Page 3 of Them Bones

The kid nodded, and Shane circled back to the car for his backpack, locking the door and shutting it behind him. His back ached, and he needed to piss, but he didn’t want to embarrassthe boy by hanging around to witness his post-bully humiliation, so he started to walk across the plaza towards the sidewalk.

“Wait,” the kid called out in a reedy voice. Shane stopped but didn’t turn to look at him. “Do you… want something to eat?”

Shane’s stomach contracted. He’d been rationing a box of Ritz crackers from Cody’s cupboard for two days.

“Yeah, man,” he said. “But are you going to get in trouble? Don’t you have a manager or something?”

The kid shrugged. “He’s not a morning person.”

Shane circled back towards him, following him into the dusty bakery where the boy slid a fresh tray of cinnamon rolls in his direction – one missing – and gestured for Shane to help himself.

He didn’t pause to say thanks – just launched at it and stuffed his face, not even bothering to stifle his moan. If he was being honest, it could have been dog biscuits and he wouldn’t have cared.

“Um, I don’t have coffee or anything. But like, I have hot water?”

“Thanks,” Shane said around the mouthful of food. He was eyeing the tray, wanting to take more, but didn’t want the kid to get in any more trouble than he already was.

The boy disappeared into a back room and returned holding a dixie cup of hot water. Shane wrapped his hands around it and bent his face over the steam, breathing it in. Then the kid reached for his backpack, and on reflex Shane’s arm shot out, catching him on the wrist.

“Don’t,”he said, voice dripping with menace that he hadn’t bothered to dredge up for the blonde terrorists.

The kid swallowed and stepped back, holding out his hand, which had a fresh-looking loaf of bread in it wrapped in saran.

Shane eyed him coolly, but the kid just placed it on the counter near his bag and then stepped away, still looking at the floor.

Up close, he appeared even scrawnier than he had in the parking lot. He had deep pitted spots sprawling across his cheeks, scars from chicken pox maybe, and beneath the awful haircut his head was an odd shape, almost like someone had hit him with a baseball bat in the womb and he’d come out with a slightly cylindrical indent over his left eyebrow.

“You got a name?” he asked.

“Dustin,” the kid mumbled.

“I’m Shane.” He inched closer to the pastries and hunger won out over concern as he helped himself to another cinnamon roll.

“Yeah,” Dustin said, still staring at the floor. It came out likethanks.

Shane cleared his throat, took the loaf of bread and stuffed it into his pack, and then rubbed the back of his head, his hat staticky against his short dark hair.

“Well… I’ll see ya…”

As he reached for the door the kid made an odd squeak and Shane paused again.

“You want to come back on Thursday?” he breathed, so low Shane could barely hear him. The kid was circling his toe in some flour on the ground, creating a little spiral pattern.

“I’m fine,” Shane said, stomach protesting loudly. “But… thanks.”

Dustin nodded, and then disappeared into the back room again.

Shane didn’t even make it all the way around the back of the building before ripping open the saran wrap and tearing into the loaf.

He had later returned to Cody’s to discover that one of Cody’s cousins had stayed behind after Easter. The shitty, lumpy pullout in the dank basement was now occupied.

“Sorry, man,” Cody said with a sniff, powder rimming his cracked nostrils.

Shane slept two more nights at Fairy Lake before finding himself standing back outside the bakery at 4:00am on Thursday morning. He was in desperate need of a shower, and clean clothes, but more than anything else, food. At 4:01am, the back door opened and Dustin stood there holding two loaves of bread.

Dustin didn’t react to Shane’s presence. No raised eyebrows, no blink, no greeting. It was like Shane was a piece of outdoor furniture that had been bolted to the ground, and Dustin was so used to seeing him that he wasn’t worth a second look. Dustin thrust out his hands without making eye contact, and before Shane could say a word, the door had swung shut in his face.

For a while, Shane had worried about Dustin’s boss showing up, although he figured if he didn’t notice the kid being beaten and robbed it was unlikely the guy would notice a few missing loaves of bread. Shane’s heart sank with disappointment the week he’d showed up to a car in the parking lot right in front of the shop – but two loaves had been wrapped in saran and tucked into a grocery bag beside the dumpster. He almost wouldn’t have noticed if it weren’t for the smell of the cinnamon roll, loose, perched on top. Shane could have kissed Dustin; he’d fallen asleep in the park with the last of his loaf on his chest and the fucking geese had stolen it. He hadn’t eaten in a day and a half.

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