Page 113 of Give Me a Shot

“That’s not water!” he gasped. “Why don’t you use water?” he asked Mo.

“Adam, let the man work,” his mother said with a sheepish smile, tugging on his sleeve. “I’m so sorry,” she said to Mo. “He gets overexcited sometimes.”

Mo looked at the boy. His eyes had been wide when he’d spoken, but now he looked self-conscious and guarded.

“You can use water or oil for quenching,” he said to the boy. “I prefer oil.”

“Quenching?” the boy asked.

“To harden. Strengthen. You don’t want your project to break because it’s brittle,” Mo said.

“Oh,” the boy said, beginning to sit back down again.

“No, no,” his mother said. “We’ve been here forever, sweetie. It’s almost lunchtime. Aren’t you hungry?”

Mo recognized the mom’s desperate urge to do something,anythingelse. She had been patient and supportive of her son’s curiosity, but there’s only so long a parent can be immobile before getting bored out of their skull. An experience Mo knew far too well. He rolled his lips to smother a lip quirk.

“But, Mom, this is really, really cool,” the boy said. “I’d love to be able to do it.”

“It might be a bit early,” his mom said. “Look how strong this man is. I think you have some growing to do first.”

Mo rested his hammer on his anvil. He might have thought the same before he started, but after several years of teaching, he knew it wasn’t true.

“Actually, ma’am,” he said to her, “you don’t have to bemuscular to start blacksmithing.” He looked at the boy, sizing him up. “Are you…maybe twelve?”

The boy’s eyes went wide.

“Yeah,” he said with a big smile.

Mo shrugged.

“You’re old enough for a couple of our classes,” he said.

“Will you be my teacher?” the boy asked breathlessly.

“Hold on, Adam. Let me see if I can swing it first,” his mom said. She looked at Mo. “Could I ask someone about them? I’m sure we’ve distracted you enough.”

“There’s a stand near the entrance with info about our classes,” he said.

The boy shot to his feet and dashed through the doorway to the right of Mo. His mom laughed, and Mo caught himself chuckling.

“Thanks,” she said to him. “Have a good day.”

She stepped through the doorway, waving goodbye. Mo waved back. Then he winced at Rick’s elbow in his ribs.

“Nice job,” Rick said. “New students mean more money.”

Rick wasn’t wrong, but that wasn’t why Mo had said the kid could learn. He’d been really interested, and Mo had just made a suggestion to help him follow that interest.

“That’s not—”

“I know,” Rick said, cutting him off. “Just giving you a hard time. Looked like the kid caught the smithing bug. Why don’t we break for lunch?”

—

After smothering the fires and helping Rick and Emma tie off the flaps designed to block the doorways, Mo walked down the path between stands, the sun getting to him a little. He hadn’t brought his sunglasses, trying to stay in character in his garb. He’d had to wash his shirt three times before the chemical smell went away. At least the knee-high brown boots he’d found were comfortable. The interaction with the boy had brightened his mood a little. He tried to use young Adam’s excitement about smithing as a buoyagainst drowning in all the smells, sounds, and masses of energy the patrons were dumping all around him. But most significantly, against his Jess-ache.

Maddie-ache when she’s gone. Now Jess-ache without her. Shouldn’t be a surprise.

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