon glared at him from the threshold. He'd flung a heavy jacket over his pajamas, a striped, loose-fitting flannel shirt, and matching pants. His house slippers looked like something he'd permanently borrowed from the hospital surgical area. He held his black doctor bag in one hand and an enormous cup of steaming coffee in the other. "So, my boyhood buddy, where is this half-dead kid of yours?" Jonathon's deep, sarcastic voice held no hint of humor.

Nick motioned toward the living room. "Sleeping."

"You let him go to sleep?" Jonathon snapped quietly. He shook his head, fuming, but took a second to sip the hot liquid before continuing. "You... You're worried about a head injury and you let him go to sleep? Don't you ever watch reruns of ER on that boob tube of yours?"

Nick glanced at the TV. "Um... Jonathon, ER was canceled when we were kids. In fact, I think the reruns of ER were canceled when we were kids. There are a lot of doctor shows. Maybe you ought to stay more up-to-date."

That earned him a glance so full of unspoken warnings that he cringed. For half a second he worried that Jonathon might turn and walk right back out the door but he followed Nick to the living room, anyway, muttering, as Nick knew he would, about the time and the inconvenience and something inappropriate and unrepeatable about boyhood buddies and favors.

His manner changed as they neared the chair. The muttering stopped and he took on an attitude that transformed him from Jonathon, the basketball playing, rhythm and blues-loving old friend into an efficient medical professional. He knelt beside the chair, studying the boy before he woke him.

"Wow," Nick whispered, "you're like, a real doctor."

Jonathon glanced scornfully over his shoulder. "That's what that little white paper on my bathroom wall says."

Nick cocked his eyebrows. "You keep your medical license on your bathroom wall?" He knew for a fact that was not where Jonathon kept it, but he played along.

"I had a patient once tell me that's where it belonged." He shrugged and yawned and turned back to Carter. "I don't think any of this is too bad, Nick. I can't do much about the place on his lip; it's too close to his mouth for stitches. He's pretty beat up, but I don't think he's in any danger of an aneurysm, Dr. Fowler." Jonathon's voice oozed sarcasm. "I imagine he has a mild concussion, maybe. And his hand is pretty swollen; I'll want to check that.

Nick had totally missed the swollen hand. He was glad Jonathon had decided to come.

"What's his name?"

"Carter."

"First name, Nick."

"That is his first name. I may not be a fancy emergency room doctor, but I--"

Jonathon touched the boy to wake him. "Hey there, Carter."

Carter jerked awake, eyes suddenly wide, fists raised to protect his face. He kicked outward with one leg and caught Jonathon on the side with his knee. Jonathon fell sideways as Carter came to a sitting position, ready to fight. He flailed into the air with his blanket-covered fist and shook his hand, dropping the cover to the couch as he looked for a target.

Nick stepped forward, steadied Jonathon with one hand, and reached for the wild boy with his other. "Hey!" he shouted. "Carter!! Cut it out!"

Carter looked frantically around him, not yet fully awake. He focused on Nick, shook his head slightly, and squeezed his eyes shut for a minute.

"It's okay, Carter. You fell asleep in the living room. I went to make chocolate, remember?"

Carter looked at Nick and then blinked at the stranger kneeling in front of him.

Fowler touched Jonathon on the shoulder. "This is Jonathon," he supplied. "I asked him to come and take a look at you."

"Why?" Carter sounded breathless.

"I'm a doctor who has the misfortune of being both Nick's friend and in his debt," Jonathon told the boy. He looked in Nick's direction. "Until now."

Carter shot a look of pure anger at Nick. "You promised! You said no doctors!" He spat the words at his teacher, his tone matching his expression. "You promised!"

Fowler shook his head. "No. I said no hospitals. I didn't say anything about doctors."

The boy moved his jaw slightly to the left and clenched his teeth. A spasm flickered through the muscle beneath his right eye and he glowered at his teacher for a minute before he looked away.

Jonathon glanced squarely at his friend. "For starters," he said dryly, "he won't die on your couch."

A slight grin played across Nick's mouth and he nodded. "I didn't really think so, but it's good to have an expert opinion."

"Wait until you get my bill." Jonathon returned his attention to his unwilling patient. "Can you tell me what happened to you, Carter?" He pulled a pin light out of his bag and began to check the boy's pupils.

"Just...bad timing," Carter murmured. "I was out walking around and some guys decided to use me as a piñata."

"A piñata, huh?" Jonathon raised one eyebrow. His voice was light and calm and he smiled slightly. "Colorful description, but it doesn't sound like much fun for you." He began to check the bruise around Carter's eye. The boy winced as he examined it. "Sorry about that," Jonathon said softly. "Did you lose consciousness when they did this?"

