22.
***
Lynette felt her mouth open wide, and she was about to scream, then realized that the man standing beside the truck was just a stranger, not the gray man she had moved to escape from.
Just a stranger, she thought. My, how things have changed.
Out loud, she said, "Can I help you?"
The man started and turned, and Lynette couldn't help but flinch a bit.
The man wore a dark track suit, as though he had been out running, but was not breathing hard, not to mention that it was after midnight - a strange time to be out for a run. But stranger than his outfit was his face. He had light blue eyes, which seemed all the lighter when compared to the white, patchwork pattern of scars that crisscrossed his face. He was smiling, apparently at Kevin, but the smile disappeared when he saw her reaction to his appearance.
"Sorry," he said, and made a half-hearted attempt to hide his face behind his hands, then must have realized that he could hardly hold his hands to his face all night and dropped them to his side. "Sorry," he said again. "I have a face made for radio," he said with a sad laugh.
Lynette felt shame well up inside her, hot and uncomfortable. She felt like she had her mother shaking a finger at her again, something that she had not experienced for several decades. "Way to go, Lynny," she would have said. "I taught you never to judge a book by a cover, and here you are doing exactly that."
"No," she protested, though whether she was saying it in response to the man's statement or to the mental image of her mother's scolding she would have been hard-pressed to say. "It's just - I was surprised to see anyone out here so late."
"Me, too," he answered.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean I saw your truck and figured I'd stop and see who was new to the neighborhood," he said, and pointed to a nearby car, a small blue economy car that was parked across the street. He must have pulled up while Lynette was inside turning on the lights.
She looked at the man with a trace of suspicion, her Los Angeles training kicking in as she said, "So you just thought you'd stop off in the middle of the night to see if we were awake?"
"You must not be from around here," said the man, seeming to guess her thoughts. He held his hands up placatingly, then said, "I'm not a murderer or a kidnapper, just a nosy guy from a small town who saw your door open and your light on, spotted the moving truck, and thought I'd see if I could help with anything."
"At," she glanced at her watch, "half past one in the morning?"
He grinned at her. "You're from a big city, right?"
"Los Angeles," she admitted. "How did you know?"
"It shows in your face. You're worried about me, what I'm doing here, what my intentions are, and that just screams city girl."
She grinned in spite of herself. "Guilty on all counts."
"Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I'm looking for nothing more sinister than to see if you need any help moving in." He backed off another step, as though he were afraid of her, then said, "Again, I'm not a rapist or anything as exciting as that, so I don't want to get you riled up, but... you don't have anyone here to help you move in, do you?"
She should have said yes, she knew, should have said that her husband was inside turning on the gas or something else that would get rid of this strange man, but she didn't. Instead, she felt as though she should trust him, and, following her instincts, she said, "No, I don't."
"And I'm guessing that your son won't be much help, either."
She felt her hackles rise. Was this man insulting her boy? "What do you mean by that?" she said through clenched teeth.
Again the man raised his hands as though to show that he was not only unarmed, but completely incapable of harming a fly. "Nothing. Just he looks like he's around eight years old and, unless I miss my guess, he's very asleep right now."
Lynette glanced into the truck. Sure enough, Kevin's head was lolled backward, his eyes closed as Winnie the Pooh continued prancing across the screen of the DVD player on his lap. She looked back at the man and grimaced. "Sorry," she said. "Kevin's...special. Some people make fun of him."
The man started visibly. "Kevin?" he said. "His name's Kevin?"
Lynette felt her brow furrow. "Why?" she asked, suspicious once again.
"No reason," said the man. "I just...I knew a Kevin once."
This time Lynette did not believe him; felt as though he were lying to her. But before she could say anything about it, the man stuck out his hand and said, "I'm Scott, by the way."
Lynette looked at the hand for a long moment, then finally took it. "Lynette," she answered, and was more than a little surprised when the man didn't grab her and attempt to drag her over to his car and throw her in the backseat.
Instead, he let go of her hand after just a moment, turned, and said, "So you don't have anyone here, would you mind if I rounded up some help for you?"
"Why?" she asked with the slightest grin. "You got a moving company in your car?"
He grinned back at her. "Don't need one. Not in Meridian."
And before she could say another word he was gone, moving across her yard to the neighbor's house. The house beside hers was dark, only a porch light on in the gloom, but the man marched up to the front door as though he owned the place, then knocked on it hard. He knocked on it again a moment later, and then stood back as the door swung open.
"Coach Cowley?" said a voice, laced with equal parts sleepiness and surprise.
"Hey, Gil," said Scott. "Sorry to bother you so late at night, but there's a lady moving in next door to you and she doesn't have a single person to help her."
The door slammed shut without another word coming from the mysterious "Gil," but Scott came back with a satisfied expression on his face.
"What was that all about?" asked Lynette.
"That was me getting you that moving company you were talking about," answered Scott.
"One guy who slams the door in your face?"
