Date: Sun, 25 Oct 2020 01:23:20 -0700
From: Rich H <rlhsanclemente@gmail.com>
Subject: When the World Changed Part 33

Here is the latest chapter of this story.  My thanks, as always, to the
people who've reached out to comment on the story - I hope I don't
disappoint them.  My thanks also, of course, to Nifty for providing this
platform for writers - it deserves your support, and not just in terms of
clicks.  Shoot them some cash, keep it alive.

This story is fictional, so don;t go looking for your uncle or cousin in
it.  They aren't.  If reading this sort of story, with real and imagined
sex among minors, is illegal where you live or not your cup of tea,
that's fine - don't read it.  I intend to complete the structure I've
imagined for this story, long though it may be, so buckle up - it;s going
to be quite a ride.


When The World Changed Part 33

	The Christmas dinner, a formal affair served in the gym to
accommodate both students and parents, passed in a blur.  Brady was
exhausted, and deeply depressed.  Doug sat next to him, similarly
catatonic, and David across the large circular table with his father.
Doug's parents jabbered excitedly with Brady's mother, who was enjoying
herself immensely.  That part, at least, made him happy.  She deserves
that, he thought.

	Various awards were presented - the winner of the school
performance contest, which they had been required to attend a few weeks
earlier on a rainy Thursday night, some National Merit Scholar honors
(quite a few actually, given the small size of the student body), some
other outside awards for citizenship and things like that, which Brady
increasingly tuned out, trying to soak Doug's presence in as long as he
could without looking too obviously in his direction.  At one point, their
eyes met.  Brady tried quickly to look away, but in that moment he saw
shocking depression in Doug's gaze.  He almost threw his arms around Doug
to comfort him, against what tragedy he couldn't imagine.  I'm the one
who's suffering, how can you be sad, he thought.

	Linsley emptied out quickly after the dinner concluded.  Doug's
parents were in a hurry to get on the road, given the distance they had to
travel and some mildly threatening winter weather.  The night was pitch
dark, freezing.  Brady and Doug stood on frozen grass behind the building,
next to Doug's parents' car, feeling the crackle under their feet.  After
three months of animated conversation, they were both speechless.

	"OK, son, let's get going.  Thank you, Mrs. Conover, great time
tonight!  Brady, you have a wonderful Christmas with your family."
Mr. Garretson was hopped up like he was on bennies or something.

	"Thanks," Brady replied dully.  He looked at Doug.  "So, I - I'll
see you next year, haha."

	Doug managed a thin smile.  "Yeah," he breathed, a cloud of
condensation wafting from his mouth.  He passed a hand over his face.
"Next year.  Merry Christmas, Bray.  I - I'll call you, OK?"

	"I can call too."

	Doug shrugged.  "Long distance is expensive, Bray.  I'll do it."

	Brady blushed.  "You don't have to -"

	"It's OK, Bray.  I - I want to hear from you.  All right?"

	Brady swallowed, blinking.  "Sure.  OK.  If you - I mean, I, I'd
like that, too."

	Doug's father rapped on the roof of the car.  "Come on, you two,
it's cold out here and we've got a long drive."

	"Sorry, Dad," Doug snapped.  "OK," as he turned to Brady, "I gotta
go here."  He hesitated a moment before pulling Brady into a fierce hug.
Brady fought his emotions as he returned the embrace, feeling Doug against
him, smelling his hair and deodorant, taking in every bit of his being.  He
wanted never to let go.

	Doug pushed back at last.  His eyes were soft, and his smile
banished the frigid winter air.  "See ya, Bray."  His hand patted Brady's
cheek, and he was gone.  The car crunched down the path, turned out toward
Main Street, and vanished.

      Brady took one deep breath before turning to his mother.  She was
watching him with an odd intensity.  "OK, Mom," he said shakily, "guess
it's our turn.  Let me, um, let me check the room one more time, say
goodbye to Davey.  I'll be right back."

      She nodded, still looking at him as if trying to read something.
"All right.  I'll pull over here."

      Brady nodded and walked briskly back into the stairwell.  He ran up
the stairs, gasping as he tried to suppress his tears.  David wasn't in the
room - he clearly had already left.  Brady felt a bit sad at that; it
distracted him for a moment from his own desolation.

