“Mr. Pittman,” Dickce said, “do you know why Benjy hasn’t come to dinner?”
Junior looked up from his plate with a frown. “Oh, he said he wasn’t hungry. I tried to get him to come, but he wouldn’t.” He returned his attention to his food.
Dickce glanced at her sister. She could tell An’gel was concerned, too. Dickce decided that she would go check on Benjy. She hadn’t meant to forget about him, but until now there hadn’t been a chance to talk to him.
“Excuse me,” Dickce said as she pushed back her chair and stood.
An’gel nodded, as if giving permission for her to leave the table, and Dickce shrugged. She was going to check on that young man whether An’gel approved or not.
The kitchen was empty. Clementine had gone home, and An’gel had insisted that Diesel be put upstairs in her bedroom during dinner. Dickce knew the cat was not happy being isolated like that, but she supposed An’gel was right. They weren’t used to having an animal begging for food while they ate, and An’gel certainly wouldn’t allow it with guests at the table.
The evening sun hung low in the sky as Dickce stepped outside. The heat and humidity hadn’t abated with the approach of darkness, and Dickce was glowing with perspiration by the time she reached the door to the garage apartment.
She opened the door and stepped inside. “Benjy, is it okay for me to come up? It’s Dickce Ducote.”
For a moment she thought the apartment must be empty, then she heard a familiar chirping.
What on earth is Diesel doing here? she thought, startled.
Benjy appeared at the head of the stairs with the cat beside him. “Sure, you can come up here if you want to.” He turned and moved away, but Diesel remained where he was.
“How did you get here, you rascal?” Dickce tapped the cat on the head when she reached him.
“I heard something scratching at the door downstairs a little while ago,” Benjy said, his tone defensive. “When I went down there, I found him trying to pull the door open. He had one paw in the crack, but that door kinda sticks, and he couldn’t budge it.”
Dickce had to laugh at the mental image. “Charlie—that’s his owner, Charlie Harris—told us Diesel could open doors on his own, but I don’t think I really believed him until now. He wouldn’t have had much trouble getting out of An’gel’s room, or out the back door, I guess, because those doors are in better shape.”
Diesel warbled several times, as if he knew he was being discussed. Benjy smiled slightly as he indicated a chair. “He sure is one smart cat. Please sit.”
Dickce noted that Benjy waited until she was seated before he plopped on the couch across from her. Diesel joined him, his head butting the young man’s upper arm. Benjy put his arm around the cat and hugged him close. Diesel started purring.
“I’m glad he found his way to you,” Dickce said. “He always seems to know when someone needs a little comfort.”
“I’m okay,” Benjy muttered and ducked his head.
Dickce waited a moment, but he didn’t continue. “I was a little concerned when you didn’t join us for dinner. I know you must be terribly upset by what’s happened, but you need to keep up your strength. Clementine is a wonderful cook, and hot food will help you feel better.”
“Miss Clementine gave me some food.” Benjy pointed toward the table across the room. “I just didn’t feel like being in the same room with the Wart and his family.”
Dickce glanced over at the table. She could see a plate, cutlery, napkin, and glass. Plate and glass were empty. Knowing Clementine, that plate had been heaped with food. Unless Benjy had fed most of it to Diesel—and she sincerely hoped he hadn’t, because the cat would undoubtedly get sick—he had eaten well.
Dickce wasn’t quite sure what to say next. Benjy was obviously distressed, but he was a stranger, and she didn’t know what would help him the most. Instead, she asked him the first thing that popped into her head.
“Benjy, how old are you?”
He glanced up, obviously startled. “I was nineteen in June. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I just wondered,” Dickce said. She had figured his age correctly, but she thought he sometimes seemed young for nineteen. “I’m sorry about your mother.”
To her dismay, he burst into tears. Diesel warbled anxiously, and for a moment Dickce didn’t know what to do. Then she got up from her chair and sat on the sofa by Benjy and pulled him into her arms. He sobbed on her shoulder while she held him and Diesel rubbed his head against the boy’s side.
CHAPTER 13
After a few minutes the storm of tears abated, and Dickce could feel Benjy trying gently to pull away. She released him, and he rose on unsteady legs to make his way to the sink in the kitchen area. Diesel followed him and twined himself around the young man’s legs. Benjy splashed his face with water, dried off with paper towels, then blew his nose twice.
Dickce moved back to the chair to allow Benjy his space on the sofa when he returned. He smiled shyly at her. “Sorry about that,” he said. “Guess I kinda freaked for a minute.”
“No need to apologize,” Dickce replied. Given the circumstances, she would have been surprised if the boy hadn’t broken down.
Diesel climbed onto the sofa beside Benjy, who rubbed the cat’s head and back. “You’re such a sweet kitty.” He looked up at Dickce. “He really seems concerned. Isn’t that funny?”
“He has a big heart,” Dickce said. Her throat tightened as she examined Benjy. With his red nose and pink eyes, he looked vulnerable and much younger than nineteen. He also looked a little bit lost right now. She wondered whether he had any family besides his mother. She hesitated to ask, because it was really none of her business. She couldn’t walk away now, however, and leave him on his own.
“I loved her,” Benjy said, startling Dickce with the sorrowful tone of his words. “Even though she was rotten to me a lot of the time.”
Dickce decided to venture the question she was burning to ask. “What about your father?”
“He walked out when I was two or three,” Benjy said. “So it was just my mom and me until a few years ago. That’s when she met the Wart.”
“It doesn’t sound like you think much of your stepfather,” Dickce said.
Benjy shrugged. “He doesn’t think much of me either. Couldn’t wait to get me out of his house when they got married, so he sent me to boarding school in New York. I was stuck in that place for three years, but I graduated last year.”
Dickce heard the pain and anger behind the pose of indifference. At a time in his life when Benjy needed a strong father figure, Wade Thurmond couldn’t be bothered and shunted the boy off to boarding school. Wart, indeed. Dickce could think of a worse name for him. She also didn’t think much of Marla for rejecting her son—because that was exactly what it amounted to—in favor of a new husband. That kind of woman disgusted her.
“So you’re on your own now, other than your stepfather,” Dickce said. A stepfather who obviously isn’t much interested in your welfare, she added silently. She wondered if Benjy would be left to fend for himself now that his mother was gone.
Benjy nodded.
He was obviously miserable and frightened, Dickce realized.
“I have friends in California,” Benjy said. “I think one of them will let me move in with him. He has his own apartment, and I have a part-time job.” He didn’t sound happy about the prospect, Dickce thought.
“I didn’t push her down the stairs,” Benjy said out of the blue. “I hated her sometimes, but I wouldn’t have done something like that.” He stared at Dickce, his eyes imploring her to believe him.