Brodie had offered to drive them all to the Sheriff's office; Taylor had insisted that they stop at his house on the way. Zack was surprised to see them all turn up at the doorstep, a little shocked to see the cut and bruises on Patrick's face. His dad had thought he might have hit the boy but Zack hadn't imagined it would look this bad.
"Jun – Zack," Taylor began, which made Zack drag his eyes from Patrick.
Hey Dad, what – what's going on?"
"There's been a change of plan, son. Uh, you already met Patrick Jane? This is his foster parent, Will Brodie. Will, this is my youngest son, Zack Taylor." Brodie and Zack shook hands in uneasy silence. "Will discovered Paddy snuck out after curfew last night. He reported him missing and Paddy was picked up by a patrol car after he left here."
"What?" Dismay filled Zack's face.
"I'm on my way to the Sheriff's office right now with Will and Paddy here, to clear up a few things," Taylor added blandly. "When Julie gets back from picking up Andrew at the airport could you send your brother down there? Andrew might be a little rusty on criminal law but he's qualified and he's family."
"No, dad, hold on a second." Zack suddenly sounded worried. "If you're going to hand yourself in on an assault and battery charge you should call one of your people: Frank, or Mary what's-her-name – the one you worked with on the Hinton case, someone who does criminal defense for a living –"
"It was an accident, Zack," Patrick cut in. "It looks worse than it is. We all agreed already, no-one's pressing charges: not against your dad, not against me."
"It's okay, son," Taylor resumed to Zack. "I will tell Frank, I promise, but I'd rather tell him on Monday when this is all sorted out. If I accompany Patrick and Will to the station house now it should be fine, although… thinking about it, it might be a good idea for you to accompany your brother. You were a witness to at least some of what happened last night. Patrick told me you nearly called the cops on him."
A guilty look flashed across Zack's face before he replied. "Yeah, dad, of course. You, uh, you know Julie won't stand for being left behind."
"You're probably right," Taylor conceded, "she's too much like her mom for that."
"I can come with you now if you want–"
"No, I'll be fine until you all show up. I'd prefer it if you stay here and wait for your brother and sister."
Zack hesitated before he said, reluctantly, "Okay, dad."
"Would you give us a minute?" Taylor asked Zack. "I just wanted to show Will and Patrick something before we head over to the station house."
The door which Taylor opened led to a bright ground floor room that was completely devoid of furniture, as though emptied in preparation for redecoration. As he followed Patrick inside Brodie couldn't understand why Taylor wanted them to see this. Patrick started out with a curious, interested expression but it rapidly changed to wary uneasiness. Patrick had clearly seen something but Brodie had no idea what it could be when there was nothing to see in here. Taylor stood silent in the doorway as Patrick looked around.
"This is… like a hospital room," Patrick said cautiously, looking at the position and shape of the faint indents in the linoleum floor. Brodie shot an astonished look at Patrick but said nothing.
"Yes. I rented the medical furniture and equipment. It's all been returned now."
"Your wife's room." Not a difficult call, the décor screamed feminine not masculine and Taylor's daughter was married. If she was ill it wouldn't be here.
"Damaris. Her name was Damaris. This was her favorite downstairs room. She loved to watch the sunset through that big window."
Past tense. Patrick hated that his first guess had turned out to be correct. How to phrase it? Taylor could tell Patrick knew, the man had entered the room now but stood looking out of the window with his back to them. Even Brodie seemed to be starting to understand that something was wrong here. There was no need to beat about the bush.
"She… died here."
Taylor turned slowly, nodded. "In May. Lung cancer." Brodie closed his eyes and bowed his head. Taylor was mourning the recent loss of his wife, poor guy. Hadn't he said his mom had died of TB when he was a kid? This must have been too similar to that 'terrible slow death of a loved one' about which the man had been so eloquent during their first visit. Brodie now wished he'd been less vocal with his anger at Taylor this afternoon.
"Thanksgiving was particularly special for her," Patrick continued. Not rocket science, it was special for everyone. Even Alex made an effort at Thanksgiving.
"Thanksgiving was on the twenty-sixth in nineteen fifty-three, too. Her twenty-first birthday was two days before. Her father threw her a big party. She told me afterwards she knew maybe one in ten of the people there." Taylor sounded bitter: he must have been left off the guest list. "We eloped on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, got married in Las Vegas that same day, had our honeymoon there. We saw Sinatra at the Sands." The ghost of a smile flicked across Taylor's face as he said this. A happier memory.
