CHAPTER 117, PASSING

Night, later that same week

Hotel Bartholomew
Service Entrance

Thomas's hopes for the day had been thoroughly trounced. He used the key entrusted to him to open the low side service entrance, stumbled to the stairs, and plopped himself onto a step. His shoes were taking retribution for the punishment they had suffered that day, and Thomas eased them off, hoping the flesh was intact under his socks. The service lift beckoned to him. Not lift, he reminded himself. Elevator, elevator, elevator. Thomas usually avoided the hotel elevators, preferring to keep himself fit by taking the stairs, but tonight was not usual.

The elevator delivered Thomas to his hallway, and he fumbled for the keys he had shoved back in his pocket. Most days, he entered his adjoining room through the living room of the Bates suite. Tonight, he was determined to avoid a lecture. Bates had been pressuring him to give up his side jobs, and Thomas was in no mood for a debate. He quietly opened the door, set down his shoes, and spread himself face-down across his bed. It was Anna who had insisted he be the one to take the private room with its own bath.

There are bound to be days when you'll want nothing more than to lock us out, Pooh, even if it's only for an hour or two.

Thomas had barely made an impression in the mattress when a knock sounded at the door. He chose to ignore the intrusion.

"Thomas?"

It was Anna. Anna would leave the scolding to her husband. Thomas turned his face towards the door. "Yes?"

"Are you decent?"

"Depends on who you ask."

The door creaked open, and Thomas watched from his prone position as Anna assessed his condition. That morning, he had watched her marcel her hair for practice, and he was as charmed by her new look as he was terrified of her curling iron.

"May I turn on a light?"

"Okay."

Anna chuckled. She always chuckled when Thomas said, Okay. She outright laughed on the rare occasion when her husband said it. She turned on the lamp closest to the door and the light danced along the neatly ordered waves in her hair. "Heavens, Pooh, you look as though you've been put through the wringer."

"That about sums it up."

"That's a shame. I was certain you'd found the perfect sideline."

"So was I." Without sitting up, Thomas dug into his pocket and pulled out its contents. "Here. Put it with the rest."

Anna sat on the bed and counted the crumpled bills. "Twenty-four dollars from teaching the Charleston?"

"Charleston's old hat, Anna. Those are just my tips. I'll have to go back to collect my pay."

Anna smoothed the bills and tucked them into her apron pocket. "Are you going back?"

"Haven't decided." Thomas knew Anna would not pry for details. That was another task she would leave to her husband.

"You've had a long day, little brother."

Thomas looked past Anna to see Bates leaning against the door frame.

"Have you had supper?"

"I had a big lunch, John. I'm too tired to eat."

Anna stood and straightened her apron. "I'm not going to listen to the two of you bicker about it. I'll bring you something light from Chef G."

Thomas turned away from Bates and listened to Anna's footsteps fade as she rolled their borrowed cart to the elevator. He felt the mattress yield as Bates sat next to him.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"There's nothing to tell."

"Pooh, I've known you to dance the night away in Harlem and go straight to work in the morning as fresh as a daisy."

"That was for pleasure. Today was for pay." Thomas listened to the silence, knowing that Bates was contemplating his choice of tactics.

"Take a shower, Pooh. That always makes you feel better."

Bates was right. Thomas was exceedingly fond of American showers. He pushed himself to his feet, and Bates did the same and helped him off with his jacket. He leaned over Thomas's shoulder and whispered, "Talk to me, Pooh."

Thomas felt the words tickle his ear. He dropped onto the bed and lifted a foot. "Pull off my sock."

Bates gave Thomas a quizzical look but did as he asked. "Crikey!"

Even Thomas was surprised by the severity of the bruises covering his foot. Bates removed the other sock to reveal a purple twin. "You need ice," he decreed and left the room. Thomas could hear him on the telephone.

"Hello, Jake. Is Mrs Bates there? Well, she's on her way. Kindly ask her to bring back a bucket of ice. She has the cart. Thank you, Jake."

