Margo sighed, which prevented him from saying anything he might have later regretted. "You're odd, Malcolm," she said slowly.
"Am I?"
"Yes. You..." She didn't finish.
"I don't hit on you like the other boys? Is that it?"
Or maybe, considering the wary tension in her body, it wasn't just boys her own age who...
Malcolm forced his thoughts into less private realms of speculation. "How about some lunch? I have sandwich fixings in my fridge. We could meet somewhere for a picnic on the Commons. Unless you have another lesson?"
Margo relaxed fractionally. "Not that I know of," she said a trifle ruefully. "A picnic on the Commons sounds nice. I ..." She broke off abruptly.
"What?"
She mumbled something that sounded like "Never mind" and avoided his gaze.
Malcolm touched her shoulder very gently. "Hey. It's me, remember? The guy you wiped up the mat with?"
Almost as though disobeying a stern command to stay down, turned, a corner of her lips quirked upward. She sniffed once. "Huh. I gotta beat up a guy before he'll ask me out?"
Malcolm laughed...No, but it ought to give you a little peace of mind, knowing you can."
She gave him an odd look, then both corners of her lips twitched upwards.
"That's better," he smiled. "Why don't you find a nice spot somewhere in Castletown, maybe by one of the garden pools. We'll have a quiet lunch."
Her smile brightened. All right. You know, that sounds wonderful. Thanks, Malcolm."
"My pleasure."
He held the elevator door with a courtly flourish that brought sparkling laughter to her eyes. That brought a sense of dismay to Malcolm's determination to remain an utter gentleman. He could fall for this kid -- hard -without much trouble at all. Margo got off at the Commons level with a cheery smile and headed toward Castletown. Malcolm watched her go, then punched the button for his floor. Whatever that little girl was hiding inside, it was hurting her. He'd started out the week feeling sorry for Kit. Now he felt sorry for them both.
"Well," he told himself philosophically as the elevator rose with an efficient whir, "looks like another job for Mr. Fix-It." He just hoped Kit's granddaughter didn't get them all into a jam they couldn't untangle. Given what he'd seen so far, she could wreak havoc just by breathing.
She could also break Kit's heart without even trying.
The insight left him with a chill chasing itself down his back. Malcolm made himself a promise, then and there: I'll do whatever I can--whatever Margo and Kit will let me to keep that from happening.
Where that promise might lead him, Malcolm didn't even want to consider.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Kit was looking for ways to avoid finishing a stack of bills when he spotted Margo on one of the real-time screens on his office video wall. She was sitting beside a pebbled fishpond in Edo Castletown, staring into the water and looking so vulnerable and alone, Kit felt his heart thump.
He shoved back his chair and headed downstairs, pausing only long enough to slip on shoes. He didn't even change out of the vintage kimono he habitually wore while working. Kit wasn't sure what he'd say to her, but maybe the excuse of just getting to know her better would suffice. She was trailing one fingertip in the clear water when he arrived.
"Hi."
She glanced up. Her eyes widened slightly. "Good Lord. You're wearing a kimono?"
Kit grinned. "I'm running away from paperwork. I, uh, usually try and wear the most comfortable thing I own when I have to tackle stacks of bills or government forms. Mind if I join you?"
"Oh. Sure."
"Such enthusiasm," he tut-tutted, settling down beside her.
She tucked knees under chin and stared at the colorful fish. "I'm tired," she admitted, "and hungry. Malcolm thought it might be nice to eat a couple of sandwiches on the Commons. So I picked a spot."
"Malcolm?"
She grimaced. "He watched my lessons today."
Ahh...
They fell silent for a few moments, just watching the fish make lazy circles above artistically arranged slate blue pebbles. Finally Margo glanced up sidewise. "You don't like paperwork much?"
Kit rubbed his nose. "No. Tops a whole list of things I loathe."
She smiled. "I guess everybody's got their own list, huh?"
"What's on yours?"
She rested chin on knees again. "Oh, stuff "
"Like for instance?"
"I dunno. Snow, for one. Minnesota winters suck. Snow gets old real fast. Especially when you're too old to make snow angels in it. All that's left is cussing because the roads are closed and you're late to wherever it is you need to be."
Kit smiled. "You sound eighteen going on forty-two." She stuck out her tongue, prompting a chuckle. "I was twenty, you know, before I saw more than a quarter inch all at one time.
"You're from Georgia. Doesn't snow much."
"Just what do you know about me? I mean, besides what's in all the tabloids?"
Margo grinned. "They're awful, aren't they? I think my favorite was the one where you were abducted by mad scientists from way, way up time and they altered your sex and you got pregnant and then they changed your sex back and sent you home after you had the baby."
"Oh, good God, you're kidding?"
Her eyes twinkled. "Nope. They even had a picture, you were out to here," She indicated a very pregnant stomach. "I love what they can do with computer graphics programs, don't you? The little old ladies that buy those things in the grocery stores actually believed it."
Kit just groaned. "I knew there was a reason I didn't go up time much these days."
Margo chuckled.
Kit decided the time was right, but he hesitated anyway, reluctant to destroy their fragile rapport. "Margo ..."
She looked up again. "Yeah?"
"Would you tell me about my ...I don't even know if I have a son or a daughter."
The sparkle vanished from Margo's green eyes. She swallowed and turned her face away. "Daughter. You had a daughter."
"Had?"
Margo wouldn't look at him. "Mom died. A few years ago."
The ache of losing something he'd never had a chance to cherish left Kit struggeling against sudden tightness in his chest. He blinked rapidly several times, fighting a salty sting behind his eyelids. How had Kit's only child died. His daughter ...She couldn't have been very old, if she'd died several years ago. An auto accident? Catastrophic illness?
"What was her name?" Kit whispered, trying to keep his voice steady. "What did she look like?"
Margo didn't answer for a moment. Then, in a low voice, "Mom's name was Kitty."
Quicksilver pain flashed through him. Sarah had actually named their child Kitty
"She had hazel eyes. Kind of sandy-colored hair. When I was a little girl she laughed a lot. Look, I know ...I know you want to hear about this and I want to tell you, but--" She blinked rapidly. Kit realized quite abruptly his grandchild, too, was on the verge of tears.
"Margo?"
She turned away again. "I was the one who found her. Can we talk about something else? Please?"
How old had Margo been when her mother died?
Kit wanted to ask a thousand questions, but Margo wasn't ready to answer them.
"What about your grandmother?" Kit tried, remembering with cutting clarity the last time he'd seen Sarah.
Margo sniffed. "I've never seen her. Mom ran away with Dad when she was seventeen. I'm not sure Grandma van Wyyck even knew where Mom was or that we existed. I ...I had a picture. But everything I had was stolen. In New York. I even had to buy new shoes."