Page 11 of Pete and His Precious

“Lucky for you, she said you can drop her off at school, make sure her daughter gets past the metal detectors, and then, you don’t have any responsibilities until you have to pick her up afterschool. You’ll stay with her through the evening, make sure the house is locked up tight for the night and the alarm set, and then you’re off duty until the next morning at 6 AM. I think her bedtime is 9 o’clock. Basically while she’s sleeping you’re off duty. While she’s at school you’re off duty, but weekends, you’re on duty all day, and any days that she doesn’t have school, she’s yours.”

“It’s a girl?” I say, even though he’s obviously been talking about a girl this entire time. I guess I just can’t wrap my head around the fact that I’m going to be in charge of some kid for a month. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I know the kids are necessary for the furtherment of the human race, and I’m all in for that. But come on, I don’t have children. And maybe there’s a reason for that.

First of all, God hasn’t seen fit to bring any woman into my life that is willing to have children with me, and the longer I live, the more I think that’s probably a good thing. I’m not cut out to be a dad, and I’m not cut out to... Babysit.

“Yes. It’s a girl.”

“Listen. I’d really love to help you out, but you need to find someone else —”

“She asked for you. She’s getting you. You’re working one more week for the force, then your unpaid leave kicks in.”

There is no room for argument in the chief’s voice.

I clamp my lips closed, but inside I have at least seven thousand arguments, and ideas of things that I can do, but none of them are feasible. I’m not going to go against my authority. That was drummed into me from an early age, and the three years I spent in the military solidified that in a cement coffin.

I’m not going to leave my home town either. And, there is no job that I could do here that would pay me what I’m making on the force. The fact that I will make double to babysit a girl does not make the job the slightest bit more tempting, but I do haveto pay my rent, and I have to eat. And... Aunt Arley depends on me to supplement her meager farm earnings, and I can’t let her down.

I remember the promise I made and chuckle. I never thought I’d appreciate it. “I already promised I’d work the festival.” I am not going to tell him that by “work” I mean paint faces.

“I’ll see if she’ll let you off for that one day.” The chief makes a concession, and I know that’s all I’m going to get.

“I’ll see you in the morning. I’ll give you the details. I expect you to rise to the challenge, no matter how hard you think it’s going to be.”

“Yes sir,” I say, and we hang up.

I need to attend to the mess on the counter, although I am no longer hungry. But I stand there, my hands on the table, my head hanging down. This was not the way I expected my evening to go. I thought my day was bad, it was nothing compared to this.

I look at my chair in the living room, which I can just barely see as I turn my head. I want to go back and sit down, but I bet that she’s no longer talking. Her voice would soothe me, help push all of this away, but that’s not an option either. I do have her phone number now, and I could probably text her and ask her if she could read something, anything, a chemistry book, just something that would allow me to hear her voice.

But no. I’m not going to take advantage of having her phone number. Although I am looking forward to seeing her on Friday night. I...think I might be pleasantly surprised. While there’s a chance that things won’t go the way I think, surely the Lord wouldn’t be so cruel as to saddle me with a kid, and then make my neighbor a fifty-year-old grandmother.

Chapter 5

Pete

So I got all the information about the kid I’m supposed to be babysitting today. I also saw the numbers, and the chief wasn’t joking when he said that she was making a substantial donation. A seven-figure donation. One that’s more than three times the amount of our annual budget.

Of course he wasn’t going to say no to that, and I feel like I’m not doing my duty if I don’t do the little bit that’s required of me in order for the station to get such a windfall. I think about what we could do with more than one million dollars and honestly, my mouth starts to water.

Currently, while I’m still thinking about the girl next door, I’m not going to my Friday night date, I’m going to my Tuesday afternoon drawing class. Now, I’m expecting this woman to be in her fifties, a grandmotherly type who’s making a little extra income on the side teaching dudes like me to draw. Or more likely, most of her clients are like a ten-year-old and I’m going to be the oddball. Still, she has to know that I’m at least a teenager, since I texted her from my phone and was asking about myself. I wasn’t a parent asking for classes for my kid.

Actually, I hadn’t even considered that this might be a little bit awkward. She might be expecting someone young and cute. Instead, she’s going to get me. Well, she’s just going to have to deal with it.

I walk into the library. I’m not unfamiliar with it. I’ve done demonstrations here for groups of kids, and I feel about it the way I feel about school, only less strongly. I’ve done the same thing at the school, given demonstrations, and every time I walk out, I feel like I’ve been set free once again. I don’t ever want to go back and be stuck in there.

The library is a little different. I do have some good memories here, but I was the typical boy who couldn’t stand to sit still, and wiggled and jiggled my way through any kind of story hour, ripping out of the building as soon as I was allowed, and reveling in my freedom.

Actually, I feel bad for the teachers and other people who had to try to contain me when I was a kid. I had more energy than I knew what to do with, and I hated being corralled or contained.

Even though I’m a rule follower now, and even back then I was to some extent, I still prefer to be outside. That’s part of the reason I love my job.

Regardless, my eyes scan around the room, and I try to figure out who is my instructor. She specifically said she’d be at a table in the corner, and since our library is small, just one room, there are only four corners. One of them houses the librarian’s desk, and I assume that if she were the librarian, she would have told me.

Plus, the librarian is talking, with a pencil stuck in the bun she has her hair in. Actually, now that I look, it looks like a pencil and a knitting needle. I wonder if she lost one of those. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. She’s not my instructor. Of this I am certain.

I take another look around the room and my eyes catch on a desk in the corner. I see the crayon box. I see a slim woman sitting beside it. She has her head down, and she’s doodling on a piece of paper, a sketchbook beside her.

She looks young, if I go by the frame of her body. But, she glances up, looking around looking for someone, and our eyes meet.

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