Things Hoped For by Andrew Clements Read Free Book Online Page B

and the machine shuts off.
    Robert looks uncomfortable. He manages a smile and says, “Your grandfather’s a sound sleeper.”
    I put his plate and glass on the table, and as Robert sits down, I tell the truth. “Actually . . . my grampa’s not here.” Because it seems to me that a person who’s not involved, who’s just a visitor from Chicago, someone like that would be exempt from what Grampa said. About not telling anybody.
    Robert’s eyebrows shoot up. “So something is going on? Like that guy said?”
    I hesitate, then decide. “Can you keep a secret?” Because I want to tell him the rest of it.
    His eyes are greenish blue and there’s nothing hidden, and he nods. “Keeping secrets is one of my best talents. Right up there with trumpet cadenzas. And flattery.”
    He follows me into the study with his sandwich and milk. I push the button on the answering machine, and I click back through all of Friday’s messages from Uncle Hank, from Kenneth Grant, from Jason the fourth-floor tenant. And I play him Grampa’s message from Thursday.
    At the part where Grampa says, Please don’t tell anybody I’ve gone. Especially Hank, Robert looks at me and nods.
    When the message is done, Robert says, “And you don’t know when your granddad’s coming back?”
    “Right.”
    “And the man who just called, that was Hank?”
    “Right again.” And then I tell Robert about the invasions and the yelling, and about how they both own the building, and about Uncle Hank being in the house this afternoon.
    “He really scared me—and he did it on purpose. He’s so . . . inconsiderate.” Which wasn’t the first word that came to my mind. But I’m trying to do what Grampa said and not judge Uncle Hank. It isn’t easy.
    “So if you can’t reach your grandfather to tell him to call Hank, then he’ll use that as an excuse to come blasting in here tomorrow with the police, and then he’ll find out his brother is missing, and then he’ll take charge of the house. And then little Gwennie will have to go away.”
    “Exactly,” I say. “It’s bad timing.”
    Robert nods. “The worst.” And then he’s quiet, because he understands how much work, how many years of preparation it’s taken me just to get in line for auditions at good music schools—much less get accepted at one. Not to mention get a scholarship.
    Then he says, “So what are you going to do?”
    “About which part?”
    “About your uncle coming here tomorrow. And maybe bringing the police.”
    I shrug. “There aren’t any good choices. And I don’t want to start telling a million lies. I should probably just call Grampa’s lawyer. He’ll know what to do.”
    Robert shakes his head. “If you do that, then he might go to the police himself if it really looks like a missing-person case. Lawyers are officers of the court.”
    And I wonder how someone like Robert would know a thing like that. Another surprise from the trumpet man.
    Then I have another thought. “But maybe the police should be involved. What if my grampa’s really in trouble? I have no idea where he is, and I keep imagining the worst. Like, what if he went out yesterday afternoon, and he fell down somewhere, and the police just scooped him up and thought he was a wino, and they took him to Bellevue, or to a jail somewhere?”
    Robert looks at me, and his eyes seem so deep and clear. He says, “Well, you should absolutely do whatever you think is best. But on that tape it sounded to me like your grampa knew what he was up to. And it also sounded like he wants you to keep on with your own work. And he wants you to keep Hank in the dark about everything else. So . . .”
    Robert’s quiet again, and then he says, “Look. You need about two weeks, right? To get done with your auditions?”
    “Only half that to finish the most important ones.”
    “Okay, so you just need to stall your uncle for seven days. And all you’re doing is what your grampa asked. He said to keep his house