      He and his mother drove home in silence.

      It took half an hour to get Grouch to stop whimpering and leaping
about when Brady got home.  His joy made it difficult for Brady to unpack,
even as it cheered him to feel the animal's total love.  But Brady was
tired in a way he'd never known.  He let Grouch onto the bed with him and
passed out.

      He woke the next day to dazzling white.  A good six inches had fallen
in the night, and little seemed to have been trodden down or shoveled yet.
It was almost 11.  He stretched, yawning, and lay back in his bed, looking
around what suddenly appeared to him to be a child's room.  Three Stooges
stickers on the metal bedframe, a homemade Boy Scout patrol flag tied to a
long stick propped in the corner.  Model airplanes.  I need to change this
stuff, he thought, as he slid out of bed and hurried down the back stairs
to the kitchen below, turning on all four burners of the stove to get some
heat up through the grate into his bedroom.  He ran to the bathroom to
piss, switching on the bulky electric room heater next to the toilet so
he'd have some warmth when he showered.  He was groggy, operating on
automatic pilot.  His mother had left some bacon and scrambled eggs on the
kitchen table for him, he remembered as he shook himself dry.  He stumbled
back to the kitchen, which was already warming deliciously,and wolfed the
cold meal down while standing next to the stove.

      He had no idea what to do, or where to go.  He felt utterly adrift.

      He watched some TV.  Operation Yellowstone was continuing in Tay Ninh
province, with excellent results according to the newscaster.  Brady
frowned; that was close to where Trent was.  And the South Vietnamese
government was announcing cease fires for Christmas and New Year's.  That
was a good thing, he thought.  He remembered the McCarthy button Bill had
given him; he wondered about wearing it.  I don't know enough about this,
he decided.

      An hour later, after a shower, he was at the town library,
researching.  The ladies who ran the place were happy to see him - he'd
spent so many hours there when he was a kid - and helped him, at least
initially.  As they came to realize what he was looking for - critiques of
American policy in Vietnam - they grew less pleased, however.  "Now Brady,
you know this Morse fellow is just a Communist, don't you?"  one of the
women chided him as he scanned a series of speeches from periodicals.  "And
Mr. Fullbright, too.  They're aiding the enemy."

      Brady nodded absently.  "Right.  Commies."  He read for several more
minutes before sitting back in his chair.  "Everybody who asks questions,
everybody who disagrees, is a Commie."  He felt an anger rising in him he'd
never felt before.  Had they really sent Trent to maybe get killed for a
stupid idea, a theory that had no validity?  To show that we were tough,
for its own sake?  For, essentially, nothing?

      He spent another hour taking notes before going home.  When he left
the house again, the McCarthy button was pinned to his collar.

      He wandered down Main Street, past Jocko's (he wasn't too keen about
going in there again), and toward his mother's store.  Sal was hunched over
his sewing machine when he entered.  "Brady!!!" he cried, rising slowly to
embrace him.  "Home for Christmas!  And soon," he added, tapping Brady's
chest with a thick index finger, "your brother, too.  You mother will be so
happy!"

      Brady smiled - it was hard not to smile at Sal's great round open
face, his grandfatherly affection.  "Yeah, it'll be great, Sal.  I'm glad
to see you.  Merry Christmas."  He was thinking about so many things.
"Where's my mom?"

      "She went over to Reese's.  I think she wanted to get something for
your dinner.  She's making it special for you!"  Sal was delighted, it
seemed, by everything.

      The door jingled as a customer entered.  "Could you take that, Brady?
I need to finish these pants by 4."

	"Sure, Sal."  He'd manned the counter for his mother many times
before.  He turned.

      Debby DiBoise's mother was smiling at him.  "Why Brady, you're home!
How nice to see you.  Debbie will be thrilled, she's been talking about you
ever since Thanksgiving."

      Brady blushed bright red.  Yeah, I bet she's been talking, he
thought.

      His mother showed up not long after, and he retreated to his room for
the rest of the day.  He hadn't seen a single kid he knew.

