“Where are you now?” he asked.
“The traffic circle.”
“I’ll go out and move the Subaru so you can pull into the carport right next to the house. And I’ll bring out a robe and some towels so we can get him out of his wet clothes before we try to bring him inside. How big is he?”
“Not very,” Joanna responded.
“Will my underwear fit him?”
“He’ll swim in it.”
“No problem,” Butch said cheerfully. “Sounds like he’s swimming in something else at the moment. How bad is your car?”
“It’s bad. Soaked.”
“It’ll have to wait. First things first,” Butch said. “See you in a couple of minutes.”
It wasn’t much more than that when Joanna arrived at Butch’s house. True to his word, Butch’s new Outback was parked on the street. The chain-link gate to his driveway stood wide open, allowing Joanna access to a covered carport. Jenny stood at the back door clutching an armload of material that turned out to be the promised towels, a robe, and a pair of sweats with a drawstring at the waist.
For a change, Joanna was only too happy to stand aside and let someone else take charge. Butch knelt beside the car and untied Junior’s high-topped tennis shoes. After removing the shoes, Butch gently shook Junior awake. Helping him out of the car, Butch stood him upright long enough to peel off the soaked khaki work pants, undershorts, and shirt, all of which he allowed to fall into a sodden heap. After helping Junior step into the sweats, Butch wrapped the shivering and uncomplaining man in the ample folds of a thick terry-cloth robe.
“There you go,” Butch said, taking Junior by the arm. “Come on in. It’s cold out here, and dinner’s on the table. I’ll bet you’re hungry.”
Looking down at the terry-cloth robe, Junior ran his fingers across the soft, downy material in seeming delight. “Hungry,” he said, nodding agreeably. “Junior eat.”
As soon as Butch had begun unbuttoning Junior’s shirt, Jenny had disappeared into the house. When Joanna followed Butch and Junior into the small, cozy kitchen, she was gratified to see that Jenny had made use of the time alone to set another place at the table.
“This is Junior, Jenny,” Butch said.
“Hello, Junior,” Jenny responded, as though welcoming someone like him was the most ordinary thing in the world. “What do you want to drink-milk, water, or soda?”
Junior’s eyes fastened hungrily on the carton in Jenny’s hand. “Milk,” he said. “Junior like milk. Milk good.”
Matter-of-factly, Jenny went to one of the places and filled the glass there with milk. “Here, Junior,” she said, pointing. “You sit here.”
Butch helped Junior onto the proper chair. Joanna wasn’t sure how Butch had done it, but somehow he had managed to convey to Jenny exactly what was going on. Between the two of them, Butch and Jenny were handling Junior’s afflictions with such easy grace and acceptance that they might both have been used to dealing with people like him on a daily basis.
Butch set a bowl of soup in front of Junior. Jenny seated herself next to their guest, picked up a piece of Butch’s crusty, freshly baked bread, spread it with butter, and then laid it next to his place. Without a word, Junior picked up his spoon and buried it in the thick, steamy soup.
“Careful,” Butch warned. “It’s hot.”
Nodding, Junior held the loaded spoon to his lips and blew on it noisily. Most of the soup slopped back into the bowl, but as soon as he put the remainder in his mouth, his face cracked into the same wide grin Joanna had seen when she had first pinned the sheriff’s badge on his chest.
“Good!” he exclaimed happily. “Good, good, good.” Transfixed by all this activity, Joanna stood just inside the door and watched. She didn’t know which was more gratifying-Butch’s and Jenny’s compassion toward Junior, or the total ease with which they dealt with his obvious abnormalities. Overcome by emotion, Joanna’s eyes brimmed with tears. She tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat.
Joanna was still struggling to find words when Butch took her gently by the shoulder and led her to a chair. “Will Madame be seated?” he asked with a comically formal bow. “And what are we drinking this evening? I can recommend the Cabernet…”
“Milk for me, too,” Joanna said. “I may still have some work to do tonight.”
Jenny made a face at that, but she didn’t say anything to Joanna. Instead, she turned her wide blue eyes full on Junior’s face. “Where are you from?” she asked.
Ladling his soup and blowing on each spoonful, Junior didn’t answer. Jenny, however, seemed determined to draw him into conversation. “Is it near or far?”
Junior paused and looked at her. “Far,” he said. A speech impediment made it difficult for him to pronounce the letter r, but Jenny wasn’t fazed by that, either.
“How big is your family?” she asked.
Junior stopped eating. He put his spoon down and stared back at Jenny. Worried that any discussion of his family might provoke the same kind of outburst that had bruised Sister Ambrose’s elbow, Joanna tried to interrupt, but Butch laid one hand on hers and shook his head, warning her to silence.
Junior held up one finger. “Mama,” he said. Then he raised another finger. “Junior.”
“So it’s just the two of you,” Jenny said. “That’s like Mom and me. Butch here is our friend, and this is his house. But at home where we live, it’s just Mom and me. Just the two of us, same as you.”
A short silence settled over the table. “Do you like to play video games?” Butch asked.
Junior brightened. He reached for what would have been his pockets, then the smile faded. He knew enough to realize that video games required money and he had none.
“Don’t worry,” Butch told him. “I have some video games in the other room that came from my restaurant when I sold it. I’ve fixed them so they don’t take quarters anymore. You can play them all you want, for free.”
Junior’s mouth dropped. “No quarters?” He started to push his chair away from the table.
“No,” Butch said. “Soup first, then video games.”
Without a murmur of objection, Junior settled back onto his chair and resumed eating. If Father Mulligan thought the badge trick was impressive, Joanna thought, he ought to see this.
When the soup was gone, Jenny led Junior into what had once been a small parlor but which was now a tiny video arcade. As soon as they were out of the kitchen, Butch turned a penetrating gaze on Joanna. “How are you doing?”
“Better now,” she said. “Much better. How did you know how to handle him like that? You were great.”
“I used to coach Special Olympics,” Butch said. “The Roundhouse used to sponsor a team to the games over in Tempe every summer. I liked doing it, and I pride myself in thinking I was pretty good at it.”
“I’d say very good,” Joanna told him.
Butch stood up. “If you want to clear the table, I’ll go outside, gather up his clothes, and stick them in the washer.”
“Once we get him dressed again, though, what am I going to do with him?” Joanna asked.
‘‘Leave him here,” Butch replied. “I have an air mattress out in the shed. I’ll blow that up and have him sleep right there on the living room floor. He’ll be fine, and on the air mattress, if he has an accident overnight, it won’t hurt anything
“You don’t mind?”
“Of course I don’t mind. If I did, I wouldn’t have offered. What do you expect me to do, leave you to handle this whole mess by yourself? No way!”
While Butch went to look after the clothes, Joanna cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. Butch’s house was a high-ceilinged, 1880s kind of place. It had once been part of a neighborhood called Upper Lowell. In the early fifties, this house and all of its neighbors had been loaded onto axles and hauled down out of the canyon to make way for the Lavender Pit Mine. When Butch had bought the place months earlier, it had been a run-down mess, with a bathroom so small that he claimed he’d had to stand in the kitchen to pee. It was Butch’s own handiwork that had remodeled the place, reallocating the space, putting in new fixtures, appliances, and cabinets. Working in the small but convenient kitchen, Joanna couldn’t help admiring his craftsmanship.