No Place Like Home. Debbie Macomber
Читать онлайн книгу.
been regularly stealing retirement income from his elderly clients. He’d been clever about it, concocting schemes and falsifying numbers; it had taken several accountants and finance specialists almost a year to uncover the full extent of his crimes. Throughout his entire so-called career, he’d been cheating the very people he was supposed to be helping. He’d lied to his colleagues and clients, lied to the police and the press. He’d even been caught lying under oath. His trial had lasted for weeks, with mobs of angry senior citizens packing the courtroom demanding justice. They didn’t get their money back, but they were there to see Daniel sentenced to twenty years.
Because Molly had been so distressed by what was happening to all these people who, like her, had once trusted Daniel, she hadn’t paid enough attention to some of the remarks in Gramps’s letter. She’d read and reread his words for the comfort they gave her, for the way they brought him close, but she hadn’t stopped to question his sudden interest in a will and settling his affairs. Hadn’t recognized that he was preparing her for his death. It seemed obvious now that he didn’t expect to live much longer.
Besides this letter, she could remember only one other time Gramps had told her he loved her—the day they buried her grandmother. She had no doubt of his love; he said it loud and clear, but rarely with words. Open displays of emotion embarrassed him, as they did many other men, particularly men of his generation.
This letter wasn’t the first time he’d commented on her marrying again. That theme had been a constant one since the divorce. The ink hadn’t dried on the legal papers, and Gramps was already trying to introduce her to the bachelor ranchers in the area.
The thought of another relationship still sent chills up Molly’s spine. As she liked to tell her friends, she’d done the marriage thing and wasn’t interested in repeating it.
Tucking the letter back in the envelope, she lay down, not expecting to sleep. But she must have drifted off because the next thing she knew, the alarm was buzzing. Gramps’s letter was clutched in her hand, held close to her heart.
It was clear to her then. So clear she should’ve figured it out months ago. The answer had always been there, but she’d been too blind, too stubborn, too willful to see it. It’d taken nearly losing her grandfather to show her what she had to do.
* * *
The small conference room off the principal’s office was the last place Tom wanted to be. Referred to as “the holding cell” at Ewell Junior High, the room was cold even during the hottest weather, and it had an unpleasant odor that reminded him of a dentist’s office.
Eddie Ries sat in the hard wooden chair beside him. Eddie’s mother was on her way to the school. Tom hadn’t heard when his own mother would arrive. All he knew was that when she did, she wouldn’t be happy.
Suspended for three days. That was supposed to be punishment? Tom almost laughed out loud. Time away from classes was practically a reward for screwing up! Personally Tom was sick of school. Sick of a lot of things he couldn’t change. His no-good dad for one, and the way the kids had looked at him when they learned the guy in the news was his father. He was sick of feeling helpless and frustrated—which was why he’d become involved in something he’d never thought he would.
He wasn’t friends with Eddie. Didn’t even like him. Eddie went searching for trouble; it made him feel big. Made him look like somebody to the homies. A big man on campus when in reality he’d never fit in. Tom wasn’t sure he did anymore, either; maybe that was what had made him do something so stupid.
While he didn’t regret the suspension, Tom hated adding to his mother’s worries. He could see how this news about his great-grandfather’s health had depressed her. All through dinner the night before, she’d barely said a word; she hadn’t eaten much, either.
Tom hadn’t had much of an appetite himself. He couldn’t stop thinking about Gramps. He wasn’t sure if he remembered the old man or not, but he let Clay think he did, mainly because he was the oldest and should remember. Clay had been a baby that time they were in Montana.
On his twelfth birthday—and the two birthdays after that—Tom had gotten a personal letter from Gramps and a check for twenty bucks. Before that, Gramps had always mailed his mother money and then she’d go shopping and pick something out for him. These last birthdays, the check was made out to him.
In his first letter Gramps had said a boy of twelve was old enough to know what he wanted. Old enough to go out and buy it, too. Tom never forgot the feeling that had come over him with that letter. For the first time in his life he’d felt like a man. He might not remember what Gramps looked like, but Tom loved him the same way his mother did.
His mother was worried. She worried about a lot of things. Tom could always tell when problems got her down. Work, his father, money. Now Gramps. Over the years, he’d come to recognize the symptoms. She’d grow quiet and then three small vertical lines would form in the center of her forehead. It hurt to see those lines and know there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to help her. Those were the times he went to his room, put on his earphones and played music so loud his head pounded afterward. The music helped him not to think, because when he did, his stomach ached.
Tom wanted to help his mother. When he was a kid, he’d planned to become a magician and make all the bad things in life disappear with one flamboyant wave of a wand. He used to imagine doing that sometimes. With a flick of his wrist every problem would magically disappear.
The door to the conference room burst open, and Tom sat up straighter as his mother stormed in, her eyes blazing with anger.
Tom lowered his own eyes. He toyed with the idea of greeting her, then decided against it. She didn’t look like she was all that happy to see him.
“Gang symbols, Tom?” she said through clenched teeth, hands on her hips. “You painted gang symbols on the gym wall?”
“Outside wall,” he corrected, and regretted it immediately.
“Do you think it matters which wall?” she asked in a tone that told him the three-day suspension from school was the least of his worries.
Mr. Boone, the principal, walked briskly into the room, looking far too satisfied with himself—like he’d accomplished what he’d set out to do. Tom had never had strong feelings about the man, but he was inclined to dislike him now—simply for the smug way he smiled, knowing Tom was in major trouble at home.
“As I explained earlier, Mrs. Cogan,” the principal said, “this school has a zero-tolerance policy with regard to gang activities. While I don’t really believe Tom’s involved in a gang, there are plenty of wannabes. I’d like to believe Tom’s smarter than that, but after today I’m not sure.”
“Get your things, Tom. I’m taking you home,” his mother instructed. He could tell from her voice that said she had plenty more to say later.
Nevertheless, Tom nearly leaped off the chair in his eagerness to escape. He grabbed his jacket and followed his mother outside.
“Of all the stupid brainless things for you to do,” she said as they headed out to the parking lot. Her steps were so fast he had trouble keeping up.
Yeah, well, he wasn’t especially proud of himself, either.
They climbed in the car and he thought she was going to take rubber off the tires the way she squealed across the lot. She missed the Stop sign and zoomed into the street, almost hitting another car.
“Mom!” Tom shouted, holding on to the edge of the seat as he was thrown against the passenger door. “It’s not a good idea for you to drive when you’re this mad.”
“Mad isn’t the half of it.”
“Okay, okay, so I made a mistake.”
“A mistake? Gangs, Tom?”
“I’m not in any gang!”
She tossed him a look that assured him she knew otherwise. “Then why spray-paint their symbols?” Without inhaling she added,