Taji's Syndrome by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro Read Free Book Online Page B

sound of weeping from her speech. “I’m going to bring you home, Harold. You’ll see.”
    “I hope so, Mom.” He tried to laugh and failed. “I keep hoping that . . . it’s almost Christmas, you know? I wish I was spending it with you.”
    “Me, too,” Alexa said so softly that Harold barely heard her.
    “Anyway, Mom, I got to go. I don’t want to run up your bill and I don’t want to . . .” He did not have to finish; they both knew what Frank would do if he even suspected that his son had called Alexa.
    “You take care, Harold. I love you. I love you.”
    “I love you, too, Mom.” Before he said anything more, he hung up.
    There were sandwiches waiting, and the manager turned off his television so he could talk with Harold while the boy ate the two chicken sandwiches that the manager had made.
    “This is real kindly of you,” Harold said indistinctly through a full mouth.
    “You looked half starved and miserable as a drowned puppy,” said the manager, giving him a second glass of milk.
    “Not real common, your hospitality,” said Harold, this time with several questions implied in his tone of voice.
    The man shook his head. “I’m waiting for my two kids to get back from rehearsal for their high school Christmas program. I can worry on my own, or I can worry with company. Thing is, I hope that if my kids ever showed up looking the way you did that someone would give them. a sandwich or two.” He indicated the television. “There’s cable in the room sets, but no pay stations. I can get you a listing of what’s on, if you want it.”
    “Thanks,” said Harold, relaxing a bit.
    “Think nothing of it. My name’s Tucker, by the way. Norton Tucker,” He held out his hand.
    Harold took it. “I’m Harold Porter,” he said feeling very grown-up for a change.
    “Stick around, if you like, and meet my kids. They’re a little older than you are, but you don’t mind that, do you?” Tucker got up and took the nearly empty plate from Harold.
    “I better get to the room. My Dad’ll be back soon, and he wants me in the room.” Saying the words made him uneasy.
    “Whatever’s right,” said Tucker. “The kids’ll be around tomorrow, if you change your mind. Maybe if I say something to your Dad, he might—”
    Harold interrupted him. “No. Please. Don’t say anything. He . . . he doesn’t like me talking to strangers.”
    Tucker nodded. “All right.” He watched as Harold started toward the door. “You let me know if you need anything.”
    “Sure. Thanks.” He started toward the door, then turned back. “Don’t say anything about the phone call, will you? Dad doesn’t like me making calls.”
    If Tucker thought there was anything out of the ordinary in this request he did not reveal it. “You got it,” he said with a wave that was almost a salute.
    Harold made his way back to Unit 11, and took up his vigil.

    —Mason Ross—

    “We’re so sorry about Kevin,” said Joan Ellingham. “I wish there were something I could say—”
    Susan nodded and tried not to cry again. “Thank you,” she murmured as she reached out to take Harper’s arm.
    “Both of you,” their neighbor Barry McPhee said as he held out his hands to them. “Caroline and I are going to miss him so much.”
    Harper said a few words as he tightened his hold around Susan’s shoulder. He glanced at his other two children, so quiet in their dark mourning clothes, both of them grieving and awkward at their brother’s funeral.
    “Don’t worry about the rest of the . . . the holidays,” Harper’s department head told him as he took his hand. “I’ll put the grad students on your papers, so that you won’t have to bother with them. I’m really . . . you know.”
    “Thanks, Phil,” said Harper.
    “You, too, Susan,” Phillip Sanders said to her. “It’s a real shock, and what a time for it to happen.”
    Susan had to stop herself from getting angry with Phil, to keep from screaming at him that there was