Page 36 of American Hellhound
“What are you doing?” Ghost repeated, long strides carrying him up beside her. He leaned in too close, like he was trying to intimidate her; judging by his tone, she thought maybe he was.
“Checking out,” she said, smiling at the clerk as she put her purchases on the counter.
The clerk’s eyes flicked between the two of them, half-curious, half-stricken. The Dogs seemed to have that effect on people in town.
“You’re buying something formy kid.”
Maggie glanced over at him as the clerk rang up the book and markers. His expression struck her as odd: the combination of surprise, and doubt, and anger. She thought of her own father, of the kind, warm smiles he bestowed on her whenever she brought him a slice of cake after dinner, or offered to help him with the yard work. The delight he always displayed at Christmas when he opened a gift she’d made for him herself, in ceramics class.
Ghost’s expression was not that of a man used to receiving gifts. Nor even everyday kindnesses.
That was the moment she felt the first tiny fissures erupt at the edges of her heart; that first little break thanks to this man. Maybe he was kind of an ass, and maybe he was an outlaw biker, and maybe he sold pot to high school kids, but it was obvious that nobody showed this man any love. She might be practical, but she wasn’t proof against an unloved man.
“Yes,” she said, tone gentle. “For your kid.” She pulled ten dollars from her purse and slid it across the counter.
“You shouldn’t do that,” Ghost muttered, but his face softened.
~*~
In another week, it would be too cold out to sit like this, but for today, the breeze was gentle and the sun warm against their backs. They were camped out at the picnic tables in front of the ice cream place next to the pharmacy; people still wanted ice cream, but didn’t want to eat it outdoors. Aidan sat at one table, markers scattered across the tabletop, absorbed in his word searches. Ghost and Maggie sat at another, side-by-side, elbows touching in a way that warmed her and excited her, watching Aidan, and the traffic passing on the street.
They hadn’t spoken, but Maggie felt something nestled between them. An understanding. So she didn’t feel like she overstepped when she asked, low enough that Aidan couldn’t hear, “Is his mom still in the picture?”
Ghost snorted. “You just get right to the point, don’t ya?”
“It’s a legitimate question. Since you kissed me and all.”
“Oh, you think it’s like that?”
“Itcouldbe like that.”
He sighed, sounding tired. “No. She’s long gone. Hates my guts.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged; she could feel it against her shoulder. “Maybe I’m a huge asshole and deserve it.”
“She abandoned her child,” Maggie said, voice going hard and angry. “There’s no excuse for that.”
“Probably some people don’t agree with you.”
“Probably some people are stupid.”
He snorted again, but it sounded amused this time. “Probably so,” he agreed. In a quieter voice: “It’s just me and Aidan these days.” The words came out heavy, sad.
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well…it is what it is.”
“Do you at least have family?” she pressed, knowing it was none of her business. She couldn’t curb her sympathy; she wanted to make sure these two lost boys had someone looking out for them.
“I have the club,” he said, firmly, in a tone that brooked no arguments.
Some family, she thought, and hoped her derision didn’t show on her face. A bunch of criminals who sent him out to sell drugs when his son was home sick.
Speaking of which, Aidan’s poor little head was hanging low over his word search, listing to the side. He felt terrible.
Maggie reached into her purse and found the small notepad she always carried – because Denise insisted that a true Southern lady be prepared for every inevitability. She found a pen too and used her thigh as a makeshift writing table.