"Maybe. For a minute. And then I was kind of..."

Jonathon waited for Carter to find the right word and then prompted, "Kind of what?"

Carter tried to think of how to explain what had happened. "I was awake but I was like...I couldn't move, I couldn't think...I just lay there."

Jonathon nodded, making a mental list. "How long did that last?"  

"For a couple of minutes, I guess." Carter looked uncomfortably from Jonathon to Nick and then to the floor.

"Did they kick or beat you while you were down?"

"No." The boy's answer was almost too quiet to hear, even in the stillness of the room.

Jonathon looked up at Nick, who shrugged.

"That was lucky," Jonathon pressed. "Seems that guys like that, just out looking for trouble, would take advantage of you going down."

Carter didn't answer.

"Tell you what...lay down here and let me take a look at your chest and belly, just in case."

Carter looked up and shook his head. Fear shot across his thin face and disappeared, replaced by the same bland look the boy maintained since his short flair of anger. "I said it doesn't hurt. It's okay."

Jonathon studied the boy's face for a minute. "Listen, Carter. I'm doing this to help Nick out but that doesn't mean I'm going to leave it half-done. This is not a choice; it's part of the exam. Or I can go home, which is what I really want to do, and Nick can take you into the ER or call the cops or whatever he really wants to do. And I can guarantee you that the doctor at the hospital will do the same stuff I'm doing here, except that he'll follow procedure."

Carter sat still, face expressionless. He looked from Jonathon to Nick. After a minute he silently lay down on the couch.


"Try to relax." Jonathon lifted Carter's shirt and gently felt along the boy's ribs and abdomen. "Let me know if any of this is tender, okay?"

The boy didn't answer. He bit his lower lip, eyes squeezed tight, face pale.  

"Does this hurt?" Jonathon frowned as he watched the boy's face, trying to read his expression.

"No." Barely a whisper.

"So, what did these guys look like?" The question was asked conversationally, in an effort to ease the tension of the moment.

"I don't know. It was dark."

"Where were you when they attacked you?"

"Are you a doctor or a cop?" Carter asked. His voice was hard, angry again.

"I'm just a doctor, man, trying to figure out what happened to a patient. I can get done a little quicker and a little more efficiently with some information."

Carter glowered, considering Jonathon's words, looking hard into his face. He looked away. "I'm not sure where I was," he said after a pause. "I kind of lost track of stuff after that."

"And yet you managed to end up here, huh? Your angel was watching over you, my friend." Jonathon looked at Nick and quickly shook his head.

Nick already knew it was a lie. He frowned.

Author Notes

My apologies for not getting this up on Saturday as planned. But thank you for reading! :) Have a great week, Blessings! Deb

Chapter 5
Chapter 2 - part 2

By DeboraDyess

Carter glowered, considering Jonathon's words, looking hard into his face. He looked away. "I'm not sure where I was," he said after a pause. "I kind of lost track of stuff after that."
"And yet you managed to end up here, huh? Your angel was watching over you, my friend." Jonathon looked at Nick and quickly shook his head.
Nick already knew it was a lie. His eyes narrowed as he studied the boy, frowning.



"Okay, then," Jonathon said. "We're done. You can sit up now."

The boy did so, pulling the sweatshirt down to cover his exposed belly, keeping his hands against it as if to hold it there.

"You're lucky to have such a thick skull." Jonathon kept his eyes on the boy's face. "You got a pretty good smack, but I think you're okay. You're going to have the shiner of the century. There may be an orbital fracture -- that boney part around your eye -- but if you won't go in for an x-ray, I can't know that for sure. And, since I'd tell you just about the same thing whether it is or isn't, I guess whether it's actually fractured is academic. Belly feels all right." Jonathon lifted Carter's left hand in his, looking carefully at the swollen wrist. He began to move the hand gently back and forth.   

The boy gasped and raised his right hand to stop the exam.

"Hurt?"

Carter nodded, lips tight and pale.

"Rate your pain on a scale of one to ten." 

"Eight. Maybe nine, now." 

"Did you fight back?"

"Well, yeah." Carter looked at Jonathon. The pale blue of his eyes, always a shock in his olive complexion, stood out like sky breaking through thunderclouds. "I think I got one of them pretty good."

"That's how you hurt your wrist, right?"

"Yeah..." The boy's voice trailed off and he studied Jonathon's face.

Nick had seen the expression before in the faces of other students a dozen times a week. He was trying to see if he'd stumbled onto the right answer.

