A Love So Strong. Arlene James

his calling, was about. God would take care of everything else in His own good time.

      Chapter Three

      When Marcus walked into the school, he was instantly recognized by the attendance officer and the vice principal, Joyce Ballard, who was a member of his church. He greeted both by their given names and stated his purpose for being there.

      “I didn’t realize you knew Beau,” the vice principal observed nonchalantly.

      A tall, thin woman, she looked older than her forty-something years and could be very stern, but Marcus knew that she genuinely cared about her young charges.

      “Actually, we haven’t met yet. I know his sister.”

      “Some of our parents could take a lesson from that girl,” Joyce said.

      “She does seem devoted to her brother.”

      “No doubt about it,” the woman said, going back to the paperwork she’d been doing when he’d entered.

      Marcus removed his coat and sat down to wait for the bell to ring. As she worked, the vice principal gave him the rundown on some of their church kids. One had done very well in a University Interscholastic League competition that week. Another had been out ill with a cold, and a third had recently won the lead role in a school drama. Marcus made the appropriate mental notes and was about to ask about another youngster when the bell rang.

      Instantly, kids spilled out into the hallways. Noise swelled, happy voices punctuated the sounds of heavy footsteps and the slamming of locker doors. Rising, Marcus reached for his overcoat just as a group of youngsters swarmed into the office, talking loudly. Among them was a solemn boy with medium brown hair and dark brown eyes. The vice principal singled him out at once.

      “Beau, this is Pastor Wheeler. Your sister sent him to pick you up.”

      Marcus stuck out his hand, saying, “Hello, Beau. I’m Marcus.”

      The boy hesitated, sizing up this newcomer. Marcus openly returned his regard, patiently keeping his hand out.

      Beau’s blocky build and squarish face had nothing in common with his sister’s. Though of only average height at present, he was destined to make a big man. Only his coloring was similar to Nicole’s, if reversed. Where her hair was dark and her eyes lighter, the opposite was true for Beau.

      Unlike his sister’s, his choice of wardrobe was mundane: athletic shoes, a maroon T-shirt that was a bit too small and faded, baggy jeans. What struck Marcus most, however, was the wariness in Beau’s dark eyes. Marcus had seen that wounded, haunted, uncertain look before. He’d seen it far too many times, in fact, most often in the mirror.

      Finally Beau shifted his bright blue backpack to the other shoulder and shook Marcus’s hand. Marcus let his smile broaden.

      After a farewell wave to the adults in the office, Marcus followed the boy out into the busy hallway. The boy didn’t appear to have a coat, but Marcus said nothing, all too aware of the prickly pride of a thirteen-year-old boy whose parents didn’t live up to their responsibilities. Instead, he folded his own coat over his arm and headed for the wall of doors at the end of the hall. If Beau was going to suffer the cold, Marcus would, as well, not that Beau seemed to notice.

      The boy seemed uninterested in conversing. He sat hunched in the passenger seat of Marcus’s sedan, his attitude clearly wary and defensive. The only reply Beau made to Marcus’s explanation for why Nicole hadn’t picked him up and to the series of polite questions about what he’d like to do that evening was, “I’m hungry.”

      So Marcus took him to the closest fast-food joint, where he ordered a hamburger and a cola. Marcus said nothing about the possibility of him ruining his dinner. He knew from experience that boys the age of Beau could eat their own weight three times a day and still be hungry.

      When Beau pulled a couple of bucks out of his pants pocket, Marcus politely ignored him, ordered a milk shake and fries for himself, neither of which he really wanted, and paid for everything. The food came quickly, and they carried it to a corner booth where they sat in silence for several minutes.

      Marcus picked a fry from a tiny paper bag and munched it, turning sideways on the bench to stretch out his legs. Having allowed the boy to eat undisturbed for some time, Marcus adopted a nonchalant tone and prepared to gently prod.

      “So tell me about yourself, Beau.”

      “Like what?” came the doubtful reply.

      Marcus said the first thing that came into his head. “Do you have a favorite subject in school?”

      The boy bit off a huge chunk of hamburger and studiously chewed it. Marcus figured it was an excuse not to speak, but then the boy surprised him.

      Marcus discovered that Beau was an indifferent student with a passion for music. He was not, however, in band classes, either because he couldn’t afford it or he didn’t like the band director. Or both.

      “It’s whack,” Beau grumbled. “Mr. Placid doesn’t like guitar. Says there’s no future in it. Like there’s a huge future in tuba and xylophone. Truth is, he just doesn’t know squat about it.”

      Marcus was familiar with that term whack. In the parlance of the modern youth it meant the opposite of cool, but he had no intention of trying to demonstrate his grasp of current teen lingo. Kids were quick to spot a patronizing adult. Instead, he played it straight down the line.

      “So you play the guitar, then. I’m envious. It’s all I can do to follow along in the hymnal.”

      “My grandpa taught me when I was a baby,” Beau said softly, and Marcus instantly picked up on the significance of that.

      “Yeah? Does your grandpa live around here?”

      Beau shook his head before explaining that his grandfather had died the same year as his mom.

      “Tell me something good you remember about him,” Marcus urged.

      A light shone in Beau’s eyes. The sullen, wary teenager had gone, and in his place sat a simple boy who had lost too much.

      “He had this cabin up in Oklahoma. We used to go up there in the summertime. It’s right on the river. You ever been on the Illinois River?”

      Marcus shook his head and swung his legs around to sit facing the boy again. “No, I’m sorry to say that I haven’t.”

      Beau began a monologue on an old canoe that they’d kept at the campground at the bottom of the bluff below the cabin and all the times he and his grandfather had taken it out.

      “There’s these pools, where the water’s still, and that’s where you get the most fish,” he said wistfully. “I wish I could go back there for good.”

      “What about your grandmother?” Marcus asked. “Doesn’t she still live there?”

      Beau shook his head. “She lives up in Seattle with my great-aunt. Her mind got bad even before my mom got sick, and she pretty much forgot everything. When Grandpa died, Nicole wanted to take care of her, but Aunt Margaret said she’d do it so Nic could go to college.”

      “That was good of your great-aunt.”

      “Yeah. She’s pretty old herself.”

      Marcus wanted the boy to know that he was blessed despite all of his losses and problems, so he made a confession. “I don’t have any great-aunts or anybody like that, and I don’t have anything good to remember about any of my family except my sisters.”

      Beau furrowed his brow at that, asking, “How come?”

      “My grandparents died before I was born. They didn’t have any family except my mom. I never knew my dad’s family or anything about them. My dad wasn’t around much, and he split when I was about four. Then my mom took off a few years later and was killed in an auto accident.”

      “That stinks.”