"Aren't you Stevie's little brother?"
Hearing his brother's name for the first time in years, caught Marty off guard, and he stumbled as he stopped. Turning around, he saw the elderly man who owned the drugstore approaching him. He immediately tensed, knowing this couldn't be good.
"You're Stevie Cappellini's little brother, aren't you?" the man asked again as he reached Marty. He was too close, close enough to grab onto Marty, and Marty leapt back to stay out of reach, balling his hands into fists.
"If he stole something from you, I don't know where he is!" he snarled. "I ain't seen him in years!" The drugstore owner looked taken aback before his face smoothed out and his expression became neutral.
"He didn't steal anything from me," he said evenly, and Marty scoffed. It would be a miracle if Stevie hadn't stolen something from him.
"Well, I don't know where he's at," he muttered, already turning to walk away.
"Wait, son! That's not what I was going to talk to you about!" Marty quickened his pace. "I was going to talk to you about a job!"
A shock spread through Marty's body, hearing those words, and his feet stopped moving on their own. He knew he should keep going, get away as fast as he could, but somehow his body wouldn't behave.
"You see, son," the man said, and Marty could tell he'd come close again. Spinning around, he walked backwards to keep the man from getting any closer and the man stopped, raising his hands slightly before he dropped them. "You see, Stevie used to work for me and -."
Marty barked out a laugh. "No, he didn't!" he said belligerently. It was obvious he was lying. Stevie had never had a job. He didn't need to when he could steal anything that wasn't nailed down.
"Yes, he did, son," the man insisted, gazing at him steadily with his intense blue eyes. "Stevie was my delivery boy for almost two years."
Marty opened his mouth to deny it, and then closed it as memories came to him. Stevie was always taking off on his bike, refusing to say where he was going. When he'd come back, he'd have the things he'd stolen, telling Marty not to tell their old man.
He hadn't always been a thief, but when their older brother, Ray enlisted and left home at eighteen, life got a lot harder for the two remaining brothers. Ray had worked alongside their old man to help bring in extra money. What little of his earnings that wasn't spent on drink, put food on the table. With that money no longer coming in, Stevie began stealing out of necessity to feed the two of them. Or he had until the night he ran off after a fist fight with their old man. He'd sworn he'd never return and he'd been good on his word. Marty hadn't seen him since, but he didn't care. He didn't want to see either of his brothers again. Both of them knew what their old man was like once he started drinking, but they'd left anyway, abandoning him to deal with it alone.
Looking into the intense blue eyes of the drug store owner, Marty wondered if he could be telling the truth. Had Stevie been lying about the stealing to cover up the fact he had a job? But the more he considered it, the more he realized that's exactly what Stevie had done. If their old man had gotten wind of it, he would've taken most of his money like he'd done with Ray. Even Marty knew enough to keep any money he'd managed to earn well hidden.
"What's your name, son?" the man asked, breaking the silence and Marty looked away. He should leave now before he got sucked into this any deeper. But - a job.
"It's Marty," he muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.
"I'm Mr. Dwyer," the man replied, holding his hand out. Marty looked at it for a long moment, then reluctantly shook it. "Well, Marty, I'm in a bind," he continued when he let go. "My delivery boy quit on me and I need to find another one right away. That's why I wanted to talk to you - to see if you wanted it."
"Why me?" Marty spat, immediately suspicious. There was a flicker in Dwyer's blue eyes, but his face remained impassive.
"Your brother was a hard worker," he began, and Marty snorted, unwilling to believe it. He'd never heard an adult say anything good about either one of his brothers. Both of them were worthless. "And I'm willing to give you a shot if you're interested," Dwyer finished, ignoring Marty's reaction.
Marty didn't trust him. There had to be another reason why he was offering him a job, but as he looked in the old man's intense blue eyes, there was something about them that reminded him of the way Jess looked at him, a genuineness. A few of his teachers had started to look at him that way too. But could he really take a chance when he didn't know him? And then he realized it didn't matter if he trusted him or not.
"I ain't got a bike," he muttered.
The disappointment on Dwyer's face confirmed that without a bike, there was no job, and Marty turned away. Walking down the sidewalk, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his cloth coat, suddenly feeling terrible. If it hadn't been a trick, that job would've solved a lot of problems. But why should he be surprised it didn't pan out. His luck had always been shitty.
