to have fun without my little sisters there. All that’s changed now, though.” He sat back, aware that he had Beau’s full attention. “Everybody’s good now. My sisters are both married to really great guys. They both have nice homes, and I have a nephew and a niece with one more on the way. Plus, there are the Cutlers.”
“You know the Cutlers?”
“My sister Jolie is married to Vince.”
“No kidding?”
“That’s how I met your sister.”
“Nicole says the Cutlers are like a tribe. There are so many of them, and they’ve got all these rituals and stuff, like football, and everybody’s always hanging out together. Man, that’s gotta be bananas.”
Marcus laughed. “Close.” He pushed the milk shake over, saying offhandedly, “Want that? I’m not as hungry as I thought I was.”
Beau drained his cola in one long swig and reached for the milk shake, asking, “So how come you’re not married?”
Marcus was a bit taken aback. “Been wondering that same thing myself. Just haven’t found the right woman yet.”
Talk turned to other things. Beau never once mentioned his father, but he obviously depended on his sister for everything. Marcus hoped Beau knew how blessed he was in that sister of his, but he wasn’t sure that a thirteen-year-old was capable of understanding how unique Nicole was.
Most young ladies her age were all about guys and friends and accumulating things, not providing stable homes for their younger siblings. Marcus understood her motivation better than most, but Beau likely took her somewhat for granted, which probably was as it should be. Someday, though, Beau would look back and understand what his sister had done for him. At least Marcus wanted to think he would, for Beau’s sake as much as Nicole’s.
Beau finished his “snack,” including what was left of Marcus’s French fries, and allowed Marcus to lead him outside. As predicted, clouds had swept in on a new pressure system, obscuring the sun and dropping the temperature into the twenties.
Marcus hustled the boy into the car and resumed his place behind the steering wheel. He started the engine and cranked up the heater, hoping that it wouldn’t take long to warm up.
Beau’s lack of a coat was troubling, and Marcus tried to think how to address the situation, finally coming up with a rather obvious approach. “Would you like to drop by your house to pick up your coat?”
Obviously alarmed, Beau exclaimed, “No!”
Knowing what he did about Dillard Archer, Marcus considered that response ominous, but he didn’t want to judge the man unfairly. “Mind if I ask why?” When the boy pressed his lips together sullenly, Marcus explained, “It’s too cold for you to be running around without a coat.”
“Mine’s dirty,” Beau mumbled.
“A dirty coat is better than no coat, Beau,” Marcus pointed out.
The boy suddenly erupted. “My dad threw up on it, okay? He was sloppy hungover and he barfed all over my coat this morning!” He turned his face away, ashamed.
Marcus surreptitiously fortified himself with a deep breath, his heart going out to the boy, and carefully chose his next words. “Your father’s alcoholism is a real problem for you. I’m sorry about that. With my dad it was drugs.”
Beau slid a curious look over Marcus. “Yeah?”
“He overdosed not long before my mom left with her boyfriend. She used it as an excuse, actually. She kept saying that she had to provide my sisters and me with a father, as if my dad had ever really been a part of our lives. I couldn’t figure out how taking off without us was supposed to provide us with parents, anyway.”
“My mom would never do something like that,” Beau vowed.
“I understand she was a fine Christian woman,” Marcus said softly. “You must be very proud of that.”
Beau nodded, whispering, “Before she died, everything was real good.”
“It will be good again, Beau,” Marcus promised. “I’m living proof of that. Now about that coat…”
“He’ll be drinking again by now,” Beau said miserably, shaking his head and staring out the windshield.
“Actually,” Marcus said, “I was thinking about an old coat I have that you can use. Want to go take a look at it?”
Beau hunched a shoulder in a seemingly unconcerned shrug. Marcus took that for assent and headed for the parsonage.
When they turned into the church grounds, Beau seemed surprised. Looking around him quickly, he exclaimed, “It’s almost like a town.”
“A very small town perhaps,” Marcus said, guiding the car past the church offices and day care center.
He explained that the membership had needed to expand the church but they hadn’t wanted to abandon their beloved old sanctuary. The solution had been to purchase, one by one, the houses which had faced the original church on every side.
The buildings were then renovated according to their assigned purpose and linked via covered walkways. In some cases, two buildings had been joined by an addition to form a larger space. Marcus pointed out the education building, the fellowship hall, the youth department and the music center. A house still undergoing renovation would soon serve as a furlough home for missionaries and their families returning to the U.S. on leave or for some other reason.
As Marcus eased the sedan into the narrow garage of the tiny parsonage, Beau pointed out that the “missionary house” was much larger than the home occupied by Marcus.
“Well, maybe someday I’ll get married and need the larger house,” Marcus said, unconcerned. “Then this house will be the furlough house, although we might have to add a bedroom or two.”
Marcus tossed his own coat over the counter that separated the small kitchen from the combined dining and living area, flipping on the overhead light as he did so. He’d forgotten that the place was so cluttered. A necktie, which went with the shirt draped over the back of a dining chair, lay in a snaky heap next to this morning’s unwashed breakfast bowl and an empty milk carton. Books were stacked on the dining table. Today’s newspaper had drifted off the old-fashioned, green vinyl sofa onto the floor, and Marcus wondered suddenly when he’d last vacuumed the sand-colored carpet.
Beau chuckled and commented, “Man, Nicole would send you to your room if she got a load of this.”
Marcus sent him a bemused glance, bringing his hands to his hips before once again surveying the place. “She’d be justified, too.”
He started gathering up his errant clothing. Beau leaned an elbow on the counter and parked his chin on the palm of his hand.
“What’s for dinner?”
Marcus nearly dropped everything he’d gathered. They had just eaten, hadn’t they? Growing boys. “Pizza?”
“I’ll call it in!” Beau exclaimed eagerly. Marcus chuckled and pointed out the phone.
By the time he’d dumped his load and reached into his closet for the coat he had in mind for Beau, the pizza was on its way.
Made of quilted gray nylon with snaps up the front and ribbed cuffs, the coat was a couple sizes too large for Marcus, having once belonged to his foster father, which meant that it would swallow the boy. Marcus counted on the inexplicable teenage fixation with oversize clothing to make the coat acceptable to Beau, and it did exactly that.
“Über!” Beau exclaimed, pushing up the sleeves to expose his hands.
Marcus recognized the German word for super. “You can keep it if you want,” he offered. “I never wear it.”
Beau looked pleased, then doubtful. “Nicole may not like it. She says we