"This house was special to her too," Patrick resumed after a pause. Again he wasn't going out on a limb. A big fancy place like this would surely be pretty special to anyone lucky enough to live here. Add in even a moderately happy marriage, three children, they would tip the scales. Patrick did a quick calculation in his head: Taylor's wife had been ten years younger than him and they'd been married over thirty years.
"She was born here." Taylor noted Patrick's surprise. "Damaris Carson, as in Carson Springs? She was the fourth of the five Carson children. Damaris was an heiress when I first met her. Her great-grandfather owned a gold mine and founded this town. Her grandfather made another fortune in lumber and had this house built. When her father moved the rest of the family to southern California in the 'forties to make his own fortune from the oil fields down there, she and her mom and younger brother stayed on here in her grandpa's house for a while; something to do with their schooling, I think. Her grandpa gave this place to us – to her, really – as a wedding present."
"You married money?" Patrick asked, eyes wide.
"Not exactly. She was an heiress and I was a penniless law student when we first met. Wyndham Carson had made up his mind that all his daughters would marry wealthy men so you can imagine how he felt about me. He tried everything to separate us, even sending her away to school in Europe for a couple of years. He was sure I was only interested in her for her money. It was her idea to elope. Damaris was…" Taylor's voice faded and he shook his head. "She was the most amazing person I ever met." Taylor paused again for a long moment. "Anyway we needed her father's consent if we wanted to get married before she turned twenty-one and of course he refused. We waited for her twenty-first birthday then got married without it. Wyndham was so furious when he found out that he threatened to disown her if we didn't have the marriage annulled immediately.
"Well, Damaris wasn't going to stand for that, she could be even more determined than her father when she put her mind to it. They had a big showdown and afterwards he went through with it. Cut her off without a penny. Her grandpa had already given her this place, he arranged for her to have an allowance from his income while he was still alive but her father held the family purse strings. The old man couldn't leave her anything when he passed away a couple of years later and her father acted like she didn't exist to the day he died. One of my biggest regrets. Her mom and brother and sisters eventually came around but her father died in 'sixty-one without ever seeing her again. Damaris never cared about the money but I could tell she was sad about her father. I knew she would have liked things to be better between them."
Patrick could understand Taylor talking about something – anything – other than his wife's illness and death. It had been cunning of the man to pick this ancient family scandal about money. It had nearly worked, too: Patrick couldn't help being fascinated by wealth.
"I'm very sorry about the loss of your wife, Simon," Patrick said simply, to bring things back into the present. Alex had taught him the phrase – it was the most basic stuff, Psychic 101 – and Patrick, though long accustomed to being at ease around the bereaved, was always surprised when such formulaic words brought them comfort. Taylor nodded but didn't speak.
"You…" Patrick began, then hesitated. This was familiar, a mark who'd lost someone but didn't want to move on, or didn't know how. They could be very profitable. Taylor's wariness of Patrick seemed more justified now. Before he'd gotten to know the man, Patrick might indeed have played Taylor if he'd discovered the grief and loneliness that were writ large in this room. Several ways to exploit Taylor's vulnerability had crossed Patrick's mind even now – how could they not? – but he didn't want to talk to Taylor like a client even though he wasn't sure how else to approach him.
"I meet a lot of people in your position," Patrick restarted cautiously. He knew straight away he'd said the wrong thing and backtracked swiftly. "I know you don't want me talking to the spirit of your dead wife, believe me, but a lot of people do and they come to dad and me. It's because they're stuck, they don't know where to begin, trying to live without the person they lost. I think… I think you threw yourself into your work afterwards because you needed to keep busy. I think you haven't played poker with anyone in the last six months, until I came along. I think you're surprised that it's been as long as six months because it only feels like a few short weeks to you." Patrick could tell he was losing his audience when a sudden inspiration hit him. "I know you really don't want to talk to me about it, but you should talk to someone. Bottling up your feelings isn't healthy." Quoting Taylor's own words back to him had the effect Patrick hoped. All the tension drained from Taylor's shoulders and he looked Patrick in the eye for the first time since he opened the door to this room.
"Jeez, does everything I say sound so pompous?" Taylor asked.
"I would say 'authoritative,'" Patrick shot back.
"Save the flattery for when you're being paid, kid," Taylor growled, though his mouth twitched upwards as he said it. Patrick grinned back and Brodie finally felt able to speak without intruding.
"I'm really sorry, too, Simon. I had no idea. I–I shouldn't have shouted earlier."
"Thank you, Will; but I deserved it. No matter what, I had no right to put Patrick through the wringer last night." Taylor gave a deep breath. "Speaking of which, we all need to get to the Sheriff's office. Shall I call ahead, ask if officers Diaz and Powell can meet us there?"