"Thanks, Jake!" shouted Thomas.

Bates returned to the bedroom with aspirin and a glass of water. "This will help. What happened, Pooh? It looks as though a lorry ran over your feet."

"More like a lorry-load of females."

"You didn't have to stay."

"It was one day out of my life, John, and the tips were good." Thomas began to undress. "A little too good," he added under his breath.

"When is a tip too good?"

For the briefest of moments, Thomas considered not answering, but he knew that was a futile endeavor. "When a woman thinks her tip deserves more than a lesson."

Bates chuckled as he collected Thomas's discarded clothes. "I see."

"It's not funny, John. You wouldn't believe how shameless some of them were. Not all of them. My first was a coed who wanted the lindy-hop for her first college dance. I couldn't believe my luck, getting paid for having fun. But the next one! She asked for the rhumba, and as soon as I closed the door, she grabbed my ..." Thomas illustrated with his hand. "I hardly knew what to do."

"The hussy!"

"Stop it, John!" Thomas stomped into the bathroom. "I know I should have left. It's just that ..." He yanked the shower curtain open.

"It's just that what, Pooh?"

"These women were spoiling something I love, and I ... all I know is, the more vulgar the woman, the more I wanted her money."

"A fine for the crime."

"I suppose." Thomas turned on the water.

"Not too hot, Pooh," cautioned Bates, "Your feet."

"Right." Thomas tested the temperature and stepped into the shower.

Bates raised his voice over the water. "You've been given a rare privilege, Pooh."

"What are you babbling about?"

"You've been given a chance to see how the other half lives."

"What other half?"

"Women, Pooh! What other, other half is there?"

"I don't know. I'm too tired for philosophy."


A short time later

Bates leaned back on the sofa and gazed thoughtfully at his wife and little brother who sat together at the small table by the window. Thomas was devouring the bowl of chicken mulligatawny that Anna had selected for him, and she was entertaining him with tales of hair coloring mishaps at her school. Thomas's feet had been iced and were resting on a towel. Bates thought they must hurt like the dickens, but Thomas was enjoying Anna's stories and did not seem to care.

A pleasant breeze found its way through the open window, and Bates let out a contented sigh. Nothing pleased him more than being tucked into his little nest at night with his family. In public, he was the picture of respectability, but in the privacy of his home, whether it be a cottage in Downton or a New York hotel suite, he was learning to let loose his truer self. At times, he could be affectionate, or mischievous, or fanciful, and his family embraced all his aspects. Only one thing more was needed to secure his paradise. To make Thomas see sense.

Thomas pushed his empty bowl aside. "You were right, Anna. I did need a good supper."

"I believe I was the one who suggested that," reminded Bates.

Thomas ignored the prompt. "You're always looking out for me, Anna."

Anna cleared the bowl to the cart. "It's exhausting to live with four children."

"Three," contradicted Bates and Thomas in unison.

Anna held up four fingers to end the conversation.

Thomas nodded towards an insulated carafe on the cart. "Sanka?"

Anna moved the carafe to the table. "That's right."

"What's under the cloche?"

"Ice your feet again, and I'll show you."

Thomas groaned but obediently pushed one foot, and then the other, into the bucket of melting ice.

Bates pulled out his pocket watch and noted the time. He watched Thomas set his jaw against the discomfort. "A bit more ice, Pooh?"

"Shut up, you old goat."

"Leave him alone, Mr Bates. Has it been two minutes?"

"One minute, ten seconds."

Anna set the covered dish on the table. "Sanka, John?"

"Yes, please."

Anna filled three cups.

"Two minutes," announced Bates.

"Thank god!" Thomas pulled his feet from the ice and set them on the towel.

Anna put her hand on the cloche. "Are you ready?"

"You're being rather dramatic, aren't you macushla?"

"Am I?" Anna removed the cloche with a flourish.

"Brownies!" shouted Bates and Thomas together.

