It wouldn’t be so bad if Mick or Nate or Spence could hang out with him at Rizzo’s. But their moms also had the wrath.

When he saw Mr. Rizzo come in, Raylan perked up a little. When Mr. Rizzo went into the kitchen, he’d toss dough. Raylan’s mom and some of the other cooks could toss it, too, but Mr. Rizzo could do tricks, like toss it up, spin around, catch it again behind his back.

And if they weren’t too busy, he let Raylan try it, let him make his own personal pizza with any toppings he wanted—for free.

He didn’t pay much attention to the kid who came in with Mr. Rizzo, because girl. But she had a cast on her arm, which made her marginally more interesting.

He made up reasons for the cast while he finished the last stupid questions on his assignment.

She’d fallen down a well, out of a tree, out of a window during a house fire.

With the questions answered—finally!—he started the last assignment.

He’d done the math first, because easy. The history junk next, because boring.

And saved the assignment of using this week’s spelling words in a sentence for last, because fun.

He liked words even more than math and almost as much as drawing stuff.

1. Pedestrian. The getaway car from the bank robbery ran over the pedestrian as it raced away.

2. Neighborhood. When aliens from the planet Zork invaded, the world counted on the one and only friendly neighborhood Spider-Man to protect them.

3. Harvesting. The evil scientist kidnapped bunches of people and started harvesting their organs for his crazy experiments.

 

He finished up the last of the ten words as his mother sat down at the two-top.

“I did all the dumb homework.”

Because her shift had ended, Jan had taken off her apron and cap. She’d cut her hair short after her husband left and felt the pixie suited her. Plus, it required almost no time to fiddle with.

She thought Raylan could use a haircut himself. His once sunflower-blond hair had begun to turn toward her own dark honey tone. He was growing up, she thought as she gestured to Raylan to show her the work.

He rolled those wonderful bottle-green eyes at her—her dad’s eyes—and pushed his binder across the table.

Growing up, she mused, his hair no longer baby fine and spun-sugar blond but thick, a little wavy. He’d lost the baby roundness in his face—where did the time go?—and had the fined-down, sharp edges he’d carry into adulthood.

He’d gone from cute to handsome right in front of her eyes.

She checked his work, because though she might be able to see the man he’d become one day in the boy, the boy liked to goof off.

She read the spelling sentences, sighed.

“‘Plight. The Dark Knight’s plight was to fight for right with might.’” He just grinned. “It works.”

“How come somebody so damn smart spends so much time and effort avoiding homework he can get done in under an hour?”

“Because homework stinks.”

“It does,” she agreed. “But it’s your job. You did good today.”

“So can I go hang out at Mick’s?”

“For somebody so good at math, you’re having a hard time counting the days left in the school week. No hanging out until Saturday. And if you screw off on your assignments again—”

“No hanging out for two weeks,” he finished in a tone more sorrowful than aggrieved. “But what am I going to do now? For hours.”

“Don’t you worry, sweetie.” She pushed the binder back to him. “I’ve got plenty of things for you to do.”

“Chores.” Now the aggrieved. “But I did all my homework.”

“Aw, do you want a prize for doing what you’re supposed to do? I’ve got it!” With a huge smile, with dancing eyes, she clapped her hands together. “How about I kiss your whole face?” She leaned toward him. “Just kiss your whole face right here in front of everybody. Yum-yum, kiss-kiss.”

He cringed, but couldn’t stop the grin. “Cut it out!”

“Big, noisy face kisses wouldn’t embarrass you, would they, my precious baby boy?”

“You’re weird, Mom.”

“I get it from you. Now let’s go get your sister and go home.”

He shoved his binder back into his loaded backpack.

People were starting to come for a beer or a glass of wine, or to meet friends for an early dinner.

Mr. Rizzo had put on the cap and apron now, and was doing his toss-the-dough tricks. The girl kid sat at the service bar on a stool and applauded.

“ ’Bye, Mr. Rizzo!”

Mr. Rizzo caught the dough, twirled it, winked. “Ciao, Raylan. Take care of your mama.”

“Yes, sir.”

They went outside onto the covered front porch, where some people already sat at tables drinking and eating. Pots of flowers sent out fragrances that mixed with the scent of fried calamari, of spicy sauce and toasted bread.

The town had big concrete tubs of flowers spaced along the square, and some of the businesses had more pots or hanging baskets.

As they waited for the walk light at the crosswalk, Jan had to stop herself from taking her son’s hand.

Ten years old, she reminded herself. He didn’t want to hold his mother’s hand to cross the street.

“Who was the kid with Mr. Rizzo?”

“Hmm? Oh, that’s his granddaughter, Adrian. She’s going to stay with them for the summer.”

“How come she’s got that cast on?”

“She hurt her wrist.”

“How?” he asked as they crossed the street.

“She fell.”

Because she felt Raylan’s eyes on her as they walked down the next block, she glanced over. “What?”

“You get that look.”

“What look?”

“You get that look when you don’t want to tell me something bad.”

She supposed she did get a look. And she supposed in a town the size of Traveler’s Creek, with the Rizzos so much a part of its fabric, Raylan—with his bat ears—would hear anyway.

“Her father hurt her.”

“Seriously?” His father had said and done a lot of mean things, but he’d never smashed up his wrist or Maya’s.

“I expect you to respect Mr. and Mrs. Rizzo’s privacy, Raylan. And since I’m going to take Maya over there—she and Adrian are the same age—to see if they’ll make friends, I don’t want you to say anything to your sister. If Adrian wants to tell her, or anyone, that’s her business.”

“Okay, but jeez, her dad broke her arm!”

“Wrist, but it’s just as bad.”

“Is he in jail?”

“No. He died.”

“Holy crap.” Stunned—and a little excited—he bounced on his toes. “Did she like kill him or something to defend herself?”

“No. Don’t be silly. She’s just a little girl who’s been through an ugly ordeal. I don’t want you peppering her with questions.”

They reached Cassie’s house, right across the street from theirs.

They got to keep their house because the Rizzos gave his mother a job after his father walked out on them and took most of the money out of the bank.