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Bates leaned in on the sweating guy. “We’ve got you cold, Turk. There’s nowhere you can run we won’t find you.”
“I didn’t do nuttin’ to you guys.” Turk glanced first at Bates, then over at Sloan sitting in the shadows of the Team Six Security conference room. “I swear on a stack of Bibles.”
Sloan tapped the edges of his fingertips together, waiting for the guy to trip himself up. His kind always did. Especially at three in the morning.
Bates opened the folder he held and tossed out photos of seniors. Each one spun down like individual playing cards. “You fleeced fifteen old ladies, dickhead. You and Jared Gilmore.”
Turk scrunched up his jowly face, slitting his wide-spaced eyes. “So?”
Satisfaction unfurled in Sloan. Turk was looking for an angle. There wasn’t one. Sloan and Bates had done this before. Lesser men than Turk had cracked under the pressure of the truth.
“We take offense to your con. Robbing little old ladies.” Bates pounded his fist on the table. The pictures jumped and so did Turk. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Turk shrunk back in his seat, his fear tainting the air. Sweat dripped down his cheeks, collected on his shirt collar. “We didn’t steal from anyone that couldn’t afford it. Gil made sure of that.”
“He fooled you. We know for a fact three of these ladies buy cat food now. Cat food. They’re eating cat food because of a slimeball like you.”
Turk glanced at the door, sucking air through his teeth. Bates stood between him and the only exit. Bates was not a small man. “Gil selected the m-m-marks. That wasn’t me.”
“You got their credit card numbers with the fake car repair scam, and he did the rest?”
“I’m just a cog in a wheel.”
Sloan leaned forward out of the shadows. “Tell us about Gilmore. What did he do with the money?”
“How the hell should I know? We’re business associates, not friends. We don’t hang out together, if you get my drift.” Turk swallowed nervously. “Crap. You guys are gonna ruin this for me, aren’t ya? You’re gonna take him down, and I’m gonna be out of a good job.”
“Count on it,” Sloan said. “Tell me what you know about good old Gil, and we might not tell the cops where you are.”
“Gil’s moving up in the world. He’s got a line on a high roller place, but he can’t swing it yet. Besides the old lady scam, he’s running a few others to get a stake together. He keeps bragging about buried treasure. Some fool is sitting on a cool million and doesn’t know it.”
Air stalled in Sloan’s lungs. He forced the question out. “Where?”
“Some podunk place on the coast. South of Savannah.”
Sloan’s gut twisted. This was personal. Gilmore was coming after his inheritance. How the hell did he know about it? The prison connection? And where the hell was it?
“You got fifteen minutes to get out of town,” Sloan said. “Don’t go home. The cops are already there.”
Turk looked like he didn’t believe his good fortune, then he bolted for the door.
Bates shook his head as the door slammed open. “Will he make it, boss?”
“Not a chance,” Sloan said. “He’s addicted to easy money. The cops will have him in two days.”
“Nice to have you back.”
“Good to be back.” Sloan stood and stretched. “Thanks for finding this guy. Now I know what Gilmore wants. Hidden money. My alleged inheritance.”
“You holding out on us, boss?” There was a teasing quality in Bates’ voice.
Sloan was not amused. Anger colored his words. “Gilmore is on a fool’s errand. My father chased the same empty dream until he drank himself to death. Trust me, there’s no treasure in the Mossy Bog house. My granddad used to say the only treasure is the one that’s in your heart. He was right. Chasing foolish dreams will wreck your life.”
“A million dollars, though. That’d be worth looking for.”
“My dad thought it was a million dollars, but that was wishful thinking. My grandfather lived in a nice house, collected retirement from the Army, and worked for the furniture store. No way he had a million dollars saved up. On the other hand, my father lived like he had a million dollars but it was all a sham.” He rubbed his dry eyes. “An empty illusion.”
“Too bad. You could retire on a million dollars.”
Sloan snorted. “A million dollars doesn’t go far these days. Besides, I’ve got a good job. Team Six Security is better than any pie-in-the-sky pipe dream.” He yawned again. “I’m bushed. See you Monday morning at the staff meeting.”
***
SLOAN WOKE UP LATE on Sunday. He’d dreamed of Roxie again. Of how she looked beneath him, her dark hair spilled out on the pillow, his name on her lips.
Tomorrow. He’d see her tomorrow and they would take up where they’d left off. He smiled. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.
The journal. When he did see her, she’d be sure to ask about that journal. Better take a look at it.
He grabbed a bowl of cereal, tucked the journal under his arm, and headed to his den.
With Mac at his feet, he settled into his leather recliner and began reading. After a few paragraphs, he got the hang of the sprawling handwriting. Matthew Bolen’s journal entries began after his tour of duty during the Korean Conflict.
Sloan’s granddad, Scott Harding, was mentioned as the best man at Lavinia and Matt’s wedding. He wondered if both men had pursued Lavinia as he read a few more pages. The next mention of Scott Harding was at the baptism of Lavinia and Matt’s only child, Roxie’s mother Valerie.