      Hal arrived home that night on his break, looking quietly upset in
his own stoic way.  His mother either wasn't aware or ignored his mood, and
chattered through a long dinner (steaks and baked potatoes) and evening of
TV (Daniel Boone, then a Judy Garland movie).  She didn't have anything to
drink all night, which was a relief.  When she left for bed before the late
news, Brady and Hal were left alone.

      They watched more news of fighting in the area around Saigon.  Hal's
lips tightened as the report droned on.  When Tex Antoine came on to draw
his stupid weathercast pictures, he grabbed a beer from the kitchen.  "You
want one?"

      Brady blinked; he'd never been offered alcohol by his brothers
before.  "Uh, I - I suppose, sure.  Will, um, will Mom be upset?"

      "She'll be out cold in half an hour.  She stashed a bottle of Roma in
her room earlier."

      Brady's heart sank.  "Should we take it from her?"

      Hal walked back into the living room, handing him a bottle of
Schaefer.  "Won't help.  She probably has some others up there."

      Brady took a couple of small sips in silence, staring at the news.
The beer was watery, bitter.  "Is this supposed to be good?"

      Hal laughed.  "Not really, but it gets you there."  He took a deep
breath.  "Look, Trenty (his pet name for his older brother, which he
deliberately used to piss him off) has been in a lot deeper stuff than he
tells Mom, or you.  OK?"  Brady nodded, the color draining from his face
despite the alcohol.  "He's been on these helicopter missions, and - and he
crashed.  Shot down."

      Brady tried to breathe.  "But is he OK?"

      "Yeah.  I dunno how, but he is.  It scared him shitless, though."

      Brady swallowed a larger amount of beer than he would have liked.  "I
can imagine," he managed to croak.

      "So, his last couple of letters to me - he's sounded, well, kind of
damaged.  You know what I mean?"  Brady nodded, though he actually had no
idea.  "Things are getting bad over there," Hal continued.  "They aren't
reporting it, but the fighting is getting more, um, intense.  And I guess
it's everywhere.  They never know when some guy on the street is going to
whip out a gun and start shooting at the Americans.  Sometimes women, too.
"  He stared at the floor for a few minutes.

      "Is that - I mean, I could tell you were, y'know, bummed out, about
something.  All night.  Is that - "

      "Part of it," Hal answered.  He took a deep breath.  "I don't think
I'll be able to afford tuition for next semester.  I know Mom can't do
anything - she's lucky to pay rent here.  It's actually good," he said,
looking straight at Brady, "that you got the thing at Wilson and went off
to school.  It's saving her money.  Food, heat, all that stuff."

      Brady tried to inhale.  "Is - is she going to get, like, evicted?"
The word hung in the air before them.

      Hal rubbed his face.  "I dunno.  I mean, if I stay here and get a
job, I can help out, and she should be OK then.  I guess.  I've been
thinking, maybe that's what I need to do.  Since I can't afford to go back
anyway."

      Brady felt his eyes watering.  "Oh God, Hal."

      "Yeah, well, it - it'd just be for this semester.  I'd save up, and,
you know, go back in the fall."  His voice lacked any conviction.

      "Aren't there, like, loans, or something?"

      "We don't qualify.  We're not 'credit worthy,' according to
Mr. Lassiter over at the Farmer's bank.  I spent all last week talking to
him on the phone."

      Brady sank back into the couch, devastated.  "Hal, I made some money
last summer that I didn't need this semester.  I can give that to you - "

      "Mom took it."  Brady's eyes widened.  "She needed rent this month,
and Christmas stuff, so she got them to hand it over to her.  Because
you're a minor, so it's not really yours yet."  He gestured to the tree in
the corner.  "So, Merry Christmas."

      Now it was Brady's turn to stare at the floor, head in hands.  The
beer bottle, tipped sideways, started to spill onto the rug.  Hal gently
took it from his hands.  "Look, you've got the ticket out.  You can do it.
What you earned is - it's so amazing, and we're all so proud of you.  You
need to go take that ticket and use it, and not look back.  OK?  I mean,
I'll be fine - " still with no tone in his voice to indicate he believed it
"- and so will Trent.  He'll be home at the end of next month, and then
he's stateside for a year and a half until his enlistment is up, and I know
he's working to get a posting close by, so he can help out with his pay.
They give him extra as a combat veteran, too.  So we'll be fine.  But you
have to start taking care for yourself, OK?  You can't - you have to, in a
way, forget about all this."  He took a deep breath.  "About us."