Patrick and Brodie got back around six. Sally Brodie had taken the other kids to the mall for the day and it looked as though they had only just gotten back too, Sally was still unpacking bags of shopping from the car. Patrick made it to his room without having to talk to anybody but Liss appeared in the doorway just a moment later.
"Trick! What happened? Why didn't you come with us today? Sally just said you were too tired. Jeez, what happened to your face?" she added as he turned to her.
"Long story. Can I ask you a question first, Liss? If you snuck out of bed and went out after curfew and the Brodies found out, what would you expect them to do?"
"Will hit you? Or – or was it Sally?"
"What? No! How could you say that! You've been here a year, do you really think the Brodies hit kids?"
Liss seemed taken aback by his vehemence. "Well, no, not really –"
"Good! I just need to understand, if you snuck out after curfew what would they do?"
"You snuck out last night? And they found out?" Liss's eyes widened. "If you went missing after going to bed? I'd, uh, I guess they'd report it to the police."
"Why?"
"What do you mean, 'why?' If a kid runs away it's a big deal. Where did you go? What happened to your face?"
Patrick nodded as he absently said, "I didn't run away." If a kid went missing at the carnival it was a big deal but at the carnival there was a real fast rumor mill, a lot of eyes and a willingness to search because missing kids were bad for business. In no time at all everyone would be looking for them. Missing kids were found pretty quickly, in Patrick's experience, with no need for any cops. "Don't neighbors search rather than the cops?"
Liss looked at him as though he was crazy. "Yeah neighbors might help, if you stay missing, but they'd call the cops first. Where did you go?"
Patrick supposed that made sense too. Neighbors might care but they weren't financially impacted by a kid going missing. Cops must have some kind of use to the average house-dweller, Patrick supposed. They couldn't possibly just issue speeding tickets, take backhanders and arrest Carny folks.
"I wanted to go back to Mr. Taylor's house."
"What? Why?"
"He was kinda ill when I was there earlier. I wanted to make sure he was okay."
"You could have just snuck downstairs and called him on the phone."
"Look, it really is a long story. The short version is that I promised someone I'd go back. They promised to look after him until I got back. I had to sneak out."
"So did they rewrite the rules again? There's a curfew unless your name is Patrick Jane and you're playing doctor for some old guy? Which is creepy, by the way."
Patrick let that one pass. "No, Liss, I'm grounded. For a week. How does that work?"
"You telling me you never been grounded before? Your jailbird dad is father of the year now?"
That jibe stung. A little louder than he intended Patrick retorted, "Hey, being grounded makes no sense when you live at the carnival. Sitting around doing nothing, that's a vacation, not a punishment."
Liss was suddenly wide-eyed. "Does he – does he beat you?"
"No! Jeez! No-one beats me! Did your dad ever hit you?"
"No of course not," Liss retorted angrily.
"Well, then," Patrick said conclusively. "My dad yells a lot. I get extra chores. There's always plenty of work needs doing, in our trailer or for the show and there's only the two of us. The chores around here that you bitch about so much are nothing compared to what I have to do at home even when he isn't pissed at me."
"I don't bitch about the chores, you skip them whenever you feel like it and Sally and Will let you! Who do you think Sally asks to pick up the slack?"
"Oh, and you don't live here? You don't eat the food, you don't leave a mess behind wherever you go? I cook, I clean up after, I keep my things tidy and I don't have to be asked! Sally lets me off the chores sometimes because she knows I already did my share!"
"Well aren't you Mister Perfect! Oh, no, wait, that can't be you because you snuck out and now you're grounded for a week."
Patrick took a deep breath. Liss had him playing her game again. She was good at provoking him – too good. He had to learn to stop rising to her bait.
"Please, Liss? Can we not do this? Please?" he begged quietly, allowing a defeated expression to appear on his face. "I got in so much trouble last night: teachers, cops, doctors. I've been beat up. I just got back from the Sheriff's office. I'm grounded for a week. I'm done. Please."
Liss stopped and looked at him, really looked.
"God, Trick," she said softly, "what happened to you?"
Brodie appeared behind Liss before Patrick could reply.
"We've all had a busy day so Sally and I decided to get pizza delivered this evening," he announced. This was a rare treat and choosing the pizzas drove all thought of interrogating Patrick from Liss's mind. Patrick used the distraction to escape into the study and browse the bookshelves. Liss rarely came in here.
