grabbing at this chance to unravel some of the mystery surrounding these brothers.
His eyes snap to mine, and for a moment, shock meets my gaze before wary caution descends and hides everything else. He nods. “Both our parents.”
I want to delve deeper—to ask how the family is dealing, and what else Sherm might remember—but the bell rings.
“It’s beautifully written,” I say as students start through the door to their seats. “He has a gift. You should nurture it.”
“He’s a smart kid,” he says, easing off the desk.
He turns and vanishes out the door, and I look at his little brother, playing with the fossils on the shelves. Rob left without a word to Sherm. They’ve never hugged, or even spoken as far as I can tell. It’s been nearly two weeks, and Sherm is adjusting to his new surroundings, but still not a word to his older brother?
His parents death was five years ago, by Rob’s account, which makes me think the trouble is less that or the move and more the brother. I haven’t been able to bring myself to sit Sherm down and question him. It just feels wrong, like I’m taking advantage of the situation. Because I’m pretty sure, despite Big Brother’s indifference toward me, Little Brother has a bit of a crush. Making him feel safe so he can learn is my priority.
I just need to figure out how to do that.
* * *
I’m still obsessing over it hours later as I’m wrapping up class for the day, but I don’t have any answers. So when the text comes from Chuck, I know it might be the conversation starter I need.
Rob comes to pick Sherm up and waits just outside the door, like he thinks the classroom is booby-trapped.
I move toward him as Sherm gathers his things. I pull out my phone and reread the text Chuck sent me, mostly because I’m having a hard time working up the nerve to look him in those intense eyes. “I know you’re new to the area and didn’t know if you maybe needed work. I have a lead for you if it would help.”
He steps inside as students stream past on their way out. “What is it?”
“I have a friend who works for a private security company. He says they hire guys like you. He’ll pass your name along to his boss if you’re interested.”
“Guys like me?” he repeats with a curious tip of his head.
I shrug an arm. “After they’ve come back from Afghanistan or Iraq or wherever. And also . . . my friend did a couple of tours in Afghanistan . . . you know . . . in case you wanted to talk to someone who understands what you’ve been through.”
His mouth drops open a little.
“I know it’s really none of my business. It’s just that this is a small town, and even though he’s lived here all his life, he’s having a hard time adjusting back to all the . . . nothing here, so—”
“I’m nobody’s hero,” Rob interrupts, saving me from myself. “I’ve never been in the military.”
Oh, crap. Once again, I’ve made a total fool out of myself by making assumptions. “I’m sorry. You just seem—”
“But I might be interested in that job,” he cuts in.
“Okay . . . ,” I say, forcing my hand to stay at my side and not press my flaming cheeks. “Do you want me to write this down, or just forward the text?”
“Forward it.” He rattles off his number and a second after I press send, his phone vibrates. “Thanks,” he says, holding it up.
I watch Sherm as Macie steps up next to his desk and says something in his ear. Whatever it was gets a hint of a smile from him.
“Is Sherman a family name or something?” I ask Rob.
He gives me that wary eye again. “Not exactly.”
“It’s just sort of an unusual name for a kid.”
He rests his hand on the doorframe and taps his ring absently as he contemplates that. “Our father was a Civil War buff.”
I clear my throat as Sherm and Macie make their way past us and out of the room. “There was a general Sherman, right? In the Civil War?”
He nods slowly. “And generals Robert E. Lee, and Ulysses S. Grant.”
I just look at him, struggling to follow his train of thought.
“My other brother’s name is Grant, and my sisters are Lee and Ulie.”
I feel my eyes bulge in understanding. “Your parents did not name a girl Ulysses.”