      Brady shot to his feet.  "I need to go for a walk."

      "Want me to come?"

      "No," he replied, blinking rapidly.  "Just me, OK?"

      Hal's head sank.  "OK.  Sure."  As Brady shakily threw on his coat,
Hal whispered, "Hey Brady?"

      "Yeah?"

      "You know I love you, right?  And so does Mom, and Trent.  We're
incredibly proud of you."

      Brady sniffled.  "I know.  I know all that.  But it doesn't help,
does it?"

      Tex Antoine had said the low would be around 10 degrees that night,
and Brady could tell immediately upon stepping outside that he was right on
the money.  He thought fleetingly of going back for his gloves, but he
couldn't bear to right at that moment.  So he jammed his hands deep into
his coat pockets and walked as fast as he could.  He had no clue where he
was going.

      Breathe, he thought.  Just breathe.  The clouds before his face blew
away to his left with the breeze; he felt his right cheek tingling.  How
far had he gone?  He hook his head, stopped, and looked around.  He was on
the other side of the lake and up the hill, near the high school and the
church.  Further down this road, about a mile, past a long sweeping curve,
was one of the orchards he'd worked on during harvest the previous summer.
Peaches.  He remembered their texture in his hand, the aroma that suffused
the trees.  The shouts in Spanish from the migrants he'd been working
alongside.  I wonder if next summer I'll understand what they're saying.

      Then he sank to his knees in the snow and sobbed.

      He didn't know how long he knelt there.  A couple of cars sloshed by.
Then one pulled over, the headlights blinding him as it sopped near him.  A
door opened and closed.  "Brady?"

      He looked up, blinking to clear his eyes.  "Oh.  Um, hi Kenny."

      "Man, what're ya doin' here like this?"

      "Hey Kenny!  Get back in the car and leave the little punk alone.  We
got a party to get to."  Tommy Winkler was leaning out the driver side
window of his Plymouth, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

      Kenny glanced back and forth.  "Are you like hurt or something?"

      Brady shook his head, probably a bit too hard to be convincing.  "No,
no, I - I just - I'm fine, really, just - I'm just being stupid, don't
worry -"

      "Heuer!  Fucking move it!!!"

      Kenny turned to the car.  "Look, I - where is it, at Bauer's place?
You guys go on, I'll walk there.  I just - I want to be sure he's OK."

      Tony Feehan leaned out the passenger side.  "Kenny, fuck him, let's
go!"

      "No, man, I - "

      "Kenny," Brady pleaded, "just go, man.  Please.  I don't wanna make a
big deal out of this, OK?"

      Another door slam as Tony Feehan strode from the car.  He shoved
Brady's shoulder.  "The fuck you doin', Conover, sittin' in th' snow like
an idiot?  They oughta teach you better at your candyass school. "  He
turned to Kenny.  "Let pussyboy have his little cry, Kenny, we goota go."

      "Tony, I can't just -"

      "Please, Kenny.  Just go."  Brady felt embarrassed, he started to
stand up.

      "Did I ask you your opinion, faggot?"  Tommy's kick landed squarely
on Brady's still tender ribs, and he fell back to the snow gasping.  Tommy
laughed.  "Christ, Tony, d'ya see that?  I hardly even hit the little wuss,
an' look at 'im."

      Tony walked over to join the group, laughing.  "Maybe we should
really fuck him up some, see how he likes it."

      "Leave him alone, guys."  Kenny was suddenly angry, firm.

      "What, you gonna stop us, Heuer?  Conover back to bein' your butt
buddy or something?"

      Kenny swung wildly at Tony, connecting with his temple.  Tony more
slid sideways than fell, flailing his arms to recover his balance.  Tommy
immediately grabbed Kenny's arms and pinned them behind his back.  "OK,
Kenny, now you gotta pay.  Take 'im, Tony."

