Holding Hans - Tara Lain Page 0,1

meet a man who was probably a teacher. The older dude had that distracted, head-in-the-clouds quality. The young guy, who looked like he should be in the school, not waiting outside it, seemed as if he was taking care of the older man. Sad when kids had to be the parents before it was time. I’ll bet when he was a student, that kid got bullied so bad he never wanted to see the inside of a school again. Yeah. Maybe that’s why he’s out here, not in there. Sure would like to know his story.

He snorted.

Fuck off, Christopher. You haven’t got the time or the bandwidth to start collecting wayward youth!

He turned the mower down another row but couldn’t help looking one more time. Too bad. He’s cute as hell.

Hans’s father stood chatting with the woman, and Hans tried to contain his antsiness. Finally, he called, “Father, excuse me.”

His father looked up, still grinning rather foolishly, and waved. “Hans, come here, son.”

Hans released a frustrated breath. Trying not to look as pissed as he was, he walked toward his father and the woman. He’d hocked his watch, so he couldn’t check it, but it had to be getting very late.

As he approached, his father said, “Arachne, this is the boy I’ve been telling you so much about. My son, Hans, musical genius and all around fine young man. Hans, meet Mrs. Arachne Vanderhoof, a fellow teacher.”

Hans extended his hand and tried to meet the woman’s eyes. “How do you do, ma’am?” He cleared his throat. “Father, we have to hurry.”

“Oh right, of course.” The stupid grin left his face and one of his father’s “dark clouds” seemed to take its place. “Excuse me, Arachne. We have an important appointment.”

She pressed a hand to her ample bosom. “Oh dear, I do hope I haven’t made you late.”

Hans shook his head as he pulled on his father’s arm. “No, ma’am, but we do have to get going.”

His father looked confused. That happened a lot in recent months. “Yes, well, see you tomorrow, Arachne.”

“I look forward to it.”

Clasping his father’s arm, Hans walked rapidly in the direction of the bank building.

His father pulled back. “That was rude. I was very rude.”

Hans gazed directly in his face. “No, you weren’t. This is important. Please focus. Greta’s meeting us, and I brought my money. We have to get in there before they close.”

“Yes, right.”

Fast-walking, they covered another block and turned into the bank parking lot.

Greta paced in front of the building. She looked up. “My God, I thought they were going to arrest me for casing the bank. You’re cutting it close, guys.”

His father pulled back again, but through the windows, the big form of the bank security guy approached the entrance, probably to lock up. Hans made a dive for the door, swung it open, and pushed his father inside. Greta followed.

With a wave, Greta said, “Hi, Officer Hanks. Sorry we’re so late. Working stiffs, you know?” She grinned. Greta wasn’t a lot more social than Hans, but she could put on a pleasant front when she had to.

Officer Hanks nodded. “I’ll let you in this time.” But he smiled back. With her brown ponytail, wide blue eyes behind big glasses, and dimples, Greta was hard to resist. Hans had all the same characteristics, with lighter hair and minus the ponytail but not by much. Somehow on him, though, it came out dorky. Or that’s what the kids in school had said before he’d dropped out to take care of his mother. Of course, his father had rightfully observed that Hans could have taught the high school classes he was in, so dropping out had been a small loss, except he never got over the dork-factor.

Hans pulled his father toward the desk of the bank’s credit manager, Mr. Pender, who stared fixedly at his computer screen, fingers flying.

Pender was a nice man who’d been kind and flexible when they’d desperately needed money to pay hospital bills after his mother’s protracted illness. At that time, Hans’s father had been a solid risk and reportedly in line for the principal position at the high school.

Now, Pender looked up with the long-suffering expression of a disappointed creditor. His sigh was audible. “Slipping in under the wire again?”

Hans nodded, “Yes, sir, Mr. Pender.” He pulled the money he’d received from his music lessons, all in cash, out of his pocket and plunked it on the desk. Greta added her paycheck. Then they looked at their father. He