No Ordinary Home. Mary Sullivan
Читать онлайн книгу.
shrugged. Maybe not.
He felt Finn watching him. Finn knew him about as well as anyone did. He probably thought he knew what Austin was thinking.
“This has nothing to do with my mom.” Even to Austin’s own ears, he sounded defensive. “This is nothing like dealing with Mom.”
“No? You take your first vacation ever. We’re barely more than a day away from home, and you pick up a stranger. A mighty sad one, I might add.”
He thought of Gracie taking small sips of the soup he’d ordered when he knew she wanted to gulp it down. He thought of her tears when she’d lost the last of her lunch. Yeah, sad, for sure. But strong, too, with a lot of pride. He liked that about her.
“She’s got problems, Austin. That woman is trouble. Why’d you bring her here?”
Good question.
Figuring he might as well be honest with his best friend and himself, he answered, “I don’t know.”
* * *
FINN STOOD IN front of his hotel-room door and watched Austin walk down the hallway to his own room, hating this tension between them. They’d been best buds for a dozen years. They weren’t normally like this.
It was that woman’s fault.
“Hey!” he called, not sure why except wanting to get back on good terms with his buddy.
Austin turned around, walking backward to his room at the end of the corridor. “What?”
“Don’t forget to keep a hundred bucks handy for when I catch the biggest fish on this trip.”
“In your dreams.” Austin grinned and spread his arms. “That hundred bucks has my name on it.”
Austin entered his room and Finn stepped into his own, breathing a little easier. Things were good. No permanent damage done.
He should have been honest with Austin. He wasn’t nervous about seeing Melody. Nope, not nervous. Terrified.
Holy freakin’ Batman was he scared.
Ever since the day a couple of weeks before his twelfth birthday when he’d watched his dad pull Melody out of a burning car, he’d been fascinated by her.
Every kid had pivotal moments in his childhood. That had been one of his. Man, oh, man, to see Remington Caldwell as a hero. To see that girl pulled out alive, but with her hair afire. To watch his dad put out the flames with his bare hands.
It didn’t matter that he hadn’t known at the time that the guy was his father. He had been a hero to Finn ever since. What a bonus it had been to learn, a couple of weeks later, that the great courageous man was also his dad.
His mom, a nurse, had made him visit Melody in the hospital. He’d dragged his heels. What boy his age wouldn’t have at being forced to visit a sick girl?
Melody had been a revelation. Despite all she’d gone through, she’d had more character and spunk than any other kid he’d ever met.
Even in a hospital room with a turban of bandages around her head, she’d been beautiful and strong-willed. She wouldn’t let him get away with any of his “boy” crap, and he’d respected that.
Hell, he didn’t even know what color her hair was.
Finn sat on the bed, took his wallet out of his pocket and slipped out the photo taken of him and Melody in her white turban of bandages at his birthday party at Grandma Caldwell’s house.
They perched on each side of the bed, flanking his grandma. Grandma C looked down at Melody with a drunken smile, courtesy of the stroke she’d suffered. In that not-quite-right smile there was affection. Even Grandma had liked Melody right away.
At one point during the party, Finn had run in from outside to find them asleep, Melody curled into a tight little ball against Grandma’s side.
Something in his boy’s heart had melted, shifted. Nothing had been the same since.
He smiled down at the photo. He hadn’t looked at the thing in years, had refused to. He’d been so damned angry with her for leaving the way she had, without a word to the boy who’d fallen for her hard.
Then, after a nearly ten-year silence, a letter had arrived. From Melody. From the girl who epitomized perfection. And Finn had fallen all over again.
Those letters were damned fine. The woman could write. She could probably sell snow to the Inuit. She’d melted his resistance and he discovered that inside his grown man there was still that twelve-year-old boy who’d never stopped waiting for Melody Chase to return.
In the past ten years, her letters had come from a P.O. box, not a home address. Until this evening, he hadn’t known if she lived in a house, an apartment or a condo. She’d shared her dreams, her fears, tidbits about her life as a journalist, but not enough else, and he was starving for more. He didn’t know where she’d been, or why she had waited a freakin’ decade to contact him.
Where had she been? What had she been up to? Had she been safe? And that had always been at the root of his anger, of his unreasonable urge to see a girl he really barely knew. Was she safe? For years, he had worried.
And then, a letter.
How are you? Where are your comics? Why can’t I find them in the bookstores? On the internet?
And then, her heart-rattling, I’ve thought about you. I think of you.
And his heart had exploded, expanded and then rearranged itself into familiar patterns. Or not, like a bone reset, but not quite aligned. He’d been off-balance and wanting to see her ever since.
She hadn’t allowed him to visit. He didn’t know why.
A month ago, she’d changed her mind.
Come. I need help.
And here he was.
And tomorrow morning, he would see her again.
* * *
GRACIE’S EYES POPPED OPEN. She came awake suddenly, unsure what had disturbed her. A quick glance around the room confirmed that she was still alone. She caught her computer a split second before it slid from her lap to the floor.
Then she heard it—Austin’s voice in the hallway. Crap! She tossed aside the covers and had only just gotten the laptop back into her knapsack when he came through the door. What would the guy say if he knew she owned a computer?
She tried to look casual. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself.” He looked from her to her bag and his eyes were full of suspicion. Maybe he thought she did drugs. Not her. She was one of the lucky ones. She’d survived without them, and without alcohol, too, unlike many of her colleagues. She’d chosen a more literal escape from reality—running away and living on the road.
Austin’s cop’s eyes bothered her. She didn’t like it when he looked at her with pity, but she didn’t like this hard edge, either. She wanted that sweet, caring tenderness of earlier.
Come on, Gracie. You know how to act. You can do better to put off his suspicions.
“How was dinner?” That sounded more natural. She wandered back to the bed and slid under the covers. “Where did you go?”
“Mexican restaurant down the street.”
“Mexican.” She heard the longing in her own voice. She loved Mexican. “What did you have?”
“Enchiladas.”
“Oh.” She adored them. She salivated. “Were they good?”
“For a small town, yeah, surprisingly good.” He tilted his head. “You sure do like to talk about food.”
“I