"Shush!" laughed Anna. "You'll wake the children. We don't have enough for them too!"

"Am I invited to this party?" asked Bates, who was as enamored of American brownies as Thomas was of American showers.

"Pull up a chair, Mr Bates."

"What did I miss today?" asked Thomas.

"You should have seen Timmy with his cocoa at dinner tonight," began Anna. "He poured some into his saucer to cool and drank it straight from the plate, the way Mrs Gold does with her coffee."

Thomas chuckled. "Yesterday, Milly and I were riding home from school on the subway, and she was reading a new book I gave her, The Little Engine That Could. The story must have been exciting because, all of a sudden, she slammed the book on her lap and shouted, Oy gevalt!"

The three burst out laughing.

Anna dried her eyes with her apron. "We can't forget that Mrs Gold is a good influence. She encourages the children to be independent. I suppose we have to take the good with the ... odd."

Bates reached over and mussed Thomas's hair. "Haven't we always?"

Thomas had a mouthful of brownie and muttered something unintelligible.

"Mr Bates, tell him about the conversation you overheard this morning."

"Miss Whitley and Miss Hayes were gossiping about you, little brother. Your scheme with Minnie's picture worked like a charm."

Thomas grinned. "What did they say?"

"Leave it to some English woman to spoil that poor, darling Mr Barrow," quoted Bates in a falsetto voice. "An American woman would have known how to make him happy!"

"Do you hear that, Anna? I'm a darling man."

"You were a darling man," corrected Bates. "Now you're spoiled goods."

"I can be spoiled goods, if it means that no one will be suspicious about my not being married."

Anna cut her brownie in half. "It's not right for you to have to go through this charade."

You're sweet, Anna, but I'm used to it."

Bates was sorry to introduce a contentious topic, but it had to be done. "Pooh, we have to talk about these outside jobs of yours."

"John, I'm ready to drop. Can't it wait?"

"Now, Pooh," Anna insisted, "while the children are sleeping."

"Fine."

Bates tried to keep his tone light. "You push yourself too hard, Pooh. You did it at the Abbey, and you're doing it here." Bates paused for his little brother's rebuttal, but none was forthcoming. "We're well within the budget we set for ourselves. You're risking your health to no purpose."

"No purpose? Every time I head for Milly's school, I see some new indigent setting up housekeeping on the sidewalk!"

Anna stood and shook a few crumbs from her apron to her plate. "I see it too, Pooh, but I have a few clients now. Well-heeled clients. And Bloomingdale's buyer wants two of my designs for winter. We've hardly touched our principal."

"And how do you think that makes me feel, having you provide for me?" shouted Thomas.

"That's not how it is, Pooh," responded Bates calmly. "Anna's earning money doing what she loves. I don't care how it looks to others. I wouldn't dream of asking her to give it up."

"I didn't mean it like that, Anna. I don't want ... I'm proud of the work you do."

"I know, Pooh."

"I haven't found the right job yet, that's all. The Empire State Building's not far from here. Perhaps I could ..."

Anna bolted up from her seat. "No!"

"Part-time, Anna. I could ..."

"I said no! Absolutely not!" Anna pounded her fist on the table, making Thomas jump.

"Anna, please," murmured Bates.

Anna closed her eyes for a moment. She sat quietly and took Thomas's hand. "I'm sorry, Pooh, but I'd be miserable with worry."

"We both would," added Bates. "Some of those workers have died. One stepped right off a girder."

"They were careless."

Bates picked up his last bit of brownie. "We came to New York as a family. We're not looking for you to be our meal ticket. That's not what we need from you."

Thomas stared at his plate. "Then what do you need from me?"

Before Bates could respond, Annie was on her feet again. "How can you ask us that?" she roared. "What we need from you is you, Thomas Barrow!" With that, she marched into her bedroom and closed the door emphatically behind her.

Thomas crossed and uncrossed his arms. He stirred his Sanka. He picked up his brownie and set it down again. He looked at Anna's door and back at his plate. "What did I say?"

