Finally a Hero. Pamela Tracy

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      * * *

      Jesse gathered up every crumb left over from lunch and loaded the food into a doggy bag. The monotonous task gave him time to think about what on earth he was going to do now that he had his son in his care.

      He’d spent about twenty minutes on the waitress’s cell phone, calling his parole officer and Mike Hamm to update them on his situation. The parole officer gave him an emergency appointment for tomorrow. Mike Hamm’s voice mail promised only that Mike considered the call important and would return it as soon as possible.

      Jesse knew no other people’s phone numbers, except for the man offering him a job. Taking the keys from the table, Jesse paid the check—twenty dollars gone. Then he tried to get Timmy out from under the table for the second time.

      Timmy was happy under the table.

      It took another thirty minutes and a dish of ice cream, but finally he hustled Timmy out the door and toward the old Chevy. At least his mother, or really Matilda, had left something substantial behind. Maybe he could sell it.

      Good thing his mother hadn’t thought of that.

      A quick search through the backseat showed that the suitcases and dirty laundry were all Timmy’s. The half-full boxes contained old games and toys. Not one item in the car belonged to Susan.

      Timothy Leroy Scott’s birth certificate was in an envelope in the glove box. Matilda’s name was in the box labeled Mother, but no name was listed for Father. Jesse did the math. Timmy would be five and yes, he’d been with Matilda during the time she’d conceived Timmy.

      He reminded himself to be glad his mother had gotten more organized. When she’d dumped Jesse with relatives, sometimes school wasn’t an option because he never arrived with a birth certificate.

      Maybe that’s why he’d never finished high school—too far behind and too busy trying to survive.

      “This car belong to your mother?” Jesse asked.

      Timmy stared at the ground.

      “What am I going to do with you?” Jesse asked.

      Timmy didn’t move, not an inch.

      “Has Matilda—has your mother—left you before?”

      Finally a vague response, a slight shake of the head. At least, Jesse thought it was a shake. It could have been the kid simply needed to get his hair out of his eyes.

      “Well, get in.”

      Timmy started to climb in back, but Jesse said, “No, the front’s okay.”

      The Chevy started on the third try. The radio refused to turn on. Come to find out, the air conditioner didn’t work. Jesse had no sooner pulled onto the street than the rearview mirror fell off.

      “Great,” Jesse said, tossing it in the backseat with the rest of the junk.

      The prison minister would be proud. Since leaving jail this morning, Jesse’d been maneuvering around unexpected roadblocks one right after another, and there’d been not a curse word uttered. His tongue was bleeding a little from where he’d bitten it too hard, but still...progress.

      Timmy didn’t say anything, just looked from the space where the rearview mirror should have been to Jesse as if expecting to get blamed.

      “It will be all right,” Jesse assured the boy. “My mother did the same thing to me many times, and believe me, many a day I felt as conflicted as you probably do right now.”

      Timmy gave the barest of shrugs and concentrated on whatever he could see from the window. There wasn’t much. Apache Creek was one long street of businesses, most looking fairly deserted. There were homes to the north and the freeway and hotels to the south. East and west were desert and a smattering of homes.

      The main color was brown.

      Checking his watch, Jesse groaned. It was now almost two. He needed to call the man offering him a job.

      A job.

      Right. Could be that opportunity was a thing of the past, given his new circumstances. Jesse was supposed to be a single man intent on getting his life back together. Instead—for the next few days, anyway—he’d be a man who had no clue what to do, especially not with a kid.

      And no money.

      Maybe he could get on the internet and find some of those long-lost relatives who’d taken him in when Susan disappeared on some misguided quest for happiness.

      No, the best had merely tolerated him.

      The worst had...

      No way could Jesse turn over to them a five-year-old who flinched after spilling a glass of water and who hid under tables.

      He had to get this job.

      The first convenience store didn’t have a pay phone. The second one didn’t either, but the girl behind the counter handed over her cell and said, “Go ahead, man. Just don’t leave the store.”

      Jesse motioned Timmy toward the candy aisle. Good, something sparked the kid’s interest. Then, Jesse pulled out the folded, wrinkled paper from his back pocket. For the past week, he’d stared at the name penciled on the paper every day, thinking about opportunities and fresh starts.

      And freedom.

      He punched in the number and after just one ring heard, “Hubrecht.”

      “Yes, hello, sir...” Jesse cleared his throat and started again because gravelly wasn’t the tone he was going for. “Yes, hello, my name is Jesse Campbell and—”

      “Yeah, I’ve been expecting your call. Where are you?”

      Glancing at the sign outside, Jesse said, “A Circle K next to a Burger King right on what looks to be the main street.”

      “I’ll come get you.”

      “I have a vehicle. I can meet you if that’s easier.”

      “Good. There’s a restaurant just down the way, the Miner’s Lamp Café and—”

      “I just ate lunch there.” No way did Jesse want to return. “Look, there’s a park across the street. I can see some picnic tables.”

      “It will take me about twenty minutes,” Jacob said.

      “Thank you.” Jesse handed the phone back to the girl, grabbed two bottled waters from the case, and then paid for them and a candy bar for Timmy.

      Jesse noticed that Timmy waited until he thought Jesse wasn’t looking and put the candy bar in one of his pockets.

      Jesse’d done that a time or two also, saving food for later in case mealtimes became sporadic or nonexistent.

      “It will melt,” Jesse told him. Then he handed Timmy a dollar. “Go ahead and enjoy your candy bar. If you find you need another СКАЧАТЬ