      Brady, having managed to rise to one knee, saw Tony stalk toward
Kenny, his fists raised.  He launched himself at the side of Tommy's right
knee, striking it cleanly with his left shoulder and bending it grotesquely
inward.  Tommy cried out and crumbled to the ground, clutching at his leg
and releasing Kenny.

      Brady and Kenny now stood (Brady a bit shakily, trying to mask his
discomfort) and faced Tony.  Despite being three years younger, Brady was
markedly taller, as was Kenny, though not quite so much.  Brady
straightened his jacket.  "You need to leave.  And take him with you."

      Tony clearly had no appetite for a fight with two people, especially
given that his wingman had just been taken out.  Tommy chose this moment to
grab at Brady's ankle in an attempt to trip him.  Instinctively, Brady
pulled his foot away and stomped down, grinding Tommy's right hand through
the slushy snow and onto the asphalt beneath.  In the moment, in the rush
of adrenalin, it felt good to hurt him.  He pressed down a second time,
watching Tommy cringe and cry out.

      "Brady," Kenny whispered.  "That's enough, man."

      For a long moment, he looked at Kenny before coming back to himself.
"God," he said, lifting his foot.  He bent and lifted Tommy to his feet.
"Here," he snapped, pushing a limping Tommy into Tony's arms.  "Leave."

      Tommy and Tony rushed back to the car.  With loud door slams, they
peeled out, spraying slush and road gravel onto Brady and Kenny.  As they
fishtailed down High Street, Tony gave them the finger.

      Kenny, wiping his jacket off, laughed.  "I wonder if they'll be able
to stop at the bottom of the hill."

      "If they blow it, it's just a snowdrift down there anyway," Brady
answered, trying to clean himself off as well.  He had some trouble raising
his right arm, where he'd been hit in the ribs.

      Kenny noticed his discomfort, and brushed him off.

      "Thanks, Kenny.  A lot."

      Kenny smiled a moment; Brady noticed that his teeth were already
yellowing from smoking.  Then he embraced Brady fiercely, arms about his
shoulders, face shoved into the crook of Brady's neck.  "I missed you,
man."

      Brady carefully returned the embrace, conscious of his ribs, and of
the fact that they were under a streetlight in plain view of anyone passing
by or peeking through the curtains of the houses across the street.  He
took a deep breath.  "Damn, Kenny," he muttered into the mop of mousy brown
hair.  "You really reek from the cigarettes."

      Kenny laughed, pulling back.  "Fuckin' Lucky Strikes, man.  They
really are shitty."

      "Then why smoke ?em?"

      Kenny shrugged, waved vaguely down the hill where the Plymouth had
careened a few seconds before.  "Y'know, being with them and all."

      "I, uh - I don't you're gonna be with them much any more."

      Kenny laughed.  "Yeah, that's probably right."  He shrugged.  "I
dunno, they're sort of jerks, y'know?"

      Brady smiled.  "Yeah, I noticed.  Will you be OK?  I mean, they won't
hassle you or anything?"

      Kenny shrugged.  "They probably will, but there ain't much they can
do, really.  They ain't the kind to beat guys up unless they get the drop
on 'em."  He frowned at Brady.  "So you gotta tell me, man, what was that
shit when we pulled up?  You're like kneeling in the snow and - and
crying?"  Brady started to object.  "Don' bullshit me, I could tell."

      Brady looked away, inhaling deeply.  "I dunno, Kenny, it - it's just
- it's really fucked up right now, y'know?  I mean with Trent, and my mom,
and school - "

     	"You OK at school?  You're not like flunking out or anything, I
know that.  Crap, you're probably like the ace of the whole damn place."

      "We'll see.  We just had finals.  That was - it was hard.  I just,
y'know, had to get out for a bit."  He sighed again.  "I don't feel like
this is really home any more.  It's, it's weird."  He rubbed his forehead,
feeling how frigid his uncovered fingers were.  "Where home is, or what it
is, any more."

      Kenny frowned.  "Bullshit.  This is home, OK?  Here, with us."  He
paused, then more softly.  "With me.  OK?"  He took Brady's arm and led him
slowly down the hill, back towards the house.  "This is always home, man.
I mean you're gonna grow up and be some big muck muck and live in like New
York or Hollywood or somethin' , but this is always gonna be home.  We'll
always be here.  I'll be here, OK?"