"First of all, he only slammed the door because he was in a hurry. Second of all, he was in a hurry because he was in his boxers and not much else, so as soon as he realized that there was a woman in the area he probably wanted to get some clothes on. Third and lastly, I'm betting he's calling some people right now, and you ought to have half a dozen men over here inside of fifteen minutes to help you with your things."
"But I -" she began. Assuming that Scott was correct, she didn't really want six or seven strangers traipsing through her house and opening up her things.
Scott again held up a hand, but this time the gesture was not meant to placate her, but to silence her. "Shush, now," he said. "I know you probably don't want a bunch of big sweaty men clomping around in your house in the middle of the night, but trust me when I say that they'll be discrete, polite, and will probably have you unpacked inside of an hour. They won't open any of your moving boxes unless you ask them to, but they probably will insist on helping you set up your bedrooms at least enough that you and..." and he paused again, as though the name he was about to utter had some special significance to him, "...Kevin can get to sleep and rest for a while. Plus, if you play your cards right you'll be awoken to the sounds of knocking at your door when their wives come over with breakfast, lunch, and dinner supplies for you."
Lynette was reeling. Was this guy for real? But before she could say anything about how unlikely that whole scenario sounded, he was moving to the back of the truck, asking over his shoulder, "Is the back locked, or just closed?" When she didn't answer, he repeated, "Do I need a key or anything to get in?" and then without waiting for a response he unlatched the back of the truck and slid the door upwards.
He whistled. "You are the most anal-retentive packer I ever did see."
Again, Lynette bristled. She hustled around to the back of the truck, where Scott was looking at all of her boxes. It was true, all of them had labels stating what was in them and where they belonged in the new house, and maybe it was also true that they had been packed according to size and weight, but she hardly thought that counted as "anal-retentive."
Again, though, she had no chance to say anything before Scott was on the move. He grabbed two boxes marked "L's bedroom," and hopped out of the back of the truck with them.
He stood motionless then, as though waiting for her to do something.
"What?" said Lynette.
"Well, you going to show me which room these belong in?" he asked with a smile. "Or do I have to just go in and figure it out for myself?"
Lynette led him inside without another word, only stopping to check that Kevin was still asleep and not likely to wake up and find himself alone. She took him into the master bedroom, and he gently set the boxes on the floor.
Before they had even left the house, a large man, built like a sleepy oak tree but with a kind and open face, was already inside, holding two more boxes from the back of Lynette's van.
"I'm Gil, ma'am," he said, and nodded as though he would have preferred to tip his hat at her only his hands were full and plus he didn't have a hat to tip. "Your neighbor." He looked at the boxes in his hands. "Hope you don't mind that I helped myself to a few of your things; figured I'd get started while waiting for the others to arrive."
"Others?" said Lynette, her voice a surprised whisper.
"Sure," said Gil. "You don't think I'm going to move you in all by myself do you?" He winked at her to show that he was joking, then moved on past her into the living room, to put his boxes down.
Lynette swiveled to face Scott, who was watching her with an amused smile on his face.
"How did you know that everyone would just jump out of bed and rush on over to help?" she asked.
Scott grinned even more widely. "Because that's pretty much what happened when I moved here myself," he said.
Then he walked past her out into the night. Lynette followed and watched as he handed Gil two more boxes, then took two more for himself before hurrying past her into the house. She started to follow, but Gil swiveled and stood in her way, blocking her entrance. "Why don't you just go ahead and sit down with that boy of yours and watch over him?" said the big man.
Lynette started to protest, but something in the man's face stopped her. Nothing threatening, she did not feel in any danger, but at the same time she felt sure just looking at him that he was not about to let her in the house holding any boxes or doing much of any work. And truth be told, she was exhausted, and she didn't want Kevin waking up alone, even for a moment.
So she turned and moved back to the truck. She reached for the driver's side door, then started as another hand reached out to open it. She spun around, expecting to see Scott, but instead saw another man, one who looked so much like Gil that it was clear the two must be brothers. "I'm Brad," said the man without preamble. "I hear there's a moving job needs doing."
She nodded, utterly speechless, and pointed at the back of the van. Brad moved off and grabbed some boxes, joining another man who had also pulled up in the intervening time, and both of them grabbed several boxes and moved quickly into the house, working as efficiently as ants on an anthill.
Where am I? she couldn't help but thinking, feeling as though she had taken a wrong turn and instead of going to Meridian had somehow found her way into a Norman Rockwell painting.
Scott was at her elbow the next moment, helping her into the truck and, as though he had again heard her thoughts, he said, "Welcome to Idaho." Then he closed the door, pantomimed to her that she should get some sleep, and moved with the other men to the back of the truck to keep moving her things into the house.
Lynette watched the men - it turned out that fourteen showed up, not just six - move things into her house for a time, but in spite of all her intentions she felt her eyes growing heavier and heavier, and then, at last, she could no longer fight what she was feeling.
She slept, and dreamed of a pair of light blue eyes, and a scarred face. But in the dream the scars seemed as natural as could be, and she hardly noticed them. She smiled in her sleep, and reached out to hold Kevin's hand without waking.
***