The New Boy

The New Boy

by

William Rand

The New Boy

Copyright © 2013 by William Rand

“Knowledge is power, and truth is knowledge;

whoever, therefore, knowingly propagates a prejudice,

wilfully saps the foundation of his country's strength.”

Washington Irving (1783-1859)

from "English Writers on America"

in The Sketch Book

Greer didn't want to kill again, so he met the new boy with a feeling of relief. Greer wanted his family intact and happy again.

The boy was the right age twenty-three, one year older than Brenda. He had pale blue eyes and short, neatly combed hair the color of autumn wheat. The boy looked thin to Greer and stood three or so inches shorter than his own six feet. That was good too. Greer smiled to cut the tension in the living room. Their home was modest, clean and middle-class, the same as the neighbors. The carpet was tan and worn. The television to one side was big but second hand. The sofa sagged, but it was newly upholstered. The easy chain in which Greer sat was deep and comfortable. They felt pride in the house, filled over the years and nearly paid off. Greer stood up to say hello and shake hands. As he crossed the room, a chill gripped him, only for a moment. He felt a sense of fear, without knowing the cause. Certainly it wasn’t from the new boy, he thought. He saw no threat there, not this time.

A step ahead of Brenda into the house, the boy extended his hand to Greer. Greer found the boy's grip firm and dry. His glance was steady and assured as well, so Greer wondered if the boy really was as shy as Brenda had claimed. The last one sure hadn't been. Greer's daughter stepped over to them after closing the front door. Greer broke eye contact with the boy to give her a smile.

Brenda gave Greer an unsteady smile in return. The smile faded. She looked at her father, eyes widening, as if she had not expected to see him. The moment passed. She recovered, found an uncertain smile again and said, "Daddy, this is Kevin Stafford." She glanced toward the boy and gestured weakly. "Kev, this is my Dad."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Greer," Kevin said.

Greer said that the pleasure was his, and he meant it. Kevin seemed perfect: meek, courteous and conservative. He saw that the boy was wearing a button-down, plaid Arrow shirt similar to his own. Then he looked to his daughter and felt relief to see that the dark circles beneath her eyes had faded. Maybe the past could finally die, he hoped, so he wouldn't have to take the belt to her anymore.

Her skin still looked pale under the makeup, but she'd curled her hair for the first time in weeks. Greer noticed then that Brenda's hair was nearly the same shade of natural blond as the boy's. This boy would be better for her, Greer decided, than the last. Of course, the last one had been courteous and conservative too, but that hadn't been the problem.

"Is eleven okay, Daddy?"

Greer laughed. "You're an adult, Brenda; you know you don't have to check in. Besides," another laugh, "I don't wanna know how late you stay out when you're in the dorms."

"Dad!"

They laughed together, awkwardly and briefly. He shook hands with the boy again.

Before he released his grip, the boy dropped his smile and said, "Brenda tells me you're an electrician, Mr. Greer."

"That's right, uh . . . Kevin. Been doin' it near on thirty years now."

"Maybe we could talk sometime; I'm getting close to graduating in Electrical Engineering."

"Sounds fine, son. You always been intrest'd in that field?"

Kevin dropped his hand, but held Greer's eyes. "Not really, Sir. I started in Pre-Law, and, later on, I kind of switched majors."

Greer felt a faint twinge in his gut, but he ignored it. There was no connection.

None at all.

"That'd be real nice, Kevin," Greer said. "Now you two go on, or you'll be late for your movie."

"It's a play, Dad, not a movie. But yeah, I guess we better get."

The two of them turned away, and Greer felt another gut twinge, harder.

Coincidence, he thought.

Greer had to clear his throat to speak. "Losing your handkerchief, Kevin."

The boy stopped and turned. His eyes followed Greer's pointing finger to the rear pocket of his jeans. With a self-conscious chuckle, he stuffed the dangling white cloth back inside. "Thanks, Mr. Greer," he said. They left Greer standing there in the living room. When the door closed them out, Greer went back to his easy chair, and he reached for the television remote. He tried to likewise push the dangling handkerchief from his mind.

The handkerchief refused to leave his thoughts, though, for the whole two hours he waited for his wife to get home from work. She worked

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 29.04.2013
ISBN: 978-3-7309-2535-5

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Widmung:
For Liz Marbella, Always