"I can't tell if there's a break in there without an x-ray," Jonathon said finally. He was looking at Carter but Nick knew he was talking to him. "It's like your orbit. It could be a hairline fracture, or it could be just really severe bruising. I'm not sure an x-ray would tell us anything right now; there's too much swelling to get a good shot."

Carter considered the two adults for a minute. "You'd splint it, either way, right?"

Jonathon nodded.

"Then I'll stop into a drug store on the way home and buy a splint."

Jonathon arched one eyebrow but didn't argue. After a pause, he said, "I'll write you a script for some antibiotics, just in case the lip decides to give us a problem. Ice the eye and keep your head elevated to keep the swelling down. Same with the wrist. Follow up with your regular doctor in the morning. Use ibuprofen for pain and feel free to call me if it gets too bad before you can get in. Or, on second thought, you can call me." He pointed at Carter. "You," he turned to Nick, "don't ever call me again. Ever." Jonathon stood and stretched, yawning loudly. "Well, it seems my work here is done, boyhood buddy. I'm going to go back to my warm bed and my beautiful wife for the next..." Jonathon looked at his watch, "three hours until the alarm goes off."

Nick walked his friend to the door. "Thanks again, man."
"I'd say anytime, but you'd probably take me literally." Jonathon lowered his voice. "Find out what really happened to him for me. His story wouldn't have flown at the hospital. That's probably why he didn't want to go. I'm not too crazy about house calls and I hate being used as a lie detector but here it is; that wrist injury is inconsistent with taking a swing at someone. He's covering for somebody. I have a feeling I should call Child Protective on this one. You find out and you take care of it. It's your mess, buddy."

Author Notes

When a student shows up at Nick Fowler's door after midnight, the teacher is faced with a difficult choice - send the boy back into a cold, November night or allow him into the condo. He ushers the injured boy in but calls on a friend, an emergency room doctor, to come to check the kid out and make sure his injuries aren't too bad. As Jonathon questions Carter, both men realize his answers are fabricated and that he's protecting his abuser. Thank you for reading, Blessings, D

Chapter 6
Chapter 2 - part 3

By DeboraDyess

"I'd say anytime, but you'd probably take me literally." Jonathon lowered his voice. "Find out what really happened to him for me. His story wouldn't have flown at the hospital. That's probably why he didn't want to go. I'm not too crazy about house calls and I hate being used as a lie detector but here it is; that wrist injury is inconsistent with taking a swing at someone, which means he's covering for somebody. I have a feeling I should call Child Protective on this one. You find out and you take care of it. It's your mess ...buddy."

Nick closed the door and turned back to Carter. The boy stared back, uncertainty making his face gaunt. "Need something for pain?" Nick asked.

Carter shook his head. "I'm fine," he said shortly.

"Well, then, let's get some blankets, a pillow, and bed you down for the night."

Carter frowned and seemed hesitant. He looked behind Fowler, at the closed door and Nick had the strangest feeling that the boy felt trapped. Carter stood up, the uninjured hand moving nervously at his side. "I don't want to be any trouble, Mr. Fowler. I've been too much already. I probably ought to go home, anyway."

Fowler began shaking his head before the boy finished his sentence. "I'm not letting you walk, Carter. We already know the streets aren't the safest place to be tonight. The buses aren't running this late, and I dropped my car off at the shop on the way home."

Carter's frown deepened.

Nick motioned toward the cordless phone on the mahogany coffee table beside him. "Drink your hot chocolate and call your folks. Tell them that you're okay. Jonathon's supposed to take me to the garage tomorrow and I'll take you home then ... if Jonathon's still talking to me tomorrow."

"It, um...it's too late to call. They both have to work tomorrow and I'll really be in trouble if I wake him up. Anyway, they'll just figure I'm sleeping at Martin's house again if I don't show up. It wouldn't be the first time we had a fight and I ended up there. In fact, it'll be the first time I didn't end up there."

Nick had no idea who Martin was -- he didn't know him from school -- but he shrugged. "You know your folks." Fowler was so tired that his mind seemed to be jumping through hoops just to keep him on his feet. He knew he needed to argue the point, to force the boy to call home, but he didn't seem to have the cognitive ability to make sense of it. He started to the hallway closet after the blankets. "Pillows are in my bedroom. Get one and I'll be back with the bedding in a minute."

"Mr. Fowler?" Carter's voice floated down the hall toward Nick, more anxious than Nick had ever heard any kid's voice before. "You're not..." He shifted uncomfortably. "You're not going to ... mess with me or anything, right?"