"You hurt her feelings, Pooh. Come to think of it, you hurt mine too."

"I didn't mean to."

"I know. You say foolish things when you're overtired. Another reason to give up these jobs."

"What should I do?"

"You're asking the wrong person."

Thomas dried his feet and padded to Anna's door where he hesitated.

"Go on."

Thomas knocked lightly. "May I come in?"

Thomas listened for a reply, then opened and shut the door behind him. Bates could not make out their words, but the tone was unmistakable. Anna was furious, and Thomas was contrite. Bates never quite understood the bond that had grown between the pair. Thomas championed Anna's talent, and Anna smoothed life's rough edges for Thomas, but there was something more. They shared a deep affection, and to Bates's own surprise, he felt no need to be jealous.

Bates detected a shift in the conversation, and not long after, the door opened.

"Strawberries, Anna."

"Strawberries, Pooh."

Thomas shut the door and returned to his chair with a nonchalance that amused Bates. He took a bite of brownie and held out what was left. "Do you care for the rest, John?"

Bates wanted it very much but was teaching himself to eat more moderately. "I'd better not. I have to watch my girlish figure."

Thomas chuckled and broke off another bite. "Anna and I have made a bargain."

"Oh?"

"I've agreed to give up working outside the hotel."

"I'm glad to hear it, Pooh. What's the bargain?"

"In exchange, you're going to enroll at the Art Students League."

"What?"

"Every letter from Ella asks why you haven't enrolled, and Anna wonders too."

"Since when does Anna make bargains for me?"

"Since she feels you're cheating yourself."

"That's ridiculous."

"We won't be in New York forever, John. There's no place in Hoopenberg for you to study art."

"Tuition is twelve dollars a month, Pooh. That's too much."

"How can it be too much? We included it in that precious budget of yours."

The bedroom door opened, and Anna emerged dressed in her robe. She headed for the bathroom that she and Bates shared with the children.

Bates all but accosted his wife. "Anna, I don't appreciate your taking charge of my art education! Have I ever told you what sewing courses to take?"

"Design courses," whispered Thomas.

"Have I ever told you what design courses to take?"

Anna stopped at the bathroom door. "You didn't have to tell me. I wasn't afraid."

"I am not afraid!"

"Then what's stopping you, Mr Bates?"

"I ... I'm only concerned for you, Anna."

"And what do art lessons have to do with me?"

"The study of art includes life classes. Do you know what those are?"

Anna pulled the pins from her hair. "You draw from life. From nude models. Is that right, sweetheart?"

"Female models, Anna. Nude female models."

"I would expect as much."

"Don't you see, macushla. Taking a life class would be disrespectful to you."

"Would it?" Anna stepped into the bathroom and returned to the door with a hairbrush. "Then I'm afraid I've been disrespectful to you, Mr Bates."

"What are you talking about?"

Anna brushed only the ends of her hair so as not to disturb her marcel. "My clients are almost nude when I do fittings."

Bates could feel that Anna was leading to something, but he could not put his finger on it. "That's hardly the same as my sketching a nude woman."

"Humor me, John. Do you remember, last Saturday, when three friends came together from Connecticut for their fittings? You and Thomas had tea with us afterward."

"I remember."

"Do you remember, Pooh?"

"I do," replied Thomas.

"What of it?" Bates demanded.

Anna exchanged her brush for a cap. "Do you remember which was Miss Baudelaire?"

Thomas stood to clear the table. "She was the tall one, wasn't she?"

"That's right."

Thomas tapped Bates's hand. "You remember, John. You said she reminded you of a Gibson Girl."

"I remember."

Anna tucked her hair neatly into the cap. "Should I tell him, Pooh?"

"I think you'd better."

"Don't play games with me, Anna."

"Very well, Mr Bates. Miss Baudelaire is a man."

Bates looked from Anna to Thomas. Thomas's head was down, but Bates could see he was laughing. "What's the joke?"

