Hero Types

Chapter 27

Dave sent a postcard of his four-month-old son, and Kit made Gran throw it away immediately. There was a letter to her with the postcard, and Gran wouldn't throw that away. Kit did it herself.
    Prom was coming up in another month. Bridget casually sat next to her in the library and asked who she was going with. Kit thought that it was more a matter of who she would be taking.
    "I'm not going."
    "You should ask Brad."
That's what this is about. She closed her book. "I don't want to go with Brad."
    "He likes you."
    "Yeah, and he's an asshole."
    She threw her bag over and stood up, and Bridget and the other two girls were staring at her.
    "What did he do to you?"
    "Nothing. Nothing that anyone else hasn't done." She swept the book into her arms. "He thinks he's a god. Sorry, that's...not sexy."
    She placed the book in the cart on her way out.
    Ms. Bernard requested her after class again. Kit hovered by her desk as the class filed out, and then she was handed a report with an A scribbled on the top page.
    "What did I do?"
    "You've improved." She tapped the paper and searched under her desk. "You said you reread To Kill a Mockingbird. I just wanted to know why?"
    "Um..." Kit thumbed through the pages of her report. Ms. Bernard produced her lunch box. "I don't know. I had some free time over vacation."
    "But you still didn't like it?"
    "I thought it was boring," she admitted. "But there were a lot of things I didn't pick up on before."
    "What was your inspiration? For rereading a book you didn't like?"
    "I don't know. I just thought...sometimes things...aren't always what they seem at first, I guess. I wanted to know if I'd missed anything."
    "Hmm." Ms. Bernard opened up her can of soup. "Anyway, it was good. Lots of emotion that I don't think I've seen from you before. Keep it up."
    The kitchen sink broke while she and Gran were fixing dinner that night. Kit was chopping carrots and Gran called her over.
    "Oh no..." Kit fiddled with the faucet, but no water would come out. Gran walked away. A second later she poked her head out of the bathroom.
    "It's just that one."
    "Huh." She had scooped the carrot ends into her hands and she dumped them in the trash. "Hey—I can call somebody."
    Gran stopped by the stove and gave a few stirs to the pot of boiling broth. "Is this somebody who'll need an extra bowl?"
    Mickey said he'd be right over. She didn't tell him exactly what they needed, just that something was broken and she was wondering if he could fix it. She didn't know that he was capable of fixing their sink. She just wanted him to come to dinner.
    She was sitting on the couch and leapt up at the sound of the knock on the door. She skidded across the floor in her stockinged feet and flung it open.
    "Hi."
    "Kitten." He pinched her nose. "Now, I've come all the way up here because you sent out a distress signal, what is it that you need?"
    She pointed. "Our sink's broken."
    He threw up his hands. "I'm not a plumber!"
    She stood there smiling at him, and he finally rolled his eyes and pushed her inside. "Fine, I'll see what I can do."
    They moved the cooking to the other side of the stove to let him get in. Kit knelt down beside him and tried to peek over his shoulder.
    "Do you know what's wrong with it?"
    "I'm getting there," he said, shouldering her to the side. He chuckled and pulled her under. "No, see, there, it's loose, so it disabled water flow. I just need to tighten it." As he spoke, he rotated his arm till a wrench was available, and then he fixed it around the pipe. "High-tech, isn't it?"
    "Kit."
    She hopped up and set the table. A minute later Mickey stood up, replacing his cap on his head, and clapped his hands together. "There you go, should be in working order." He frowned at the table. "You expecting someone?"
    She blinked. He nodded.
    "Right, because it's not enough to say 'Mickey come over for dinner', I need to fix the sink first."
    "Thank you for fixing the sink."
    "Well, I'm bloody here now amen't I." He rolled his eyes and turned on the sink to wash his hands. When he rolled up his sleeves, there was a bruise on his wrist.
    The soup was good. Gran didn't drill Mickey about his plans for the future, his income level, or his current living situation. She never asked why half his body was made of metal. She asked him about his favorite books, which meant there was never an awkward silent moment the entire dinner.
    He helped her clear the table like a gentleman mechanic, and then they stood around awkwardly and he said, "I probably ought to get home."
    "I got this new pair of headphones," Gran mentioned, walking past them, "and an erotic audiobook on tape, and I'm going to be turning the volume up very high." Her door shut. Mickey giggled.
    "Your grandma's awesome."
    She frowned and leaned closer. She set her thumb on the corner of his eye. "Was that there last time?"
    "Ah," he wiped at it, "just a scratch."
    "I don't like you being all alone out there," she said. I want to move in with you after I graduate.
    "I've got Fitz."
    She'd bring it up later. She grabbed his hand. "Do you want to go upstairs?"
    "Oh, I didn't bring my toothbrush."
    She grinned. "Mickey."
    "No, but..." he took his cap off, punched it, and put it back on, grimacing, "I still have work to do, I really do need to get back."
    "Oh. Okay."
    He squeezed her hand and took his coat. She kissed his cheek, and he gave her a nod and slipped out. She kept thinking about him alone under a car, and things going horribly wrong played on a loop in her head. She shook away her worries and went to bed alone.