I thought they were gold.
4
I hadn’t ridden my bike, and the walk down the hill to our house only took ten or twelve minutes, but that night I made it last. I had thinking to do and a decision to make. As I walked, I kept touching the bulge in my pocket, making sure it was still there.
I’d tell Dad about Mr. Bowditch’s call and his offer of employment. I’d show him the cash, two hundred for what we’d spent and five hundred for me. I’d tell him to put four hundred of it in my college account （which just happened to be at First Citizens） and promise to put in another four hundred every week that I was working for Mr. Bowditch… which might last right through the summer, or at least until football practice started in August. The question was whether or not I should tell him about how much money had been in the flour cannister. And, of course, those gold BBs. If they were gold.
By the time I let myself into our house, I’d made my decision. I’d keep the fact of the eight thousand in the cannister to myself, and the BBs that weren’t BBs. At least until I’d had my talk with Mr. Bowditch the next day.
“Hey, Charlie,” my father called from the living room. “Dog okay?”
“She’s fine.”
“Good to know. Grab yourself a Sprite and grab a chair. Rear Window’s on TCM.”
I grabbed a Sprite, came in, and muted the TV. “I’ve got something to tell you.”
“What could be more important than James Stewart and Grace Kelly?”
“How about this?” I took the wad of money from my pocket and dropped it on the coffee table.
I expected surprise, caution, and worry. What I got was interest and amusement. Dad thought Mr. Bowditch hiding money in one of his kitchen cannisters fit right in with what he called the agoraphobe’s hoarding mentality （I’d told him about the Hall of Old Reading Matter, not to mention the old TV and the elderly kitchen appliances）。 “Was there more in there?”
“Some,” I said. Which wasn’t a lie.
Dad nodded. “Did you check the other cannisters? There might be a few hundred in with the sugar.” He was smiling.
“Nope.”
He took the two hundred. “A little more than we actually spent, but he’ll probably need other stuff. Want me to deposit four hundred of yours?”
“Sure.”
“Good call. In one way, he’s getting you cheap, at least for the first week. I think a full-time home helper would get more. On the other hand, you’ll be earning while you learn, and you’ll only be spending nights up there during your spring vacation.” He turned to look at me squarely. “Are we clear on that?”
“Totally,” I said.
“Okay, good. Bowditch ratholing money makes me a little uneasy only because we don’t know where it came from, but I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. I like that he trusts you, and I like that you’re willing to take this on. You thought you’d be doing it for free, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. I did.”
“You’re a good kid, Charlie. Not sure what I did to deserve you.”
Considering what I was holding back—not just about Mr. Bowditch but some of the shit I’d pulled with Bertie—that made me a little ashamed.
Lying in bed that night, I imagined Mr. Bowditch having a goldmine in his locked shed, maybe with a bunch of dwarves to work it. Dwarves with names like Sleepy and Grumpy. That made me smile. I had an idea that whatever was in the shed might be the big secret he wanted to tell me about, but I was wrong. I didn’t find out about the shed until later.
CHAPTER SIX Hospital Visit. The Safe. Stantonville. Gold-Greed. Mr. Bowditch Comes Home.
1
Mr. Bowditch and I had quite the chat while his roommate was in the third-floor lounge, watching the White Sox play the Tigers with a heart monitor strapped to his chest.
“He’s got some sort of ticker problem they can’t quite fix,” Mr. Bowditch said. “Thank Christ I don’t have that to worry about. I’ve got enough problems.”
He showed me how he could walk to the bathroom, leaning on those arm-sleeve crutches for all he was worth. It obviously hurt him, and when he came back from taking a leak, his forehead was wet with sweat, but I was encouraged. He might need the urinal with its long and somehow baleful neck for night calls, but it looked good for avoiding the bedpan. As long as he didn’t fall in the middle of the night and break his leg all over again, that was. I could see the muscles in his scrawny arms trembling with every lunging step. He sat down on the bed with a sigh of relief.