"Only your brain," Nick answered. He turned, smiling as he spoke and understood the full impact of the question only when he saw Carter's pale face. His lower lip trembled and he took a quick breath, trying, it appeared, to make it stop. The boy looked as if jumping through the picture window behind him was not out of the question if Nick answered the wrong way. When he realized that Carter was afraid of him Nick almost fell backward in shock. His mouth opened but for a minute no words would come out. "No!" he exclaimed, and repeated, "No! Did someone do that to you, Carter? Did someone ... hurt you ... like that?"Every training he'd had on dealing with this jumbled in his mind, refusing to fall into a logical order. He couldn't even think of the right way to ask the question.

"No," the boy whispered.

"Your step-father?"

"No." The boy's answer was low and solid and he looked directly into Nick's eyes. "He's never tried anything like that. He hasn't even hit me in a long time. Years."

Nick met his gaze and decided Carter was telling him the truth. "What made you ask me that?"

Carter shifted again and glanced at the door. "People just aren't nice to each other for nothing. There's always something in it for them...some kind of catch. I just want to know what it is upfront, that's all."


"Carter, if you didn't trust me why did you come here in the first place?"

"There wasn't anywhere else..." The boy's voice, barely audible, sounded tortured and defeated.
 
Nick stared at Carter for a minute, trying to weigh what he wanted to say. Surprise made it difficult to create an intelligent sentence. "No strings -- nothing in it for me. If you want to stay, you stay. If you think you'd be better off at home, I'll see if I can get a cab, and we'll try to get you there Your choice. It's that simple." It surprised him that he hadn't thought of a cab before and the idea jumped in front of him now, so obvious that he felt a little stupid and more sleep deprived than he'd realized.

Carter studied him like one would study a new species of spider, looking for any hint of what he might be about. Nick looked back steadily. After a minute Carter nodded, almost to himself. "Pillows are where?"

Nick gestured toward his bedroom door. "In there," he said. "Get whichever one you'd like." He grabbed a blanket off the shelf in the closet and stopped. "No, wait. Carter," he said. "You sleep in the bedroom. You can lock the door that way. I usually fall asleep out here on weekends anyway. You might as well sleep where maybe you'll feel safe."

"For real?" Carter sounded like the little boy Fowler figured he hadn't been in too many years.

Nick nodded. "For real."

"Thanks, Mr. Fowler." Carter studied his feet again, braving a glance up only when his teacher didn't respond.

Nick walked back up the short hall, blanket in hand, picked up his chocolate and went to the couch. "Pitch me a pillow, will you?"

Carter disappeared into the bedroom and returned a second later. He threw the pillow to his teacher. "I'm sorry, Mr. Fowler. I didn't mean to accuse you of anything, and I don't really think you'd do anything like that."

Nick took a long drink of the now-cool cocoa.

Carter looked away. "It's just how it is."

"Not always, Carter. Not here." Nick retrieved the remote and turned the television back on. The doctors from ER raced about their fictional hospital in organized chaos. "Well, I'll be darned," Nick mused. "Look at that." He switched to Netflix, searched for something that might lull him to sleep and settled back on the couch. "Goodnight, Carter," he said quietly as the boy closed and locked the bedroom door.

Author Notes

Ah, this poor, neglected novel! Story to date: Carter Gibbs, a student of Nick Fowler, shows up at his teacher's condo lte one Friday night. It's clear he's scared, injured and looking for help. Against his better judgement, Nick invites him in. As the boy dozes on the couch, Fowler calls a friend, an ER doctor, to come check out the boy's injuries. Furious, Carter finally relents to the impromptu exam. The doctor finds some scrapes, a spiral fracture in Carter's wrist and what appears to be a broken orbit.

Chapter 7
Chapter 2- part 4

By DeboraDyess

Nick began to nod off again almost as soon as he leaned into the soft back of the recliner. He felt the mug of chocolate slip as his hand relaxed and pulled himself awake just as the phone rang.

He glanced at the caller ID before he answered. "Don't start this, Jonathon," he said as soon as he pushed the talk button.

"Well," a feminine voice said, "I guess I can assume he's not still there, then."

Nick cringed. "Dianne, did I wake you up?"

Dianne yawned. "I always wake up when someone calls for him in the middle of the night. He doesn't know, and I pretend to sleep because it worries him when the phone disturbs me. But, honestly, Nicky," Dianne yawned again, "he's got the phone set so loud to make sure he'll wake up to it that I'm surprised it doesn't wake you."

Nick smiled and returned the yawn. His condo was across the complex from Jonathon and Dianne, but he'd been at their place when the phone rang in the past. "Kind of shakes you to the core, doesn't it."

"Like an earthquake whose epicenter is by your bed."

Nick laughed.

"So, you're okay, then?"

