Reunited(22)
“It’s okay. I enjoyed school, but I never would have done as well without you there to help me.”
She smiled and shook her head. “You never needed me, Brett. I shouldn’t tell you this, but Mr. Phillips, the counselor, remember him? He confided in me when he was trying to get me to tutor you that you had scored in the superior range on the state tests.”
“Superior? What’s that mean exactly?”
“It’s one ranking below genius level.”
“I suppose you scored at the genius level?”
“Yes, but just barely. There isn’t that much difference between where you and I scored.”
“Really?” Happiness glowed on his face. His brows lifted. “I wonder why no one ever told me?”
“I told you. I told you how smart you were.”
“Yeah. But I thought you were just being nice. You know, being a good tutor.”
“I’m not that nice a person.”
“Sure you are. You were always nice. I remember that day you took care of me when those guys attacked me. I don’t think anyone’s ever taken such great care of me since.”
She shuddered. That day. That fateful day that had led to their son.
Twenty years earlier
Brett jerked as Kathryn touched the warm washcloth to his cheek.
“I’m sorry. I have to clean it before I can help you.”
They sat together on the sofa in Kathryn’s living room.
“It’s okay. Just stings a little.”
“I know. Again, I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, Kath. I’m sorry you had to witness that. Sorry you had to be in the middle of it. All I wanted to do was protect you.”
“You did.”
“Hell no, I didn’t.”
“Well, you couldn’t do much when there were two gorillas holding you, could you? It doesn’t matter. We’re both okay and out of danger.”
“You shouldn’t have had to see that.”
“So they got the wrong guy. I know there’s mob around here. Everyone knows, Brett.”
“At least you don’t have a mob name.”
“Nope. I’ve got a Pollock name.”
Brett reddened. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry that I’m Polish? I’m not.”
“No. Geez. I mean sorry I used to call you a Pollock.”
“Everyone did. Polish jokes were the rage, remember?”
“Yeah, I know. Better a Zurakowsky than a Falcone. The mob’ll never mistake you for someone they’re after.”
She couldn’t help but chuckle. “I actually had that same thought today, during the whole thing. Never have I been so thankful for my Polish roots.”
He laughed with her. “Ow, that hurts!”
“Then stop laughing.” She smiled as she cleansed the rest of the dried blood from his cheek. “Now I just need some anti-bacterial ointment or something. There isn’t much blood. But you’re going to swell up, I bet.”
“Won’t be the first time.”
“You mean they’ve come after you before?”
“Not those three, but others. It’s never the same ones twice. They find out they made a mistake, and then they leave me alone.”
“Who are they after?”
“Brad Falcone. He’s a junior at Bishop Academy. His dad is an attorney with lots of mob ties.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know what to say to that, so she made small talk. “I guess Brad sounds a lot like Brett.”
“Especially when you have the IQ of a tomato.”
Kathryn laughed. “See, you are intelligent, Brett. You can recognize when someone is stupid.”
“I don’t need to be intelligent to recognize a retard, Kath.”
“I suppose not. But you are smart. I’m still amazed that you figured out the whole negative times negative equals positive thing.”
“Are you positive?”
“Yeah. Positive.”
Stupid joke between them, but it made her warm. She and Brett had a private joke.
Silly, but nice. Nice and warm and fuzzy.
Geez, Kathryn, you’re getting all fluffy and perfumey, like Michelle Bates. Can’t have that. Kathryn was not the frou-frou cheerleader type that Brett Falcone liked. She never would be.
Yet, he seemed to like her. He liked kissing her and he was leaning toward her now.
“Just a minute.” She backed away. “I’m not done with you, yet.” She squeezed some anti-bacterial ointment onto her fingers and rubbed it gently over his cheek.
He winced.
“I’m sorry. I’m trying not to hurt you.”
“I know.”
When she finished, she went to the kitchen and scooped Belgian chocolate ice cream into two bowls, then returned and gave one to Brett.
“Here. You look hungry.”
He laughed. “Shit, that hurt. I am, actually.” He took a bite of ice cream and winced. “Hurts to open my mouth, though.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” She scooped some ice cream into her spoon, but on its way to her mouth, the cold custard glopped onto her neck. Nice. Be a clutz in front of the Italian Stallion. Could this day get any better?