Patrick tried a couple of books but couldn't settle, his mind in a spin. Their trip to the Sheriff's office had been successful – no-one had been arrested, no-one was going to be prosecuted – but it had left him jittery. So had Liss. He didn't want it to become widely known that it was Taylor who had hit him. He'd come up with a mostly-true story – he woke a drunk guy who was having a nightmare and got a walloped by accident – which he could tell at school if his bruises hadn't faded by Monday. He'd try it out on Liss later. Still restless, Patrick returned the books to the shelves and headed to the kitchen, then stopped dead.
"…others are easy but not Patrick." That was Sally Brodie. Patrick paused, listening.
"Lets just ask him." Brodie replied. "His home life isn't exactly what I'd call normal. I'd hate to get something that isn't appropriate."
"What if he wants something inappropriate?"
Brodie chuckled. "That wasn't what I meant. I don't think Patrick would ask for a subscription to 'Playboy' magazine."
Sally barked out a laugh, too. "I'd forgotten Russ Bauer asked for that. Now he really was a handful."
"Yes he was, precocious in all the wrong ways." Patrick could hear the smile in Brodie's voice as he agreed with Sally.
"Patrick's the opposite of difficult, really, it's just…" Sally let out a long sigh.
"I know, Sal. Look, the only thing I'm sure of is that whatever we do, it won't be a surprise. I just want to make sure it's not a disappointment."
"In that case you're right. We should ask him."
They wanted to get him something, wanted to make sure it wasn't disappointing? Patrick didn't understand why, they'd grounded him after all, but this pause in their conversation seemed to be his cue. He strolled into the kitchen.
"Hi there," he began. "I guess being grounded means I can't take Paul and Jenni to the park over the weekend?"
"No, Patrick, not while you're grounded." There had been a flash of regret across Sally's face as she spoke. Patrick regularly took the youngsters to the little local playground, they would be missing out too for the next few days.
"But I still have to go to church tomorrow?" This was an ongoing bone of contention.
"Yes you do," Sally replied with a determined look.
"Speaking of which," this was Brodie, "the Sunday school gets a gift for every child at Christmas. You're due a bible. Is that okay?"
Some previous foster kid had asked their church for a subscription to Playboy instead of a bible? Patrick felt a flash of respect for the kid's chutzpah.
"What's the catch?"
Brodie was taken aback. "No catch. Every child gets something each year. Age six they get an illustrated children's Bible, age thirteen you'll be getting the NIV that the adults read at church. New International Version," Brodie added, "it's the latest translation of the bible."
Patrick thought about this for a moment.
"Can I have the old version instead?" he asked. "The one with all the 'thou shalt nots' in it? The one where all the famous quotes come from?"
"I don't see why not," Brodie replied, surprised.
"There isn't a lot of room back home. For books, I mean," Patrick began, hesitantly. "If it comes in different kinds then a paperback one would be best," Patrick continued. "Whatever's lightest."
"Sure, Patrick."
"Black with gold edges and gold lettering on the front, so it looks like a bible," Patrick continued, almost to himself. He was remembering the various preachers in tents that he'd seen in action over the years. They always wielded a bible. Something like that was the look he wanted for his dad.
"I'll mention it to Jim Wilson tomorrow, see what we can do. It's what's inside that's important, though, not what it looks like, you know that?" Brodie was pretty sure that Melissa had never opened the bible she got last year. He had expected Patrick to refuse a bible – he claimed to be an atheist after all – so was surprised and touched that Patrick not only wanted a particular version of the bible but also was planning on taking it with him when he left. He would have been less impressed if he had known Patrick was picturing his dad, wearing the new suit and brandishing a very bible-y looking book in their Tabernacle show next summer.
"Actually, Patrick, we had another question for you." Sally was smiling a little nervously. "Now Thanksgiving is over we started thinking about Christmas too. I don't know if you remember me saying this but we get an allowance for fostering you. Well, we put some aside for Christmas and we were wondering," she shot a glance at Brodie, "if you could give us an idea of what you'd like. As a gift. For Christmas."
"I do remember – but I'm a bit old for toys, ma'am."
"We know that, Patrick. We'd still like to get you something. Melissa said she wanted make-up when we were at the mall today. What would you like?"
"What Liss would really like is a beauty consultation at one of the big department stores." Patrick was stalling. "They're free but you have to book. The counter girls make you over and give you beauty tips. They give you the hard sell on their cosmetics, too, but if that's what she wants for Christmas then that's all good. It's a girl thing you could do together." Katy Barsocky had done just this with her mom before her wedding and both of them had been delighted with it. Liss was the girl the others went to for help with their make-up. Who could Liss ask? And Liss wanted some quality time with Sally even if she'd never admit it.
