by Sam Starbuck
"Some people are meant for the city, I guess," she said. "But we look after our own folk, don't we?"
"That we do," I replied.
"So...things're changing. Maybe they just change here a little slower." She grinned. "Says something that Charles is fit to be tied at Michael's dad, huh?"
"Is he going to excommunicate him?" I winked.
"Well, he's right out of the choir and the Farmer's Association are thinking of taking measures too. Everyone sort of thinks it isn't really right, what he did to his boy."
I nodded. "What about Nolan's parents?"
"Haven't heard yet. If they don't know now, they will soon. Nolan's mother's liable to go down to Chicago with a shotgun and haul 'em both back, though, don't you think?"
"I hope not," I said.
"You liked those boys," she said – a half-question.
"I still do," I replied. She twisted her fingers together, looking from the window to me and back to the window.
"If you could go back to Chicago, would you?" she asked.
"Why do you ask?" I said.
"Just wondering." She tried to act casual, and mostly failed.
"Chicago wasn't perfect either," I told her.
"What if...you know..." she prompted, and I frowned.
"What if what?"
"What if Lucas came back?"
I stared at her, openmouthed.
She gave me a dry look. "Wasn't exactly a secret, Christopher. Plenty of people worried for your state of mind after he took off."
"I..." I said, blinking. "Low Ferry's my home, Carmen. Whether he were here or not. And if he did come back -- this'd still be my home."
"Good," she said, all smiles now. "And you know Charles would tan anyone who came after you, and I'd be back of Charles with a baseball bat unless the Harrisons beat me to it."
"Comforting," I said. "But I don't think it's needed. You've got a line, by the way," I added, pointing to the cafe, and she swore and yelled "Bye Christopher!" as she ran out the door.
I sat at my counter thought about it for a while: what she'd said of Michael and Nolan's flight, how she'd asked if I would go too, what it meant to say I was putting down roots here, to say it to someone in Low Ferry who mattered to me.
Marjorie answered the phone almost before I'd realized I had the phone in my hand. Her cheerful "Eighth Rare Books, Marj speaking" startled me, and I stuttered over my hello.
"Christopher," she said. "Your ears must have been burning, I was just saying to someone that I should call you."
"Oh yes? What can Dusk Books do for you today?" I inquired.
"Nothing at all, as you well know. No, I was just saying I wanted to invite you up to Chicago soon," she said. I heard her pencil tapping on the newspaper in the background.
"Well, I thought I might come up, actually. Play tourist a little, that kind of thing. My doctor wants me to have my heart looked at."
"Oh?" her voice turned concerned. "Have you had another attack?"
"No -- not for a long time, actually. That's why they want to take a look. It'll depend on when I can get into the hospital to get seen, but I'll swing by when I'm in town. How does that sound?"
She hesitated then, which I didn't think much of at the time. I assumed she was checking her calendar, or ringing up a patron.
"Come when you can," she said finally. "But I'd like to see you soon."
"You too, Marj. Look after yourself."
"Same back. Bye, Christopher."
"Bye," I said, and hung up. Then I went to look for the phone number of the hospital, to set up an appointment so that they could sample and study my healthy heart for as long as they wanted.
***
There's really no good way to get to the El from Union Station, the central train terminal in Chicago. Somewhere between laying out the El and situating the ordinary train tracks, they forgot about the Chicago river. The nearest El station is over the river and three or four blocks northeast, further if you're trying to get to the Red Line. Still, when it's not freezing or snowing it's a nice walk. The river's pretty when it thaws.
I took the El south when I reached it, down to the hospital where they received me with a mixture of skepticism and interest. Heart troubles are tricky; there are lots of ways for them to hide, and from the thoroughness of the tests they were determine to look in every dark corner of my cardiovascular system. I spent the night there, aching from all the various invasions, and was finally kicked out the next afternoon with the assurance that Kirchner would get my results in a couple of days. They asked if I wanted to go over them with someone, but I didn't see the point. The looks on their faces told me all I needed to know. Science, I've learned, is not perplexed by the unknown, but magic tends to throw it for a loop.
I was tired by the time they released me and desperately in need of dinner and intelligent conversation, so I made for Eighth Rare Books with speed. Eighth Street wasn't far by El, and as I came down to street level from the train I joined the loose crowds of students emerging from the last classes of the day at the nearby colleges. I stood back and let them go ahead, well-aware that this was Marjorie's busy spell and she'd have more time for me once she'd settled her patrons a little.
