Daisy won’t take the bait. She clicks off the monitor and brushes past me on her way to her sleep cubicle, giving me a polite little pat on the shoulder as she goes.
“Think about it, Shakespeare. You’ll figure something out.”
Just what I need. Another damn editor.
Chapter 20
BRON IS at his usual table at the diner. After a week, he’s a regular, along with everybody else in town.
Sunny has settled nicely into her job. So far, she’s mixed up only two orders tonight—and Bron’s dinner actually arrived hot, with the correct side dish and complete with beverage. Progress.
As Bron digs into his cheeseburger deluxe, he notices a somber group crowded into a booth in the far corner. A mix of young men and women—disheveled, hollow-eyed, burned-out. If it weren’t for the fact that they were sitting one booth away from the police chief, you’d think they were part of a meth ring.
“Everything okay?” Sunny is doing her routine waitress flyby. Tyler puts down his burger and nods toward the other side of the diner.
“The people in that booth over there.”
She looks. “What about them?”
“Who are they—local drug dealers?” He’s only half joking. They all look like they’re right on the edge.
“Not quite,” says Sunny. “Local schoolteachers.”
“Wow. Looks like they had a rough day.”
“More like a rough year,” says Sunny. She rests her hands on Tyler’s table and tells what she’s overheard.
Seems that the state has done the town a favor by leaving the local school open all these years. But now the pressure is on from DC to boost the school’s STEM scores. Hard enough that half the students need help with English. Now they need to be math wizards and science geniuses, too.
“If the students don’t do well on their end-of-year evaluations…”
“What happens?” asks Bron.
“The state closes the school, and the kids get bused to a consolidated district—thirty miles away.”
“Well, that definitely sucks.”
“Sure does,” says Sunny. “And even worse—all those unhappy teachers… they’ll be after my job.”
Chapter 21
Three hours later
Bron is still at his table. He’s nursing his second cup of coffee as the customers thin out to a few stragglers… and then to just him.
“Okay,” says Sunny. “No more loitering. I need to close up.”
Bron looks around. The kitchen is empty. The cashier is gone. Maria waves as she walks out the door, counting her tips. It’s just the two of them. Just like he planned.
“Want some help?”
Sunny gives him a look—playfully suspicious.
“Okay… but don’t think you’re going to be getting any trade secrets.”
“Maybe just the coconut cream pie recipe.”
“Forget it. We keep that stored in an abandoned missile silo.” She pauses for a couple of seconds, then…
“If you’re serious about helping, I’ve got some boxes to move.”
“No problem. Lead the way.”
Bron slides out of the booth and follows Sunny through the swinging metal doors to the kitchen, which is surprisingly neat. The chef might be a psycho, but he runs a tight ship. The countertops and range hood are scrubbed clean, and every bowl, spoon, and gadget is in its place. Impressive.
The boxes were a late delivery, and the morning shift will go smoother if Sunny gets them squared away before she leaves. Normally the two young dishwashers would hang around to help, but they skipped out early.
Bron stares at the stack of cartons—marked RICE, FLOUR, and TOMATO PASTE. It’s a substantial load, sitting smack in the middle of the back passageway. He grabs the top box. Ooomph! Twenty pounds, at least.
“You were going to do this yourself?” Bron asks, trying not to grunt. “Where to?”
“Hey. I’m stronger than I look,” she says, grabbing a smaller carton. “Follow me.”
Sunny kicks open a single swinging door leading to a large storage room. Fluorescent lights. Dehumidifier in the corner. Huge stacks of cans and kitchen supplies. She nods toward an empty stretch of industrial shelving.
“Right over here,” she says. One after the other, they deposit their boxes on the lowest shelf and head back for more.
An hour later, the job is just about done. Sunny has the last of the smaller boxes. She holds the door open as Bron edges in with one of the larger ones. Tight fit. She faces the doorframe and presses flat to give him room. Bron turns and fumbles, a little off balance—and for a nanosecond, his groin presses right up against her butt.