"I'm not sure Melissa would want to spend any more time with me at the moment," Sally smiled wryly, thinking about their trip to the mall that day.
"I think you're wrong," Patrick replied casually. When Sally looked rather taken aback he went on, "Isn't it obvious? Liss pushes people away so she won't feel so hurt when they leave, or when she's moved into a new foster home." Sally looked astonished but Brodie smiled.
"Um, we were thinking Barbie for Jenni and GI Joe for Paul. What do you think?" he asked.
"Those are good choices." Patrick said diplomatically.
"But better ones would be…?"
"Jenni wants My Little Pony, the blue one." Patrick sounded very sure of himself. "Paul would like a Transformer action figure rather than GI Joe but it doesn't matter which one."
"Is that what they said to you?" Sally asked.
"No, ma'am, but those are the TV ads they like most."
"How about you, Patrick? What would you like?" Brodie asked.
"I do want something but it's expensive. Could you give me the money you budgeted instead of a smaller gift? I'll add my allowance to it and buy what I want after Christmas, when it might be cheaper in the sales."
"You don't want to open something from under the tree?"
"I haven't done that for a couple of years now, ma'am." Patrick didn't like the look Sally exchanged with Brodie. "We used to have a big Christmas back when Lily was around," Patrick added. "These last couple years me and dad worked over the holidays, up at Lake Tahoe at the resort hotels up there. I guess I've grown out of the whole 'opening presents from under the tree' thing."
Sally and her husband shared another look, one Patrick liked even less.
"What are you saving up for, Patrick?" This was Brodie.
"I want a portable CD player, a good quality one," he added. "It has to be small and robust enough to take on the road. I want to get a flight case for it too, but the player alone costs two hundred dollars."
"I'm not sure you're going to have enough, even if you save all your allowance," Sally ventured cautiously.
"Yeah, I thought so too, so I was planning to earn some money," Patrick replied calmly.
"You're not talking about a paper round, are you?" That was Brodie.
"I was thinking about horoscopes, Will. I can draw up personalized horoscopes, all I need is the date of birth of the person whose gift it will be. While I'm here I have plenty of free time to do them even when I'm not grounded and people like to give personalized gifts. I'd need to get the word out but that won't take much doing. People will pay twenty-five bucks a time for something like that if it's done well."
"That's a lot of money," Sally said in surprise.
Patrick shrugged. "Not really. I'm a professional and pretty well known. I'm not going to undersell the 'Boy Wonder' brand just because I'm a kid, that's poor business practice. With dad away there's quite a lot I can't do, but horoscopes are fine."
"Patrick, we're not happy with you making money by drawing up horoscopes while you're staying with us." Brodie sounded serious.
"Why not?" Patrick asked warily.
Brodie took a deep breath.
"Patrick, you know we really want you to stay here, we want to keep being your foster parents until you can go back to living with your dad," Brodie began, and Patrick felt nerves grip his stomach. Brodie had barely started and already Patrick didn't like the direction the conversation was heading. All he could do was nod.
"You also know we're born-again Christians. Some people call our church 'fundamentalist' but that just means we believe the Bible is true. Now, we don't insist you believe it too –"
"You do insist I go to your church," Patrick interrupted.
"That's not the same thing. We'd like you to be born again too but you can't make someone believe, you can only pray they will." That was Sally. They prayed for him? That was… kinda weird.
"We respect the fact that your beliefs are different to ours," Brodie continued, "but I must confess, I didn't feel comfortable with the casual way you were talking about the spirit of Simon's wife this afternoon. I don't want you carrying out occult practices while you're living under my roof. Not even horoscopes."
Patrick swallowed his first retort. He could see how serious Brodie was. He flirted with the idea of telling them it wasn't real but decided against it. Brodie wouldn't be any more in favor of him saying he took money off people for lies and fakery. He might even prefer thinking that Patrick had some kind of spiritual beliefs, in spite of them being 'occult.'
"Would you let me do it somewhere else?" Patrick asked instead. He could see straight away that Sally wanted to say 'no'.
"I'd prefer not at all," Brodie countered.
"I can't promise that, sir," Patrick shot back. "How would you feel if our roles were reversed, if I was asking you not to be Christians at home?"
"I would –" Brodie began, then stopped. "You're right," he said at last. "I'd still want to go to church, even if I didn't read the bible or pray in your home."
Patrick nodded. "So is it okay for me to go do the psychic stuff somewhere else, once I'm not grounded, I mean?"
"All right, Patrick. Where would you – that is, do you have a special place, like we have church?"
