The Meridians(48)

She turned to go back to the truck, thinking that maybe she could unpack a chair and set Kevin's computer up on the floor or a windowsill somewhere, but when she went back outside all thoughts of how she was going to unpack fled from her mind.

There was a man standing by the car, looking at Kevin through the window.





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22.

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Lynette felt her mouth open wide, and she was about to scream, then realized that the man standing beside the truck was just a stranger, not the gray man she had moved to escape from.

Just a stranger, she thought. My, how things have changed.

Out loud, she said, "Can I help you?"

The man started and turned, and Lynette couldn't help but flinch a bit.

The man wore a dark track suit, as though he had been out running, but was not breathing hard, not to mention that it was after midnight - a strange time to be out for a run. But stranger than his outfit was his face. He had light blue eyes, which seemed all the lighter when compared to the white, patchwork pattern of scars that crisscrossed his face. He was smiling, apparently at Kevin, but the smile disappeared when he saw her reaction to his appearance.

"Sorry," he said, and made a half-hearted attempt to hide his face behind his hands, then must have realized that he could hardly hold his hands to his face all night and dropped them to his side. "Sorry," he said again. "I have a face made for radio," he said with a sad laugh.

Lynette felt shame well up inside her, hot and uncomfortable. She felt like she had her mother shaking a finger at her again, something that she had not experienced for several decades. "Way to go, Lynny," she would have said. "I taught you never to judge a book by a cover, and here you are doing exactly that."

"No," she protested, though whether she was saying it in response to the man's statement or to the mental image of her mother's scolding she would have been hard-pressed to say. "It's just - I was surprised to see anyone out here so late."

"Me, too," he answered.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I saw your truck and figured I'd stop and see who was new to the neighborhood," he said, and pointed to a nearby car, a small blue economy car that was parked across the street. He must have pulled up while Lynette was inside turning on the lights.

She looked at the man with a trace of suspicion, her Los Angeles training kicking in as she said, "So you just thought you'd stop off in the middle of the night to see if we were awake?"

"You must not be from around here," said the man, seeming to guess her thoughts. He held his hands up placatingly, then said, "I'm not a murderer or a kidnapper, just a nosy guy from a small town who saw your door open and your light on, spotted the moving truck, and thought I'd see if I could help with anything."

"At," she glanced at her watch, "half past one in the morning?"

He grinned at her. "You're from a big city, right?"

"Los Angeles," she admitted. "How did you know?"

"It shows in your face. You're worried about me, what I'm doing here, what my intentions are, and that just screams city girl."

She grinned in spite of herself. "Guilty on all counts."

"Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I'm looking for nothing more sinister than to see if you need any help moving in." He backed off another step, as though he were afraid of her, then said, "Again, I'm not a rapist or anything as exciting as that, so I don't want to get you riled up, but... you don't have anyone here to help you move in, do you?"

She should have said yes, she knew, should have said that her husband was inside turning on the gas or something else that would get rid of this strange man, but she didn't. Instead, she felt as though she should trust him, and, following her instincts, she said, "No, I don't."

"And I'm guessing that your son won't be much help, either."

She felt her hackles rise. Was this man insulting her boy? "What do you mean by that?" she said through clenched teeth.

Again the man raised his hands as though to show that he was not only unarmed, but completely incapable of harming a fly. "Nothing. Just he looks like he's around eight years old and, unless I miss my guess, he's very asleep right now."

Lynette glanced into the truck. Sure enough, Kevin's head was lolled backward, his eyes closed as Winnie the Pooh continued prancing across the screen of the DVD player on his lap. She looked back at the man and grimaced. "Sorry," she said. "Kevin's...special. Some people make fun of him."

The man started visibly. "Kevin?" he said. "His name's Kevin?"

Lynette felt her brow furrow. "Why?" she asked, suspicious once again.

"No reason," said the man. "I just...I knew a Kevin once."

This time Lynette did not believe him; felt as though he were lying to her. But before she could say anything about it, the man stuck out his hand and said, "I'm Scott, by the way."

Lynette looked at the hand for a long moment, then finally took it. "Lynette," she answered, and was more than a little surprised when the man didn't grab her and attempt to drag her over to his car and throw her in the backseat.

Instead, he let go of her hand after just a moment, turned, and said, "So you don't have anyone here, would you mind if I rounded up some help for you?"