"Marty, wait!" Why wouldn't Dwyer leave him alone, he wondered angrily, and lowered his head further as he kept walking. "I think I have a solution!"
He walked a few more feet and then stopped. Don't do it, a voice inside him said. Keep going. Instead, he slowly turned around. The uncertainty on Dwyer's face let him know he should have listened to his instincts.
"I don't know," Dwyer said more to himself. "Maybe it'll work. Come with me," he said more loudly, and turned, heading back to the drug store without waiting to see if Marty was following.
Marty watched him, feeling angry with himself. What was he doing just standing there like an idiot? Now was the time to move on and knock on some more doors before any more of the day was wasted. But curiosity was nagging at him. What was his supposed stupid solution? Dwyer walked past the drug store entrance and disappeared down an alley. Marty took a few deep breaths as he looked around, fighting with himself. Then he dropped his head and headed for the alley.
By time he reached the back of the drug store, Dwyer was in front of an old wooden garage pushing open the large wooden door. It creaked as it rolled across its track, revealing cardboard boxes, old furniture, and Christmas displays stacked haphazardly and nearly reaching the ceiling. Then Dwyer walked in, poking around as he disappeared into the mess.
This is stupid, Marty thought as he heard Dwyer rummaging around. He should just leave.
"Here it is!" Dwyer called out from the back of the garage, and then the top of his head became visible as he wove his way through the junk. When he came into view, he was pushing an ancient bike.
"Well? What do you think?" he asked, pressing on the kickstand with his foot. Marty scowled at the bike. It was covered in so much dust, the black frame appeared grey, and the tires were completely flat, the rubber cracked in places.
"I don't think so," Marty said firmly, shaking his head.
"It needs some work, of course, but once it's been fixed up you could use it." Dwyer clearly wasn't getting it.
"I ain't taking your bike," he stated firmly. He'd never taken hand outs, and he wasn't about to start now. Dwyer's eyes held his for a long moment.
"It's not my bike," he said finally. "It was my son's."
"Won't he get mad when he finds out you gave it to me?" Marty sneered. Dwyer opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it.
"No, he wouldn't," he insisted, gazing at Marty even more intensely. It made Marty uncomfortable and he looked at the bike to avoid his eyes. "He'd want it to go to someone who could use it to help me out of a bind." Why wouldn't he give up, Marty wondered angrily. Didn't he understand this wasn't going to work?
"I ain't got money to buy new tires," he said.
"I'll buy the tires and you can pay me back out of your wages," Dwyer replied easily. Marty opened his mouth to object, but he continued. "The tool box is on the floor over there," he said pointing with a nod of his head while he keeping his eyes on Marty. "Other than that, it just needs some oiling. Oil can's on that yonder shelf."
"Ain't got no place to keep it," he lied, keeping his eyes on the bike. He knew if he brought it home the old man would sell it for booze. That's what happened to Stevie's bike.
"You can leave it here." Marty tried to think of something else.
"Are you taking the job, son?"
Staring at the bike, Marty felt Dwyer's blue eyes boring into him. He should go, walk away now before it was too late. Don't trust him, a voice was urging, but it was like he was frozen, unable to move or speak. As Dwyer continued to watch him, the silence became more awkward by the second. Not knowing what else to do, he shrugged his shoulders, and Dwyer sighed.
That's it, Marty thought. Dwyer's finally given up, but when he looked up, Dwyer had a small smile on his face, and then it was gone, his expression impassive again.
"Come on," he said as he turned to the back door of the drug store.
Now what, Marty thought, letting out a huge breath as he watched him. When Dwyer opened the door, he looked back and waited. Marty dropped his head and shoved his hands in his coat pockets before shuffling forward. He followed Dwyer through the back room where more boxes were stacked and glass jars on shelves were filled with powders and pills.
When they entered the drug store, on Marty's left was a soda fountain. Much to his dismay, kids he recognized from school saw him and nudged each other as they openly stared at him. Dropping his head further, he scowled at Mr. Dwyer's back. He knew he should have taken off when he had the chance.