"No, sir, I just need somewhere quiet. I guess I'd go to the library. Um, would it be okay for me to carry on practicing for the act in your house? Card tricks, locks, memory techniques, codes? Nothing occult, all strictly showbiz stuff?"
"Practice for your act? Where does the show business stop and the psychic business start, Patrick? I thought your cold reading was just a trick but how did you know so much about Simon's wife? That room was empty, there weren't even pictures on the walls."
Patrick took a deep breath. "There was plenty in that room, Will. All the other rooms had carpet, that room had linoleum. The dents and scuffs on the floor, well, I was in a hospital only last night, that floor in Simon's house looked just the same. There had been a bed in there with big wheels rather than feet, equipment on stands behind it, a chair placed for a visitor." Patrick had closed his eyes as he spoke and was indicating with his hands where each item he named had been located. It reminded Brodie of the time at Taylor's house when Patrick had described climbing the steps into his home when he'd been an infant. "That all meant someone had been seriously ill in that room. The color of the wallpaper told me it was a woman. I guessed wife not daughter, pretty safe bet, I knew his daughter lived in the Bay Area with a husband of her own to look after her if she got sick. What else? Uh, Thanksgiving's special for everyone. Any housewife who lived in a place as big as Simon's would think their home was pretty special too. Simon told us the rest, he told us a lot, actually: her name, her birthday, their wedding anniversary, her family name, the scandal. I know she had three older sisters and a younger brother. His wife's grandfather died in 'fifty-five or 'fifty-six, her father in 'sixty-one. Simon was about ten years older than his wife and they were married thirty-three years."
"You weren't communicating with her spirit?"
"No, just… paying attention."
"Huh." Brodie almost sounded impressed.
"I was looking and guessing, nothing more. It's my job to make it look seamless, sir, but I know where the show business stops and the psychic business starts. I was reading the room, reading Simon, listening to what he said. I didn't do anything you would call occult this afternoon because Simon really didn't want me to."
"but if he had wanted it? Is it something that you can switch on and off?"
"No, sir, it's… At school I do math in one class, English in another. Both classes would look the same to someone looking in through the classroom door, with a teacher standing at the front and kids at their desks, but I know I'm doing something very different in each class."
"It's something you choose?"
"Not... exactly. Every psychic I ever met says the gift chooses them, not the other way around. I was born a gypsy psychic, it's who I am. I don't switch anything on and off but I can choose to do psychic things or not, like choosing to do math rather than English. I guess like you said, you could choose to pray somewhere else. I do need to keep practicing the things that don't come naturally, Mr. Brodie, like cards and memory, all the showmanship rather than anything psychic. If people are gonna pay you have to give them a show. Dad and me, we have to earn a living somehow."
"You're asking a lot, Patrick. Faith isn't a game. Salvation and damnation aren't a joke."
"You said you trusted me," Patrick replied simply, looking steadily into Brodie's eyes. "Trust me about this."
Brodie took a deep breath and glanced at Sally before replying. "Okay. You can practice showmanship, Patrick, but nothing psychic or occult. Not in my house."
"Ruskins," the brisk voice answering the phone was female.
"Mrs. Ruskin, ma'am? This is Paddy Jane." The pizza had arrived just after his discussion with the Brodies so Patrick had waited until later in the evening to call Angela.
"What's the matter with your voice, Paddy Jane? You sound like you just got back from the dentist."
Damn. Not much got past Nannie Ruskin.
"I, uh, got a cut on my lip, ma'am."
"You been getting into fights again, Paddy?"
"No, ma'am, I swear. I had an accident."
"Hmm." It sounded as though Nannie didn't believe him. "What can I do for you, Paddy Jane?"
"Please may I speak to Angela, ma'am?"
"Just a moment." He heard the receiver being put down on the table, a door opening, Nannie calling Angela's name. Angela must have shouted back because Nannie came back on the line.
"She's just coming to the phone now." There was some muffled talking in the background that Patrick couldn't hear – Nannie probably had her hand over the mouthpiece – then Angela came on the line.
"Hey, Paddy, how's it going?"
"Not good… Ani, I've been grounded. I can't come over to see you guys for a week. Can you come visit me, tomorrow maybe? I need to talk to a real person. A lot happened over Thanksgiving and I just – I need someone to talk to."
"Are you okay? Nannie said you got beat up."
"Not – not really. Look, it's a long story. Can you come here tomorrow?"
"Paddy you're scaring me. This isn't like you. Talk to me now."
