“DICOMY,” Sal spat, and Linus cursed inwardly. “They—they’re—I don’t—”
“It is where I work,” Linus said. “But you knew that. And you said yourself that I wasn’t like the others.”
Sal’s hands were curled into fists again. “You could be.”
“Perhaps,” Linus admitted. “And I can see why you’d think that with all that you’ve been through. But I want you to remember that you have nothing to prove to me. I have to prove myself to you, that I have your best interests in mind.”
“Arthur is good,” Sal said. “He doesn’t—he’s not like the others were. The masters. He’s not—he’s not mean.”
“I know that.”
“But you said you were investigating him.”
Linus frowned. “I don’t think I’ve ever said that aside from a private conversation. How did you—”
“I’m a dog,” Sal snapped at him. “My hearing is better. I could hear you. You said it wasn’t a visit. It was an investigation. I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to listen in, but that’s what the others said too. That they were investigating. It’s why I never get to put things up in my room like Talia or Lucy. Because it’s always temporary. Anytime I’ve ever thought I was going to finally have a place to stay, it was taken from me.”
He cursed inwardly. “That wasn’t for you to hear.” Sal began to shrink away from him like Linus had raised a hand to him. “No,” Linus said quickly. “That’s not—what I meant was, I should have been more aware of what I said. I should have been more careful with my words.”
“So you’re not investigating Arthur?”
Linus started to shake his head but stopped. He sighed. “It’s not Arthur, Sal. Or, at least it’s not just Arthur. It’s the orphanage as a whole. I know you’ve had … less than desirable experiences in the past, but I swear to you this is different.” He didn’t know if he believed his own words or not.
Sal eyed him warily. “And what happens if you decide to make us leave? Won’t you be the same, then?”
“I don’t know,” Linus said quietly. “I hope if there is a reason for such an action, you would be aware it.”
Sal was quiet.
Linus thought he had overstayed his welcome. He stepped away from the closet door. Calliope glared at him. He didn’t blame her. He didn’t think this had gone as well as he’d hoped. And while he’d told Sal earlier that they had all the time in the world, that wasn’t true. Time, as always, moved more quickly than expected. In two weeks, he’d have to make his recommendation as he left the island behind.
He gave Sal a wide berth (or as wide a berth as the room allowed for two large people). He smiled at him and was about to walk through the doorway when Sal said, “Could you help me?”
“Yes,” Linus said immediately. Then, “With what?”
Sal looked down at Calliope, who wasn’t quite done receiving attention, purring as he scratched her ears. His lips twitched again. He glanced up at Linus. “Moving my desk. I could probably do it on my own, but I don’t want to scratch the walls or floor in my room.”
Linus kept a neutral expression on his face. “If that’s what you want.”
Sal shrugged as if indifferent, but Linus was good at what he did. He saw through the facade.
Linus unbuttoned the sleeves of his shirt, rolling them up to his elbows. “I assume it fits through the closet doorway since you got it in there in the first place.”
Sal nodded. “Barely. We just have to be careful. Chauncey got too excited and chipped the corner of the desk. He felt really bad about it, but I told him it was okay. Sometimes, things get chipped and broken, but there’s still good in them.”
“Adds character, I think,” Linus said. “And allows for a reminder of a memory. Ready?”
Sal was. He walked into the closet first, pulling out the chair and setting the typewriter carefully on the seat. He pushed it back near the chest of drawers. He stood on one end of the desk and waited for Linus to reach the other. The desk was small, but old. Linus expected it to be heavier than it looked.
After they bent over and Sal counted to three, he was proven right. It was heavy, and Linus remembered his mother saying, Lift with your knees, Linus, honestly! The small twinge in his back reminded him he wasn’t getting any younger, and he almost grinned ruefully at how little effort Sal appeared to exert. He probably could have moved it out by himself.
They were careful as they carried the desk through the closet doorway. Linus could see the chip on the far corner of the desk courtesy of Chauncey, and he shuffled back slowly. The desk fit through the doorway with an inch to spare on either side.
“There,” Linus huffed and puffed. “Right there. In front of the window.”
They set it down carefully, avoiding pinching fingers. Linus groaned rather theatrically as he stood upright, hands going to the small of his back. He heard Sal chuckle, but he didn’t acknowledge it outwardly. He wanted to hear such a sound again.
Linus stepped back, eyeing their work critically. He put his hands on his hips and cocked his head. “It’s missing something.”
Sal frowned. “It is?”
“Yes.” He went back to the closet and pushed the chair out. He lifted the typewriter and set it in the middle of the desk in front of the window. He tucked the chair back underneath the desk. “There. Now it’s finished. Well? What do you think?”
Sal reached out and traced a finger along the keys almost lovingly. “It’s perfect.”
“I think so too. I expect your creativity to flourish even more with the muse through the window. Though, if it proves to be a distraction, we can always move it back to where it was. There’s nothing wrong with that, so long as you remember that there is a big, wide world out there.”
Sal looked at him. “Do you know about the woman? In the kitchen?”
There was an … incident. At one of his previous orphanages. He was struck by a woman who worked in the kitchens for trying to take an apple. He retaliated in the only way he knew how. She underwent the change the following week.
Linus trod carefully. “Yes.”
Sal nodded and stared back down at the typewriter. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t … I didn’t know that would happen.”
“I know that too.”
Sal’s chest hitched. “I haven’t done it since. And I won’t do it again. I promise.”
Linus put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, much like he’d seen Arthur do. He shouldn’t have done it, but for once, he didn’t care what the RULES AND REGULATIONS said. “I believe you.”
And though it trembled, Sal’s smile was warm and bright.
TWELVE
There was a knock at the door to the guest house later that night. Linus frowned and glanced up from his report to look at the clock. It was almost ten, and he was about to call it a night. He was nearly finished, but his eyes were crossing, and the last yawn had been jaw-cracking. He’d decided to finish tomorrow, before having to mail off the report the day after.