A slightly heavy woman in a flowered dress and tight curly hair was standing at the cash register. She gawked at Marty with wide eyes and he immediately looked away angrily. Was she going to give him a hard time? If so, he was leaving.
"Mildred, this is Marty, our new delivery boy," Dwyer said.
"Oh," she said with surprise, while Marty kept his eyes on the front door, ready to bolt if she made a comment.
"It looks like someone needs you over at the counter," Dwyer suggested.
She hesitated, appearing reluctant to leave the cash register, but after Dwyer raised an eyebrow, she walked away. He stepped behind it and pushed a button. With the ring of a bell, the money drawer slid out. After taking something, he pushed it closed and came around the counter.
"Here," he said, holding out a ten dollar bill. Marty's mouth dropped open before he caught himself and closed it. It was more money than he'd seen at one time in his whole life. "Go down to the hardware store. When you get the tires, be sure to buy inner tubes too. I know the old ones are shot. Bring back the change and a receipt so I know how much you owe me."
Was he crazy? That was more money than his old man made in a month and he was just going to hand it over and actually trust Marty to come back?
"Go on," Dwyer urged, moving the bill closer. Marty peered at his face to see if he was serious. His intense blue eyes held Marty's steadily. "Daylight's wasting, son."
Marty hesitantly reached out and took the bill. He held it in both hands, looking at the ancient portrait on the bill, then folded it as he turned to the front door without looking back. Stepping out onto the sidewalk with the bill held firmly in his fist, he began walking, hardly believing Dwyer was crazy enough to have just done that.
~~~~~~
During the drive home, Annie was silent, looking out the car window and Jess knew she was still sad, thinking about Mr. Dwyer's son. Jess looked out the other window, remembering seeing Marty in town. As she imagined him walking down the sidewalk, all alone with his hands shoved in the pockets of his coat and shying away from that woman, it made her sad to know this was how he went through life. At least she knew when it was just the two of them, he was happy, walking in the woods with a confident stride and his head held high.
While they waited for James to unlock the gate, Jess studied Annie. She still seemed sad, but then she noticed Jess watching her and smiled reassuringly, patting her hand. Jess smiled back, debating whether to bring up Mr. Dwyer's son. She really wanted to know if he was friends with her dad. But then another question came to her.
"Do you know why the gate is always locked, Annie?"
Annie dropped her eyes, and then looked at James. "It's to keep people from coming on the property." Jess immediately thought of Marty, but since her uncle didn't know about him, who else would they be worried about?
"Like who?"
"Well, I guess kidnappers," Annie said, turning to examine Jess with concerned eyes. Jess was stunned by the answer.
"Is that common?" she asked worriedly.
"I - don't think so," Annie hedged. "But the fence was built a long time ago, when your daddy was a little boy. There was a famous kidnapping of a baby back then, the Lindbergh baby. Do you know about that?"
"I think I do," Jess said, trying to remember. "Charles Lindbergh, the pilot."
"That's right. They kidnapped his baby for ransom but they killed him right away, poor thing," she said sadly, shaking her head. "Your grandma was afraid it would happen to your daddy, or your uncle, since they lived out here, so far from everything. They built the fence right after that."
"Maybe - maybe it doesn't need to be kept locked now," Jess suggested carefully, keeping her eyes innocent so Annie wouldn't get suspicious. If her uncle allowed the gate to be kept open, she could go places with Marty, at least hidden places off the property.
"I don't think your uncle will agree to that," Annie said slowly, as James got back in the car and began driving through the tall trees to the house. "He's concerned about you and Doug's safety."
"I suppose," Jess muttered, turning to face the window so Annie wouldn't see her anger. Uncle Jonathon only worried about Doug. Jess knew he wouldn't care if anything happened to her.
When James stopped the car in front of the garage, they got out. Jess looked longingly at the barren trees beyond the garage as Annie headed to the kitchen. "Since I'm running late with dinner, you want to help me?" she asked cheerfully.
"Yes, ma'am," Jess said, covering her disappointment with a smile. Even though she wanted to go to the cabin, she knew there wouldn't be any use. Marty was still in town.
She set the table while Annie mixed a meatloaf and got it in the oven, then the two of them peeled potatoes to make mashed potatoes. By now Annie seemed much happier and Jess decided it was time.