"Oh, yeah." Nick took a sip of the now lukewarm chocolate. "A student of mine got into a fight with someone and I needed Jonathon to make sure he's okay. And he is. Your hubby gave him a clean bill of health. Well, a cleanish bill of health, I guess."

"And you sent him on his way, right?"

"Not this late at night..." Nick shifted slightly and took another sip of the drink, thinking that he should go reheat it. Should, he thought, but laziness dictated that the drink stay cold.

"This late at night is exactly why you should send him home. You know this violates school policy. Your district couldn't be that different from mine, and my superintendent would take my head off if I let a kid stay overnight here. Besides the district, there are all kinds of legal implications. He's a minor, right? Do you really want to get involved in the--"

"I'm getting you back for this, Nick!" Jonathon, obviously just stepping into the room, yelled into the phone.

"â?"things that could happen because of this? You know you could get in a ton of trouble."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. But, Di, I'm not sending him out in the cold to make his way home the best he can. It's all the way across town."

"That sounds really generous, Nick, but--

"This is the right thing, sweetheart. Generosity doesn't have anything to do with it. And if I lose my job then I just do."

Dianne sighed heavily in frustration. "Losing your job isn't the worst thing that could happen to you."

"He isn't going to accuse me of anything."

"You don't know that."

Nick thought back to the look on Carter's face during the brief exchange before the boy disappeared into the bedroom. "I do know that."

"You and a thousand other people. They say things like, 'Not my son...not my neighbor...not my babysitter...not my student. Nobody ever thinks it's going to happen to them. That's precisely why it does."

"You're right, but you're wrong, too."

"Nick--"

"Dianne, aren't you the one that always tells me to follow my heart?"

"You never listen to me, so don't--"

"I always listen to you, sweetheart. If I hadn't followed my heart you would never have met Jonathon. I would have thought, 'no, they'll never hit it off,' and left you at the University of Colorado instead of taking you home to Houston to meet my bud."

"Apples and oranges, Nick." She said something with the mouthpiece covered, obviously to Jonathon.

Nick took a sip of chocolate, made a face and set the mug on the coffee table. When Dianne came back on the line he said, "I know you've got to go take care of J, so I'll tell you what. If I'm wrong you have my permission to tell me so every day for the rest of your life."

"I'm not planning on visiting you in prison every day for the rest of my life."

"But you do have my permission. And I expect letters -- lots and lots of letters."

Dianne sighed. "Just think it through, okay?"

"I aeady have."He listened to the deep sigh he knew she'd intentionally made into the mouthpiece and could imagine the shrug of her thin shoulders.

"Well, I guess it's goodnight."

"Yup, guess so. See you tomorrow." Nick hung up the phone and set it beside the mug, lost in thought. He stared at the TV, not watching, barely aware of its light and sound.

 

Author Notes

Thank you for reading! I'm trying to be more consistent... (And I can hear you saying, That's not too hard, really...' HA!) Story to date: When Carter Gibbs shows up at his teacher's home late one Friday night, he is obviously frightened and injured. Nick Fowler (teacher) allows him inside and tries to talk the boy into calling home. Carter refuses, stating that he and his step-father had argued earlier in the night and he'd be in more trouble if he woke the man and his mother with a phone call. He dozes off as Nick prepares their hot chocolate. Nick calls his best friend, Jonathon, who is an ER doctor. Jonathon VERY grudgingly agrees to come to check Carter's injuries. When pressed for an explanation of the injuries, Carter explains that he ran into some trouble on the street after he left his home that night. Since there is nothing to do for either of the main injuries except sling and pain reliever, Jonathon leaves but warns Nick that the boy is lying about how he was injured. Carter is skittish and nervous about staying the night and asks Nick if he's going to 'mess with him. Nick understands immediately that someone has either severely abused or molested the boy, although Carter denies it. Nick allows him to sleep in the one bedroom in the condo since that door locks.

Chapter 8
Chapter 3 - part 1

By DeboraDyess

The next morning...In previous chapters: Carter Gibbs, a student at Lincoln High, showed up at teacher Nick Fowler's condo late on Friday night, slightly injured. The boy explains away the black eye and cut lip as the result of a shoving match on the street. He claims to have argued with his step-father, expresses concern about going home, and ends up staying the night at Fowler's. Nick calls a friend, Jonathon (ER doctor) to check the boy for a more serious injury. Jonathon discovers a spiral fracture to Carter's right wrist and cracked orbit. As he leaves the condo, he warns Nick about the folly of allowing the boy to stay the night. Acknowledging the danger, Nick decides to ignore him.
Carter appears to be half-scared to death and asks Nick if he's going to hurt him. The teacher, shocked, realizes the boy has been abused and gives him the bedroom, where he can lock himself in and maybe feel safe for at least one night.
The bedroom door squeaked slightly as Carter cracked it open and peered into the living room. Mr. Fowler was nowhere to be seen. His blankets and pillow lay tumbled on the couch, a testament to his sleep, or lack of sleep, judging from the crumpled bedding. Carter looked around in the light of morning, uncertain of what to do next.

