work.”
“Pay good?” His blue eyes were serious and he nibbled a little on his lower lip as he rose. Only eleven and already he’d overtopped her by half an inch.
“Pay’s great. And there are treats.” She handed him a candy bar and watched while he unwrapped it. “Ready?”
“Yeah.” He followed her through the office, munching toffee.
Emma looked up from her desk as Abby passed. “Night, kids. Don’t forget the math quiz in Johnson’s class, Christopher.”
“Night, Emma,” Abby and her son responded, nearly in unison, nearly matched in height, but to Abby’s mind different as night and day.
Chris took shot gun and sank his sneakers on Abby’s tote. He cranked down the window. Sunset dappled his pale skin to orange.
“What’s the debate tonight?” Abby watched her son out of the corner of her eye as she urged the car ahead through evening traffic.
His moods had been difficult lately and she’d yet to pin down the problem. She’d begun to think the root of the trouble was at school, although he seemed comfortable enough with both his teachers and his studies.
But over the last few weeks the quick, humorous boy who’d always been so eager to rush off to school now dragged his heels every morning, and almost invariably came home in a sulk. Abby couldn’t understand what had suddenly turned her mild mannered son so sullen.
“We’re doing the Louisiana Purchase.” Chris finished the last of his candy bar and crumpled the foil. He sucked a dab of chocolate from his thumb and stared out the window, shoes scuffing lightly on her tote.
“Don’t remember much debate over that one.”
Chris slanted a look away from the window to see if she was serious, and then rolled his eyes. “Maybe if you’d gone to school sometimes.”
“Hey. Who’s the parent here?”
Chris’s frown stretched into a grin and he snorted. Abby laughed. Her bright, bright son, who would go so much farther than she had. Yale, at least. Maybe Harvard. Six years of school left, six years of straight As and Advanced Placement and debate club.
Six years to whip Chesapeake Renovations into shape and make it provide for every bit of her son’s Ivy League education.
Six years was a long time. Or the blink of an eye.
Swallowing a sigh, Abby rolled down her own window. The air outside was thick with the remnants of rain. “Which side are you on?”
“For.” He stuck his balled up wrapper into the car’s ash tray. “We’ll win.”
“Glad to hear it. Sorry I was late.”
“You said so already,” he said, unconcerned. “They’ll wait for me. Did you sell the mansion?”
The check waited in her tote. The next free moment she had she’d run the precious thing to the bank and see it safely deposited.
“Sure did.”
“So, what were they like?”
Abby and Chris had imagined a family for the old house. A middle aged couple with four or even five kids, come to take over Edward’s giant legacy and make it loud and cheerful. Chris had hoped for new young faces in the neighborhood, and Abby had simply wished for people who would love the place as much as she did.
“You know,” she said at last, trying to sound casual. “It wasn’t a family after all. Just one man.”
“One guy?” Chris turned from the window and stared. “One guy wanted all that room?”
“Well, it is a pretty cool house.”
Chris didn’t look convinced. “Maybe. But wouldn’t it be totally lonely?”
Abby knew he was remembering Edward and the old man’s sorrow as he lurked alone in one room of an empty and unused mansion. “Maybe.”
“No kids, or anything?” Her son sounded baffled.
“No. I don’t know.” Realizing she didn’t. “Not with him, anyway.”
“Huh.” Chris grunted. “Sounds stupid to me.”
For a brief moment Abby saw Everett, standing in front of his racy car, hands
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley