Sugar Pine Trail. RaeAnne Thayne
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“Hi, Davy. Hi, Clinton. How are you boys this evening?”
Davy gave a dramatic sigh. “I’m hungry, but Clint says he’ll make me another peanut butter sandwich when we have to go home.”
That particular statement disturbed her on several levels. Julia tried to conceal her reaction. Where were their parents? From what she had seen firsthand and from what she had inferred from Davy’s comments, it seemed Clint was doing more parenting than an eight-year-old boy should.
Something was going on here, but she had no idea how to figure out what or how to fix it. She did know Davy was hungry, and she had the means to remedy that.
“You know,” she said casually, “I happen to have a sandwich in the back. It’s turkey instead of peanut butter, but I think you’ll find it quite tasty.”
“Really?” The little boy’s eyes lit up. “I thought we weren’t s’posed to eat in the library.”
“Food isn’t allowed out here in the book stacks, but you’re fine to eat in the back. I do it all the time. Do you know, if we cut the sandwich in half, I think it would be more than enough for two boys.”
She’d had such good intentions that morning when she packed her lunch, but her hangover had been too wicked earlier in the day to tolerate anything solid. She had ended up heating a cup of soup in the microwave.
“Did you hear that, Clint? Miss Winston has a sandwich she said we could eat!”
While the younger boy looked thrilled, his brother’s reluctance showed through. He shook his head with a stubborn look. “No. We’d better not. Thanks anyway, Miss Winston.”
“Nonsense,” she said in a brisk tone. “You’re hungry, and I have an extra sandwich that will only go to waste if you don’t help me out by eating it. Think of it this way—you would be doing me a favor.”
Davy looked at his brother. “Mom said we’re supposed to help other people out when we can, especially this time of year. Remember? Miss Winston needs someone to help her eat her sandwich.”
Clinton didn’t look particularly convinced by that argument, but after a moment he shrugged. “I guess it would be okay. As long as we’re helping you.”
She smiled, touched beyond words that these two boys in their threadbare coats were concerned about helping others—but she was also undeniably troubled. She admired their mother’s sentiment about helping people out, but where was the woman? And why was she allowing her young boys to go hungry?
“Why don’t you both come to the back with me, and I’ll find the sandwich for you? There might be a cookie or two in my desk, as well.”
They stuffed their belongings back into their backpacks and followed her through the door that read Library Staff Only, to the inner workings of the library. Three doors down, she led them to the small room her staff used for breaks.
“Sit down and I’ll find the sandwich for you.”
From the refrigerator she pulled out her favorite reusable lunch bag with the pink and purple flowers and pulled out the sandwich. It was an easy matter to cut it in two and set it on paper plates for the boys.
“Look at this. There are chips and carrots here, as well as a brownie.”
She had been looking forward to that brownie, a leftover from last night’s book club, but she would willingly sacrifice to these two little boys, who inhaled the sandwich as if it were the best thing they had ever eaten.
Once she set the bounty in front of them, Julia took a chair at the table and sipped at the water bottle that hadn’t left her side all day. Hydration was one of the best cures for a hangover, she had read online that morning through the blur of her headache. It hadn’t worked yet, but she could still hope.
“I bet your mom fixes you nice lunches for school, doesn’t she?”
Davy looked at his brother, then quickly back down at his plate. Neither boy answered her. They simply shrugged. Obviously this was a sore spot.
“What about your dad?”
“Our dad died,” Clint said, his voice flat. “He was in the army, and he got shot three years ago.”
Emotions clogged her throat at the no-nonsense tone. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry.”
“I was only three,” Davy informed her. “I don’t even remember him much. Clint was five, though.”
They couldn’t have been from Hope’s Crossing or even Shelter Springs. She would have heard about a soldier from the area being killed in the line of duty. And why were the sons of a dead soldier wearing such ragged coats and eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?
“That must have been very hard for you and for your mother.”
“It was,” Clinton said. “Our mom was in the army too, but she came home right away. She cried a lot. We were living with our Aunt Suzi then.”
“Are you going to your Aunt Suzi’s house for Thanksgiving?” she asked, trying to probe for answers as subtly as possible without it sounding like a blatant interrogation.
Clinton gave her an exasperated look. “That’s all the way by Disneyland! That’s too far. And she’s not there anyway.”
“That’s in California,” Davy informed her. “It’s warm there all the time—not like here, where our house is cold all the time.”
Clinton poked his brother, giving him a shushing sort of look that Julia pretended not to see.
“California does have beautiful weather. That’s true. Why did you move away?”
“Our mom got a new job here, but then she got sick and had to quit,” Davy said.
It was obvious Clinton thought his brother had said too much. He set down his napkin and slid away from the table. “We should probably go now. Our mom will be wondering where we are.”
“Really?” Davy said.
“Yes,” Clint said with a meaningful look. “Thank you for the sandwich, Miss Winston. It was very good.”
“You’re welcome.”
Julia was at a loss as to what to do next. Did she tell the boys she suspected something wasn’t quite right with them? That she wanted to have a talk with their mother to find out a little more about their situation, but she had no idea where they even lived?
The boys hadn’t left a scrap, Julia realized. They had all but licked the plates clean, poor things.
She was suddenly ashamed of herself. She had so very much—good friends, a job she loved, a beautiful home that kept her warm in the winter.
At this time of Thanksgiving, she realized again how very blessed she was. In the four months since her mother died, how much time had she wasted feeling sorry for herself?
What about the years and years before that?
The three of them walked out of the library offices together and out into the stacks. Very few patrons remained.
“I guess I’ll see you later, then.”
“We’ll probably be here tomorrow since we don’t have school,” Davy said.
Why? She loved libraries as much as the next person. More, probably. Still, what kid with free time would choose to spend every moment of it in one?
“You know the library closes early tomorrow, right?”
Clint and Davy looked shocked and rather glum to learn this.
“What time does it open?” Clinton asked, brow furrowed.
“We’ll be open from ten to three.”
“That’s not too bad, I guess. Come on, Davy. Let’s