like a predator sniffing out the weakest prey, bored deeper. “I bring my son here for safekeeping and a good education. So what happened?” Father Laughlin visibly flinched, which only made Gordy Adamson lean even closer. “What
exactly
happened?”
Father Laughlin shook his head and spread his hands in defeat.
“That’s right,” Gordy sneered. “That is exactly right! You have no idea. Well, I’m here to tell you that something happened to my boy here under this roof, and I am going to find out what it was. He was fine when he got here and two and a half years later, he’s not only dead, but apparently he killed someone else, too! Which means something happened.” He sat back in the chair, his eyes fixing on the priest. “Some goddamned thing happened.”
Father Laughlin took a deep breath, collected his thoughts, and finally spoke. “You brought Kip to us because he was a troubled boy,” he said quietly. “He’d been expelled from public school—”
“He wasn’t
that
troubled,” Adamson countered, leaning forward again. “He wasn’t a goddamned murderer. We brought him here because we thought a little religion would do him some good.” A derisive snort erupted from his throat. “Boy, were we wrong. You killed him.
You killed my son!
”
“Honey,” Anne Adamson tried again. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. Let’s go home.” As she stood up, Father Laughlin rose, too.
“Brother Francis packed Kip’s things—” he said, gesturing toward Kip’s footlocker, which was on the floor near the door.
But Gordy Adamson wasn’t through. “I’m going to sue you. I’m going to sue you for negligence, contributing to the delinquency of a minor, and whatever else my attorney can come up with. You think your outfit is in financial trouble now? Ha! Just wait! There will be one hell of an investigation, too. You better believe it.” His eyes narrowed as he prepared to deliver the coup de grâce. “And you’d damn well better hope your guys are keeping their hands off the boys!” His rage suddenly spent, Gordy Adamson collapsed back into the chair, drained. “My son,” he said, more to himself than to the priest. “The only one I had.”
Anne Adamson pulled on Gordy’s arm until he finally hoisted himself heavily to his feet. “I’m sorry,” she said to Father Laughlin as Gordy wiped moisture from his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.
“I wish I knew what to say,” Father Laughlin said. “But there seems to be no possible explanation for some of the things that happen in today’s world. We can only trust in God’s will, and accept that which we can neither understand nor change.”
Anne nodded, and guided Gordy toward the door. He stopped at the footlocker, gazed down on it for a long moment, then bent over, picked up the trunk that held his son’s effects, and moved through the door, carrying the trunk as carefully as if it were his son’s coffin.
In the outer office, Sister Margaret offered a sympathetic smile, which Anne tried—and failed—to return as she opened the office door for Gordy. They made their way slowly down the hall toward the front door. Students, faculty, and clergy all moved aside to allow the grieving parents to pass.
Teri McIntyre walked up the worn granite steps that led to St. Isaac’s front door, struggling with Ryan’s heavy duffel bag while Ryan himself limped next to her, taking one slow step at a time, his backpack slung over his good shoulder. They were halfway up the broad flight when the front door opened, and a middle-aged man and woman came out. The man carried a heavy trunk, and carefully watched his step until he came even with Teri and Ryan.
He stopped, tipping his head toward Ryan. “This your kid?” he asked, his eyes narrow and his voice gruff.
Teri nodded.
The man’s gaze fixed on the duffel bag Teri was carrying. “You leaving him here?” Teri opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off before she could say a word.
exactly
happened?”
Father Laughlin shook his head and spread his hands in defeat.
“That’s right,” Gordy sneered. “That is exactly right! You have no idea. Well, I’m here to tell you that something happened to my boy here under this roof, and I am going to find out what it was. He was fine when he got here and two and a half years later, he’s not only dead, but apparently he killed someone else, too! Which means something happened.” He sat back in the chair, his eyes fixing on the priest. “Some goddamned thing happened.”
Father Laughlin took a deep breath, collected his thoughts, and finally spoke. “You brought Kip to us because he was a troubled boy,” he said quietly. “He’d been expelled from public school—”
“He wasn’t
that
troubled,” Adamson countered, leaning forward again. “He wasn’t a goddamned murderer. We brought him here because we thought a little religion would do him some good.” A derisive snort erupted from his throat. “Boy, were we wrong. You killed him.
You killed my son!
”
“Honey,” Anne Adamson tried again. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. Let’s go home.” As she stood up, Father Laughlin rose, too.
“Brother Francis packed Kip’s things—” he said, gesturing toward Kip’s footlocker, which was on the floor near the door.
But Gordy Adamson wasn’t through. “I’m going to sue you. I’m going to sue you for negligence, contributing to the delinquency of a minor, and whatever else my attorney can come up with. You think your outfit is in financial trouble now? Ha! Just wait! There will be one hell of an investigation, too. You better believe it.” His eyes narrowed as he prepared to deliver the coup de grâce. “And you’d damn well better hope your guys are keeping their hands off the boys!” His rage suddenly spent, Gordy Adamson collapsed back into the chair, drained. “My son,” he said, more to himself than to the priest. “The only one I had.”
Anne Adamson pulled on Gordy’s arm until he finally hoisted himself heavily to his feet. “I’m sorry,” she said to Father Laughlin as Gordy wiped moisture from his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.
“I wish I knew what to say,” Father Laughlin said. “But there seems to be no possible explanation for some of the things that happen in today’s world. We can only trust in God’s will, and accept that which we can neither understand nor change.”
Anne nodded, and guided Gordy toward the door. He stopped at the footlocker, gazed down on it for a long moment, then bent over, picked up the trunk that held his son’s effects, and moved through the door, carrying the trunk as carefully as if it were his son’s coffin.
In the outer office, Sister Margaret offered a sympathetic smile, which Anne tried—and failed—to return as she opened the office door for Gordy. They made their way slowly down the hall toward the front door. Students, faculty, and clergy all moved aside to allow the grieving parents to pass.
Teri McIntyre walked up the worn granite steps that led to St. Isaac’s front door, struggling with Ryan’s heavy duffel bag while Ryan himself limped next to her, taking one slow step at a time, his backpack slung over his good shoulder. They were halfway up the broad flight when the front door opened, and a middle-aged man and woman came out. The man carried a heavy trunk, and carefully watched his step until he came even with Teri and Ryan.
He stopped, tipping his head toward Ryan. “This your kid?” he asked, his eyes narrow and his voice gruff.
Teri nodded.
The man’s gaze fixed on the duffel bag Teri was carrying. “You leaving him here?” Teri opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off before she could say a word.
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