"Was my dad friends with Mr. Dwyer's son?" Annie looked up sharply from the potato in her hand.
"Why do you ask that?" she replied, and Jess was surprised by the forcefulness of the question.
"He was wearing the same uniform my dad wore - and it seemed like Mr. Dwyer knew him." Annie's shoulders relaxed and she smiled sadly.
"A lot of people knew your daddy, Jess," she said gently.
"Oh, right," Jess muttered to the potato in her hand. "Because he was a Blackwell," she added, barely able to keep the bitterness out of her voice. Annie reached out and put her hand on Jess's, giving her another sad smile.
"I meant a lot of people knew him because he was so friendly. Everyone liked him. I'm sure a lot of people considered him a friend."
"Like Mr. Dwyer's son?" Jess asked. Annie looked troubled as she dropped her eyes to her own potato.
"He knew him, but - I don't know if they were friends exactly," she said uncertainly.
"Did they enlist together? Is that how they both went in the army?" Annie looked even more sad as she lifted her head, her hazel eyes shiny with unshed tears.
"No, pumpkin," she said quietly. "Walt had already died in the war when your daddy graduated and signed up."
"Oh," Jess said, lowering her head as the familiar pain in her chest came back.
She concentrated on peeling her potato, blinking back tears while Annie wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. Neither of them said much while they finished cooking dinner and Jess tried to fight off the sadness by not thinking about her dad, or the handsome, serious young man in the black and white photo.
Later that evening, after she'd helped Annie bring the food out, she sat at the table with Uncle Jonathon and Doug as Annie said to Doug, "We haven't had a chance to talk about your birthday party yet. Do you know how many people you're inviting?"
"Oh, yeah," Doug said. "It's going to be fifteen."
"I need to send the invitations out tomorrow, if they're going to make it on time," Annie reminded him gently.
"I have the list already," he said, pulling out a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket. He unfolded it, but instead of handing it to Annie, he handed it to his father. Uncle Jonathon quickly scanned the list, and then looked at Doug.
"Charles Stewart is not on here," he said, fixing him with a hard gaze.
"Uh," Doug said, and his eyes briefly flickered over to Jess. She tensed, suddenly realizing her uncle was referring to Chuck. What was Doug going to say, she wondered with alarm. "I, uh, don't see Chuck anymore - socially," he said to his father.
"Why not?" Uncle Jonathon demanded sharply, and there was an instant tension in the air. Jess knew Doug could feel it by the way he licked his lips. Even Annie looked stiff as she stood by silently, looking like she was trying to be invisible.
"He did something - I didn't like - and I haven't talked to him since then." Uncle Jonathon opened his mouth to ask what, but Doug interrupted him. "He was rude to Jess." Jess held her breath as she looked at Doug, terrified of what was coming next. "And I just don't want to be around him anymore," he finished, raising his chin defiantly.
"Is this something I need to speak to his father about?" Uncle Jonathon asked sternly with his eyes flashing. No, Jess thought desperately. Then it would all come out.
"No, sir," Doug said firmly. "This is between the two of us and I've already taken care of it."
His father continued to gaze at him, considering what he'd said, and then he held out the list to Annie while keeping his eyes on Doug. She slumped as she took it from him, and turned to leave through the swinging door.
"Very well," he said, holding his hand out for Doug's plate. "I'll consider it dealt with." Jess thought Doug hid his relief well as he gave it to him. "I'm pleased to see the way you've handled this, Douglas."
"Thank you, sir," Doug said, his eyes shifting to Jess. She tried to let him know how grateful she was while his father was busy filling his plate, and he nodded slightly, his arresting blue eyes letting her know he understood. By time his father handed his plate back to him, it was hidden.
****
Whew! That was a close call for Jess! How did you like this chapter? You've learned some more of Marty's family history. Do you think Marty took off with Mr. Dwyer's money, does he have a job now, or did he decide to do something else? And what do you make of the new information you've been given about Mr. Dwyer's son, Walt? Doug stuck up for Jess yet again. What do you think his feelings for her are at this point? Please let me know!
Thank you so much for reading! I can't tell you how much I appreciate it, as well as reading all your thoughts and theories! If you're enjoying this story, please consider giving it a vote! The video is Johnny Mathis with It's Not For Me To Say.