HANK
He doesn't go into the city much because it's so unfamiliar. There are other, smaller towns closer to Old Senora that he frequents much more often, but they don't ever prepare him for Santa Barbara. The click of his boots on the clay tile is somehow different and startling, and the smell of the sea reaches him from everywhere. He's just shaking the taste of the air from his mouth when he approaches the café.
The woman for whom he's looking is sitting there, flipping through the pages of a binder and occasionally making a note in it with her pen. Hank can see that she's passed on some traits to her son, though not many - the striking cheek bones, slim frame, and the curve of his nose are hers, but that's where the similarities stop. This woman has auburn hair, streaked with gray, as opposed to her son's chestnut hair that grows darker by the day. Her eyes are round, the color of the sea after a storm; his are almond-shaped, the color of freshwater rapids. But when she looks up, he can see that they have the same haunted look that bores right into him, and it sends a jolt down his spine. Hank looks down, taking off his hat.
"Mrs. Lassiter, right?" he greets, and she narrows her eyes are him warily.
"That'd be me," she answers cautiously. "Do I know you?"
"Hank Mendel, director of activities up at Old Senora," he introduces. He's met her before, but clearly he's just a face that she didn't deem important enough to remember. She coldly ignores his offered hand, and with some chagrin, he shoves it back in his pocket, rocking on his heels. Still, there's a glimmer of recognition in her eyes. "I just wanted to talk to you about your son."
Her eyes flash dangerously; Hank's first instinct is to take a step back. "What about my son?" She slowly closes her binder. Hank is reminded of a cat preparing to strike. "Is he alright?"
"Oh, he's doing fine, ma'am," he corrects quickly. "He's just been a little...reserved."
"Well, he's always been like that." There's a tone of defensiveness to her voice, a steely note that makes him freeze up. Hank often forgets that he's not a parent, and remembers full force that Mrs. Lassiter is; she sits up straight and holds him in place with a sharp stare. "There's nothing wrong with Carlton, Mr. Mendel."
"I wasn't claiming that. He's just seemed more down than usual recently, and I..." He licks his lips in an attempt to return some moisture to his mouth. "I wanted to ask you if he could stay up with me for a little longer than a weekend. Maybe a week or two this summer, just to get some color back in him."
And Carlton desperately needs it - he's 10 years old and he spends all his time cooped up inside reading. Hank can appreciate a well-read kid, but when he was 10, he was riding horses and spending as much time as possible outside. He understood that Carlton burned easily and didn't know how to ride a horse, but he thought it was odd that this young boy had such an interest in what Hank did and still spent days upon days inside the house. Hank, being unmarried, wanted to teach him, even raise him a little. Carlton seriously admired him - he could see it in the boy's eyes every time they had a conversation. It wasn't his place, he knew that, but Carlton had this way of looking so sad. And Hank, soft-hearted as he was, just wanted to help.
He can see Mrs. Lassiter turning it over in her head, her head tilted slightly in an expression he had seen many times before on her son's face. Her brow furrows slightly, eyes focusing on the pen in her hand. Finally, she looks up at him.
"What would he be doing?" she asks, her words measured carefully.
"Y'know, helping out up there. Taking care of the horses, overnight camping out in the woods, things like that." He's careful not to include learning to handle a revolver on that list, nor learning to gut fish. "I think it'd really help him."
She eyes him carefully; there's a dangerous hint to her look, but she can tells she's at the very least considering. He fingers the brim of his hat nervously.
"He's asthmatic, you know," she warns, and it sounds like she's scolding him. Hank feels like he ought to blush and look ashamed of himself. "He's thin, bad ankles. Eyesight's a little poor, he reads all the time."
"It's all noted, ma'am," he says gently. "I spend a lot of time with him." And parts of what she says is wrong - Carlton only has runner's-induced asthma, and it's very minor. His ankles are admittedly bad, but he's getting stronger. His eyesight was perfectly fine; he was just forced to read in the dark a lot, but otherwise he could see perfectly. Hank keeps it to himself - he's in no place to argue with the boy's mother. "Honestly, everyone in the town loves him. He'll be great."
Mrs. Lassiter tips her head to the side, eyeing him. "They don't mind him there?"
"'Course not. He's a sweet kid. Brutally honest, though." And he can see where it comes from now. Hank watches her warily as she sighs and tucks a stray hair behind her ear, shifting in her seat.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Mendel - Hank," she corrects. "The other kids have been a hassle, and his father is back in town, and this is getting pretty-"
He holds up a hand, and she pauses. "Worry not, Mrs. Lassiter." He offers what he hopes is a warm smile to the woman, who looked like she needed it. "If you ever need him out of your hair for a while, we've got you covered. Over the summer, we can keep an eye on him. I've known the boy for a year or two and I think he'd...really like it, anyway."
Mrs. Lassiter stares at him as if she'd never see anyone like him before. He tries not to get unnerved. There's a tense moment where they sit in silence; then, she stands, gathering up her materials.
"I need some time to think on it," she says shortly, tucking that stray strand of hair back again. Hank steps to the side and moves a chair to let her pass. "I will think on it, though, Mr. Mendel," she relents, "and I'll send Carlton back with an answer this Friday. Deal?"
He smiles, and he sees for a second a flicker of something in her stormy eyes. Relief? Happiness? "Sounds perfect to me. Let him know for me, will you? I was going to surprise him."