paper and started over. “Hmm…I’ve never heard of ‘all over,’ is that in the Northwest?”
He looked up from his sketch and grinned his Charlie grin. It gave me a flush of happiness to realize I could identify his grin from that of any other.
“You always gotta be such a smart-ass?”
I smiled. “Only when I’ve been abducted against my will.”
His smile fell then and I knew that I’d hit a sore spot. But maybe that was a good thing. Realistically, we shouldn’t have been enjoying each other’s company, laughing at one another, and most especially, feeling so comfortable. While I did feel safe around him and I was certain he wouldn’t allow me to be hurt, I had to remind myself of why I was here and who we were. For the next few days we could be cordial enough, but the fact remained that we were not, and could not be, friends.
“You’re putting me to shame over there, aren’t you?” I tried to peek over the sketchbook, but he shielded it protectively. I went back to drawing a Christmas tree, the only thing I knew how to draw with any symmetry.
My hand sculpted some cliché garland and somewhat circular ornaments. I always thought Mom had been a little disappointed that Robbie and I didn’t really show any natural talent towards art. She never intentionally showed it, of course. But eventually her attempts at art and crafts became collages and a ceaseless end of birdhouses and papier mâché abstractions. Besides, I was more prone to art history, anyway. Mom, who kept scrapbooks of all the museums she ever visited, would adore a talent like Charlie.
I took my paper and slid over next to Charlie. I then immediately scolded myself for liking his scent: clove, soap, and the salt of the sea.
He flipped the sketchbook over so I couldn’t see and took my drawing. Almost immediately he erupted with laughter. It was a sweet and hearty sound, crisp with its musical quality.
“What?” I shrugged. “I told you I couldn’t draw!”
He flipped it over and looked at the smiley face attempt. “You weren’t kiddin’!”
“Ha, ha. Now quit avoiding my question and answer me.”
He stifled his laugher. “What?”
“Where are you from?”
Pausing, he eventually answered, “South Carolina, Georgia, Tennessee…”
“Were you a military kid?”
“No.” The short simplicity of his answer suggested the conversation might be over, but I wasn’t going to let him get away that easy.
“How long were you in prison?”
He hesitated before answering. “Eleven years.”
“So much for learning your lesson?” I tried to laugh.
He only nodded.
“What about your family?” I asked. “What do they think about what you do for a living?”
Immediately I knew by the raw expression on his face that it was the wrong question to ask. His eyes became squinted lines in his face—he was trying to hold something back, my guess was rage.
“Don’t got any,” he said finally.
But I wasn’t going to let that go, either. On a technical level, everyone had to have the minimum of a biological mother and father, and the mystery that was Charlie Hays was only growing with my own personal fascination for him. I suddenly wanted to know everything about him. Why had he moved around so much? What led him to a life of crime? I was sure the marvel of it all would kill me before he would.
“When I first saw you together, I thought you and Ben were brothers.”
He considered this. “We kinda are. All of us are.”
I laughed. “Were you always an orphan before you knew the guys?”
He pulled away from me then. Maybe he could see what I was trying to get out of him. He looked at me quizzically. His eyes seemed as though they were looking for something particular in mine.
“Why are you askin’ so many questions?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I think maybe it’s the scientist in me…but it could also be because I’m trying to understand. I’ve never met anyone like you before.”
He laughed. “A criminal, you mean?”
“No. Well, yes…but I also mean you.”
His face became unreadable, completely expressionless. I tried to guess if he was angry at me or just plain annoyed. “I didn’t have an old man and my Ma took off when I was real little.”
I tried chewing over that information. Losing Mom was hard enough, I couldn’t imagine not having at least one of my parents.
“Who took care of you?”
“The state sometimes…”
He smiled at me as if I had been privy to an inside joke. “I’d get bored with the families