A Walk Across the Sun by Corban Addison Read Free Book Online

the door. The faint voice of Gene Autry drifted out to greet him. The old crooner was singing about Santa Claus. For a moment, he felt as if he were in a dream. One year ago, he and Priya had stood on this porch, holding hands. It wasn’t bliss they had had, but she was pregnant and looking forward to motherhood, and he was satisfied with his life. He was a rising star at Clayton|Swift, defending Wharton Coal in a case that could make his career. They were doing well financially. How was it possible that everything had gone so wrong?
    He knocked twice before opening the door. Elena Clarke met him in the foyer, wrapped in an apron, her face shiny with sweat from the stove. Her eyes narrowed when she saw he was alone. They stood for a moment in silence, neither willing to make the first move. Then Thomas mustered the nerve to speak.“Priya isn’t coming. She left three weeks ago.” There it was, in the open at last.
    His mother’s eyes widened in shock, but she collected herself quickly. “You didn’t tell us,” she said softly.
    â€œI didn’t know what to say.”
    â€œWhere did she go?”
    He took a breath. “She went home.”
    Elena approached him, hesitantly at first, and then with greater confidence. He accepted her embrace without resistance.
    â€œWe knew it would be hard, but we hoped it wouldn’t come to this.” She backed off and looked at him again. “How are you feeling?”
    He shrugged. “I’ve been better.”
    Elena nodded. “Your father is in the study,” she said, rolling her eyes. “He’s reading some impenetrable tome on the Peloponnesian wars.”
    Thomas mustered a smile. “What else is new?”
    He made his way down the hallway, past framed school pictures from his childhood, and entered his father’s sanctuary. The room was more a library than a study. The Judge sat on a leather chair, a pillow on his lap, and a fountain pen in his hand. The book before him was outsized, nearly as large as a dictionary. Thomas could see endless scribbles and marginalia on the pages. The Judge marked up everything he read. He was an arbiter of fates in his day job. Faceless authors were easy prey.
    His father looked up at him. “Merry Christmas, Thomas.”
    â€œMerry Christmas, Dad.” He stood awkwardly, unsure of what to say.
    The Judge spoke for him. “I overheard what you told your mother about Priya. Was it Mohini, or did the Wharton case do her in?”
    Thomas winced. His father was nothing if not blunt. “A little of both, I think,” he replied, omitting that there were complications in the story, that they were as much to blame as their circumstances.
    â€œShe never did like that damned case,” his father went on.
    â€œIt’s hard to like a company that killed a schoolhouse full of kids.”
    The Judge nodded and stood. “The curse of the litigator,” he said, leading the way toward the dining room, “is that you don’t get to choose your clients.”
    â€œPriya would have disagreed.”
    â€œYes,” his father said. “She always was an idealist.” He turned and put his hand on Thomas’s shoulder. Not far away the clock sounded the hour. Seven chimes. “I’m sorry, Son. I really am. You’ve had a rough go of it in the past six months.”
    â€œThanks, Dad,” he said, moved by this rare display of emotion.
    Elena met them in the dining room with a steaming basket of butter rolls. “Turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, cranberries, broccoli, the works,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. “Ted and Amy ate all the stuffing on Christmas Eve, but I made a new batch.”
    The aroma was delectable, and Thomas allowed himself to smile. His younger brother worked at a finance firm in New York, and Ted’s wife, Amy, was a model for a slew of fashion magazines. Despite their high-flying careers, they were