“Sorry! Sorry!” he says, quickly squeezing past.
“No harm, no foul,” she says, laughing. She has a great laugh.
After the last box is stored, they plop down on kitchen crates to catch their breath. Bron is physically exhausted, but still jacked on caffeine. Maybe the combo loosens his inhibitions. He stares at her chest. Actually, at her name tag.
“I have to ask,” he says. She looks back, knowing exactly where his eyes have been. “Is Sunny a real name, or are you in the witness protection program?”
There’s that great laugh again. “Nope. It’s for real,” she says. “And that’s not the best part. Go ahead. Ask me my last name.”
“Okay…”
“Day.”
It takes Bron a second to put it together. “Day? Sunny Day??” Now it’s his turn to burst out laughing. “Are you serious?”
“Yep. Sunny Day. My parents said they always wanted me to be optimistic.”
This is great. She’s sharing. Bron decides to go for broke. “Well, Sunny Day, can I buy you a beer?”
She gives him a half smile and a little sigh. “Thanks, but I’m driving tonight. I’ll treat you to a Diet Coke, though.”
He’s got no more game.
“Deal.”
She takes two plastic cups and fills them from the dispenser. Bron gulps down his drink, savoring the cold, satisfying fizz in his throat.
“Believe it or not,” he says, “this has been fun.” And he means it.
Well, you have a great future as a furniture mover. The words are in her ear, transmitted through a nearly invisible earpiece.
This is where her improv skills pay off, hearing the dialogue, then turning it into a natural delivery in the moment, seamlessly.
“You have a great future as a furniture mover,” she says. Flawless.
Tyler feels himself flushing. He blinks, somehow not able to look directly at her as he formulates his next sentence, but Sunny preempts him.
“Well, I’m going to call it a night. Thanks again for the heavy lifting.”
Hug and release, says the voice in her ear, then exit.
She wraps her arms around Bron’s shoulders, gives him a quick squeeze, then steps back before he can even register what happened. She cocks her head toward the rear hallway.
“This way out.”
They step out into the cool night air. The service door shuts behind them with a heavy thud. As his eyes adjust to the dark, Bron sees a black Yamaha dirt bike leaning against the stucco wall behind the building.
“Yours?” Bron asks.
“Beats walking,” says Sunny. She grabs the handlebars, then hikes her skirt way up her thigh. She throws her right leg over the saddle, tugs a helmet over her head, and kick-starts the bike.
“Have a great night,” she says, raising her voice over the growl and pop of the two-stroke engine. She drops her visor, rolls the throttle forward, and takes off.
Bron watches her go. For a sweet young waitress, she’s not at all timid on the bike. She really leans into those curves.
Almost as if she were trained.
Chapter 22
OUT OF all the minions under Daisy’s command, I like the kid named Karl best. He’s not just a whiz with remote cameras and mainframe maintenance but also knows the proper temperature for a beer cooler. Which is
thirty-eight degrees. Or as Karl would say, “three point three Celsius.”
On nights when Daisy and Bron both happen to rack out early, like tonight, Karl and I sometimes break out a couple of cold ones.
“Any way we can get the Red Sox game on that thing?” I’m staring at the massive monitor in the middle of the room, which is currently showing the main street of town. Might as well be a still life.
“Nope. It’s a closed circuit. I could probably rewire it though—if I wanted to lose my job.”
“Can’t have that,” I say. “I’d have to manage my own beer supply.”
We’re both quiet for a while, then Karl asks, “So, is this really what you do for a living—just make stuff up?”
I guess that’s a fair way to put it.
“Pretty much,” I say. “I write books and just hope people read them.”
“Are you on any bestseller lists? Got a fan club? Any groupies?”
“Well, I’ll be honest with you, if Tyler Bron didn’t love my books, we wouldn’t be here right now.”
Karl looks puzzled. “Tyler Bron?”
“Right. He’s read everything I’ve ever written—such as it is.”
