Grave Secret by Charlaine Harris Read Free Book Online Page A

said. “It’s good that you have each other.” But he still looked doubtful. “Isn’t it kind of weird, though? I mean, we grew up in the same house.”
    “Like you and Cameron,” I said.
    “I never felt like that about Cameron,” he said.
    “Okay,” I said. “But this is the way we feel. We didn’t start out this way, but it’s the way we ended up.” And I smiled at Tolliver, suddenly feeling ridiculously happy.
    He smiled back. Our circle closed.
    “So what do you want me to tell Dad?” Mark said. There was a little desperation in his voice. I couldn’t imagine how Mark had pictured this conversation going, but it had not turned out to his satisfaction, obviously.
    “I thought I’d made myself clear. We don’t want to see him,” Tolliver said. “I don’t want him to get in touch with me. If he emails us through the website, I won’t answer. That last year . . . you were lucky you were out on your own, Mark. I’m glad you were old enough to leave, to start your life. I’ve never blamed you for leaving, if that’s what you’re thinking. Even if you’d been in the trailer, you couldn’t have stopped anything that happened. And you brought us food and diapers and money when you could. We were glad one of us had made it out into the real world. My job at Taco Bell wouldn’t have been enough.”
    “You don’t think I was just running away?” Mark sawed on his steak, his eyes on his knife.
    “No, I think you were saving your life.” Tolliver put down his fork. His face was serious. “That’s what I really believe. And that’s what Harper believes.”
    Not that Mark was so concerned with my opinion, but I nodded. It had never crossed my mind to think any differently about it.
    Mark tried to laugh, but it was a pretty pitiful attempt. He said, “I never intended this evening to get so intense.”
    “It’s your dad reappearing. Not your fault.” I smiled at him, trying to will him to lighten up.
    But that seemed to be a lost cause. “You really haven’t visited your dad?” he asked me. He was wrestling with my attitude.
    “No,” I said. “Why would I lie about that?”
    “What is his illness?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Has he heard your mom died?”
    “I have no idea.”
    “He know about Cameron?”
    I thought about that for a moment. “Yeah, because some of the newspeople tracked him down and talked to him when she went missing.”
    “He never came to see . . .”
    “No. He was incarcerated. He wrote me a few letters. My foster parents gave ’em to me. But I didn’t answer. I don’t know what happened to him after that. More of the same, I expect. I never heard from him, or about him, until he got so sick. Then the prison chaplain wrote me.”
    “And you just . . . didn’t answer?”
    “I just didn’t answer. Tolliver, can I have a bite of your sweet potato?”
    “Sure,” he said and slid his plate sideways toward me.
    He always orders one when we’re at a Texas Roadhouse, and I always have one bite. I swallowed it. It wasn’t as good as it usually was, but I didn’t think that was the staff’s fault. I thought it was Mark’s.
    He was shaking his head, his eyes turned down to his plate. He looked up, meeting first Tolliver’s eyes, then mine. “I don’t know how you two do it,” he said. “When Dad comes calling, I have to answer. He’s my dad. If my mother was alive, it’d be the same way.”
    “I guess we’re just not as good as you, Mark,” I said. What else could I say? He’ll drain you and leech off of you. He’ll break his word and your spirit.
    “I don’t guess you’ve heard anything from the police since the last time I talked to you?” Mark said. “Or from that private eye?”
    “You’re determined to push all the buttons tonight, Mark,” I said, and now it was a struggle to sound even civil.
    “I have to ask. I keep thinking someday there’ll be news.”
    I let my anger go, because I sometimes thought the same thing. “There’s