Jimmie sat up. He gave his kid brother a long look. “Thanks!”
CHAPTER XIII
MR. BAILEY PARKED his car and walked down to the bonfire burning at the river side. He pulled off his mittens and held out his hands so they would warm faster. He stamped his feet on the frozen ground and searched the skaters with eyes that were tired but alert. He didn’t see Jimmie at first. The people went whizzing around and back and forth and through each other, like confetti on a miscellaneous breeze. Then Jimmie came shooting along from way up the river, skating like a hockey player; he dodged men and women and children with bird-flight motions, turned, showered crystals, and started to walk up the wooden ramp.
“Hey, Jimmie!”
“Hello, Dad.”
“They, said over at the paint works I’d find you here.”
Jimmie smiled a little. “Yeah. Nothing more I could help with today. We’ve got everything we can, going again. It’ll be six months before they get the shops rebuilt. And eight, or ten, for a new lab.”
“I know. I—want to talk to you. D’you mind?”
“Not at all.” Jimmie picked up a wood bench, tucked it under his arm, walked clumsily closer to the fire, and put down the bench. The men sat side by side. “Going to snow—about tomorrow. Snow hard. For a long while. What’s on your mind?”
Mr. Bailey seemed hesitant about getting to the point. “A lot of things. A hell of a lot of ’em. You seen Biff?”