I Wish by Elizabeth Langston Read Free Book Online Page B

“Painting and stuff,” I said as I opened the coin box and fished around for dollars. “Mr. Taylor, you are going to take my money today. Right?”
    “Sure, darlin’.” Straightening, he patted the top of my car and reached for the pump. “How much can I get for you?”
    “Eight dollars’ worth, please.”
    He chuckled. “That’s not going to get you very far.”
    “I don’t have far to go.”
    The numbers on the pump whirred past the eight-dollar mark and still kept going. An extra two gallons later, he stopped. Mr. Taylor and I had an understanding. As long as he didn’t refuse my money, I overlooked how much he put in.
    I drove away with a few more miles in the tank and a couple of free drinks.
    Grant twisted the cap off his bottle, held it up to his nose, and sniffed suspiciously. He took a sip and cringed. “The proprietor regarded me with suspicion. Is he related to you?”
    “Not by blood.” I slowed for a traffic light and flipped on my shades. And if those shades made it more difficult to read my expression, well, fine. Conversations about either of my fathers were uncomfortable, but I figured that I ought to share something with Grant after he helped me with the car. “My dad’s name was Eric Linden. He and my mom and Mr. Taylor all graduated from Magnolia Grove High the same year.”
    “Your father served in the Marine Corps?”
    I gave a sharp nod.
    “Where is he now?”
    Hard swallow. “He was killed in a training accident.”
    Grant’s voice was solemn. “How old were you?”
    “I was in kindergarten.” The principal and a policeman had shown up at the schoolroom door and spoken to my teacher. Although I didn’t understand what was going on, I could tell from their expressions that something bad had happened. It sucked the sound from the room. Or maybe that had been my imagination.
    “My sympathies.”
    I nodded away his response. Even though Dad died twelve years ago, I still didn’t like to talk about it. The events of that day and the weeks following were burned like scars into my being—which was why, when I thought about my dad, I focused on the good memories.
    We drove around for several blocks before Grant spoke again. “Does Eric Linden have any family in town?”
    “They moved to Florida.” My grandparents didn’t get along with my mother. Even if they had been healthy, they wouldn’t come up here to visit. And I couldn’t afford to go down there.
    “Can they assist you?”
    “No.” I hoped that Grant wouldn’t ask why, because I wasn’t going to answer. How could I explain the Linden family history? I loved Grampa and Nana, but it was hard to forgive all the mean things they said about my mom.
    Yeah, I couldn’t let them know what was going on now. They would offer to send a little money, but in exchange I’d have to listen to nonstop criticisms of my mother and Josh. It wasn’t worth it. I wasn’t that desperate yet.
    After turning onto a side street, I cut through an older neighborhood and headed straight for the town square. “I’m working a shift at the bookstore. Do you want me to drop you off at home first?”
    “No. I’ll manage.” He hesitated before taking another sip of his peach-kiwi iced tea, screwed the top back on, and slipped the bottle into a cupholder. “How many AP classes do you take?”
    I frowned at the unexpected question. “You know about AP classes?”
    “I’ve been working the American circuit for a while. How many?”
    “English Lit and US History.” Those two classes, plus pre-calc, were all I needed to earn my high-school diploma. If all went well this semester, I’d be able to graduate early.
    “You’re carrying a tough workload. Why the job?”
    I circled the town square, looking for an empty spot. “Someone has to buy the pasta.”
    “You must have other income.”
    “I get survivor benefits from the military. Mom and Henry get money from Social Security. Our checks cover the mortgage and not much else.”
    His