"No joke, sweetheart. Now, I must get ready for bed. I have school in the morning. I haven't graduated yet." Anna stepped into the bathroom and shut the door.

Bates dropped himself into his chair.

"She didn't know, John."

"Didn't know what?"

"That Baudelaire was a man. At least, not 'til after the fitting."

"How could that be?"

"Anna said his back and chest were shaved and so were his legs. He was wearing women's underwear. Knickers and ..." Thomas vaguely passed his hand across his chest. "She thought something wasn't quite right, but she wasn't going to be rude to a client."

"Then how did she find out?"

"After the fitting, the other two gave it away. Then Baudelaire showed Anna a photo of himself as a man. He's a grocer. He doesn't dress like that in Connecticut – only here in the city."

Bates looked at Thomas intently. "We all had tea together. Could you tell?"

"I was suspicious, but there's no proper way to ask a lady if she's a gentleman, is there? I asked Anna later, and she told me." Thomas rested his hands on Bates's shoulders. "It's funny, John. Where's your sense of humor?"

"I must have left it in my girdle."

Thomas laughed appreciatively. He returned the last bit of brownie to its cloche and wiped the crumbs from the table. "John, I brought home twenty-four dollars tonight. That's enough for two months of classes."

"I know."

"Then you'll do it? Perhaps it's not too late to enroll for October."

"But there's the ethical question, Pooh."

"What ethical question?"

"The twenty-four dollars. Isn't that the tip money you earned from ... entertaining those women?"

"So?"

"So, Pooh, if I use that money, won't that make me your pimp?"

Thomas stood dumbfounded for a moment before his eyes flared, but his indignation soon dissolved into riotous laughter. "You always surprise me, you old goat," he gasped.

"Life is surprising."

Once Thomas composed himself, he pulled a chair close to Bates. "Why do you hesitate, John? Ella's been begging you to go to the Art Students League. She says they take beginners, and you're well beyond that."

"Am I?"

"You know you are. You're already skilled at sketching, and now your painting's coming along."

"That's technique, Pooh. That's not enough."

"What more is there?"

Bates sighed. "A man may have a large vocabulary, but that doesn't mean he has anything to say."


Early the next morning

The faint sound of a turning doorknob caught Thomas's attention, and he shifted his gaze from his book to the doors on the opposite side of the living room. One of the doors opened, and Bates emerged. He paused to acknowledge Thomas, who was sitting on the sofa, and then closed the door soundlessly so as not to disturb his wife.

While Bates completed his early morning ritual in the bathroom, Thomas glanced out the window and saw that the sky was still dark, or at least as dark as a city sky could be. Thomas missed the starry sky of Downton, but he'd have a country sky soon enough in Hoopenberg.

"Can't sleep, Pooh?"

"A dream woke me. I couldn't remember it, but it left me uneasy, so I came in here to read."

Bates joined Thomas on the sofa. "What cure shall we try tonight?"

Thomas smiled. Bates was a stickler for a proper night's sleep, for Thomas, anyway, if not for himself. Whenever Thomas struggled with insomnia, Bates would lead the attack, reading to him or massaging his shoulders. On occasion, he would sit on the edge of the bed and invent tales of Bonnie John and Terrible Thomas to lull him to sleep.

"You're off the hook, Mama Bear. I'm working the midnight shift at the desk tonight, so I'll wait 'til this afternoon to go back to bed."

"You've already learned the front desk. Why bother with the midnight shift?"

"Because it's not the same. The day's receipts are reconciled, and everything's turned over to a new day's business. Mrs Gold says it's important to learn the overnight routines. Besides, it will give my feet a bit more time to recover."

Bates patted Thomas's arm. "All right, Pooh." He leaned back and stretched out his legs. "It's this time of morning, I miss having our own kitchen."

"There's a bit of brownie left."

"Is there?" Bates brightened. "Girlish figure be damned!" He retrieved the plate from under its cloche. "Shall we share?"

"All right."