"Please Ani, I need to see you in person. I guess I'm trying to say I miss all you guys and a lot happened and I need someone to talk to and I can't come over there any time soon and… You're my best friend, Ani. I need to see my best friend. I know Dougie Schmidt's got this jealousy thing going and I don't want to cause trouble for you but right now I just – I really need my best friend. Tomorrow, I mean. Please come see me tomorrow."
Will you be okay tonight? Have you been beaten up? Do you need me to come over?"
"No, no, I'm okay, not beat up, not really. Maybe a little, but that isn't what I wanted to see you about. It's… Complicated."
"Of course it is." Patrick smiled as he imagined the look on Angela's face as she said this. "Nannie?" Patrick heard Angela call out. "You need me to be here tomorrow?" He also heard Nannie Ruskin's distant 'no, hun' before Angela was back on the line. "I'll be there tomorrow, as early as I can, I promise."
"Can you do something else for me too? I need my astrology books and my pens and inks. They're in our storage trailer. You'd, uh, have to break in, though. The only set of keys are in my pocket here, but the locks shouldn't cause any problems for Danny."
"Okay…"
My trunks right at the back on the left, you'll have to climb over the tent canvas to get to it. Mine's the old black flight case with a crack down the front panel, you can't miss it. Danny'll have to open that too. The pens and inks are in a box in the lid compartment and the books are inside on the right, under some old props. I need them all, there's about six or seven books which might look like the wrong ones, math books and an old almanack as well as books about stars and astrology but I need them all. There's a bag full of old plastic bags on a hook next to the door as you go in, you can carry them in one of those. And please make sure Danny locks up again after, dad'll kill me if I leave the storage unlocked, all his stuff's in there while he's away."
"Jeez, Paddy, you know with your dad out of the picture you don't have to do so much practice all the time!"
"Nah, Ani, this is something I want to do, I just need those books to do it. Anyway it turns out that I like practicing. There's nothing like having to go to school to help focus your mind on what you'd rather be doing with your time."
Angela chuckled. "That sounds more like you. I'll see you tomorrow, Paddy."
"Seeya, Ani."
Saturday dawned bright and sunny, warm for the end of November. When he got up Patrick found his cut lip was healing nicely, though the bruises still looked ugly.
Paul and Jenni couldn't stop themselves from staring at Patrick whenever he walked past during their breakfast – Patrick had cooked breakfast for himself and Brodie earlier, as usual – and their already whispered conversation broke off into silence each time he entered the kitchen. Yesterday evening Brodie had simply told everyone Patrick had an accident and left it at that. Sending out for pizza for dinner had been sufficient distraction and Patrick hadn't had a chance to talk with them alone until now.
"Hey guys, it's a nice day, why don't we go play in the garden for a bit?" Patrick ventured.
"That's a good idea," Sally weighed in as she cleared the table. Paul and Jenni complied but they didn't speak and both continued to look at him uneasily.
When they got outside Patrick headed for the shed area then turned to the still-silent younger kids.
"Do you want to ask me about this before we play a game?" Patrick began simply, gesturing towards his face.
"Does it hurt?" Paul asked straight away.
"No, only if I poke at it. It's just like regular bruises, they only hurt if you bump them again."
"It looks like a bad man hit you." That was Paul again.
"You guys seen someone before who was beat up?" Patrick asked, surprised. Jenni just stared at him wide-eyed but Paul gave a small nod. Patrick had guessed they were orphans, like Liss, but had imagined a former life as conventional as hers. Patrick had seen guys after they'd been in a fight, knew how scary it looked to a kid, but the first time he saw it he'd been older than these two.
"I was hit, but it was an accident," he said. "I woke up a grumpy grown-up. He woke up slowly but he waved his arms about, like this, while he was waking up. I was standing a bit too close and he accidentally hit me."
"Were you scared?" This was Paul again.
"No, it was an accident, it happened real fast so there wasn't time to be scared. I guess I would have been scared if he meant to hurt me, but he didn't."
"Was it Will?" Jenni asked. No wonder they were both so subdued, Patrick thought.
"No, sweetie, Will would never ever hit one of us, not even in his sleep, he's one of the good guys. He cares about you two. He's good to me even though I cause trouble for him sometimes. Will isn't grumpy when he wakes up. It wasn't Will. You do believe me, don't you?" he added.
"Yes," Paul said. Jenni nodded.
"I snuck out on Thanksgiving night after bedtime. That's when it happened. I went out after curfew when I shouldn't have, I went somewhere where I shouldn't have gone. A man was asleep there. When I woke him up he turned out to be grumpy and this happened by accident. That's why Willand Sally have rules like bedtimes and curfews. Bad things can happen late at night even when you're not with bad people. That guy was just sleepy and a bit grumpy when he woke up. He's a good guy too, like Spider-Man, but even Spider-Man hits the wrong guy by accident sometimes."