There was a coffee-shop across the street from Eighth Rare Books, one of the few holdouts against the chain-store invasions, and I bought a cup of tea to kill a little time. I was about to grab a newspaper and settle in somewhere when I glanced up at the wide plate-glass window next to the entrance to Eighth Rare Books -- and froze.
Lucas was standing in the window. The same shaggy light-brown hair, the same sharp and ordinary profile. It was a shock to see him, and then when I'd recovered from that came the second surprise.
He was speaking to a young woman, hands moving quickly, sketching out shapes in the air. His face was lit up as he explained something to her and she was listening, smiling, responding occasionally. Even as I stared, she brushed her hair out of her eyes in a sort of coy flip that made it very clear her question, while perhaps important, was designed to get something more than just information out of him. She was flirting with him, and from all appearances he was flirting back.
I watched him pick up a book, hand it to her, scribble something on the notepad she was carrying, and send her off with a broad, charming smile. Then he busied himself at a display next to the window, frowning in concentration as he rearranged the books to his satisfaction.
I must have stood there in the coffee shop for a good five minutes, staring at him, getting in the way of the other patrons and going totally unnoticed by Lucas across the street. The last time I'd stood on Eighth Street I'd been in muddy clothing, my hand bandaged up in a large white paw, Lucas next to me carrying our dinner in a plastic bag.
Eventually the heat from my tea started to bleed through the doubled paper cup and make my hand uncomfortably warm. I glanced down at it, threw it still-full into a trash can, crossed the street, and pushed through the door into the warm dust-and-paper smell of Eighth Rare Books. Marj was ringing someone up and missed me amid the crowd near the entrance. I stopped and looked around.
The shelves were the same, but hanging on the end of each row were two or three easily recognizable masks. Lucas's masks – animals, grotesques, dazzling paste-jeweled Mardi Gras faces, and even a couple of Dottores. I crept around one shelf and read the little placard pinned underneath – For Sale by Artist, Inquire At Front Desk.
I circled, crossed at the back of the shop, and came around behind Lucas where he was fussing with another book display.
"Excuse me, do you work here?" I asked.
"I do, can I hel..." he trailed off as he turned, and the ready help-the-customer smile on his face dropped into surprise. "Christopher!"
"See, I'm looking for a book," I said casually. "But this store is kind of small and it doesn't even have a coffee stand in it – "
"Oh, the hell with you," he laughed, and wrapped me in a warm, tight hug. He still smelled like plaster. "My god. It's g
ood to see you, Christopher."
"You too," I replied numbly, stepping back. "You look good, Lucas."
"You look exhausted. Did you come up on the train?"
"Yesterday. I was at the hospital," I added, and he got a grim look in his eye.
"How are you?"
"I'm fine. No, honest truth," I added, when he opened his mouth. "Well -- not fine. But physically I'm okay."
"Not fine?" he asked. I looked at him.
"It's good to see you," I said, by way of answer. He cut his eyes away and nodded.
"You have every right to be angry," he said, but then he turned back to me and the faint hint I'd had of his usual reticence was gone. "I'll make it up to you. I'm sorry I disappeared. I'm glad you came up to Chicago." He gave me a wide, engaging grin, so unlike anything I'd ever seen from Lucas that I found myself grinning back. "Did Marjorie -- "
"Christopher!" Marjorie shouted from behind me, interrupting. I turned to look her way. "Stop harassing my staff!"
"But I need a book!" I shouted back, well-aware that everyone in the store was staring at us. Enjoying it, actually.
"You need your ears boxed, come over here," she ordered.
I raised an eyebrow at Lucas and crossed the floor, bending to hug her before dropping into the chair next to her desk. Lucas leaned against the side, beaming at both of us.
"You, layabout, back to work," she said, and he shot her an indulgent look.
"Find me before you leave," he said to me, and wandered off to interrupt a pair of students browsing the history textbooks.
"This is a nice surprise," Marjorie continued, offering me her half-finished crossword puzzle. "Forty-five across. You never tell me when you're coming to town."
"Mm," I said, writing in the answer and handing it back. "I didn't want you fussing over me at the hospital. Next time I'll give you a warning."
"Oh -- how did that go?" she asked.
"Pretty well. I think I baffled them," I said with a grin. "And you, Marj, you're in trouble."