Karl sets his beer down and looks straight at me. “You’re kidding, right?”
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean is… ask anybody who works for him… Tyler Bron has never read anything but a textbook in his entire life.”
Chapter 23
IN HIS wildest dreams, Bron never imagined himself walking a kid to school. First, he’s always had a hard time imagining himself with a kid. Second, that’s what those big yellow buses are for, right?
But here he is, just as the sun starts to burn off the morning cool, walking alongside Gonzalo toward the low stucco building that houses grades K through twelve. Fewer than a hundred kids in all, with a lot of mixedgrade classes. And from what Bron knows already, a really overstressed faculty.
“So who’s your science teacher?” asks Bron. He wonders why the school’s science scores are so low. Lack of effort? Lack of interest?
“Mister Vern. He’s funny. He’s cool. Everybody likes him.”
“And what about you, Gonzalo? You like science?”
“Más o menos,” says Gonzalo. “It’s okay.”
“Okay?” Of course, Bron is prejudiced. Science was his favorite subject from day one. Bio, chemistry, physics, astronomy—you name it, he loved it. Astronomy, especially. Never got a grade below ninety-eight, and to this day he disputes those two points.
Gonzalo leads Bron through the school’s narrow corridors. Already, the place is packed with kids and bursting with noise. The decibel level is off the charts, and the pitch of the young voices makes the sound even more intense. Bron backs against the wall as two skinny girls in braids whip past him at top speed. Crazy energy.
“Ladies! Please! No running!” a teacher shouts from a classroom doorway. No use. They’re long gone.
“That’s him. That’s Mister Vern,” says Gonzalo, picking up the pace.
Bron recognizes Vern from the diner. Late twenties, already balding—with the remaining wisps of hair flying out wildly in every direction. Sallow complexion.
Stooped posture. Tired eyes.
The day hasn’t even started, and this guy already looks beat.
Chapter 24
Three hours later
“So, did you learn anything?” asks Vern with a weary smile.
Bron is sitting with the teacher at a round table at the edge of a courtyard behind the school. There’s no cafeteria, so the kids are lunching on whatever they brought from home. Vern is chewing on a peanut butter sandwich, his wild hair waving in the breeze. Tyler just finished sitting in on Vern’s class—and the truth is, he learned a lot.
“You really love science, I can tell that,” Bron says.
Today’s lesson was on dinosaurs, and Vern gave it his all—with uninhibited imitations of pterodactyls and theropods, complete with sound effects. The kids went wild, Gonzalo included.
“I do love it,” says Vern. “And I love kids. I just wish there was more we could do here.”
“For example?”
“Well, for example, computer studies and online research. If I’m not mistaken, the only computer in town is somewhere in the back of the library.”
“It exists,” says Bron with a smile. “I’ve seen it.”
“Basically, we’re holding the program together with Elmer’s glue and Scotch tape,” says Vern. He takes another bite of his sandwich. “Are you in the sciences, Tyler?”
“A little bit. Aerospace. Research. Satellite stuff.”
“Excellent. Where’d you go to school?”
The exact phrasing of the question allows Bron to give an honest answer. “MIT.”
Vern pauses midbite. “Okay. I’m officially impressed.”
Bron sees no point in mentioning that he’s still forty-eight credits short of a degree.
As the kids finish their lunches, the courtyard echoes with raucous laughter and yelling and the sound of athletic shoes squeaking against the tile pavement. Bron and Vern are at the edge of a wild churn of activity—so hyper it makes Bron’s pulse race.
Out of nowhere, a soccer ball flies toward Bron’s head. He flinches just as a kid soars past for a midair interception—inches from his noggin.
“Nice save, Gonzalo,” says Vern. “Excellent form.”
“¡De nada!” shouts Gonzalo, spinning and laughing as he heads back across the courtyard.
“Perfect example right there,” says Vern. “Gonzalo is as bright as they come. Wants to learn. Handles anything I throw at him. But at some point, I just run out of ways to keep him interested.”
