“She lied to me.”
“We all knew she was leaving, Cody. It just didn’t occur to us that you didn’t know. I’m sorry about that. Alana’s sorry about that.”
“You knew?”
Lucas nodded.
“What’s the point of painting the mural if she’s not here to see it?”
Lucas tipped his head toward the little kids, playing in the sandbox under their mother’s watchful eye. Between her and Cody, those kids might have a chance at something. It was a brutal sacrifice to watch Cody make, but he was making it, without complaint. “They’ll see it,” he said. “They’ll see it every week and know their big brother did that. So will everyone else who uses the library, and everyone in town’s going to be using that library.”
Cody shoved his hands into his pockets. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You know what matters? What you decide matters, and that you choose something. Anything. Anything positive, not destructive,” he added hastily. “It’s a really nice design.”
“I’ve never done anything that big before,” Cody admitted. “Or worked on that surface. I’ve done canvases in art class. I drew a sketch, a stupid sketch, with colored pencils. That’s it.”
“It’s okay to be afraid of what you’re going to try,” Lucas said. “It’s not okay not to try it.”
Cody stared off into the distance for a while. Lucas watched him waver, then decide to fight off the cynicism and apathy. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll do it.”
Together they crossed the grass to Mrs. Burton. “Cody’s going to paint the mural,” Lucas said. “With your permission, I want to take him into Brookings to buy the supplies.”
A smile of pure delight flashed across Mrs. Burton’s face. “Oh, Cody, honey. I’m so glad. You’ll do just fine,” Mrs. Burton said.
Lucas looked at his watch, thinking about the second shift at the plant. “Are you working today?”
“It’s my day off.”
“I’ll have Cody home in time for supper,” Lucas said.
Neither of them said much on the drive into Brookings. Lucas called Mrs. Battle and told her about the mural; Cody’s shoulders hunched at the delight in her voice. At the art supply shop, they filled a cart with cans of paint and brushes, tape and charcoal and pencils. Lucas didn’t say a word about Cody’s selections, just pulled out a credit card when the cashier rang up his purchases. When they’d loaded the bags into the back of the truck, Cody paused to thumb through his thin wallet.
“Gunther paid me to plant his garden,” he said defensively.
The kid had every right to assume Lucas would jump to conclusions. “You forget something?”
“Yeah,” Cody said, “give me a second,” and he trotted back into the store.
Lucas waited outside, the spring sunshine warming his face and shoulders. Cody returned with one more bag.
“Sketch pads and crayons for the little kids,” he said. “I’ll have to bring them with me when I’m working at the library. They want to do what I’m doing.”
Cody shrugged, as if this kind of planning to keep his little brothers entertained while he worked wasn’t the foundation for keeping kids out of trouble, as if he wasn’t modeling hope and positive choices and community engagement, all before he could vote. In that moment Lucas remembered why he did this job.
He did it because he cared.
? ? ?
“GOOD THINKING,” LUCAS said. The library was controlled chaos, and Lucas was glad he wasn’t the one in charge. He found Mrs. Battle in the library director’s office. She’d quickly dispatched work crews to tape plastic to protect the floor. “You have what you need?” Lucas asked Cody.
“Yeah,” Cody said absently. “I’m good. Whatever.”
Lucas lifted an eyebrow, then went back to Mrs. Battle’s office. “He’s good to go.”
“I’ll make sure he’s fed,” Mrs. Battle said. “He’ll forget to eat if I don’t.”
? ? ?
HE WENT HOME through the twilight, driving under the banner the town council was erecting over Main Street announcing the library’s grand reopening. When he pulled into his driveway, a blond woman was sitting on his porch steps, her arm around Duke. For a moment his heart stopped dead in his chest, but his brain noted that the hair was too long to be Alana’s.
So much for not missing her.
“Tanya,” he said when he got out of the truck.
She’d been crying, and crying hard. Duke’s fur was wet. Her hands were shaking and she was gaunt to the point of skeletal. “Hey, Lucas,” she said shakily.
“What do you need?” Money, he thought. She needed money to get the utilities turned back on, or maybe for groceries. He’d buy the groceries for her, or pay the bill, but he wouldn’t give her cash—
“A ride to rehab,” she said. She swiped at her damp cheeks. “Please. Will you take me?”