Page 33 of Pete and His Precious

Well, I’m going to have to talk to the Lord about this later, because Mrs. Fowels is speaking again.

“She’s the one who is hiring you and paying for you.” She looked around the table. “This is my husband, Barry Fletcher. He’s a lawyer in Mistletoe Meadows. Perhaps you’ve heard of him.”

“I have. Your office is right on Main Street,” I say. Recognizing that his name is different from hers. Did she not take his name? Or is she not his wife?

There are so many reasons why her name might be different, that I quit trying to think about it. Instead I try to remember his name.

“Good to meet you, Pete. I’m glad that you agreed to this. We want our little Baxley to be safe, and I know that you have a reputation for excellence.”

“Thank you, sir,” I say. My eyes go to the only child at the table. Baxley. My heart hurts a little for her, and I know thefeeling that constricts my chest is pity. Pity for this girl who is at this solemn table with all of these adults.

“This is my son, Putman, and step-daughter, Zoe. I know that you and Zoe met last year when Zoe was in the unfortunate accident, and you were in charge of making sure that she was safely taken away before anyone got hurt.”

That was the weirdest way anyone had ever described that day. And it took me a little bit to understand that she was talking about the day I arrested Zoe for indecent exposure.

I suppose that if I were Zoe’s mother, I would want to kind of whitewash that day too.

I wonder if that was part of the reason that Zoe had her shirt off, because she has a step-mother like this.

My parents might not have been the best, but my childhood always had fun and laughter in it. I kind of feel like the little girl sitting at the table might not have a whole lot of fun in her life.

But that’s kind of judging, considering that I am meeting them at a Sunday dinner, which is probably the most formal meal of the week. Perhaps they’re not usually this serious looking.

“We have a seat for you. You can come on in and sit down. We wanted you to sit beside Baxley, so that she can get used to you.”

I see the seat. It’s between the little girl and Zoe.

I wonder if Zoe had anything to do with that. I suppose it is wishful thinking on my part, because I want her to want to sit beside me.

Of course, she probably had nothing to do with it. From the way Mrs. Fowler is acting, she’s used to being in charge of everything. And when I say everything, I’m pretty much talking everything. I know her type.

There is an uncomfortable silence as I walk across the room, my cowboy boots clicking on the hardwood floor.

It feels like every eye in the room is following my movements as I walk over to the seat.

Do I talk to the kid? Do I nod at Zoe? I have no clue of what to do in this situation. I am much more comfortable outside, with my uniform on, keeping the peace.

I’m not really a natural conversationalist, unlike Leo, who seems to know what to say to everybody.

“Hey Baxley,” I say, as I grab a hold of my chair. She’s not really looking at me, but it seems appropriate to at least acknowledge her presence.

My words make her look up, but she just stares at me. Not in a bad way, just an almost deer in the headlights look, where she doesn’t know what to say to me. Trust me, I know the feeling.

“She’s not used to talking to people too much,” her mother says. I think her name was Kylie. I am not usually too good with names, and I was a little bit shocked to see Zoe at the table, so I wasn’t paying as much attention as I could have been.

“I’m not much of a talker either, so I suppose we’ll get along just fine, won’t we, Baxley?” I say, and I think she smiles, at least her lips quiver, and her eyes lose their scared look.

I pull my chair out further, and step in.

“Zoe,” I say, nodding at her. Figuring that I’ll let her take the lead in showing how much we should acknowledge that we know each other.

She blinks, almost as though she likes the way I say her name.

That surprises me a little. I must be reading it wrong. Surely that can’t be what makes her blink and blush, a gentle blush, that doesn’t have her face fire engine red, but it’s just a little pink. She looks cute that way. It goes nicely with the green eyes.

“Pete,” she says. “I’m so glad you could make it today. I didn’t realize yesterday that you were going to be the one guardingBaxley. I knew that they wanted you, but I thought you were happy with the force.”

“Oh we gave the force a pretty sizable donation in order to lure him away, and we’re paying him double what he would have made while he was working there.” Mrs. Faust speaks, and she makes it sound like I’m doing this for the money. I don’t want to argue, because what would I say? I would have said no if I would have had a choice? That’s kind of an insult, a bit of a slap in the face for this family. So I don’t say anything. I guess Zoe can believe what she wants to believe, and maybe I’ll get a chance to explain it. Actually, I’m going to see her tomorrow, and that eases the tightness in my chest. I realize that I really don’t want her thinking the worst of me.

---