The Miles Between Us by Laurie Breton Read Free Book Online

bastard.”
    “How disrespectful.”
    “That’s our Phoenix. Gotta love the kid. Generally I just laugh it off, but tonight, his utter inability to put himself in somebody else’s shoes got to me. The guy lacks empathy. I think he’s a sociopath. Like Ted Bundy.”
    “A serial killer in the making?”
    “Don’t make fun of me. I’m serious.”
    “I know you are , my darling. That’s one of the reasons I love you.”
     
    * * *
     
    He debated whether or not to call his mother, finally decided he didn’t want to surprise her by showing up at her door unannounced at some ungodly hour. On the other hand, he didn’t want to go into details over the phone. “Hey, Mom,” he said when she answered.
    “Well, if it isn’t my long-lost son .” Her Irish brogue always said home to him in multiple lovely shades of color. “About time you remembered you have a mother. How’s the wee one? Am I going to see her again before she graduates from college?”
    “She’s fine . Growing like crazy. As a matter of fact, I was thinking about coming down tonight, if you wouldn’t mind making up the crib for Emma.”
    “You know you’re always welcome , any time.” There was a brief pause. Then, “What’s wrong?”
    Like Casey, his mother had that sixth sense, that built-in radar that honed in on the tiniest note in his voice, the most minute body language . “Nothing’s wrong,” he said.
    “You were never any good at lying , my son.”
    “Every thing’s fine,” he said. “I just feel like visiting my mom. You have a problem with that?”
    “Mind your mouth or I’ll have to take you over my knee. You may be taller, but I’m still in charge. I’ll get the crib ready and freshen a bed for you.” Another pause. “I assume Casey’s coming with you?”
    “Not this trip . And stop prying.”
    “I have to pry . Otherwise, I’d know nothing, since none of my children ever tell me anything. Is something wrong between you and Casey?”
    “We’re fine, Ma . Stop worrying.”
    “I’ll stop worrying when I know there’s no reason to worry . Until then, I’ll carry on. I’m Irish. It’s what we do best.”
    It was nearly midnight when he reached South Boston, where he was greeted by a light summer rain infused with the intoxicating scent of his mother’s blooming roses. Emma had fallen asleep shortly after they left home. Fearful of waking her, he carried her into the house, car seat and all. His parents waited, their faces somber, concerned. “I made tea,” his mother said. “Crib’s in the room at the top of the stairs. Since you don’t need a double bed, I thought you’d like your old room.”
    “Thanks, Ma. ” He kissed her on the cheek, clasped hands with his dad, and carried Emma up the stairs. The poor kid was so wiped out that she never woke up, not even when he untied her pink sneakers and removed them. Once she was settled, he pulled the covers up to her chin and then stood watching her, tiny and innocent and perfect, his heart flooding with a love so deep and strong, it nearly brought him to his knees.
    He quietly closed the door—as far as it would close—and took a look around . The upstairs hallway was still the same hideous gold color it had always been, the carpet threadbare and thin. The house was creaky, the roof saggy, the floors so crooked you could go bowling without even throwing the ball. Just drop it and watch it roll. But this was home, in a way that no other place had ever been home. He’d spent the first twenty-two years of his life in this house, and that upbringing would always be a part of who he was. He’d been lucky. He’d grown up in a home filled with love and family and wonderful memories, with two parents who loved each other, who still loved each other after forty-plus years of marriage. And yes, he knew he was romanticizing it, conveniently forgetting the times when they’d lived on soup for days on end because there hadn’t been enough to feed a family of nine