"Kitchen," Mr. Fowler's voice boomed from somewhere across the living room.

Carter walked slowly, wondering what possessed him to come here. The majority of the night was a blur now. He could remember most of what he'd told his teacher, but not all. And he had to remember if he was going to keep Mr. Fowler believing the story he'd concocted. Coming here had been an insanely bad idea, he thought. It had been suicide.

He considered leaving quietly, just slipping out the front door, but decided that would really make Mr. Fowler suspicious if he wasn't already. He'd bluffed himself into a corner, he realized, and would have to play it out to the end.

Across the main room, an arched entryway led him into the kitchen. Carter took a closer look as he walked. The condo had impressed him the night before as incredibly nice for someone teaching at a school like Lincoln. It impressed him more this morning. Most of the furniture looked barely used, expensive and elegant. The only exception was an older recliner, obviously his teacher's first choice of places to relax. All of the electronics were top of the line, and Mr. Fowler seemed to have the newest of everything. Carter wondered briefly if teachers got extra pay for working in bottom of the barrel districts. It didn't seem likely.



"Coffee's on the table if you drink it," Nick said as Carter stepped into the room. He was busy whisking a bowlful of eggs and poured them into a hot skillet as he spoke, his back still to the boy. The eggs hissed against the heat of the pan, the smell mixing with the scent of black coffee.

Carter watched Mr. Fowler's back, his caution fading in the bright kitchen. "So is there a Mrs. Fowler?" he asked after a minute.

"Nope."

"There's a wedding picture beside your bed, so I guess, like, there was a Mrs. Fowler. You leave her or she leave you?"

Fowler was quiet and Carter wondered if he was going to answer at all. "She left me."

Carter grinned wickedly, apprehension gone. Mr. Fowler had always been completely in charge in the classroom. It was weird to think of him with a whole separate life, especially one where he didn't have control. "Doesn't sound like you're very happy about it," he pressed.

Nick continued to stir the eggs around in the hot skillet. "I'm not."

"Well, you never know." Carter leaned against the doorpost, enjoying the moment. "People change. Maybe one day she'll--"

"She died, Carter."

Carter felt his mouth fall open, exhaled sharply, and stared at the back of his teacher's head. "I'm...sorry, Mr. Fowler. That was totally stupid." He waited for his teacher to turn, to get angry and yell or take a swing at him, but he didn't. After a minute Carter asked, "Do you want me to go?"

"It's breakfast time, Carter," Fowler answered calmly. "I want you to sit down and eat."

Carter sat quietly. He kept an eye on his teacher, frowning slightly as he picked up a mug of coffee. He added a liberal amount of sugar, stirred, and drank slowly.



He glanced down, still quiet, mulling over his stupid comment. The table was covered with a plastic grocery store bag full of fruit, one jug each of milk and orange juice, and two glasses. Two empty, unmatched plates set on the only chairs. A wrist brace and a bottle of generic pain killer lay to the side of one.

"How'd you sleep?" Mr. Fowler asked as Carter examined the collection on the table.

"Pretty good," Carter lied. If he was going to be anything close to honest with his teacher, he'd tell him he'd slept very little and regretted his decision to skip the pain medicine almost as soon as he lay down. The best he'd managed was a fitful doze. His wrist and eye throbbed most of the night and felt no better this morning.

But he had no intention of being honest. He couldn't take that chance.

"Medicine's by the splint," Fowler said as he turned and viewed his student for the first time that day. "You look a little ragged this morning, so I want you to go ahead and take some right now." He paused, not sure his authority extended to this particular situation. "I started to get the prescription Jonathon wrote but I didn't know about insurance or allergies. The pharmacist felt like it would be a good idea to let your mom take care of that."



Carter gave his teacher a faint half-smile and nodded. He picked up the bottle and struggled with the child lock for a minute before Nick motioned for him to hand it over. "That's fine," he said. "We'll get it later."


"I should have just picked it up."



"No, Mr. Fowler. It's not your job to, like, take care of me."



"Actually," Nick opened the container and poured two tablets into Carter's hand, "that's exactly my job. Do you know how the brace works? The directions are on the back."

"Where'd you get it?"

Fowler shrugged. "I got it on my jog this morning. I go right past the store anyway so I figured I just as well go ahead and get it while I was out."

