Tuesdays, Mac starts slipping down to Jack's trailer again. Still drunk, but not so much these days. (If there's anything Jack and Becky have bonded on, it's plotting to look after her idiot uncle. And she wants out of here just as bad as he does; they'll get Mac out of Mission City, if they have to drag him kicking and screaming.)
"Becky's sort of cover, for us," he says once. "People are so busy pitying her, and gossiping about her, and feeling sorry for her because she's being brought up by her bachelor uncle who doesn't know anything about how to raise girls. I mean, I don't like it any more than she does. But it's taken the heat off us, a bit." He sighs. "I think she's played up to it once or twice when people started giving us funny looks again, but I haven't caught her at it."
"Ask her. She'd tell you the truth."
"Suppose she says yes, and I have to give her a talking to about not takin' risks just to look after us? They say not to make rules you can't enforce. I'm not sure I could stop Becky doing anything, that she thought would stop me getting hurt...though you know, there's one thing everybody's right about."
"What's that?"
"That I must be having a lot of trouble, raising a kid all on my lonesome. It would be just that difficult, if I didn't have you 'round to help me out."
Jack finds himself flushing. "I don't do that much. Maybe make her laugh, sometimes."
"Some days, you can tease a smile out of her when even I can't," Mac says, resting against him contentedly. "And- just being there. Somebody at my back, if anything ever did happen to me."
"Don't you dare."
"I'll try not to."
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Of course, there's also the question of something happening to Becky. Which is a worry never far from Mac's mind, these days.
"You'd better take my coat," he says, frowning up at the sky. For the last ten minutes he's only been guessing at the way out of these woods, and Becky's light jacket was intended for Pacific Northwest conditions. Not Minnesota sleet.
He shouldn't have even let her come out wearing that, but the afternoon had started off so nice and warm. They'd wanted to pick the last of the autumnal blueberries before tomorrow's predicted hail...which had arrived today. So much for the weather report.
"Not happening," Becky says, grimacing as she splashes through yet another slushy puddle. "You're the one who knows the way back, I don't want you collapsing on me or anything. How would I ever get you out of these woods?"
She has a point there.
He's been worrying how she'll handle the upcoming season. Becky's never had to live through a winter this hard, after all. Ellen's hinted about a thick woolen coat with rabbit fur trim for Christmas, but that's still a while off.
"It's okay, Unc," she says. "I'm fine."
"I shouldn't have trusted to anybody else," he mutters. "It's my job looking after you."
"Mmm?"
"Never mind." He catches sight of the trailer park with a good deal of relief and some private irritation. The shop's a solid mile and a half from here, and his niece is going an ethereal shade of blue.
Fortunately, there's a cab driver they know who lives right down the way. His hands are full with the blueberry pails, so Becky bangs on the door, hard.
"Oh, hi! You look like a couple of popsicles. Come on in," Jack says.
"Thanks, but no," Mac says. "I've got to get her home. Can you start the cab?"
Jack casts a dubious glance at Becky, pulls the shivering teenager inside. "What you need is to get her warm first. Stay a couple minutes, let me get the heater running. Then I'll take you."
Mac sighs in irritation, but follows.
"I can't get these off," Becky says, pulling at her soaking sneakers with numb fingers. Mac kneels down, helps her untie the laces. These definitely aren't winter wear either. He feels a familiar surge of guilt, letting his beloved niece down yet again.
There's a tearing noise behind them; he glances around and sees that Jack's ripped down the more inappropriate pictures from the wall. That's...thoughtful, actually. Instead of an R-rated trailer, now it's just an improbably messy one with a busted couch. Still not exactly the kind of place Becky ought to be, though.
"Now let's see. One big towel, to dry yourself off-" Jack hands her an oversized flowery affair (where did that come from? He's never seen it before). "One pile of blankets on the sofa here- kinda ratty, but you're welcome to all of them. And two cups of hot chocolate, coming right up. Or jelly glasses, if I'm being honest."
"That sounds great," Becky agrees, diving under the blankets as soon as she's out of her wet things. "The kind with marshmallows?"
"Only kind worth buying! Except when Mac's making it, of course."
Mac pulls off his own soaked coat and wraps himself in a spare blanket. Settles down next to his niece, and starts rubbing some of the life back into her hands.
If anything happened to her-
"Geez, Unc, I'm not all that fragile. Just cold. Don't worry so much."
"You're not even looking at me."
"I can tell."
She probably can.
"Looks like fun out there," Jack says, peering out the window. "Sure you don't want to stay? You two look awfully cosy there."
"Don't be ridiculous. Where would you sleep?"
"On the floor, where else? Actually, probably not on the floor. On that pile of clean laundry over there."
"How do you know the difference between that and the dirty laundry?" Becky asks dubiously.
"Because the dirty pile," Jack says, pointing with exaggerated gestures, "is over here. The clean pile is over there. Do keep up."
She giggles.
"And here's the hot chocolate for both of you. Might want to sit up now."
Mac takes a sip and almost spits it out. "Jack, this is awful! What'd you do, shake a packet into the cup and microwave it?"