His granddad wasn’t mentioned again until both men were building houses for their brides in Mossy Bog. Poor sod, Sloan thought. Putting all that effort into the house and his grandmother had left anyway. Once she’d given birth to Edward, she’d filed for divorce and left town.
He skimmed through the bulk of the entries about bird watching, gardening, and the weather until he reached an entry where Matt was worried about his good friend Scott. The words jumped off the page at Sloan.
Scott had a rough time bringing up Edward alone. The two aren’t close and Valerie tells me Edward drinks to excess. I should’ve said something to Scott, but I let it ride. Then a woman from Edward’s college town claimed he’d gotten her pregnant. Scott forced Edward to marry her, saying he would disinherit Edward if he didn’t honor his obligation. Now the woman’s abandoned them.
Scott took the boy in, of course. Is history repeating itself? Will Scott do a better job raising Sloan than he did with Edward?
Sloan stared at the yellowed paper. He’d known of his mother’s desertion, but he’d never known his father hadn’t wanted her. After his stint in the Army, Sloan had tracked his mother down. Inez Harding lived in a Mississippi trailer park with her common-law husband. He’d been shocked to learn he had six half-brothers and sisters.
He’d seen nothing of himself in the slovenly woman, and he didn’t want her to have any claim on him. She’d abandoned him all those years ago. He didn’t need her now. He’d left without introducing himself.
He flipped through more journal pages until he saw his granddad’s name again. He traced the words with his fingertip.
Scott asked me for help with his finances. I don’t care for deception, but I owe Scott for saving my life in Korea. If he wants to protect his savings from Edward, who can blame him? Edward would run through Scott’s nest egg in short order, and then where would Scott’s grandson be? Lavinia has tried to mother Sloan, but I fear her gentling influence hasn’t been enough as the boy has a rebellious nature.
Am I helping Scott hide his entire net worth from one wastrel in hopes of saving it for another? Will his grandson ever be the man Scott wants him to be?
Sloan stared at the journal. Hell. He’d been a screw-up back then, but he’d had lousy parenting. Lavinia had made it clear that he was always welcome in her kitchen, that he could count on her for a meal and a kind word. He’d frequently taken her up on her offer.
He didn’t pay attention to his father before his granddad died because his granddad had raised him. His granddad had been a rock. Once the rock was gone, his father came to live with him. His drunken, enraged father who obsessed over the missing savings.
From the journal entry, it appeared his father’s searching had been warranted. His granddad had accumulated savings. His friend helped him conceal it.
No wonder his father had been so relentless, so driven. Nothing in the house had been safe from him. He’d ripped up floors and slashed open mattresses and the sofa. They’d thrown out the ruined bedding, but for years afterward, stuffing came out of the couch every time they sat on it.
What did Matt Bolen do with granddad’s money? Had he taken the secret to his grave?
Or had something else happened? Had Roxie’s grandfather helped himself to the money after Scott died? Had he bought his wife a real estate business with Sloan’s inheritance?
Thoughts tumbled through his mind. Team Six Security was solid. He didn’t need the missing money. But it was his inheritance and his granddad had meant for him to find it. If Roxie’s family had stolen it...
He shoved his fingers through his hair, grimacing as he passed over the lump on his head.
Hell.
Roxie.
What was he going to do about her?
How could he see her if her family had stolen his money? His poker face wasn’t that good.
Oh. Man. What was he going to do?
How the hell could he sort this mess out? He couldn’t pretend nothing was wrong. Not when he was crazy with wanting her.
Best not to go back until he had a plan.
***
HE DIDN’T CALL. ROXIE checked the phone for a dial tone again. It was nearly eleven at night, and he hadn’t called. She’d sat here on the sofa waiting for his call until she was stiff.
Did he forget?
How could he forget?
He’d sounded so attentive each evening when he’d called. Now with him not calling, she wondered if something had happened. Had the other calls been a lie?
Her stomach twisted, sending a wave of dizziness through her. She steadied her balance with a few centering breaths, but deep inside, cold winds howled through her heart.
She paced to the kitchen. How could she fix this? All her life she’d fixed other people’s problems but she’d never once had to fix her own life. She’d been so careful of her feelings.
Sloan had come along at a vulnerable time, and she’d let herself be wowed. This mess was her fault all right. She’d allowed herself to believe in the fantasy of her own happily ever after.
He hadn’t made any promises about forever. The only promise he’d made was to return tomorrow. But would he?
What if something had happened to him? If he’d been in a car accident in Atlanta, no one knew to contact her. He could be lying in a hospital bed in a coma or worse, on a cold slab at the morgue.
She had to call him. She pulled his business card out of her purse and punched in his cell number. He answered on the second ring.
The sound of his voice brought a giddy wave of relief. He was all right. No coma. No slab at the morgue. Remembering his advice about not fussing at Timmy when he’d been jailed for his mistake, she tried for casual banter.
“Hey, you. Remember me?”
A long pause followed. Roxie hunched over the kitchen counter and held her breath. How many women phoned him and didn’t give him their names?
If he called her by another woman’s name, she would die. “It’s Roxie. Roxie Whitaker.”
“Believe it or not, I recognize your voice.”