“Gonzalo’s great,” says Bron. “I like everything about him except his rooster.”
“Zapata?” asks Vern, rolling his eyes. “I’m with you there. I’d put that damned thing in a pot.”
A bell rings. A few of the other teachers start to wrangle the kids back into the building. Bron and Vern bring up the rear, collecting the stragglers.
“Great talking to you, Tyler,” says Vern. “And listen… if you ever want to do a guest lecture or something, let me know. We need all the help we can get.”
The whole time, Bron’s brain has been turning. He’s never been comfortable just standing in the front of a room and presenting. Not his style. But he does have one thought. Something really cool—but not easy to pull off.
“Let me ask you a question,” he says.
“Sure,” says Vern.
“What’s the school policy on field trips?”
Chapter 25
Two weeks and a lot of permission slips later
It’s an exceptionally starry night, just as Bron promised.
On a small plateau five miles from the school, the entire student population of the town is squirming excitedly in their sleeping bags. The kids are all wide-eyed and looking up—as special guest Tyler Bron outlines the constellations of the Northern Hemisphere. It’s an astronomy lesson in the wild, taught by a guy who clearly knows his stuff.
Vern recruited a few of his fellow teachers to chaperone. He even got Franklin Delgado, the school principal, to show up. Delgado wears a perpetually sour expression—the look of a guy who’s totally given up on life. But thirty-two years ago this month, he earned his master’s degree in astrophysics, with a specialty in quarks. He loves outer space. And though he’d never admit it, he hasn’t had this much fun in a long, long time.
Sunny’s here, too. After Bron’s help in the stockroom, how could she say no?
The kids are wide awake. Some are staring through cardboard tubes that serve as telescopes. But the person who’s most pumped is Tyler Bron. The sky is stunning—wide open and endless. Out here, away from the town lights, the stars seem close enough to touch. It’s not much of a stretch to say that, right now, Bron is pretty much in heaven.
Once he gets the kids quieted down, he leads off with astronomy’s grea
test hits: Orion’s Belt. The Dog Star. Arcturus.
Then he moves on to Ursa Major. With broad sweeps of his arm, he outlines the figure of a huge bear four hundred trillion miles away, give or take.
“Over there is the head—a star called Omicron. And the star in the tail—way over there—is called Alkaid. See it? Can everybody see it?”
Slowly, following Bron’s enthusiastic gestures, the kids start to make out the shape of a massive beast overhead, with thick legs and a snout pointed east. As one group of kids picks out the pattern, they nudge another group—and so forth across the crowd, until everybody ooohs and ahhs with recognition. Very cool.
Like kids who grow up bored by a view of the Empire State Building, these kids have never really seen the sky as anything special. It’s just there. But now it’s a huge screen—filled with ancient warriors and fierce animals and mystical creatures. The sky is alive. Way better than a slide show.
Now it’s on to some of Bron’s personal favorites. Lyra, the largest musical instrument in the universe. Pegasus, the majestic horse. The heroic Hercules. Cassiopeia, the original beauty queen. He could go on all night… and he practically does.
For the kids, the best part is when Bron challenges them to spot patterns of their own and name some new constellations on the spot. Gonzalo breaks the ice, shouting “Sidewinder!” Then the ideas come thick and fast, ping-ponging across the plateau—“Elephant’s Butt!” “Tarantula!” “Snotball!” And the one that gets the biggest laugh of the night: “Mister Vern’s Hair!”
Through it all, Sunny is nestled in a blanket, surrounded by a group of giggling middle-school girls. As the girls stare into the sky, Sunny stares at Bron, silhouetted against the galaxy, with a hundred kids in the palm of his hand.
He is now officially her favorite customer.
Chapter 26
Many hours later
“They look like pod people,” Sunny whispers.
She and Bron are making one final patrol through the camp of sleeping kids. The night is getting cold and most are tucked with their heads inside their sleeping bags, grouped in pairs and clusters stretching over a quarter acre. It’s a slumber party on an epic scale.