"Uh, yeah? Followed the package directions to the letter, honest."
"It's hot," Becky says diplomatically. "That's pretty much all I care about right now."
"Thanks, but no thanks. I want to take Becky home and make her something actually drinkable."
"Saints preserve us," Jack says, rolling his eyes, "from a barista's professional pride. Okay, okay, I'll go get the car started."
He's back in three minutes. "Or not. Car's dead."
"You're a cab driver. This isn't supposed to happen."
"Hey, I had to get a new vehicle fast and cheap. So the good side of things let me down in a snowstorm, that's not a crime. You wanna go outside and take a look?"
Mac sighs. "In this weather? With one of the junkers that you pick up? That's gonna be fun..."
"Or," Becky says, grabbing his wrist. "You could stay in here and I could have an uncle who doesn't freeze to death in a blizzard. That's a good idea too."
"I think she has the right of it, frankly," Jack agrees. "I had dinner earlier, what about you two? Got- well, not that much, I was going to go shopping but then I just couldn't be bothered. Uh- that's turned green, that's a bucket of engine grease, that's a bag of alcohol-soaked gummies- either of you want an alcoholic gummy worm?"
"No thanks."
"Definitely not."
"And a microwave lasagna. It isn't even expired or anything."
"Becky can have that," Mac says. "I was eating a lot of the blueberries as we went, anyway. Sorry."
"You always do, though. Long as I can remember."
"Actually, he only started doing it once he married Ellen," Jack says, unwrapping the lasagna. "The first few years, I was fixing up care packages every week so he wouldn't starve to death on her cooking. He called it love, I called it temporary insanity."
"She was fine as long as she stuck to meat and potatoes," Mac says defensively. "It was when she tried to put on an effect that things went horribly wrong- okay, so the whole marriage was a bad idea but at least I taught her a few things. Once I got her over the idea that she ought to magically know how to do it without training. And she's given up trying to make meat jello taste good."
"Meat jello?" Becky asks. "I'm not getting this."
"You know. Fruit jello, cherry or lime- she liked lime. Made in a big mold, with some canned vegetables and chopped spam in the middle. Or lutefisk, if she was feeling imaginative."
"Still not getting it. Don't think I want to, really."
"And yet he makes fun of me for microwaving things. At least I know where my competency stops," Jack says, handing Becky the hot lasagna. "So. What channel are we gonna watch?"
Which, funnily enough, is when the power goes out.
"Oh, that just figures," Mac mutters.
"Don't worry about it!" Jack shouts. "Propane heat. We'll be fine."
"Jack, we're still right where we were. You don't have to shout."
"Oh, yeah. Hang on. I know I have an emergency candle in here somewhere- ow! Why'd I leave that cupboard open?"
"Try under the sink," Mac says. "I've got some matches in my coat pocket, if you can find that. Inside left, in a plastic carrying case."
"Got it. Here we go."
"That's nice, actually," Becky says, finally digging into her dinner as the candle flickers into light. Jack sets it down on the coffee table (more of a bench, really). "Though, is that the only one?"
"'Fraid so. Still, it's a biggish one. Should last the night. What beats me is, what do we do for entertainment?"
"I could try taking the radio out of your car," Mac jokes.
"Seriously?" Jack says eagerly. "I'd love to watch you try."
"What- no, that'd be silly. Course I wouldn't. I'd probably break something important."
"C'mon, you gotta have more confidence in yourself. Let's do it. Worse that can happen is you break it and I have a gaping hole in my dashboard, right?"
"Ummm...yes?"
"Well, okay then!"
To his surprise, things work out.
They have a very ironic time listening to "Prairie Home Companion" that night.
XXXXXXXXXXXXX
Around midnight, Mac wakes up for some reason, rested and thoroughly at peace. Becky's fallen asleep against his shoulder, with her hair all up in his face. He brushes it away with a smile.
To think he could have lost her. If she'd gone along on that Scout trip, with her brother...his throat closes tight at the thought. It's only been a few months, but already he can't imagine not hearing her voice every day. Seeing her warm gaze every morning, her cheerful laughter-
a heavy, impatient knock slams on the door; he jolts out of his half-doze with terror. It can't possibly be good, not at this time of night- some of Jack's less-than-friends, maybe? Come to collect a debt, or worse?
Becky whimpers sleepily, finds his hand and squeezes it. Mac squeezes back, then levers himself up and hides her under all the blankets.
"Just don't say anything, princess," he whispers.
The knock again. More firmly this time.
Jack mutters something that Mac suspects to be deliberately inaudible, and shoves the door open. "Sheesh! Whaddya want this time of night?"
Blue uniform, blue cap. "Just checking up. A lot of people lost power tonight, we wanted to make sure everyone was all right."
"Oh," Jack says in relief. "Yeah, we're fine. Propane heat, it might explode but at least you're self-sufficient. Is that it, officer?"
"Not quite." The officer swings his flashlight up suddenly, straight into Mac's face; he cringes instinctively, closes his eyes.
