Promises of Home by Jeff Abbott Read Free Book Online Page B

a decrepit blue Ford Escort. They loaded Trey in, Nola lifting his legs for him and tucking them in the car. I turned away and stalked back to my office, ignoring the character voices that Miss Ludey provided for the children. There’d been a momentary pause in the narrative when Scott had screamed at me, but Miss Ludey was, if anything, a trooper.
    “Jordy, are you okay? Do you need—” Gretchen tried.
    “No. Just leave me alone.” I slammed my office door behind me and spent the next hour staring at my desk, “Candace is going to drive me to drink,” Sister announced. She had come home around four and flopped down on the couch, her Sit-a-Spell T-shirt begrimed with sweat. “I got to go back there in a minute and do up the dinner fixings. The short-order cook Candace hired from that greasy spoon in Bavary don’t know his butt from a hole in the ground.”
    I’m sure she’d anticipated a few quiet minutes at home. She seemed surprised to see me, but Gretchen had offered to cover for me. I’d never left Gretchen in charge of the library before, and I might be lucky if she didn’t frame me for stealing the coffee money while I was gone, but I couldn’t worry about her. Not with this terrible errand on my mind.
    God, this was going to be hard. I sat down next to her, slipped her sneakers and socks off, and began to give her one of my patented foot rubs. (The secret is rubbing deep between the toes.)
    “Gee, what brotherly concern,” Sister teased. “Oh, that does feel good. You must want me to keep Candace busy while you tomcat around town.”
    “Not hardly,” I said, leaning back against the couch. I’dalready checked—Mark was upstairs, studying geography. No time like the present.
    “What’s Mama doing?” Sister demanded.
    “Taking a nap.”
    “I hope she’s not up again all night. I don’t need her bayin’ at the moon on top of everything else.” Sister pushed her other foot into my lap. “Don’t rub just one, Jordy, I got to use both of them dogs all day.”
    I kneaded the bottoms of Sister’s foot, examining her sole intently. “I got some news, upsetting news. But you got to know, and you got to decide how to tell Mark.” I stopped rubbing and looked at Sister. “Trey is back in town. He came into the library today.”
    Dead silence. Sister pulled her foot from my ministering hands. Her face looked carved—not a muscle moved. She finally pursed her lips and swallowed. Her mouth crinkled like she’d downed a dollop of poison. “That’s not funny, Jordan.”
    “It’s not meant to be, Arlene.”
    With my invocation of her first name, she knew it was true. She bit her lip, as though clamping down on words she didn’t want escaping.
    “He got hurt in the rodeo. He’s in a wheelchair now.”
    “Dad—Dad is here? And in a wheelchair?”
    I froze. Mark stood halfway down the stairs; he must’ve been on his way down for a snack. I glanced at Sister; she wasn’t looking at me. I’d figured she’d tell Mark, not me. But there was no backing out now.
    Having just seen his father, I was newly shocked at the resemblance between Trey and Mark. Where Sister and I are fair, Mark’s got his father’s jet-black hair and dark complexion. There was much of Trey in his face: the set of bones that made him look cagey and clever, the insouciant walk Trey had at Mark’s age, the tough hands with stubby fingers. Today he was resplendent in his latest fashion statement: a faded R.E.M. T-shirt I’d bought in Boston, black jeans, and red Converse sneakers. (Mark had recently renounced cowboy-style clothing; Sister prayed this was a temporary phase.) At least today he wasn’t wearinga baseball cap backward, a trend that for some reason irritates me. He came down the rest of the stairs and stood before us. He stared at his mother, and she stared back at him. Finally she turned to me.
    “What did he say?” Sister found her voice. She’d pulled her feet up under her, and her posture reminded me