Bates selected a butter knife from the cart and returned to the sofa. Thomas shut his book, and Bates set the plate on top. He sat and draped an arm on the sofa behind Thomas, a posture he assumed in the wee hours when the rest of the world slept and the two men shared their private thoughts in hushed voices.

Thomas picked up the knife. The plate held one whole brownie and one half brownie, and Thomas cut them into six pieces.

"Who eats half a brownie?"

"Your wife."

"I could never do that."

Thomas laughed. He liked that Bates had a big appetite. He liked anything that made Bates less than perfect.

"Is that the book you asked me to check out? Passing?

"Yes, and it's due in a few days. This is the first chance I've had to read it."

"What's the story?"

"It's about two women who were childhood friends. They're both black and can pass for white, and one of them, her name is Clare, decides to live as white. She marries a rich, white man and doesn't tell him her ancestry. What makes it worse is that her husband hates Negroes. When she was pregnant, she was so terrified that her baby would be born dark, she decided not to risk having more. The other woman, Irene, married a black doctor. They bump into each other at a restaurant when they hadn't seen each other for twelve years."

"Are you enjoying it?"

"I haven't decided."

Bates laughed. "That's not something you decide. It just happens."

"I like the story, but this author ...," Thomas looked at the dust cover, "this Nella Larsen, she's manipulating me."

"Manipulating you? How"

"She's tricking me into liking Clare. The woman is living a lie, but she's the more fun of the two, and she's not judgmental."

"You like Clare because you're like Clare."

"I certainly am not!"

Bates returned the empty plate to the cart. "You're passing, aren't you? You even tried to marry."

"There's no comparison, John. Clare lied to her husband because she wanted a life of luxury. Minnie and I kept everything above board. We wanted a family, not money."

"I know, Pooh, but there was something else, wasn't there?

"What else?"

Bates resumed his seat. "You wanted to be able to walk down the street with Minnie on your arm. You wanted people to see you as a married man. You wanted people to look at you and see me."

"Shut up, John. You don't know what it's like."

"Don't I? When I walk down the street, all people see is my cane. I want them to look at me and see you."

Thomas met Bates's thoughtful gaze and felt an overwhelming impulse to pull this artist/philosopher into his arms. Instead, he ceded the argument. "You're right. I am like Clare, but she crossed a line that I never could. Not even in my worst days."

Bates smiled that maddening half-smile of his. "I know, Pooh. That's one of the things I love about you."

Thomas resisted the urge to ask what were the other things.

"Will you be seeing Ivor this week?"

Thomas took a moment to catch up to the change of topic. "He's busy. He thinks he'll have to close Two Flats soon and wants to bring over The Truth Game."

"You know he'll carve out time for you."

Thomas shrugged.

Bates frowned. "Pooh, have you had a falling out?"

"With Ivor? Never."

Bates hooked his arm about Thomas's neck. "Come, tell Mama Bear."

Thomas considered the invitation and decided to accept. "Ivor and I care about each other, and he's an appealing man..."

"But?"

"... but afterward, I find myself feeling a bit ... disappointed." Thomas could feel the color rising in his cheeks.

Bates tousled Thomas's hair. "Go on."

"Our affection for each other is real, and we do ... have fun ... you know."

"I know."

"But there's something missing. It's difficult to describe."

"Try."

Thomas lips pursed as he searched for the words. "Let's say it's cold out, and you put on your hat and coat and a scarf around your neck. Those things keep you warm, but they're merely ..."

"Utilitarian?"

"That's right. Utilitarian. Now let's say you come home and you're cold and you have a hot whiskey waiting for you. The glass warms your hands as you lift it to your mouth. The aroma reaches you before the glass touches your lips. The honey is sweet on your tongue. The whiskey burns its way to your belly and spreads the warmth to your skin."

"I remember."

Thomas looked up, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, John. I forgot."

"Nonsense. I don't drink with my ears, Pooh." There was that half-smile again. "That was a good analogy."

