Drummer Boy by Toni Sheridan Read Free Book Online Page A

out.
    He still couldn’t believe how she’d sweet-talked more food donations out of merchants he’d thought were made of stone. The big block monster—though he guessed he’d have to start calling it something else in his head—near where she lived continued to give them cheese, of all things. The clients loved it.
    “You’re turning this place into some uptown eatery. If word gets out, there might be paying customers.”
    “That’s not a bad idea,” she said as if he hadn’t been joking. “We could advertise that food’s ready to go, and if people want to drop off a donation, that’d be great. Might de-stigmatize the place.”
    “Might keep some people who really need it from coming though, too…”
    “Yeah, I guess. I just wish I could do more.”
    “Are you kidding? You do tons.”
    “I talk a lot, get things moved from point A to point B—” Her cute little nose had wrinkled in self-derision.
    Tim still remembered the electricity that bolted up his arm when he’d put his hand on her shoulder, just her shoulder . The encouraging words he’d been about to offer felt clumsy and silly in his mouth.
    Had she felt that zing when they connected, too?
    He tried to shrug off the memories and shoved his drumsticks into his back pocket.
    “Tim!” Aida’s booming, jolly voice—completely at odds with her four-foot, eight-inch, ninety-pounds if soaking wet frame—met him as he walked through the door. “Good to see you again.”
    He grinned back at her, shaking his head. “You, too.” He found their greetings hilarious, every day the same, as if they hadn’t just seen each other the day before.
    “Your Jane’s here already. Probably putting out chairs, though I told her not to.”
    Tim’s heart skipped a beat, the way it did every time he heard Jane was there, although that was almost as silly as his and Aida’s greetings because Jane showed up practically every day now, too.
    “Don’t say ‘your’ Jane. She’s just a friend.”
    Aida waved a heavy wooden spoon at him. “Such a kidder,” she said and laughed—literally a “ho-ho-ho”—and went back to stirring her soup.
    Tim walked through the kitchen into the hall-like room where they served the food. Long tables sat in rows, blue plastic chairs at almost every spot.
    “You’re not supposed to be putting out chairs,” he said, restraining himself from touching her in greeting.
    Jane grinned up at him. “Well, when the boss is off slacking, the minions have to carry the burden.”
    “Ha—nice. I always wanted minions.”
    Jane swatted him. “There’s quite a line gathering already, and Marcy and Layla can’t make it today.”
    “Are you serious?”
    “Yeah, sorry.”
    “OK. I’ll serve. You greet. Maybe Alphie will hang around and help clean up after.”
    “Sounds good.”
    They went to the entrance together. Like it’s our home and we’re receiving company , Tim thought.
    “Are you all right?” Jane asked.
    “Yeah, why?”
    “You just turned pink.”
    “Ah, it’s nothing.” He turned the deadbolt and pushed the doors open.
    Spring sunlight bounced through the doorway, brightening the clean but faded lino, making the whole room a cheerier version of its normally tired self.
    Jane chatted away, directing a few new faces to the buffet line and greeting familiars by name.
    “Heya, Tim,” said a man with a low gravelly voice.
    Tim recognized the distinct tone right away. “Alph! Good to see you.” Note to self , Tim muttered in his head, you spend too much time with Aida . He whipped the pair of drumsticks out of his back pocket.
    Alphie’s pinched-with-worry face relaxed for just a second, and he flashed a rare smile. “Man, you remembered.”
    “Of course I did. Us drummers got to stick together.”
    Alphie rolled his eyes, but almost cracked another smile. “That’s a sad joke, man. Don’t let Jane hear it—she’ll roast you.”
    “Let me hear what?” Jane called, but then she was off talking to someone