"Thanks." Carter felt equally grateful and uncomfortable under Mr. Fowler's intense gaze. He wondered if he'd figured out the truth and tried to remember that Mr. Fowler always looked pretty serious and tried to relax.

"Call your mom and then let's eat," Nick suddenly directed. "Phone's there."

Carter picked up the cordless that lay beside the Mr. Coffee, turned it on, and dialed his fall-back number for weekend drama - the number to the school. It rang hollowly and the boy could imagine its sound echoing in the empty offices. After six rings the answering machine picked up. Carter spoke over it. "Hey, Mom, it's me." He paused for effect. "Yeah, I'm fine. I slept over." Another pause. Mr. Fowler hadn't deviated his gaze from Carter and the boy shifted. "No, not Martin's. I'm at Mr. Fowler's... Yeah, yeah, my English teacher. How's that for, like, a Saturday morning surprise?" He held the phone against his shoulder with the side of his face and reached for a banana. "Well, it's kind of a long story, Mom...Yeah, I'm okay. I'll tell you about it when I get home." He took a bite and glanced at Mr. Fowler as he chewed. "I don't know...Mr. Fowler says he'll bring me home as soon as, like, he picks his car up from the garage."

"Around three," Fowler supplied.

"Around three," Carter repeated through the banana. He swallowed and frowned, enjoying the fiction he was creating for his teacher. "You sure? Don't you need me home, like, before then?" He sighed and drew his brows together, creating a deep furrow between his eyes. "I thought you didn't have to work today." Shaking his head, he imagined his mother's end of the dialogue, voicing every word in his mind to get the timing right ."You need to quit covering for everybody, Mom. This is, like, the third time this week. They're always taking advantage of you. Didn't you say last night how tired you are?" He hesitated, just enough time for a single word answer. "You know as well as I do that they won't stop asking until you tell them no a couple of times ." Another pause. "I know, Mom. I guess I'll see you tonight, then...Yeah, you too. Bye."

Carter pushed a button to disconnect and lay the phone on the table. "She says thanks and to smack me if I get to be a pain." Then, at the look on Fowler's face, he amended. his story "She doesn't smack me; it's an expression, you know? Anyhow, I don't need to hurry home, so no rush there. There won't be anybody there until late. She and Paul are both working twelves."


Mr. Fowler nodded. "Those are some pretty long shifts." He picked up the wrist brace. "Stick your thumb in there," he ordered, indicating a cut-away space designed for just that purpose. Carter did so, noticing the dark discoloration along his palm, across his wrist, and up the lower part of his arm. "Okay, now we tighten this part...and this one...There. How's that feel?"

Carter shrugged. "Still hurts," he admitted. "But it's okay, I guess."

"Not too tight, is it? I don't want to make anything worse." Nick studied his work for a minute and looked at his student. "Well, I'm sure Dr. J would come over and check it out but he'd probably charge me another million dollars." He smiled at Carter.

Carter looked away uneasily. "I'm sorry about that, Mr. Fowler. I'll pay you back for last night and, like, for the brace, too, as soon as--"

"Forget about it. I'm not worried about it. Jonathon and I go way back. We harass each other purely out of habit." Nick rose to stir the scrambled eggs. "Unless, of course, you actually have the million dollars, you know...just lying around, collecting dust..."

Carter smiled, patting his empty blue jean pockets, and shook his head. To emphasize the point he pulled his left pocket out to show its vacant state.
 

Author Notes

Characters: Carter Gibbs - a student at Lincoln high. A bright, intense young man, very little is known about him at this point. Nick Fowler - an English teacher at Lincoln. Jonathon - Nick's best friend, an ER doc, 'boyhood buddy, best man at your wedding' says Nick

Chapter 9
Chapter 3 - part 2 - The Morenin

By DeboraDyess

"Forget about it. Jonathon and I go way back. We harass each other purely out of habit." Nick rose to stir the scrambled eggs. "Unless, of course, you actually have the million dollars, you know...just lying around, collecting dust..."

Carter smiled, patting his empty blue jean pockets, and shook his head. To emphasize the point he pulled his left pocket out to show its vacant state.

"Hmm...that looks like mine when I was your age." Fowler glanced at the pocket lining. "No big deal." He returned to the table, skillet in hand, and dished a generous helping of eggs onto each plate. "Toaster's there," he said, pointing. "Bread's in the breadbox. Help yourself."

They ate quietly at first. After a few minutes Nick said, "Tell me about your folks. I don't remember seeing them at any of the parent/teacher meetings." He glanced up at Carter as he spoke and carefully watched the boy's expression. The concerns of the previous evening seemed far away. He wondered how much of it had been imagined because of the late hour.

