Thinking hard about what Bede might say, how he might say it, Galen used his softest, most upbeat voice and explained what he needed from them.
“I can pay it,” he said. “I sure want to pay it, but I need to break it up into smaller payments.” He lowered his voice even more, making himself sound a little helpless and overwhelmed. “I just can’t figure out how to make that happen.”
The woman on the other end of the line, who might have been named Julie, sighed. He heard keys clicking and then she said, “Okay, you’re all set. Your first payment is due end of August, and then every month for eleven more months after that.”
“Will there be a late fee?” he asked, trying to mask his disbelief at how easily this was happening.
“No, you’re all set up. I’ll send you an email to confirm. Is there anything else I can help you with, sir?”
“No, thank you,” he said, and when she hung up, he hung up, and then stood there, grasping his phone and holding it out as if for someone to examine.
He climbed the wooden steps to the mess tent, stepping out of the conversation and into the bustle of the meal. He looked up to see Bede standing with a tray in his hands, fully loaded with what smelled like baked spaghetti with tons of cheese.
Bede grinned at him and then turned away, as if he was full of himself because he knew more about the ins and outs of the IRS as a criminal than Galen ever would as a law-abiding citizen, which was, quite simply, the icing on the cake.
He owed Bede a thank you, a hearty thank you. He should have said it at the moment when they’d been standing beneath the arched willow branches, and not waited till now. But he needed to say it now, even if he had an audience. It was the right thing to do.
Standing in line for his meal took only a moment or two, then he planted himself across from Bede like he’d been drawn there by some invisible magnet. How nice it was to have someone’s support. How nice it was that, against all odds, Bede was his dashing rescuer.
Galen clattered his silverware to draw Bede’s attention, as he seemed focused on his plate. But when Bede looked up, that smirk firmly in place, Galen knew that Bede had been aware of him all along.
“Everything all right?” asked Bede, casually eating, laughter in his eyes because now, as both of them knew, Galen owed him one.
“Yes,” said Galen, quite clearly. “Thank you for your help earlier. Using your technique, I called the hospital too, and I’ve got an extension and a payment plan, so I’m all set.”
“There’s always a Susan or Betty at anyplace you might want to do business,” said Bede, nodding like the wisest of sages. “Just be sweet and respectful and she will help you.”
Galen should not be drawn into that smile, should not feel the gears in his mind shifting, as the idea that all criminalswere idiots faded away to be replaced with the idea that some criminals were smart. And kind. And helpful.
Should he be so grateful? Could he have found Susan or Betty on his own? Maybe, but it would have taken ages and instead of eating his dinner, he could be standing in the woods, doing his best to find some shade while he waited on an endless hold with the worst music imaginable.
He let himself look at Bede for one more minute, at the way a lock of dark hair tumbled across Bede’s forehead, the way his jaw firmed as he smiled. The way he always wore the sleeves of his snap button shirt rolled up, sweat gleaming along his neck, buttons open as far as possible without actually undoing his shirt all the way.
Then Galen looked away.
Smart guys always drew him in. Strong forearms were always a treat for his eyes.
Galen made himself focus on his meal, and made mental notes about how he still wanted to talk to Gabe about how he might better manage his team. Maybe along the way he’d figure out how to ignore that pull, that steady, steady pull, of Bede’s brilliant smile and dark blue eyes.
Chapter 19
Bede
By the time Saturday rolled around, Bede figured he had a good handle on things, better able to navigate a Winston-less future. But naturally, that was when Galen reminded him at lunchtime that there was a mandatory counseling session right after lunch for all parolees.
At Wyoming Correction, counseling had been an on-again, off-again event that nobody had kept track of. He’d stayed away from those meetings as much as he could.
While he didn’t want to complain about having to go, as that always drew more attention than was wanted, luckily Toby expressed what probably all of them were thinking.
“Do we have to?” asked Toby in a voice that grated on Bede’s ears.
“You do,” said Galen, even prettier when he was relaxed and smiling than when he was all riled up and pissed off.
“And what’ll you be doing?” asked Bede, fully expecting to be told it was none of his business.
Of course Galen surprised him, but then, maybe Bede’s help about that IRS bill had softened him up.
“We have a team meeting during that time,” Galen said, standing up with his tray. “After that, we’ll have some lightmaintenance work. And then Sunday you have the whole day off.”
