Guilt by Leen Elle Read Free Book Online

With his butt jutting into the air, my Dad bent over the motor of his riding lawn mower, flashlight in one hand and pliers in the other. It had probably been weeks since he'd mowed the grass and would be several months before he needed to use the mower again, yet he tinkered on it now, and probably would all winter. It was either his hobby or his escape from all the estrogen that flowed through the rest of the house. I never figured out for sure which reason prompted him to disappear into what he called his "man cave".
    "Hey, Daddy." I greeted him to get his attention.
    "Claire-bear." He turned. "There you are. Been lookin' out for you all day." He put down his tools and opened his arms to give me a hug. I fell into his embrace. It always felt so good and safe to have my big old Dad hold me like I was still a little girl.
    "How was the drive from the airport?" he asked as he let me go.
    "Oh, you know, same old highway." I answered. "Nothing's changed."
    "What?" he replied like I was silly. "Didn't you see the new Super Shopper on your way into town?" New businesses always pleased him. Every time a new business opened, he thought the economy was coming back into Brickerton; but he ignored every place that closed up, though that was a more common occurrence.
    "Oh, that's right. I did see the new Super Shopper." I smiled to appease him. "It looked busy." That was probably because it was the day before Thanksgiving. Everybody rushed to the store the day before a holiday to get last minute ingredients for dinner.
    "Yeah," he beamed back. "I think it's catching on." I loved my Daddy. He was ever the optimist.
    "Well, I'm gonna clean up in here," he continued. "You go ahead and go back into the house. I'll be inside in a bit."
    I pecked him on the cheek and turned to leave.
    "Oh, yeah," he said before I got to the door. "Your mom had me clean out the attic last month, so there are some boxes in your bedroom. Mom wants you to go through them and see if there is anything you want to keep. She wants to give the rest to charity or take them to the dump."
    "All right," I moaned. Not exactly a chore I wanted to do on my holiday, but if I didn't, Mom would just throw it all away.
    I grabbed my suite case from where I abandoned it earlier by the front door and dragged it up the stairs to my old room. I noticed on my way through that Jacob hadn't budged from his seat on the couch. He concentrated on whatever music he was listening to, and tuned out the world around him. Guess he really was a lot like his Aunt Claire.
    I reached my bedroom, and crashed onto the bed; but got back up, disappointed. It didn't feel as comfortable as it once had. After opening my bag to settle in, I turned towards the boxes that my dad had left in the corner of my room, and decided to try and find my old art portfolio. I thought I recalled stuffing Corry Murphy's obituary in there twelve years ago. I wanted to see what it said about the family he left behind.
    I found what I was looking for at the bottom of the second box of junk. Flipping through the pages, I came across the obituary, which had yellowed and faded with age. Along with it, I found the charcoal drawing that Corry had made in art class. I'd forgotten all about it, and so I sat and recalled how I came to be in possession of it.
     
     
     
     
     
     

Chapter Eight
     
    It was November before Mr. Dart returned the artwork from the inspirational assignment back to his students, evaluated and graded. The teacher took the time to write a few sentences of critique on index cards and attached them to each drawing with a paper clip. Before passing them back to the class, he emphasized to the sensitive impressionable teenagers that these observations were only his opinion, and were in no way meant to be the final word on their abilities. His appraisal was intended to steer them in the right direction inspirationally, not to crush their artistic spirit.
    Claire figured that her artworks displayed the vivid