Empire Falls

backpack.
    Loping along at her side this afternoon was the tall, awkward figure of John Voss, who was busing David’s private party tonight. They were an odd pair—his daughter and John—but it appeared they were actually conversing, which shouldn’t have seemed odd, but it did. In some ways it was odder that she should be talking to this strange boy at her side than that she should converse nightly with a boy over a thousand miles away by means of a keyboard. When they arrived at the restaurant, John Voss, mute and nervous as always, headed straight for the back room to his dirty pots and pans. He’d been working at the Empire Grill for three weeks now and, as Miles had predicted, had become a good, reliable busboy. There were times on weekends that Miles wished the kid had one more gear, but he worked steadily and efficiently, if not urgently. He followed orders well, and Miles had even taught him how to clean the caked soap out of the Hobart’s spider mechanism. But though he responded when spoken to, it remained impossible to engage him in normal conversation. When Miles gave him his first paycheck, the boy looked at it as if he had no idea what use it might be, and only later did Miles intuit that he had no idea how to convert the check to cash, so Miles escorted him down to Empire National, helped him open a savings account, and showed him how to record his deposits. The boy had managed to convey, however awkwardly, his gratitude, but when he reported for work the next day, he offered Miles neither a smile nor an acknowledgment, as if the day before had not occurred. In the three weeks of their acquaintance, John Voss had not once met Miles’s eye, and even Charlene had made little progress.
    Tick gave her uncle a kiss and slid her heavy backpack to the floor with a thud that rattled glasses and coffee cups, then gave her father one of her quick, sideways hugs.
    “Hey, there, Littabit!” Walt bellowed, rotating on his stool and holding out his arms. “How about giving me one of those?”
    Tick acknowledged neither the man nor the noise he’d made. Apparently Walt’s installation of e-mail onto her computer hadn’t earned him any affection points. “New Empire Moment,” she announced to her father. “Have you seen the sign at the Lamplighter?”
    Miles tried to recall whether he’d driven by in the last couple of days, then shook his head.
    “Their new special’s ‘chicken smothered with barbecue sauce.’ ”
    Miles chuckled, wondering if he would have caught this one himself. “Kinder to just chop their heads off, huh?” Then a different thought, since the Lamplighter was out by the Fairhaven Highway. “When were you out there?”
    “A lot of my friends have their licenses now,” she said, pouring a tall Coke for herself and another, he supposed, for John. “Don’t worry. I wasn’t at the motel.”
    “I never thought you were.” He had to smile at the phrase “a lot of my friends.” Not so long ago she’d been telling him she didn’t have any friends. Now she had all kinds, some with driver’s licenses, some as far away as Indiana.
    “Is there any chance we could go to Boston next Sunday? The van Gogh’s only there two more weeks.”
    “I’ll see if your uncle’s willing to flip eggs next Sunday morning.” He paused. “Hey, is there any chance Indiana Jones is planning a trip to Boston anytime soon?”
    “Next Sunday,” she admitted, trying not to smile. Apparently she was as pleased with him for figuring this out as he’d been with her for the smothered chickens.
    “He’s another van Gogh lover, this kid?”
    “Donny,” she said, before disappearing into the back room. Before the door swung shut, Miles glimpsed John Voss kneeling in front of the dishwasher, its door flung wide open and leaking thick clouds of steam. The boy was peering up into its innards, ice pick in hand.
    “T HAT’S A HUNDRED-DOLLAR VALUE , Big Boy,” Walt hollered down the counter. The Silver Fox had progressed, all too predictably, from another whipping at gin, to urging Miles to arm-wrestle him. As an inducement he was offering a free three-month membership at his health club, which he maintained would change Miles’s life by improving his self-esteem. Having married Janine, Walt now seemed more determined than ever to compensate her ex-husband for his loss. “Nobody in his right mind would turn down that kind of offer.”
    “Could I convince you to do next Sunday morning?” Miles