Each name had two ledger pages, with amounts written down and brief, cryptic notations. Some of the dates went back many years. The most recent entries indicated balances due. The amount owed totaled $25,000, maybe more.
As he flipped the pages, he finally saw a name he recognized. Gus Odell owed less than $1,000 for the purchase of one hundred pallets that were currently in the yard, covered with canvas and piles of snow.
Gus would know what the ledger was for. Morgan had his number, so he made a mental note to call him and returned the safe-deposit box, now empty, to its slot.
He’d close the account and give the key back. In the back of his mind, he knew that the boxes never used the same key twice and the lock would need to be retooled anyway, so the return was merely a courtesy.
Tucking the ledger under his arm, he went out into the lobby. Mabel and Mister Rocket were gone. The line was now only six people long, each and every one of them looking content to wait as long as it took.
By the front window, sitting on a low wooden bench, was Jack. When he saw Morgan, he stood up, wiping his palms on his thighs. Stray white hairs dusted the fabric, but Jack didn’t seem to notice. His expression was blank.
“Coffee shop?” Morgan asked brightly.
“Sure,” Jack said. “What’s that?” he asked, indicating the book Morgan was carrying.
“It’s a ledger, but beyond that, I’m not certain.”
Jack opened the door for him, and Morgan stepped outside, letting himself be helped without comment because at least three more people were waiting to get into the bank. The coffee shop was bound to be a zoo, an unappealing prospect, but Jack loved coffee, and Morgan had said they’d go.
“I recognized one of the names in the ledger, so I’m going to give Gus a call and see if he can shed any light on the subject.”
Jack jumped into the truck and gently cranked the engine. He had the heater at full bore by the time Morgan managed to stumble around to the passenger side. Yes, he still needed the cane, but mentally he felt more sturdy, more capable. He nodded at Jack as he buckled his seatbelt. The ledger slid to the floor, and Jack bent to recover it without a word.
“Thanks,” Morgan said, though that was inadequate in the face of everything Jack had done for him. Seemed willing to keep on doing. And Morgan would have let him, but that was no life for Jack, a young man still searching for his own future. It would be cruel to continue on as they were without a definite departure date.
They needed to talk. Morgan knew this. But first, they needed to go to the coffee shop.
CHAPTER 29
jack
The small town was as pretty as a Christmas card, the sunshine dazzling off the snow like diamonds. The roads had been plowed, but they weren’t bare, so Jack drove carefully down Elliot Street to the other end of town and the Bean There.
The small parking lot was full, which meant Jack had to park along a side street, then help Morgan across the drifts and curls that the plow had left behind.
Just as they reached the sidewalk, three people came out of the café, and Jack let go of Morgan’s elbow to grab the door. But when Jack ushered Morgan inside, instead of being irritated about needing help, about beingseento need help, Morgan nodded at him and said, “Thank you.”
“You bet.”
Not that being handy to have around was going to stop Morgan from telling him it was time for him to go—though it was odd that although Morgan had deposited a can of quarters at the bank, he’d not actually withdrawn any money. Not that Jack had seen, anyway. He’d been pretty busy toward the end with Mister Rocket in his arms and Mabel fussing and fluttering around them both like a mother hen.
“You see anywhere to sit?” Jack asked, scanning the room.
The coffee shop was busy, as the bank had been, on account of the weather was finally nice. So it made sense that Morgan should try to find them a table while Jack went up and ordered.
Sitting down with Morgan to have a coffee would be painful. But maybe this was the last time he was ever going to get the chance to be with Morgan, and he wanted to make the most of it. It would probably be best if he left on the midnight train that very night.
“I—” Morgan looked like he was going to suggest they get the coffees to go. Which was the opposite of making the most of the day, plus the drinks would be cold by the time they got back to the feed and grain.
“Table,” Jack said, pointing at a happy family of five who were getting to their feet in the back, near a glass-fronted display case. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Morgan said, his shoulders slumping as though he’d been defeated by some unspoken logic. He reached for his wallet and handed it to Jack, the whole thing, rather than pulling out a credit card or a ten-dollar bill.
“No mochas,” he said, pointing at Jack, as if that was the argument they were having, rather than the unspoken and as yet unresolved issue of Jack’s departure. “Get me—” Morgan paused. “Get me whatever you’re having. It looked good last time.”
“You got it,” Jack said. Holding the wallet gingerly, he stepped to the back of the line. Which, to his pleasure and relief, moved briskly.
When he got to the front, Julian, in a neatly tied apron, his artistic beard nicely coiffed, was there to assist him. Jack showed him the wallet, raised his eyebrows, and waved in Morgan’s direction.
