"Steven Gould - Jumper" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gould Stephen Jay)

higher-pitched than you'd expect for a man his size, but kind.

I looked past him, at the door. "About two weeks."

He nodded. "Rough. You running from your parents?"

"My dad. My mom cut out long ago."

He pushed his spoon around the countertop with his finger. The nails were long with grease
crusted under them. "How old are you, kid?"

"Seventeen."

He looked at me and raised his eyebrows.

I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't care what you think. It's true. I turned seventeen lousy years
old yesterday." The tears started to come and I blinked hard, got them back under control.

"What you been doing since you left home?"

The tea had gotten as dark as it was going to. I pulled the tea bag and spooned sugar into the
cup. "I've been hitching, panhandling a little, some odd jobs. Last two days I picked
apples—twenty-five cents a bushel and all I could eat. I also got some clothes out of it."

"Two weeks and you're out of your own clothes already?"

I gulped down half the tea. "I only took what I was wearing." All I was wearing when I walked
out of the Stanville Public Library.

"Oh. Well, my name's Topper. Topper Robbins. What's yours?"

I stared at him. "Davy," I said, finally.

"Davy...?"

"Just Davy."

He smiled again. "I understand. Don't have to beat me about the head and shoulders." He
picked up his spoon and stirred his coffee. "Well, Davy, I'm driving that PetroChem tanker out there
and I'm headed west in about forty-five minutes. If you're going that way, I'll be glad to give you a
ride. You look like you could use some food, though. Why don't you let me buy you a meal?"

The tears came again then. I was ready for cruelty but not kindness. I blinked hard and said,
"Okay. I'd appreciate the meal and the ride."

An hour later I was westbound in the right-hand seat of Topper's rig, drowsing from the heat of
the cab and the full stomach. I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep, tired of talking. Topper tried
to talk a little more after that, but stopped. I watched him out of narrowed eyes. He kept turning his
head to look at me when the headlights from oncoming traffic lit the cab's interior. I thought I should
feel grateful, but he gave me the creeps.