with anticipation as his companion. The boy, David, was just coming out and looked suspiciously at him before moving aside at the door. He avoided Jeffs eyes, striding quickly past, obviously eager to join the group in the garden.
“David,” Jefferson called after him. The boy stopped, unsure. Finally he turned around, angling a questioning black eyebrow up at the older man.
“What?” His voice was sullen.
“I need to change clothes. Do you know where there are some old things I can borrow?” Jeff ignored his petulant expression.
They stood facing each other for long moments, searching brown eyes scrutinizing him steadily, before David nodded. Moving into the house, he stopped to let Jeff remove his dirty shoes.
“Mrs. Bennet will skin you ‘live if you track that dirt through the house,” he ordered, his tone smugly superior.
As they marched the length of the upstairs hallway, Jeff noticed that every room seemed to be occupied. It was odd. He’d been here hundreds of times before and no one had ever occupied the second floor.
Other than Judith.
They finally stopped at the linen closet at the far end of the hall. The boy tugged out a cardboard box and began pulling things out.
“Here, you can wear these,” the kid offered, measuring Jefferson’s body mentally before choosing his attire.
Jefferson winced at the ragged denim shirt and much patched jeans that were proffered from a box that had undoubtedly come from the Goodwill center. There was very little to commend the shabby articles except that they would save his own clothes from stains the black garden soil would inflict.
“You can change in my room if you want,” David suggested hesitantly.
“Thank you very much.” Jefferson kept his tone properly appreciative, considering this was half his house. David stood staring out the window while he slipped out of his pants and into the rags.
“Why do you have your own room?” Jefferson asked curiously, having already noticed two beds in each of the other bedrooms.
The boy’s head swung round, his grin wide.
“Cassie says a guy who’s sixteen should have some privacy. So I get to have my own room. I never had that before.” His serious brown eyes stared at Jefferson. “In most of the foster places we don’t have half the fun we have here.” His solemn face brightened.
“Cassie says this is a fun stop on the highway of life. While we’re here we get to do lots of neat things. Like the bonfire.” His eager eyes inspected Jefferson from head to stockinged feet. “There’s some old boots in the back porch,” he said softly. His dark head tipped to one side, anxiously waiting.
“Are you just about ready? They’re gonna be cooking the hot dogs soon an’ I’m starved.”
Jefferson nodded and they went down the stairs together. Well, sort of together. The boy bounded down happily in front, eager to rejoin the fray.
Jefferson slipped on the boots slowly, mulling over the child’s explanation. If he understood correctly, this boy was in limbo. Waiting. And while he was here, that woman, Cassie Newton, made the time seem like a holiday. It was a curious occupation; one he didn’t understand. What did she get out of it?
They walked toward the others, David half running until he stopped suddenly. Wheeling around, he asked, “Are you going to live here, too?”
Jefferson paused, head tilted, wondering how to answer.
“I’m not sure yet,” he hedged finally. “Why?”
“Just wondering what we’re s’posed to call you,” David mumbled, turning away.
Jefferson reached out impulsively, pulling at the boy’s sleeve.
“My name is Jeff.” The rest died away as the teenager bounded toward the others, yelling as he went.
“This is my friend Jeff,” he bellowed to the assembled throng. That settled, he got to the matters at hand. “I’m having four hot dogs.”
They crowded around Cassie eagerly as she handed out wieners and sticks to the younger ones first, then the older children. To his credit, David waited until the last for his portion, Jeff noticed. He took his own place behind the patient boy and only belatedly wondered if there would be enough of everything for the adults to share in the feast.
He would have backed away then, but Cassie thrust a stick and a wiener at him.
“Slumming, Jeff?” she asked, one eyebrow quirked upward expressively. There it was again, he mused, that shortened form of his name. To his amazement, he found that he enjoyed hearing it on her lips. He was even starting to think of himself as Jeff, he decided.
He ignored the hint of sarcasm and threaded the wiener on the stick crossways. It didn’t look very secure and he wondered how long it would stay on.
Evidently, Cassie Newton was mentally posing the same question for she reluctantly took the items from his clumsy hands and patiently demonstrated the fine art of roasting hot dogs.
“You have to do it like this,” she instructed, pushing the meat on lengthwise. “Otherwise it will fall off when it begins to cook.”
Her eyes took in his curious outfit then, widening in surprise as she focused on the sizable tear above his left knee. She forwent the obvious comment and, with a grin, turned to skewer a hotdog for herself before moving toward the fire.
Jeff followed her, wishing he’d had this experience before. Feeling totally inept and out of place, he watched carefully, noticing the way she turned and twisted the stick to get each part of the meat cooked. He tried to follow suit but after several minutes, Cassie’s wiener looked golden brown and plumply delicious while his was shriveled and covered with black spots. Even the youngest child in the group had done better than he.
“Good for you, Missy. That looks great!” She praised the littlest imp with a glowing smile.
Jeff decided he liked the way her face lit up when one of the children teased her. A softening washed over her clear skin as she spoke to each. She didn’t talk down to them, he noted, and she didn’t boss. Cassie Newton treated each child as an adult person, entitled to her full attention. And as she listened to their little stories and jokes, Jefferson sensed her pleasure in them.
“We’re very happy to have you here, sir.” It was Bennet, grinning like a Cheshire cat as he bit into his own food. “Miss Judith used to say that sweet dill relish was what made the difference between a really good hot dog and a great one.”
Jeff smiled while his brain screeched to a halt. Aunt Judith had done this? Joined in a wiener roast in the garden? Stiff and stern Aunt Judith who wouldn’t tolerate a speck of dirt under seven-year-old fingernails?
He could hardly imagine such a thing. His curious eyes moved over the assembled throng.
It was like watching a huge family, he mused. Something like Norman Rockwell would have painted and totally unreal. He munched on the liberally ketchuped, but still charred, hot dog and thought about the curiously vibrant woman laughing down at seven wildly