Jenni still looked nervous.
"Why did you sneak out?" she asked.
Patrick thought about how the Brodies might put it. He didn't want to go into details.
"I… made a bad choice. If I'd stayed in bed on Thanksgiving night this would never have happened. That doesn't mean it was my fault," he added. "People shouldn't ever get beat up, even if they did something wrong. That grown-up didn't mean to hit anyone, it wasn't his fault either. When you fall over, the ground doesn't mean to hurt you but it's a whole lot bigger and harder than you are, so you get a bruise or a cut on your knee. This is the same. Grown-ups are a whole lot bigger and stronger than us."
"Will you promise to make good choices from now on?" Jenni asked seriously.
"Aw sweetie," Patrick said, giving her a small hug, "I promise to try."
They spent some time playing hide-and-seek in the back yard. After they came in to get a drink and a snack, Jenni and Paul settled down to watch some Saturday morning cartoons on the TV but Patrick was too restless. He dug out one of his library books instead and took it out to the front porch. He wasn't expecting Angela to turn up before lunchtime but nevertheless couldn't stop looking up hopefully each time a car drove past, wondering who would be giving her a lift.
The sixth time he looked up Patrick was delighted to see his friend Pete Barsocky's ageing pickup. There seemed to be a close convoy behind it and Patrick was astonished a moment later when Pete, grinning, pulled up on the drive and rolled to a halt in front of the garage. Even as he did so, three other pickups performed the same maneuver and came to rest parked in close formation, filling the drive. Dozens of carnies, mostly young men, piled out or jumped down from the backs of the vehicles, led by Pete and Billy Ruskin.
"Pete! Boss-man!" Patrick exclaimed in surprise. He ran over and Pete picked him up into his signature bear hug, swinging him around before setting him down.
"You okay, Paddy?" Pete asked at the same time as Billy Ruskin said "What the hell happened to you?" Before he could say more than 'I'm fine' Patrick was surrounded by people shaking his hand, hugging him, patting him on the back or his shoulder, tousling his hair. Grinning as though the top of his head might come off Patrick greeted them all, delighted to see them. This was carny folk writ large, not trying to remain unobtrusive in costumes or concession stand uniforms. They were all guys he thought of as his friends, not his dad's: people with whom he would happily shoot the breeze on a wet, slow day on the lot. Patrick heard a distinctive engine and looked up in surprise just as Pops Ruskin's pride and joy, his maroon '68 Camaro SS, came into view.
The car pulled up, blocking in the pick-ups on the drive, as Patrick freed himself from the genial melee and made it to the sidewalk. As though in a dream he opened the passenger door and held out his hand for Angela as Pops Ruskin himself stepped out of the driver's side. Angela had time to say 'hey, Paddy' and give him an apologetic smile before Pops was in front of him, grasping his hand in a firm shake.
"Paddy Jane," Ruskin murmured, his voice its usual menacing-sounding gravel tone, catching Patrick's eye and shaking his head. "You got a rare talent for finding trouble wherever you go, boy. Last night when Billy heard what happened to his new headline act he wanted to bring a few boys over to, uh, check up on you. I persuaded him to wait until this morning."
Patrick's eyes widened as he realized what was going on. This was the kind of trouble that Brodie definitely didn't deserve.
"No no no no no no no! They didn't do this! They've been nothing but good to me!" Patrick murmured urgently, giving the faintest jerk of his head towards the house. "There's little kids in the house!" he added in a rapid hiss, close to panic.
"Okay, son, calm down, calm down," Ruskin replied, his eyes taking in the bruising on Patrick's face with a shrewd expression. "That's why I'm here today too. I wanted to make sure Billy wasn't looking for trouble when he came over."
"With twenty guys?" The anxiety was still evident in Patrick's voice as he glanced over the lawn, every eye on him and Pops.
"Your friends, boy. They all wanted to come. Sometimes it's good to remind people that you ain't all alone in the world. Everyone here just wanted to make sure you're okay. Okay? That's all. These are my people, not Billy's crew. You say these folks didn't hit you, well I'm sure glad to hear that and I believe you, I really do, but I think Billy would like to know exactly what happened to you, make sure it won't happen again, if you catch my drift." The old man nodded towards the house, adding casually, "It's showtime, son."
With a sinking feeling Patrick turned. Brodie and Sally were standing at the open front door, looking apprehensively at the crowd of carnies standing on their front lawn.