Carter hesitated and shrugged. He arched an eyebrow, his face empty. "They work a lot. I, like, hardly ever see Paul. That's my step-dad. He works nights, mostly, and so he's at work while I'm home. He tries too hard to, like, replace my dad, sometimes, but I guess that's not the worst thing that he could do. We just kind of cross paths once in a while, you know? Mom's pretty cool. She stays pretty busy, too, though. They're always calling her in to work when somebody misses their shift. I keep telling her to, like, just tell them 'no' once or twice and they'll quit calling, but she never does. Says the money's too good. And I think she likes her job. She's a waitress, which doesn't sound too exciting to me. But, like, she's always coming home telling stories about some crazy thing somebody did or said, laughing at how nuts people can be."

Nick ate as he listened to Carter's brief monologue. The boy didn't sound like somebody scared to go home. If anything he sounded like he had too much time without his parents around.

"They're, like, just parents, you know?"

Nick nodded, took another bite of his eggs, and nodded again.

Carter looked steadily at his teacher. "I didn't lie to you about what happened last night, Mr. Fowler."

Nick looked up, surprised, slightly embarrassed that the boy caught on to the interrogation. "I never said you did."

"Really?" Carter raised an eyebrow and held his teacher's gaze. "I thought you did." He turned up the corner of his mouth as if to dismiss the idea and began to eat again. "Okay."

Nick watched Carter take a swig of coffee. The boy's stare had thrown him. During that moment he hadn't seemed like a kid at all. They seemed to have somehow traded places for the duration of the boy's forceful gaze. In some way Nick couldn't quite wrap his brain around, Carter had, at least for that moment, taken charge of the conversation.

It took a minute to shake the strange feeling, but when he did he wanted to talk again. "Did you hear the score on the ball game last night?" Fowler asked Carter after a pause.

Carter shook his head, his mouth full.

"Thirty-eight, six," Fowler said. His tone reflected the disgust he felt over the shameful football game.

"Man," Carter breathed, "we got pounded!"

"That we did," Nick agreed.




"Guess we're out of the play-offs."




="I would guess that."

"Yeah, that's why I refused to play, even though the coach practically hit his knees begging me to join the team." Carter lifted another bite of eggs to his mouth, straight-faced.

"Begged you, huh?" Nick raised his eyebrows. Carter was tall, probably close to 6 feet, but he was slender. His build made Fowler think more of track than any contact sport. He smiled at the thought of Carter suiting up with some of the bigger seniors on the team.

"Oh, yeah," Carter insisted. He tried to control a grin, failed, and continued the ridiculous story anyway. "Wrestling, too. I told him I'd only consider it if I, like, got my own dressing room -- one with a star on the door."

"What'd Coach say?"

"He's having it built as we speak."

"And here I thought your only muscle was between your ears."

"Well, you know what they say about looks being deceiving."

The two talked about the high school team, their favorite pro teams, and how they would fix all the ills of the sport if they only had a chance to run things. The conversation shifted to soccer, which Carter enjoyed but Nick did not, and then fishing. Because Carter had little experience with this sport Nick did most of the talking, entertaining his student with memories of fishing with his dad and grandfather.

"So Grandpa jumps up," Nick finished his last tale of adventure, "and his pants fall down around his ankles!"

"No, way!" Carter hooted.

Nick nodded, wiping tears from his eyes as he laughed. "He's shuffling along the side of the dock, big old belly hanging out, bouncing as he moves, pants getting all caught up in his shoes. And this lady -- I promise we'd never seen her before�??�?�¢?"this lady bends over, grabs his pants and jerks them up around his hips. She's scooting along behind him hollering 'Reel it in! Reel it in!' They're doing this bizarre dance up and down the side of the dock and I'm laughing so hard I nearly fall in the water. It was the funniest thing I ever saw! He swore if I ever told Dad or Grandma he'd drown me!"

Carter chuckled. "What'd your dad say?"

"I never told him." Nick took a swig of coffee. "By the time he got back with the bait it was all over!"

"Figures!"

Nick nodded and smiled. "Never did tell him. It became a special secret just between me and grandpa." He smiled, remembering. After a minute he said, "I have some errands to run after I get the car back -- real boring stuff. You know...check on my grandpa, wash the car, pick up some junk at the store...stuff like that. You want to go?"

"Yeah! It'd be great to meet your grandpa!"

Author Notes

The fishing story is true! It happened to my husband's grandfather. I've made it possible to read all parts of this book with compensation so that you can get caught up if you're interested in doing so. l :) Blessings and many thanks, Deb

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