Knight In Black Leather Gail Dayton (classic books for 12 year olds .TXT) 📖

the antique rotary dial phone on the equally antique vinyl-topped desk in his office, and heard the old man's gravelly voice shouting in the distance for Pete to come to the phone. Seconds later, the phone rattled again.

"Eli?" The sound of Pete's breathless voice eased something in Eli's chest he hadn't known was tight.

"Yeah, it's me, squirt. How yadoin'?"

"Okay, I guess. When are you coming to get me?"

"Not right away. I broke my leg. Can't drive the Harley too good that way."

"Shaunte Wilkins broke his leg last year. He painted his crutches red."

"Broke my arm too. I can't do crutches. All I'm driving now is a wheelchair." Eli had hoped by spreading the news out it wouldn't sound quite so bad, but he didn't think it worked, given the way Pete got real quiet on the other end of the phone.

"I'm okay, Pete." Eli hurried to reassure him. "I got casts and a nice lady looking after me. You should see me try to eat with the wrong hand. Food fallin' off my fork and stuff."

"Was it him?" Pete asked in a small voice. "The guy that scared Mom? Flash?"

"No. Hell, no." It might have been, Eli conceded to himself. But Flash didn't do it personally, so Eli could say no without lying. Eli didn't lie to Pete, but that didn't mean he had to know every detail. He was only nine. "I had an accident, okay?" He'd accidentally run into those guys, right?

"On the Harley?"

"I'm fine. The Harley's fine too. Getting better every day. Marilyn--she's the lady I'm staying with--she'll take a piece out of me if I don't do what the doctors said."

"I thought you said she was nice." Pete's suspicious tone made Eli laugh.

"She is. She only gets mad at me when I do something stupid."

"Like what?"

"Like try to walk on my broken leg. Something that will make it take longer to heal."

Eli could almost hear Pete thinking through the phone.

"You get mad at me when I do stuff like that," Pete said.

"That's because I like you."

"So when are you coming to get me?"

Eli sighed. The kid had a one-track mind. "I'll probably get a walking cast in another couple of weeks, but it'll be two or three weeks after that before I get my arm back. I need both hands for the Harley. And two good legs."

"And I'll live with you then. Right? You and me and Mom."

The hope in Pete's voice gave Eli a stomach ache. "It depends." He'd always hated those words when he was a kid. Before Stan. He hadn't been a kid any more after. "Your mom's not doing so good right now. She may need some space to get her head straight again. Fitz is a good guy."

"I want to stay with you, Eli. Please?"

Eli's stomach ached worse. "You don't want to stay with me. I move around too much. What kind of life is that for a kid?"

"I do want to. Please, Eli. Please?" Pete wasn't quite crying, but he was right on the edge. It made Eli feel like some kind of monster.

"Okay, okay, I'll think about it. No promises. It depends on what's going on with your mom. It depends on a lot of stuff."

"Promise?"

"I promise to think about it. That's all." He couldn't take care of a kid. He knew less about it than Teresa did, and she didn't know much.

"I'm a good cook," Pete offered. "I cook supper for me and Mom all the time. And I won't get in your way--"

"I said I'd think about it." Eli had to stop his son's attempts to make himself seem lovable. He felt as close to tears as Pete sounded, and he didn't do tears. "I'll think real hard. But you gotta give my bones time to heal up first. Okay?"

He heard only sniffles through the phone.

"You gotta say something, squirt. I can't hear your head rattle when you shake it."

"Okay."

"All right, then." Eli felt marginally better. He hoped he got through to Pete. "You do what Fitz tells you, okay?"

"Okay."

"And if you need anything, or if you just want to talk, you got the number. You know how to call collect, right?"

"Right." Pete sounded sulky now.

"Let me hear it. What's the number?"

Pete rattled off the number to Eli's cell phone, still sulking. "You sure you got a broken arm and broken leg?"

"Hey, I'm the one sitting here in the wheelchair. You don't believe me? Want me to send you a picture to prove it?"

"Yeah." But Pete laughed. It was so great how kids could go from tears to pouting to laughing so quick.

"I'll do it, then. You call if you need me. For anything. Got it?"

"Yeah." Pete paused half a minute. "You promise, Eli? You'll think real, real, real hard?"

"I promise. And you know if I promise, I'm gonna do it. I never broke a promise I made yet, did I?"

"No."

"Okay, then. Take care of yourself, squirt."

"Get well fast, Eli. Real fast."

"I will. Promise." Eli broke the connection without saying goodbye.

They never said goodbye when they talked, he and Pete. That way, the conversation really never ended. Just got interrupted from time to time.

Pete wanted to live with him. The thought made Eli cold all the way to his broken bones, made him snag the throw off Marilyn's sofa and wrap it around his shoulders. But the blanket did nothing to warm him.

He couldn't take care of Pete. No kid should be anywhere around him. Bad rubbed off.

He'd seen it happen, and he didn't want anything of his rubbing off on Pete. It was bad enough the kid inherited his genes. He didn't need anything else from a father like Eli.

The wheelchair trapped him. He needed to get out, feel the icy wind in his face as the motorcycle raced up and down the steep hills in and around Pittsburgh. But the best he could do was circle round and round the apartment, his thoughts circling right along with him.

Teresa needed him. Pete needed him. And he