      Brady smiled thinly.  "You'll get out to someplace else, Kenny.  You
know you will."

      Kenny snorted.  "Maybe, but it won't be anyplace better, or
different.  Just from one shitty little town with nowhere to breathe, to
another one."  He looked at Brady intently.  "You're different from us,
Brady.  You're gonna do stuff, go places."

      Brady laughed mirthlessly.  "That'll depend on how the finals went, I
think."

      Kenny stopped them at the corner onto Main Street.  Down towards
Brady's house, the klieg lights atop the dam shone out over the frozen
millpond; a few people were still skating, their laughter echoing through
the still snowy air.  "What the hell, Brady?  What are you scared of ?"

      Now Brady laughed aloud.  "I'm scared my whole fucking life."  He
turned away, pacing rapidly down the slope towards the pond, his arms
waving as he spoke.  "Am I good enough to be like my brothers, am I good
enough to take care of my mom."  He inhaled.  "Am I good enough that my dad
would be proud of me - or, y'know, at least tolerate me."  He swallowed.
"Am I really a man, or not."

      Kenny hadn't moved to follow him.  "What fucking bullshit."  Brady
turned to see him standing defiantly, silhouetted against lamplight in the
gathering snowfall.  "You think I don't worry about stuff like that?  You
don't think probably every kid does?  And 'am I a man?'  How many times are
you gonna pull this self pity crap? C'mon, Brady, get real."

      "You know what I mean.  Wh - what we did, and all."

      "And how you feel about your buddy - Denny, or whatzits."

      "Doug," Brady corrected him before he caught himself.  Then he stared
in horror at Kenny, realizing what he'd admitted.

      "Right," Kenny said in a low voice.  "Doug."  He looked down at his
feet.  Brady saw he was wearing Keds, soaked through now from walking with
him in the snow.

      "I wish," Kenny's voice seemed to come from far away, as he stared
down at his feet, "you felt like that . . . about staying here, y'know?
And - well, about me."

      Brady swallowed.  "Kenny, I -"

      "Don't, OK?  Just - just don't."  Now it was Kenny's turn to stride
on down the street, past Brady and toward the lake.  He stopped after about
thirty feet.  "I just - I mean shit, I know my life is like over already.
I ain't gonna get out of here, or if I do it'll just be to someplace else
just like here.  Some small shithole town with some piddly assed worthless
job.  That - that's me, that's my future.  I'm fucking 14, and I know it.
And - and I know that, like, you . . .  you're gonna be in new York or
Philly or maybe California, making money hand over fist and - and just
gettin' out, you know?  And. . . .  and I can't do that.  You're gonna go,
and I - I'll just, y'know, be here."

      Brady strode down the slick sidewalk to him.  "It doesn't have t' be
that way, Kenny.  You can do stuff, get out.  I mean look at the time you
spent screwing around with those guys - you ditched class like mad to hang
out, didn't you?  That was a waste, right?  A waste of time, a waste of -
of you!  I mean, now is when you can like make something of yourself, but
you gotta try.  You gotta reach for it.  Th - that's what I'm doing, and
yeah, it scares the crap outta me that I might fall totally on my ass and
fail.  Maybe I already have," he added in a lower voice.  "But the surest
way to wind up stuck here is not to try to get out. "

      Kenny shook his head.  "You don't get it.  You never will.  Because
you're like destined, OK?  And so am I.  And - and mine ain't worth shit."
He pulled away and ran down toward the lake.  Brady started after him, but
decided to let him go, for the moment.  They'd talk tomorrow, or the next
day, when Kenny wasn't so wound up.  Kenny's shadow passed beneath the
lights along Main Street where it passed over the lake, and vanished into
the dark.  A fin powdery snow had begun.  Brady walked home slowly, moving
to the far side of the street as he passed the lake so no one skating there
would see him.  My ticket out.  My destiny.  Forget about my family and get
away.

      God, he thought.  Am I going to be that much of a bastard?

      He slept fitfully, and woke early, hearing his mother rustling about
the kitchen below.  Well, he thought, no time like the present.  He threw
on his jeans (which were still frigidly damp from the previous night) and a
sweater.

