Still Waters

With a startled cry, Tiffany whirled toward the voice. Splatters and speckles of paint flew from her full brush, landing on the grass, the dog and the front of Jake Reed’s shirt.

The dog ran for cover. Jake stood his ground.

“Sheriff Reed! You startled me.”

“Yes, I can see that.”

Jake’s gaze met Tiffany’s and then dropped to his shirt where several fat, white globs of paint were beginning to run.

“I’m so sorry! Let me—”

“Not a problem. This is an old shirt anyway.”

Before Tiffany could make use of the paint rag she’d been carrying in her pocket, Jake stepped to the side and gestured at a man and teenage boy. “Sorry to intrude on your afternoon but Mr. Bishop asked me to bring him by.”

Hat in hand, thinning hair brushed to one side of his head, the man stepped forward. He looked familiar, blunt featured and hardened from years in the elements. Though they’d never been introduced, Tiffany recognized him as a farmer who lived several miles outside of town.

He spoke with a voice that sounded as dry and tough as the dirt he toiled over. “Miz Anderson, I’m James Bishop. My son Tom has something he needs to say to you.” Stepping to the side he gestured to the teenager and watched as his son moved forward, eyes downcast. The boy mumbled something that Tiffany couldn’t make out.

“You got cotton in your mouth, boy? Speak up. I ain’t got all day and neither does Miz Anderson. Now say your piece. And say it so we can understand.”

The young man’s face colored, and Tiffany’s heart went out to him. She tried to send a reassuring smile his way, but his downcast eyes prevented him from seeing it. When he spoke, his chin wobbled a bit, and Tiffany worried he’d break into tears and embarrass himself.

“I was one of the guys in the boat this morning. Sheriff Reed said you almost drowned saving the dog. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, well—”

“Tell her the rest.” James Bishop grunted out the words, then turned abruptly. Tiffany watched as Jake placed a hand on Bishop’s, a shoulder that seemed weighted with fatigue and heartache. Despite his harsh words, Bishop was hurting for his son.

“He’s my dog.”

“Excuse me?” She’d been so intent on the drama of James and Jake, Tiffany had forgotten Tom.

“The dog. He’s mine. I let those guys throw him in the water. I didn’t know he couldn’t swim. It was just a gag. You know, for fun.”

The words rushed out. Eyes that had been staring at the ground now looked into Tiffany’s. She’d expected hardness, rebellion, arrogance, but didn’t find them. Instead, Tiffany saw sadness and uncertainty; a longing for understanding and acceptance, without any expectation of receiving it.

She refused to add to the young man’s pain. “What’s the dog’s name?”

Surprise flickered in Tom’s eyes before he dropped his gaze to the ground. “His name is Bandit. He’s just a puppy. Not even a year old.”

“Bandit is a good name.”

“Yeah, it is. It may not be his for long, though.”

Tiffany heard the hitch in the boy’s voice, the hint of tears that refused to be shed. She wanted to offer comfort, but doubted Tom would accept it. “Why not?”

“We’re taking Bandit back to the animal shelter when we leave here. Dad says a person cruel to animals doesn’t deserve to own one.”

Tiffany winced at the harshness of the words. Though she agreed with James Bishop’s assessment, she couldn’t help wondering if the punishment was too severe. Tom didn’t seem to be a cruel boy. More a foolish one. And that, hopefully, would be remedied with time. “You don’t need to bring Bandit to the shelter. I can keep him here.”

The boy shrugged, an I-don’t-care gesture, and kicked at a clump of grass at his feet.

“Well now, Miz Anderson, that’s kind of you. Come on, Tom, let’s go,” James said as he walked to the edge of the lawn. Tom, too, turned to leave. Tiffany couldn’t let him go. Reaching out, she placed a hand on his arm. He paused, shifting his gaze back toward Tiffany.

“Tom, how old are you?”

The boy looked surprised by the question but answered anyway. “I’ll be seventeen in a couple of weeks.”

“Perfect. I’m doing some renovations on my house. Lots of painting, sanding, refinishing and stuff. It’s slow work. I could use an extra set of hands. Would you be interested?”

“You mean a job?” Hope flared briefly in Tom’s eyes before he doused it.

Tiffany held her grin in check. “Yes.”

“I don’t know much about that kind of stuff.”

“Neither do I, so we’ll make a good team. Besides I can’t pay a lot. Minimum wage, maybe a little more.”

“I’m not sure….”

“You don’t have to decide right now. Talk to your father. See what he says, then give me a call. I work at home so just look up my business number in the directory. I’m listed under Anderson’s Computer Technology.”

“Tom! Come on. I got things to do.”

The young man glanced at his father, but hesitated as if afraid that if he left, Tiffany would forget she had offered him the job.

Tiffany smiled reassuringly. “You better go. Talk to your father, okay?”

A slight nod was the only response she got before Tom shuffled to his father’s side. The two moved away, walking with the same stoop-shouldered carriage and unhurried stride.

“The apple didn’t fall far from the tree, did it?” Jake’s voice drifted across the yard and Tiffany smiled toward him.

“No. Though I doubt they’d acknowledge their likeness at this time in their lives.”

“Probably not. Too bad Tom’s not living up to his father’s example. James is a good man. A hard worker.”

“Tom will be, too. He just needs some focus.”

Jake raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “A lot of folks wouldn’t see it that way.”

“I’m not a lot of folks.”

“No. You definitely aren’t.”

Tiffany wasn’t sure if the statement was a compliment or criticism. She decided to ignore it. “Well, regardless of what other people think, I’m convinced Tom is a decent young man. As for being a hard worker, I’ll find out soon enough. I offered him a job.”

Something flared in Jake’s eyes and was quickly extinguished. “Hopefully it will keep him out of trouble.”