His smile flashed into a grin. "Anything you say, boss."' His eyes were bigger than they should have been, a lot of white showing. "You pulled me back from the edge. I won't forget."
"Gratitude is great, kid, but go get your coat. You can't work if you're home sick with the flu."
Larry nodded and started slowly towards the cars. He was still unsteady, but he was moving. The flow of blood had almost stopped on my wrist. I wondered if I had a Band-Aid in my car big enough to cover it. I shrugged and started to follow Larry towards the cars. The lawyers' deep, courtroom voices filled the October dark. Words echoing against the trees. Who the hell were they trying to impress? The corpse didn't care.
Chapter 20
Larry and I sat on the cool autumn grass watching the lawyers draw up the will. "They're so serious," he said.
"It's their job to be serious," I said.
"Being a lawyer means you can't have a sense of humor?"
"Absolutely," I said.
He grinned. His short, curly hair was a red so bright, it was nearly orange. His eyes were blue and soft as a spring sky. I'd seen both hair and eyes in the dome light from our cars. Back in the dark he looked grey-eyed and brown-haired. I'd hate to have to give a witness description of someone I only saw in the dark.
Larry Kirkland had that milk-pale complexion of some redheads. A thick sprinkling of golden freckles completed the look. He looked like an overgrown Howdy Doody puppet. I mean that in a cute way. Being short, really short for a man, I was sure he wouldn't like being called cute. It was one of my least favorite endearments. I think if all short people could vote, the word "cute" would be stricken from the English language. I know it would get my vote.
"How long have you been an animator?" I asked.
He glanced at the luminous dial of his watch. "About eight hours."
I stared at him. "This is your first job, anywhere?"
He nodded. "Didn't Mr. Vaughn tell you about me?"
"Bert just said he'd hired another animator named Lawrence Kirkland."
"I'm in my senior year at Washington University, and this is my semester of job co-op."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty; why?"
"You're not even legal," I said.
"So I can't drink or go in p**n o theaters. No big loss, unless the job takes us to places like that." He looked at me and leaned in. "Does the job take us to p**n o theaters?" His face was neutrally pleasant, and I couldn't tell if he was teasing or not. I gambled that he was kidding.
"Twenty is fine." I shook my head.
"You don't look like twenty's fine," he said.
"It's not your age that bothers me," I said.
"But something bothers you."
I wasn't sure how to put it into words, but there was something pleasant and humorous in his face. It was a face that laughed more often than it cried. He looked bright and clean as a new penny, and I didn't want that to change. I didn't want to be the one who forced him to get down in the dirt and roll.
"Have you ever lost someone close to you? Family, I mean?"
The humor slipped away from his face. He looked like a solemn little boy. "You're serious."
"Deadly," I said.
He shook his head. "I don't understand."
"Just answer the question. Have you ever lost someone close to you?"