hedged. “Yes . . . only if you really need to talk to me . . .”
“Hey. You didn’t say why you were calling this morning. Did your father tell you something more about those longrifle hunters?”
“I called because I was a little worried about you. You were crying when we hung up last night.”
“Oh, I enjoy a good cry sometimes. It’s healing.”
Apparently so. She sounded fine now, which made him think he’d over-reacted to her story the night before. In fact, he dared to think the friendship thing might work out all right.
Then he did an audio double take. “You mentioned my father. I guess I didn’t tell you he’s no longer living. But I have his books, and I’ll take a look at them this evening.”
“Oh, I misunderstood. I’m sorry about your father. Were you close?”
“Yeah. We were. He died when I was fourteen. I still miss him and think about him nearly every day.” Tom drifted in thought for a moment before he returned the courtesy. “What about your parents?”
“They’re both dead. My dad died when I was sixteen. My mom died three years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He said it to be polite, though her tone of voice indicated she didn’t consider the death of her parents a big deal. Her reference to being sixteen reminded him of something he’d meant to ask. “By the way, how old you are?”
She giggled. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a lady her age?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I asked. It doesn’t even matter.”
“I was twenty-nine in March.”
A quick calculation told him he’d been nineteen when she was born. He cringed at that bit of knowledge. Technically, he was old enough to—
“Age means nothing in view of eternity, Tom.”
“I guess not.” The possibility she’d read his mind prickled the hairs on the back of his neck.
“What about your mother? Is she living?”
“No.” His throat constricted painfully. “No, she died a few years ago.”
“I guess we’re just a couple of orphans.”
One of Tom’s crew chose that moment to interrupt; he motioned for the man to wait, realizing the rest of his questions for Annie would go unasked again. “Sorry, to rush off, but I’ve got a situation here at work that needs my attention. I’ll do a little reading tonight and let you know what I come up with. Okay?”
“Sure. Talk to you later.”
* * *
Julie was backing her car out of the garage when Tom pulled his truck into the driveway. Not stopping, she blew him a kiss as she passed. He found Lindsay in the kitchen with a stack of restaurant menus in one hand, the phone in the other.
“Where was your mother off to?
“She’s going somewhere with her dearest, best, very important friend tonight. You wanna order pizza or Chinese?”
“Pizza. And by friend, you mean Patricia, right?”
“Who else? You want me to call the order in?”
“Please. I’m headed to the shower.”
“I’ll go pick up the pizza,” she said. “It’s quicker.”
By the time he came back downstairs, Lindsay was gone. He took Max and a cold beer outside. He lit a cigarette, dismissing a twinge of guilt. He kept promising Julie he’d make good on his New Year’s resolution to quit smoking. He’d already delayed it over five months, but now still wasn’t the right time. Especially now. Now he had bigger worries than the bad effects of smoking. Though he couldn’t yet determine what they were, he was pretty sure the bad effects of simply being Tom Cogan in the summer of 2010 loomed larger.
Max ran up to him with a tennis ball in his mouth. Tom stubbed out his cigarette and played fetch with his companion until Lindsay called him in for dinner.
As they ate, he discovered that Julie’s irritation with Lindsay at the dinner table the night before had been for nothing. She’d already taken care of the college forms her mother had asked her about. In fact, she’d mailed the last of them a week ago.
“Why do you torment your mother like
“Hey. You didn’t say why you were calling this morning. Did your father tell you something more about those longrifle hunters?”
“I called because I was a little worried about you. You were crying when we hung up last night.”
“Oh, I enjoy a good cry sometimes. It’s healing.”
Apparently so. She sounded fine now, which made him think he’d over-reacted to her story the night before. In fact, he dared to think the friendship thing might work out all right.
Then he did an audio double take. “You mentioned my father. I guess I didn’t tell you he’s no longer living. But I have his books, and I’ll take a look at them this evening.”
“Oh, I misunderstood. I’m sorry about your father. Were you close?”
“Yeah. We were. He died when I was fourteen. I still miss him and think about him nearly every day.” Tom drifted in thought for a moment before he returned the courtesy. “What about your parents?”
“They’re both dead. My dad died when I was sixteen. My mom died three years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He said it to be polite, though her tone of voice indicated she didn’t consider the death of her parents a big deal. Her reference to being sixteen reminded him of something he’d meant to ask. “By the way, how old you are?”
She giggled. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a lady her age?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I asked. It doesn’t even matter.”
“I was twenty-nine in March.”
A quick calculation told him he’d been nineteen when she was born. He cringed at that bit of knowledge. Technically, he was old enough to—
“Age means nothing in view of eternity, Tom.”
“I guess not.” The possibility she’d read his mind prickled the hairs on the back of his neck.
“What about your mother? Is she living?”
“No.” His throat constricted painfully. “No, she died a few years ago.”
“I guess we’re just a couple of orphans.”
One of Tom’s crew chose that moment to interrupt; he motioned for the man to wait, realizing the rest of his questions for Annie would go unasked again. “Sorry, to rush off, but I’ve got a situation here at work that needs my attention. I’ll do a little reading tonight and let you know what I come up with. Okay?”
“Sure. Talk to you later.”
* * *
Julie was backing her car out of the garage when Tom pulled his truck into the driveway. Not stopping, she blew him a kiss as she passed. He found Lindsay in the kitchen with a stack of restaurant menus in one hand, the phone in the other.
“Where was your mother off to?
“She’s going somewhere with her dearest, best, very important friend tonight. You wanna order pizza or Chinese?”
“Pizza. And by friend, you mean Patricia, right?”
“Who else? You want me to call the order in?”
“Please. I’m headed to the shower.”
“I’ll go pick up the pizza,” she said. “It’s quicker.”
By the time he came back downstairs, Lindsay was gone. He took Max and a cold beer outside. He lit a cigarette, dismissing a twinge of guilt. He kept promising Julie he’d make good on his New Year’s resolution to quit smoking. He’d already delayed it over five months, but now still wasn’t the right time. Especially now. Now he had bigger worries than the bad effects of smoking. Though he couldn’t yet determine what they were, he was pretty sure the bad effects of simply being Tom Cogan in the summer of 2010 loomed larger.
Max ran up to him with a tennis ball in his mouth. Tom stubbed out his cigarette and played fetch with his companion until Lindsay called him in for dinner.
As they ate, he discovered that Julie’s irritation with Lindsay at the dinner table the night before had been for nothing. She’d already taken care of the college forms her mother had asked her about. In fact, she’d mailed the last of them a week ago.
“Why do you torment your mother like
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