Locomotive to the Past, George Schultz [snow like ashes series txt] 📗

lady—would, he was positive, be greatly disappointed, in him! Horribly disappointed—unless he’d address the issue! He knew that. Knew it, knew it, knew it! He kept repeating that, uber-troubling, thought to himself. As if trying to fortify himself! Steel himself! For the oncoming meeting! Or—God forbid—the inevitable confrontation! (Or whatever direction that the “discussion” might take!)

To disappoint Susan? To probably plummet, to the depths, in her opinion—in her judgment—of him? That was the last thing—the very last thing, on earth—that he would ever want! Could ever want!

Then, of course, there was Eric. Susan’s husband had accepted Jason—the fact of Jason, the presence of Jason—with exceptionally good grace! Especially once his wife had, so passionately, spoken to him—had informed him—of their prospective new roomer’s “unusual” situation.

If Our Hero was to make some arrangement—exclusively—with Susan, would Eric feel as though the young man was “going behind his back”? (“Over his head”?) Probably!

Not only did Our Boy have to ride to and from work—every day—with Eric. And not only was the man his boss—but, there was a giant question, of basic manners. Of simple courtesy. Of good grace. Of any kind, of grace. It boiled down—to a matter of class. All of these rational, moral, highly-principled, considerations—were not helping!

Grandpa Piepczyk had unfailingly admonished him—to “always act with good grace. With class. No matter the results. No matter the consequences. If you can tell yourself that you’d acted, in good grace… and with class,” he’d repeated, many times over, “then, you can always be proud of yourself.” Anything less than that? “Anything less than that,” he’d scowled, “and you’re a total schmuck! Don’t be a schmuck, Jason. Don’t ever be a schmuck!”

Jason could still hear his grandfather’s words ringing in his ears. There had been times (many times)—especially while lying in bed, the previous few nights—when he’d almost tried to speak to his grandfather!

He’d been intrigued by stories that Hillary Clinton—while First Lady of the country—had maintained that she had been able to communicate (in some ethereal way) with Eleanor Roosevelt!

The only “message”—to that point in time, anyway—that had ever come to Jason, from “beyond the grave”, had been Grandpa’s continual sermon. His consistent admonishment—vis-à-vis “good grace”. And “class”. That had never been a sudden, out-of-the-blue, “Ghost of Christmas Past” revelation. On the contrary! The old man had been preaching that, now-bothersome, message—for years! Decades!

Since he’d become a “veteran”—of all these current, rent-due, battles—Jason decided that he must speak! Must “clear the air”—with the Atkinsons! At the breakfast table—on Tuesday morning! He would engage both of them—whether or not there would be a place-setting, there, for him! (Another bothersome prospect!)

Not only would Grandpa actually be proud of him—but, Jason would, at long last, be able to settle this tremendous, God-awful, unnerving, disconcerting, overwhelming, situation! Resolve it—one way or another. This eerie, ponderous, foreboding, shadow—the one that had been “lurking there”, looming over him, for virtually the entire week, in his new epoch—would, one way or another, be eliminated!

Maybe, to be replaced by an even bigger—more ominous—cloud? Like, for instance, where would he sleep? And would he continue—to have a job? All of more-than-passing concern—for an itinerant space-and-time traveler!

He’d approached the breakfast table—and noted the critical third plate! It was filled! Bounded—with heaps of bacon, two slices of, highly-buttered, raisin-toast, and “43 pounds” of scrambled eggs!

And, he’d still had no idea—as to what he was actually going to say! Or do! Would he chance—giving Susan the stupid “sawbuck”? Would he try to come up—with some kind of cockamamie story? (His first effort hadn’t seemed to have worked out all that well! Despite the fact that here he was! In this wonderful house! With this wonderful family! How could that have happened? How should that have happened?)

No, he’d decided—as he’d said his good mornings, to his host and hostess, and seated himself. He’d try being honest! For once! Well, honest—to a point, anyway!

Obviously, he couldn’t divulge the whole, entire, truth—of his being there! Could never go that far! Could never delve into that totally-unbelievable scenario! In his mind, he’d—undoubtedly—get “sent back”! He’d, understandably, reached a point—where he’d abhorred the idea, of being returned to his former life! For sure! He’d wanted no part of that frightening prospect! No part!

“Look,” he began, addressing his host and hostess, almost gasping for air. “I… I realize that this is the beginning, of my second week… and that I… that I… and that I… I owe you, now! Owe you… for the second week! Owe you… for more than that! And… believe me… I can never repay you! Can never really repay you! Any of you! Either of you! Never repay you… both of you… for how great you’ve been to me. So wonderful, to me… from the very beginning! For all the many things… that you’ve done for me. But… you see… uh… you see, it’s… well, I… it’s just that I…”

“You don’t have the money?” prompted Susan. “Is that it?”

Jason couldn’t—for the life of him—define the tone, in this magnificent lady’s voice. He’d felt her to be completely incapable—of ever being sarcastic. Yet, he couldn’t assure himself—that there had not been a good deal of sarcasm, in her voice! Or maybe just an ounce or two, of mockery? Those dulcet tones, though! They were not dripping, with pure scorn. Actually, they weren’t dripping with anything. Her whole image—even her facial expression (or lack thereof)—was only adding, to his puzzlement!

“Uh… well, no,” he’d responded—almost under his breath. “Actually, I don’t! Don’t have the money! I probably took this room… under, you know… under false pretenses! Did this whole thing . . . under false pretenses! And you guys… you have every right! Every right… every right, in the world… to ask me to leave! To tell me to leave!”

He could never have believed how weak—how utterly shaky—his voice had gotten! Especially—when he’d spoken the dreaded word, “leave”. Truth to tell, the tones had never been any bargain—in the first place! But, now? Now—everything seemed to be “going up in smoke”!