Fearless Hope: A Novel by Serena B. Miller Read Free Book Online

work over the years that she could get by with wearing pretty muchanything and no one ever complained. Today it was a long, flowing skirt, flats, and a loose-fitting pastel blouse. A beaded necklace made by the young daughter of one of her good friends was her only decoration. Her blond hair was short and sticking up today because she had a tendency to run her fingers through it when she was concentrating. She looked cool and comfortable and he felt an intense pride in her and what she had accomplished as a single mother.
    “Who’s the new watchdog?” he said. “Seems devoted to her work.”
    “Isn’t she ferocious?” his mother agreed. “Give that girl a few years and I’ll be trying cases against her . . . and losing.”
    “You? Lose a case?” he said. “I doubt it.”
    She chuckled. “It has been known to happen.”
    “Rarely.”
    “True.” She stood and adjusted the window blinds to keep the sun out of his eyes. “There. That’s better.”
    His mother was reputed to be the best criminal lawyer in the city. It was his opinion that she was also the best in the state. She had a razor-sharp mind and the tenacity of a pit bull.
    “I came to get you caught up on my plans,” he said. “I’m driving back to Ohio tomorrow to buy that house I told you about.”
    She was jotting something on her desk calendar as he said that. He saw her hands still and a fleeting look of pain cross her face. “You’re sure about this?”
    He told her about his conversation with his agent.
    “I’m sorry you’re having such a struggle, Son,” she said. “But if this is what you need, I hope it turns out well.”
    “Will you come visit?” he said. “It might be good for you to get away, too.”
    “I—I can’t promise anything.” She averted her eyes.
    “Is something wrong, Mom?”
    “Nothing I can’t deal with.” To prove it, she turned on her megawatt smile.
    He felt uneasy, but didn’t press. His mother would tell him if something was wrong . . . or she wouldn’t. Prying never did any good with her.
    “The place has five bedrooms. I’ll make sure one of them is yours.”
    “Thank you, dear,” she said. “You can buy a lovely Amish quilt for my bed.”

chapter F IVE
    L ogan fit the old-fashioned key into the front door and turned the lock. The door swung open and he stepped into the bare living room. His bare living room. The house seemed to quietly welcome him just like before.
    He laid the new deed on the mantel and wandered into the kitchen, hands in his pockets, probing his heart to see if that feeling of peace he’d experienced the first time he’d entered the house was still there, and it was.
    He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Even the scent of the old house seemed familiar. He got the sense of hundreds of family meals eaten in this kitchen, of heads bowed, hands clasped. For a moment, he could almost hear the echoes of children’s voices from the past.
    When he was a little boy, his mother had taken him to mass once a week at St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Manhattan. They always stayed in the back, and he always sat beside her on the pew while she prayed. She was not Catholic, and she didn’t go to confession, but she told him that sitting quietly inside that beautiful church for a while was enough to get her through the week.
    He had asked her once what she prayed for. She smiled, ruffled his hair, and told him that she prayed for him . . . andfor forgiveness. As a child, he could not imagine anything his sweet mother might have done that could possibly need to be forgiven. As a teenager, he decided that she probably felt guilty for having given birth to him out of wedlock. As an adult, he saw a woman who smoked too much, worked too hard, was frequently impatient with people who wasted her time, but who would fight ferociously for her clients . . . or for him. He clearly saw her flaws, but he loved her. They could talk about practically anything. No subject was taboo,