CHAPTER THREE
SAVIOR FOUND
AGE TWELVE
“Someone's moving in next door,” Mom said as she ran a dustcloth over the windowsill in between peeks through the curtains.
“Yeah!” I cried, jumping up from the table. “I forgot to tell you! Jay's dad said some guy got out of jail and he's moving here.”
Mom looked over her shoulder at me, her brow crumpled and her eyes holding every bit of concern I’d thought she'd have at the news. “An ex-convict is moving in next door? Oh God, Grandma will have a freakin' conniption over this.”
“Jay's dad said he was in jail for a long time. Like, ten years or something like that.”
“I wonder what he did,” Mom said, leaning forward and looking through the curtains.
“Is he here now?!”
I ran over to where she stood to look out the window, but she stopped me with an arm across my chest.
“Don't stare,” she scolded.
I laughed and poked my finger at her arm. “You're staring!”
“No,” she teasingly argued with a smirk on her lips. “I was cleaning the windowsill and just so happened to peek through the curtains. You're being obvious.”
She reached out to ruffle my hair and walked away to dust the TV stand, but not without taking one more glance through the window.
Her curiosity was driving her crazy, I could tell.
So was mine.
Jay's dad, Graham Williams, was with the River Canyon Police Department, and the last time I had been at their house, I’d overheard him talking to Jay’s mom about the guy Mayor Connie Fischer had agreed to let live in our community.
A big guy, his dad said. He'd just gotten out of prison—he'd been there for a long time—and Jay and I stared at each other, wide-eyed and fascinated, both of us wondering what he might've done to be locked up for so long.
“I bet he's a murderer,” I remembered Jay saying, his voice full of conspiracy and wonder.
“Connie wouldn't let someone live here if he was a murderer,” I had replied, shaking my head while thinking my best friend had lost his mind.
But when I looked out the front-door window and saw the broad back of a guy who might as well have been a giant, walking up the rickety wooden steps of the house next door, I almost swallowed my own tongue at the realization that Jay might've been right.
“Whoa,” I whispered, staring as he and the old guy he was with disappeared into the house.
He barely made it through the door!
“What?” Mom asked as she wiped down the TV screen.
“Uh, nothing,” I said, turning from the window and hurrying to the table.
“Did you see him? The guy next door?”
I dropped back into my chair and grabbed my pencil with every intention of getting back to my homework.
“Yeah, I mean … for, like, two seconds,” I muttered with forced nonchalance, trying to play it cool as I put pencil tip to paper.
I was supposed to write a poem about how my Christmas was for my English class.
I had only written one line, erased it, and rewritten it six times so far in the span of a half hour.
I hated English. I hated reading, and I hated writing even more.
Mom said I couldn't spell to save my life.
I'd been stressed about this stupid assignment for a week already, and now, after seeing the new guy next door, I was even more worried it wouldn't get done in time to turn it in on Monday.
Because how was I supposed to write a dumb poem when there was an ex-con living next door?
***
But I had written that poem—with Grandma's help because there was no way I was gonna do it myself. And I returned to school, where nobody wanted to talk about holidays or winter activities or anything other than the new guy in town.
He worked at The Fisch Market, cleaning the floors and the bathrooms, and he hit his head on the sign in the produce department.
“I was there with my mom the other day,” one of the Bush twins, Lydia, said at lunch. “He's a giant, and he's got a huge scar on his face.”
“He's got long hair, too, and tons of tattoos,” another kid chimed in.
“Lots of guys have long hair,” I muttered with a shrug. “And tattoos aren't weird.”
“Yeah, but this guy is scary,” Lydia reasoned, rolling her eyes. “He was in jail.”
“Maybe I'll see him tomorrow,” I said, taking a bite of my sandwich.
Truthfully, I had been trying hard to catch another glimpse of the giant next door since he had moved in, but I hadn't seen him. The guy's schedule must've conflicted with mine or something.
But Mom and I always went grocery shopping on Tuesdays, and since it seemed he worked every single day from morning to night, I was determined to finally get a good look at him.
And that was exactly what I did.
When we walked through the automatic doors, it was impossible to miss him mopping the floor down the bread aisle.
He said hi to Mrs. Montgomery, the old lady who worked at the church.
His voice was deep and a little scary, but he didn't sound mean—not like Dad—and that made me smile.
But Mrs. Montgomery didn't say anything back as she hurried past him.
He looked a little sad then, and that made me sad too.
