One Smooth Stone. Marcia Lee Laycock

thought foster parents weren’t allowed to get physical.”

      Alex snorted. “On paper, maybe.” He took a deep draw on the cigarette. “We were always getting knocked around.”

      “We?”

      “Usually five or six lived in the house.”

      “Didn’t anyone ever notice? Neighbors? Teachers?”

      “Oh yeah, they noticed.”

      George saw Alex’s face darken as the memory surfaced.

      “Like the time in junior high when I had a gym class the morning after Wild Bill had laid into me with his belt. We were doing wrestling moves that morning, you know?”

      George nodded and Alex continued.

      “My partner knew pretty quick something was wrong. I told him to shut up and fake it, but the coach noticed. Told me to hit the showers, then walked in on me. Stood there for a while, having a good look. Then all he said was, “Looks good on ya, Donnelly.”

      Alex shifted and flicked the ash from the end of the cigarette. “Guess I wasn’t one of his favorite students.”

      George dropped his voice a notch. “How long did that go on?”

      “’Til….” Alex stopped. His eyes shifted around the room. “’Til I decided not to take it anymore and got outta there.” He waved his coffee cup at the waitress. “Wasn’t that in my file?”

      George didn’t meet his eyes. “I didn’t read the whole thing.”

      Alex slumped in the seat and massaged his forehead. “Don’t get me started on the horror stories.”

      “Maybe it’s good to…to talk about it,” George replied.

      Alex stared out the window again. George watched his hand clenching and releasing around the coffee cup. When he turned back his words came out in a mumble.

      “I don’t usually…talk about it. The memories—they can take over sometimes.”

      The waitress arrived then with their bill. George picked it up quickly. “We’d better get going.”

      * * *

      Alex had a hard time sitting still in the cab. Get out, he kept telling himself. Get out now. But he followed George through the airport, through the security checks, and down the sloped ramp to the plane.

      Once on board Alex had another question. “Okay, so you have my fingerprints, but what is there to compare them to? I mean they’ll tell you I’m Alex Donnelly, the kid who got arrested, but how will they tell you if I’m the Alex Donnelly who should inherit this money?”

      George shrugged. “I’ll let Kenni sort that one out. I do the legwork, remember?”

      “So when we get there your work is done?”

      “If you sign the documents, it will be.”

      Alex was quiet for a while, then twisted in his seat to face the lawyer. “Is there anything else?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Any other information you’re not telling me. I still don’t get how I could inherit a pile of money now, and go through the hell I did for eleven years.”

      “I honestly don’t know anything more, Alex. There is a package waiting for you in our office, but I don’t know what’s in it.”

      Alex ran his hand through his hair and slumped back into the seat. “So I have to wait ’til tomorrow.”

      “Tomorrow at 9:00 a.m.”

      Alex glanced up at the no smoking sign above him and cursed.

      Chapter Four

      Gil stepped out into the growing light of early morning. He took a deep breath and sighed. Another winter was closing in on him fast. He’d heard the distant helicopter again yesterday and wondered if it had landed at the mine site. Will there be a caretaker at the house already? He’d have to tread softly this time until he found out.

      And if there isn’t? Will you stick around this time and wait for one? He envisioned running toward the chopper, watching the ground sink beneath him as the machine rose into the air, seeing the town grow on the horizon as they beat their way toward it. There would be so many things he could enjoy again. A normal bed. Running water. Fresh vegetables and fruit. Coffee.

      He shook himself and turned back to his cabin. Not for you. Never again for you. But maybe you can scoff another steak and glass of that orange juice before the new guy arrives.

      * * *

      Steak dinner and huge hotel suite complete with fruit basket and room service. George was right. They’d laid out the red carpet. The only thing missing was the bottle of champagne. He wished it had been included. It might’ve helped him sleep. But he didn’t sleep well at all that night. The bed was too soft, the nightmares too real. He spent most of the night clicking through the drivel on TV. He was tempted to wake George, but waited until 6 a.m. and pounded on his door. Alex smirked when the young lawyer opened it, his hair sticking up at odd places, his eyes half open as he peered at his watch.

      “It’s only 6:00, Alex. The appointment isn’t until—”

      “Nine. I know. But the restaurant’s open. I’m hungry.”

      George opened the door wide. “Come on in. Give me a minute to shower.”

      Alex paced as he waited, firing questions through the partly opened bathroom door while George dressed.

      “How far is the office from here?”

      “Five minutes by cab.”

      “Can we change the appointment to 8:00?”

      “No. Nobody gets there ’til 8:30.”

      George poked his head out. “Alex, I know you’re anxious but—”

      “Okay, okay. I’m trying to be patient.” He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. “Hurry up, will ya?”

      He was patting his pockets for his lighter when George said, “This is a no smoking room.”

      Alex rolled his eyes and slipped the cigarette behind his ear. George’s head disappeared and Alex started pacing as he heard the buzz of a razor. When it stopped the door opened wide.

      “Uh...would you like to use this?”

      Alex rubbed at his coarse beard. He’d intended to let it grow for the winter, but decided he’d like the change. He nodded and took the razor from George’s hand. When he emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later he had to admit he felt better.

      George grinned. “You clean up pretty good.”

      “So the girls tell me.”

      “Uh, there’s a barber downstairs, you know, if you’d like a haircut. We have time.”

      Alex gave his head a quick shake. “The shave’ll do. You ready?”

      They both dove into the breakfast buffet and an hour later emerged on the busy Seattle street just as the morning rush hour took hold. The noise, the speed at which everything moved, the smell of wet concrete and exhaust fumes–it all made Alex twitch. He felt the muscles between his shoulders tightening.

      George glanced at his watch. “We still have lots of time. Want to walk?”

      Alex nodded as he reached for the cigarette behind his ear. “Yeah, that might help.”

      The downtown district was filling with people. They crossed intersections that made him feel like a drone in a beehive. He felt a vague dizziness as he joined the sway of so many bodies. Looking up a few times, his eyes followed the straight lines of glass and steel, trying to catch a patch of open sky and regain perspective. George seemed to