      "Hi, baby doll, I'm surprised to see you up this morning.  I thought
you'd sleep till noon!"  His mother was visibly pleased to see him.  "Sit
down, I've got time to make you some breakfast before I go to the store."

      "No thanks, Mom," Brady answered.  He struggled for a minute, trying
to think of how to broach the subject.  Then is burst out: "Mom, did you
take my money from the summer and stuff?"

      She froze for a moment, her back to him, at the sink.  When she
turned, she gripped the counter behind her as if she needed the support.
"Yes."

      Brady tried again to think of something to say.  "W - why?"

      She shook her head, suddenly averting her eyes.  "I had to, Brady."
She sighed deeply.  "It was an awful thing to do."

      "Mom, I -"

      "No, wait.  You need to know.  After your - your thing, with
Mr. Jocko, he started talking to people in town, telling them not to use
the store for their cleaning.  Business just - it all went away, for a good
month or more.  I couldn't afford the utilities, I couldn't pay Sal."

      Brady swallowed.  "Has - has it come back?"

      She smiled, thinly.  "Yes.  Doctor Barlow found out what Jocko had
said to you, and he started talking to people himself.  People listen to
him, a lot more than they do to Mr. Jocko.  Now no one goes into Jocko's,
not kids, not anyone except the couple of people he still has left as
friends.  People -" she wiped her face ?- people even left extra money, as
if to apologize.  Mr. Van Hise paid me $100 for a single suit."

      She sat down next to Brady at the table.  "So, I - I have money for
you.  All of it.  And I - I'll pay you interest -"

      "I don't want fucking interest from you, Mom," Brady exclaimed,
pulling her into an embrace.

      She held him for a long moment.  "Brady, watch your language.  I
don't want to hear that word from you again.  Understood?"  That was her
mother voice, stern and commanding, but her eyes were leaking.  "I - I
should have asked you, baby doll, I know I should have.  I was so
frightened.  I didn't know what else to do."

      "It - it's OK, Mom.  I get it.  It's like - it's like we're all
scared now.  I'm scared, and you're scared, and Hal's scared -"

      "What's Hal scared of, baby doll?  Or you, for that matter?  Is
school all right?"

      "It's OK, Mom.  I - I'll be fine."  He tried to be as emphatic as he
could.  "I just, y'know, worry about my grades and stuff.  To keep the
scholarship."  He decided to try a joke.  "I guess they're serious about
the 'scholar' part of that, huh?"

      His mother took his face in her hands.  "Brady Conover, don't you
ever doubt yourself.  You're so smart, and you're such a handsome boy, and
you - you're just so . . ."  she turned away for a few seconds.  "You look
like your father sometimes."

      "Mom - "

      "It's OK," she waved him off, pulled a Kleenex from her robe, and
blew her nose several times.  When she turned back to him, her eyes were
red.  "Now what's Hal scared of?"

      "Well, money stuff too."  It occurred to him to ask.  "Did Hal know
about what happened with Mr. Jocko?"

      "No, I didn't tell him.  Or Trent, of course.  I - I try to talk only
about the good things when I write him.  I think he does the same thing,
sometimes.  Is it the college money?"  Brady nodded.  She sighed deeply.
"All right, I'll talk to Mr. Lassiter today at lunchtime."

      "I - I think he already has."

      She stared at Brady for a long second.  Her face hardened.  "Well,
I'm going to talk to him.  We'll see."  She wiped her face again and moved
to the refrigerator.  "You come by the store later this morning and you'll
get all your money back, all right?  Now, how about some Taylor's ham?"

      "Mom, you don't - "

      "Yes, I do.  End of discussion.  All right?"

      Brady knew when he was beaten.  He nodded.  "Could I get an egg with
it?"  he asked quietly.

      His mother beamed.  "Of course.  You can't have the ham without the
eggs, can you?"  She turned all four burners on the stove, lighting each in
turn with a wooden match.  "I'll leave these on for a while so the heat
goes up to your room.  It must be freezing."

      "Kind of," Brady smiled back at her.  "But it's a lot warmer now,
down here."