"He got lost picking blueberries," Jack says gibly, "and ended up at my trailer, soaked in snow. It's not like I was gonna kick him out."
"Uh-huh." The cop sounds incredulous.
Mac wishes, very hard, that it'd been friendly Sgt Olson to be making the rounds instead.
"So...you weren't up to anything, were you?"
"Good lord, no," Jack says, with a sobriety that sets off all of Mac's alarms. If even Jack thinks that the situation's too serious for a joke-
"You are familiar with Minnesota's laws on sodomy?"
"No," Mac says, and wonders if he said it too quick.
"Yes," Jack says wearily. "A year in prison, and a three thousand dollar fine. Officer, I promise you we weren't doing anything."
"That so? Because I've heard some mighty funny reports about this trailer. Fellow has a way of ending up here a lot, doesn't he? Tell me, why didn't you drive him home in the cab?"
A whole year? This can't be happening, who'll take care of Becky?
"Battery had packed up. It might be working now, but it sure wasn't then."
"You could have called us in. For a lift back to your house. What about it, Mac?"
"I-"
"Uncle Mac," Becky asks, her voice clear and uncharacteristically childish. "What's going on?"
"Um," Mac says wildly. "Nothing for you to worry about, it's just the police. Checking to see if we're okay."
The officer frowns. "Has that kid been here the whole time?"
"Sure I have," Becky says, coughing a little piteously. "We were picking blueberries, and we got caught in the blizzard, and I was so wet and cold. It was awful. And then we finally made it here, and Jack made us hot chocolate-" she trails off, in another fit of coughing.
"Oh, I hope you're not getting sick," Mac says worriedly.
The officer's still looking dubious. "Mind if I have a few questions with her? Alone?"
"You can't send the poor kid outside in this weather," Jack says. "She'll freeze to death, look at her."
"Then I'll come inside."
"Not without a search warrant," Jack says firmly. "Look, do you really think anything remotely questionable could have been going on, with his niece right there? Sheesh!"
"And I suppose she's along every Tuesday night, is that right?"
"Sometimes," Becky says, guilelessly. "Sometimes we make sugar cookies and cut them into little shapes. You ever done that, officer? It's really lots of fun-"
He glares at her with undisguised loathing. "You three are too clever for your own good, you know that?"
But goes. Slamming the door shut behind him.
Jack swallows, settles on the floor by the sofa. "That was pretty close. For a minute or two there I thought we were gonners- that was sharp thinking on your part, Becky. Sorry about you having to lie for us."
"No lying about it," Becky says. "Don't you remember that time we did make all those sugar cookies? You kept eating raw dough straight from the bowl?"
"Becky," Mac says, "you were eight. That was years ago."
"He didn't ask me which Tuesday it was, did he?" Becky says with a grin.
"And your cough's got a lot better suddenly," Jack comments.
"Yeah. Funny about that, isn't it?"
Mac sinks down next to Jack. The adrenaline's still pumping through him; it's hard trying to persuade himself that everything's okay now.
Jack notices his discomfort, squeezes his hand gently. It's nice, but it just makes him feel more guilty. If he's putting Becky at risk...
"Maybe we'd better put off Tuesdays for a while," he suggests. "Just to be on the safe side."
Or for a few years, at least until Becky's graduated and gone. Out of here for good.
Becky leans over, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "Don't you dare, Unc. Everything's been bad enough for us this year as it is. And movie night always cheers you up, you know that."
Good thing she can't see how embarrassed he is, from this position.
"He might be right," Jack says reluctantly. "I mean, if we both ended up on charges, Becky, then your goose is flamebroiled and done to a turn."
"It isn't fair," Becky insists. And starts to cough for real this time.
"Damn police officers letting in draughts," Mac mutters. He checks her temperature, which is a lot lower than he likes. "Jack, she's freezing."
"I'm out of hot chocolate."
"Anything. Hot water, if you have to, just something that'll get her core temperature up." He wraps the blankets around her, pulls all the towels out of Jack's clean pile and throws them on too.
"Here you go," Jack says, passing her yet another jelly glass.
Becky drinks it with relief. "Thanks. Think I just got some dust caught in my throat- this place really needs a spring cleaning."
"That's a relief," Mac says, cuddling her close. "I thought-"
"What, that I'd curl up like a flower petal just because of a little winter? C'mon, Unc, I'm made of tougher stuff than that."
She's putting it on for him. He knows how much she feels the cold.
Still, though. She does look perfectly fine now, and Jack's trailer certainly does need a good clean-out. Maybe he does worry about her too much.
And apparently not enough about other things. No Tuesday is worth losing Becky, or even risking that.
Jack's staring at him, longingly. Mac shakes his head.
It hurts. It hurts like anything. Tearing a chunk out of his heart and flinging it carelessly away.
"Guess I'd better shut these lights off," Jack says quietly. "And we can all go back to bed. Sofa, whatever."
Mac manages a laugh at that, though he doesn't really feel like it.
He waits until they're both fast asleep before he lets the tears come. Becky's still clutching him, in her sleep; her soft embrace eases the pain a little.
Even if hers isn't the one he wants, right now.