"It was a terrible analogy ... comparing whiskey to passion."

"So it's passion that's missing with Ivor?"

"Not exactly. There's passion between us. It's intimacy that's missing. The other kind of intimacy. You and I are more intimate than Ivor and me." When Thomas realized what he just said, he felt his stomach turn over.

Bates seemed unconcerned. "I think I understand. Anna and I have both kinds of intimacy."

Now it was Thomas's turn to change the subject. "Do you have any appointments today?"

Bates reclaimed his arm and smoothed back his hair. "I have a meeting at 10:30 to plan the two Halloween parties I booked. That should be interesting. And I have an appointment after lunch for a sweet sixteen."

"Will the father be there?"

"He's supposed to be."

Thomas laughed. "You always do well with fathers."

"We have something in common. We dote on our little girls."

"You'll be done early then?"

Bates gave Thomas's ear a playful tug. "Is there something you need me to do, Pooh?"

"I need you to go to that art school and enroll."

"Fine. I'm tired of arguing about it."

"It's not a punishment, John. You should be eager to go."

"I don't know if I belong there. It's difficult to judge your own work, Pooh. You try to be objective and end up wanting to tear your stuff to bits."

Thomas set aside his book. "Come with me. I want to show you something."

Bates followed Thomas into his bedroom. "It's not a tin of biscuits, is it? You're not stealing food again?"

"You old goat, I haven't done that since Mrs Patmore set me straight."

Thomas opened the bottom drawer where he kept his pyjamas.

Bates spied a sketch on top of the clothes. "What's this?" He pulled out the drawing and set it on the bed. It was a sketch of Timmy and Milly sitting by the River Swale in Downton with their feet in the water.

"It's yours. Don't you recognize it?"

"Of course I recognize it. I meant, what's it doing here?"

"The day we arrived, you left your portfolio sitting on the sofa. I looked through it and saw this sketch, and I had to have it."

"So you nicked it?"

Thomas shrugged.

"Why didn't you ask me for it? I would have given it to you."

"I know. It's just that ... I didn't want to talk about it then."

"And you want to talk about it now?"

"It's not that I want to talk. It's that you need to hear."

Bates sat next to the sketch. "All right."

"When I look at this picture, I can feel the sun warming their faces and the water cooling their feet. I can feel how proud Timmy is of his sister and how completely she trusts him. I can see myself and my sister in them. I can relive the feeling Flossie and I had for each other. It comforts me."

"That's kind of you, Pooh. There's no need to hide it. It's yours."

"You're not hearing me, John. I'm trying to tell you that you've captured something ... you've captured their souls. This sketch ... some of your others, too ... you know how to put life on a piece of paper, and that piece of paper can make me cry."

Bates rose to his feet. "Are you saying that my drawings move you?" he asked in a slow, deliberate way, as though he and Thomas did not share the same language.

"Some of them, absolutely."

Bates took hold of Thomas forcefully by the arms. "Thomas, false praise is not helpful!"

"I'm telling you how your drawings make me feel. It's that simple."

Bates released his hold and stared. Then he clasped Thomas's face in his hands. "Pooh, I can't tell you what this means to me." He embraced Thomas tightly. "You've made me very happy."

Thomas had not expected such a strong reaction, and he tentatively returned the hug. Bates had bathed before bed, and Thomas inhaled the traces of soap and talc and something more subtle that he knew to be Bates's own scent. He allowed the fingertips of one hand to touch Bates's hair. "You must have known, John."

"I wasn't sure. I hoped, but I wasn't sure."

Thomas wondered if Bates could feel his heart pounding. "Then you'll enroll tomorrow?"

It was all over too quickly. Bates took a step back. "I promise."

"I'll take the children to school today. You'd better go back to bed, so you'll be fresh for your meeting."

"I'd better." Bates gave Thomas's hand a final squeeze. "Goodnight, Pooh."

Thomas listened until he heard Bates close the bathroom door. Then he closed his own door, leaned against it, and cried.