Re: At the bar: Grant S/Cris M
Cris didn't have many friends either. Difference was, he didn't really want any. He wasn't real friendly like that—like Sam was. He liked his family, huh? Spent mosta his time with them, least before he left 'em all back in New York. And maybe that was why he was over here, adopting in Lou and Iris and Daniel so easy. Lou did feel like a brother though. A real pale, fragile one. But, this kid—Grant—he was young, and Cris heard that couched implication, huh? He smiled at him, feeling for the guy.
"It's rough." Prolly stupid repetition, but he didn't think 'bout that. It was interesting to him that Grant also worked at the school, while off from his security contracting, out here in the middlea nowhere, but he didn't ask. "Few months, huh? Off? Lotta free time. You doin' work at the school to make it pass? Can't imagine this is the best place to have all that time."
If he saw the guy's amusement, it didn't register on his face. The Sheriff was too busy smiling at himself, at Sam, at the thoughta her coming home, their home. He laughed when Grant said the town was lucky and he lifted his glass to nobody in particular. "Good luck to 'em. They all gotta streaka melodrama." Which was an understatement.
Unfortunately, Cris didn't know much 'bout art. He heard 'arts and crafts,' and he thoughta Sam and her canvases. He didn't parse the differences in his mind, so when Grant mimed drawing, he gave a sorta 'oh,' like he just got they weren't the same.
"How'd you get into that?" A lil late, he realized that was maybe a personal question, and he backtracked. "I mean, ...she does classes and stuff, huh? Pottery, alla that. I dunno that she has a drawin' one."