“Oh my God,” Mom said with a gasp, glancing down the aisle.
“What?” I asked, angry that she would say something so … judgmental.
She gave her head a quick shake, then hurried toward the cereal aisle. “Nothing,” she said. “Come on. We have to get our shopping done.”
I did as I had been told, and while I helped her collect the groceries, I tried to catch glances of the giant as much as I could.
The perfect opportunity finally came when he was sitting at the back of the store, eating a sandwich.
I wandered away from Mom to get a better look, to check out that gnarly-looking scar on his face, and I found a spot to hide behind a rack of bananas.
I didn't think he noticed me—his eyes were on his phone—so I leaned over a bit, hoping to peer a little closer, when I tripped over my own stupid feet and blew my cover.
The guy glanced in my direction, his eyes landing right on me, and I froze for a second.
“Shit,” I whispered beneath my breath before turning and bumping right into the rack of bananas.
Several bunches fell to the floor, and my shoulders slumped.
This was not going according to plan.
“Ah, man,” I grumbled.
I stared at the floor, knowing I had to clean them up, but … Mom would be looking for me, and if she found out I'd been spying on the new guy in town, she was going to be annoyed, and—
“Don't worry about it,” I heard a deep voice say from behind me. “I got it.”
“What? N-no, it's—” I glanced over my shoulder to find him standing and heading over to where I stood, and stupidly, I said, “Wow. You're, like, really tall.”
I had known he was. I had seen him before. But I hadn’t been this close. He was taller than anybody I had ever seen.
“Huh.” He pressed his hand to the top of his head and looked down at the floor. “Look at that. I guess I am.”
Finding a little more courage, I asked, “How tall are you?”
“Last time I checked”—he pointed toward the glowing Produce sign—”as tall as it takes to smack my head on that.”
I followed his finger, and my eyes widened. “Whoa.”
The kids at school had mentioned it was true, but I hadn't really thought he was that tall. I guessed I'd been wrong.
“Yeah, I keep asking Howard to move it, but what can ya do?” he said with a shrug.
I knew I should say something else. He seemed nice, he seemed cool, and I wanted to keep talking. But my tongue was tied, and I was nervous for some reason. I mean, I had never talked to a guy who had been in jail before. What was I supposed to say?
Then he got down on his knees and began picking up the bananas I had knocked over, and I silently scolded myself. I should've done that already.
So, I dropped to the floor and hurried to help as quickly as I could, and then, as if I had lost all control over my stupid mouth, I blurted, “My mom said you were in jail.”
It was a lie. I had told Mom, and immediately, I was scared I had said something I shouldn't have. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
He probably didn't want to talk about that. He probably didn't want to talk about that with me. But then he surprised me by laughing.
It was a friendly kind of laugh.
Like Grandpa's or Jay's dad.
“I was,” he replied with a nod.
I picked up a bunch of bananas and passed it to his large hand as I brazenly asked, “Is that where you got that scar?” I gestured toward the line of puckered skin stretching from below his left eye and into his beard.
He shook his head. “No, I got this scar before—”
“Noah!”
Crap.
Startled, I gasped and turned in the direction of Mom's voice to see her hurrying over, the basket on her arm full of groceries.
She didn't look happy.
“Noah, I have been looking all over for you,” she scolded, reaching for my jacket sleeve and pulling me to my feet.
“Sorry, I was just—”
“We have to get home and make dinner. You still have home—”
She gasped as the guy stood, and then she cleared her throat and diverted her eyes. I noticed her cheeks were turning red, like she was embarrassed or something.
“I-I'm sorry he was bothering you,” she said quickly. “Come on, Noah. Let's go.”
“He's fine,” the guy said. “It was nice to actually talk to someone.”
I glanced up at him and the small, shy smile he wore. I felt really bad for him then, thinking about the time we had moved into town and not known anyone. But at least Mom and I had had each other then. I didn't think this guy had anyone else living in that little house with him. It was just him.
No friends. No family.
I could be his friend.
Would he want to be friends with me?
Mom was quiet for a moment as she looked at him too. She swallowed and said, “Um … well, have a nice day.”
“Yeah, you too,” he replied with a little wave. “Bye, Noah. Thanks for the chat.”
Mom was already hurrying me away, dragging me along like she used to when I was a little kid. Why was she acting so weird?
I glanced over my shoulder and gave him a little smile. “Bye. I'll see you around.”
And I meant it.