After hitting the main road, Eugene drove straight back through the center of town.He pulled up at the large brick house that stood several blocks beyond the town green.“Get out.”
“You want me to go in there?”
“Why not?”
“I’m a thief.I might just steal your silver.”
Eugene shot him a smug look.“You won’t.”Without another word, he climbed out of the car.
Cutter followed, trotting up the brick steps, passing through the large oak door, taking in everything he could of the spacious front hall before Eugene’s lead took him down a narrow hall to the kitchen.Minutes later, he was looking at the loaf of bread, container of ham, and wedge of cheese that Eugene had set on the counter.
“Make yourself a sandwich,” Eugene told him, setting a knife next to the food.“You look to be half-starved.I’ll be back.”And he was gone.
For a minute, Cutter didn’t move.He listened to the footsteps that went up the front staircase and receded, buthis eyes were on the counter.He tried to think of what possible hitch there would be if he ate Eugene St.George’s food.No one ever offered him food for free.There had to be a price.
But he was too hungry just then to try to figure it.Wasting no more time, he made himself the thickest sandwich he could and, standing right there at the counter, wolfed it down.
“Want another one?”
He spun around.He hadn’t heard Eugene come back down the stairs, but there he was, standing at the door wearing fresh clothes and a somber expression.
“You’ve been growing tall, boy, but you’re thin as a rail.I can’t remember the last time I seen so many ribs.”He tossed his chin toward the counter.“Take another.Go on.It’s free.”
Cutter didn’t care if it was or it wasn’t.If anything, the sandwich he’d eaten had made him more hungry.So he turned his back and fixed another one.He ate more slowly this time.Halfway through, he faced Eugene.“Where is everyone?”
“Who?”
“Your family.I know you got a family.”
“They’re down in Boston.”
“Why are they there when you’re here?”
Eugene pondered that and finally said simply, “’Cause that’s the way it works.”
Cutter wasn’t about to ask what he meant.There was something sad on his face, something at odds with the strength that was usually there.“You’re here by yourself?”
“Is that so surprising?”
“Yeah.I thought Deenie Crocker was your cook.”
“She is, but there ain’t much cookin’ needed for just me.Same with cleaning.A man doesn’t have to be helpless.”
Cutter went back to his sandwich.His father had been helpless.So were most of the men he’d known, at least when it came to home chores like cooking and cleaning.There were certain things men didn’t do, certain things they had women for.He didn’t understand why Eugene St.George’s wife wasn’t doing those things for him, or why, if she had to stay in Boston, Eugene didn’t have someone else here in her place.Cutter would have thought it a matter of pride that a wealthy man like Eugene not have to take care of himself.
But the kitchen was neat and clean.It was nice, with its big round table to one side and the comfortable chairs with arms and the large windows that looked out to the backyard.It was the kind of kitchen that the other families in Timiny Cove would have filled with people and kids.
“Do you get lonely?”he heard himself ask.He wasn’t sure where the question came from, sincelonelinesswasn’t a recognized part of his vocabulary.He looked Eugene in the eye.
Eugene turned away.“Sure.Lots.”As he left the room, he called over his shoulder, “Put that stuff back in the Frigidaire, and let’s get moving.”
Cutter did it, pausing only to take a long drink of milk straight from the quart bottle he found on the refrigerator shelf.By the time he returned to the front hall, Eugene was outside in the car.For a split second, Cutter hesitated.He wondered whether the next stop was the jail.Hedidn’t want it to be.Hereallydidn’t want it to be.Being in Eugene’s custody wasn’t so bad because Eugene seemed to know what he was doing.It was like he was Cutter’s protector, and if that meant driving through the rain in the big, warm car and getting enough food to keep his belly from growling, he didn’t mind it.Life wasn’t usually so good.
The next stop turned out to be Leroy Robichaud’s store.Eugene pulled up to the curb; killed the engine, took out his wallet, and handed Cutter two large bills.
Cutter stared at the bills, then at Eugene.“What’s this for?”
“Clothes.I want you to go in there and buy two pairs of jeans, two shirts, a jacket, and some boots.”