"For what!" she asked, indignant already.
"You didn't tell me Lucas was here."
"Well, I did tell you to come see me," she said. "He didn't seem like he wanted you to know, and it's not my business I'm sure."
"Everything's your business. That's why we get along so well," I scolded.
"Besides, it was good to give him some settling-in time," she continued, ignoring me.
"How long's he been here, Marj?"
"A little over a week. Showed up here with a change of clothes and a box of masks. I'm given to understand some of your Travelers dropped him off."
"Good people."
"No doubt. You can ask him where they took him before he stepped off in Chicago; he hasn't told me much about it. He traded on his friendship with you and coerced me into hiring him."
I laughed. "Another protégé? You're starting a collection."
" I needed an assistant. I can't run this place on my own forever, and you won't come back, so. Someone's got to show you youngsters how it's done. He's a good boy, Christopher," she told me, as if I weren't aware of the fact. "Much more charming when he's not recently out of the hospital. Besides, I thought someone ought to keep an eye on him."
"I'm glad he found you again."
"So am I, he's very useful. All the patrons adore him."
"Has he seen his parents?" I asked. She frowned.
"I'm not his keeper, Christopher. Ask him."
"I plan to. In fact, I'm about to take him to dinner, I think. Do you mind?"
"If you can tear him away," she said, tipping her head at Lucas. He was leaning over someone's shoulder at one of the desks at the front of the shop, pointing out a passage in a book.
"Lucas," I called. People all over the shop turned to look my way, but I was only watching Lucas, whose head shot up. I felt a little smug when he smiled at the customer he was helping and excused himself.
"Had your gossip?" he asked, cheerfully.
"Just a bit," I said. "How's Gwen?"
He ducked his head a little – that was more like the Lucas I knew. "She's fine. They all say hello."
"Good," I said, standing up. "Come on, Marjorie's giving you the evening off."
He looked to her for confirmation, then turned and followed me towards the door. Chicago was chilly, but not quite heavy-coat weather; he took his old tan jacket off a hook near the door of the shop and shrugged into it as we stepped outside.
"Where are we going?" he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.
"Dinner," I said. "Know anywhere good around here?"
"Yeah, this way." He guided me down the street and then north along the park, a wide stretch of greenbelt that skirts Lake Michigan from the near south all the way up through downtown. There were joggers and tourists out, people walking their dogs, and plenty of children playing near the weathered old circle of Buckingham Fountain. He turned east when we reached the fountain's plaza and I shot him a questioning look but he just kept walking, nodding at a hot-dog vendor in the corner.
"I did tell you I was paying, didn't I?" I said, as we made our way to the greasy little stand.
"I like it here," he answered. "Two, everything," he told the man behind the cart, and I passed over a ridiculous amount of money for two hot dogs.
"You know this is a tourist trap," I remarked, accepting my hot dog. The vendor gave me a dirty look.
"Nothing wrong with tourism," Lucas answered. "You see things you wouldn't normally notice. Come on, over here."
We walked and ate until we'd almost passed through the narrow park. To the east, across the street, Lake Michigan glittered in the afternoon light. I waited patiently until he took a breath.
"I wanted to say I'm sorry, but I didn't know how," he said. "I hope you didn't worry."
"Well, I did, but I figured you ran off with the Friendly. I knew they'd look after you," I answered.
"They let me come along. Just for a few weeks. I wanted to come back to Chicago but...they take the slow path, you know how they are."
"I know they never come to the city," I said.
"I paid them to bring me here. Gwen and Tommy dropped me off at the fountain," he said, nodding back towards it. "Gave them nearly all my masks, except for what Marjorie's got up in the shop."
"Pretty steep fee."
"Worth it. Anyway, I can always make more masks." He hesitated, then forged ahead. "Marjorie's letting me stay with her, until I can get a place. I put up a workshop in her garage. I'm doing an installation next month at a gallery on the north side."
"I'm glad to hear it." I licked mustard off my fingers. "I missed you, Lucas. You could have left a note."
"I left you my book," he said.
"Didn't exactly explain it though, did you?" I replied. "Just my name. Was I supposed to keep it for you? Was it proof you weren't coming back?"
He frowned. "No -- it was a gift. For you. Because I didn't need it anymore, and I thought...maybe it would help you. When you thought you didn't see enough wonder in the world. God knows I can't show you any."