His voice made her skin tingle. She shivered excitedly. He was okay. He sounded more than okay. Now she had to explain her need to hear his voice. Would he think she was too clingy and demanding? Too bad.
“I expected you would call me tonight.”
“Is something wrong?”
His voice sounded different now. Like he was annoyed with her. Had she crossed a line when she’d called him? Did he hate assertive women?
“Nothing’s wrong. I wanted to make plans for dinner tomorrow. The weather looks good for a picnic on my back porch. How does that sound?”
If only he were here so that she could see his face. She could tell so much more about a person from their body language.
The silence lengthened. Dread chilled her veins.
“A picnic sounds great, but I can’t make it,” he said. “Something’s come up.”
Disappointment lanced her fragile dreams.
A new, grim reality surfaced.
It had been all about the sex.
She’d been dumped.
Her hand covered her mouth to keep from gasping her distress. She squeezed her eyes tight to keep the tears in.
“Oh?” He wasn’t coming back to Mossy Bog anytime soon. The precious feeling of being cherished leaked out of her heart, leaving her empty and bereft. She wanted to hang up immediately, but she had property management business to convey. “All right, then. Mr. Cramer and his son-in-law worked on the house on Friday and Saturday. They’ll finish up on Monday morning.”
“Good.”
“The plumber came back. All the pipes need to be replaced.”
He sighed. “If it needs to be done, do it.”
Tears welled in her eyes. She needed to hang up before her voice betrayed her. Another thought popped in her head. “Did you look through my grandfather’s journal?”
“Yes.”
“Did you find anything helpful?”
“Depends.”
“Depends? How so?”
“I don’t want to do this over the phone, Roxie. Give me a few days to break free, and I’ll come down there. We’ll talk then.”
He was dumping her. Anguish roared through her. She didn’t want to be left dangling on the romantic vine until he had time to vet her replacement. If this was it, she needed a clean break.
“You can’t leave me hanging like this.” Her voice rose with each syllable. “It sounds like you don’t want to see me again, and I want to know why. Is there someone else? Was it the journal? What?”
He swore. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“It wasn’t a good idea for me to go to bed with you either, but I did it anyway. Tell me the bad news and stop stringing me along.”
“This subject is hard for me to talk about.” His voice roughened. “It’s a family thing. My father and granddad. Their actions haunt me. Looking for hidden money wrecked my father’s life. I don’t want to become as consumed with the search as he was, but the journal confirms money was hidden.”
She drew in a sharp breath. He’d nearly given her a heart attack over money that had been missing for nearly twenty years? “You wanted confirmation, right? Why is that bad news?”
“Because your grandfather helped my granddad hide the damned money, that’s why. The money’s not in that house. Your grandfather knew what happened to the money. More than likely he knew where granddad hid it. That leads me to only one conclusion.”
Though she heard dangerous undercurrents in his voice, she pressed ahead. “Which is?”
“Damn it, Roxie, I don’t want to do this over the phone.”
“Well, I do. What’s so horrible?”
“I think Matt Bolen took the money.”
Denial swept through Roxie like a raging fire in a Georgia pine forest. This was outrageous. Her grandfather had been a bank officer for heaven’s sake. “He did not. My grandfather was an honorable man.”
“According to his journal, he had access to the money. The money’s not there anymore.”
Roxie blinked back hot tears. “Pop Pop was not a thief.”
“Don’t shoot the messenger. I’m telling you what the journal implied.”
Anger vibrated through her entire body. “My grandfather was the nicest, most generous man I’ve ever known.”
“You’re upset.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“That’s why I didn’t want to do this over the phone. I wanted to think this over.”
Fury almost choked her. “And do what? Check out my bank account? Let me save you the trouble. All the money I have in the world is tied up in Marshview Realty. There’s no cache of secret funds anywhere. Thanks to my identity theft, my credit rating is shot. My parents are missionaries. Don’t you know what that means?”
“They give all their money away?”
“No,” she snarled into the phone, breathless with rage. “It means they are broke. They never had any money.”
“Look. Why don’t we give this a few days and then see where we are?”
“You think I’ll calm down in a few days? That you can sashay back into town and warm my sheets? Forget it. I don’t sleep with men who call my relatives crooks.”
Sloan swore. “You’re still my property manager, Roxie. I’m holding you to that contract.”
“Take your business over to BC Realty. You’d be doing us both a favor.”
So what if it wasn’t professional to hang up on him?
It sure felt good.
***
AFTERNOON SUNLIGHT filtered into Mr. Fogle’s study in structured shafts, illuminating legions of dust bunnies reproducing freely on the baseboards. Roxie sneezed.
“I will be happy to take your listing, Mr. Fogle,” she said. “But this place needs work. A thorough cleaning would make a big difference, and you need to thin out your furnishings so the rooms appear spacious.”
Mr. Fogle petted the small furry creature in his ample lap. Roxie thought it was a cat, but it was hard to tell under that wad of matted fur. “I couldn’t possibly part with anything. Mother collected every item in this house. Getting rid of something would be a slap in her face.”
Clara Fogle had been dead for ten years. “At a minimum you should replace the windows. The seals are gone. The one in this room is the only window that’s okay. Is it newer than the others?”
“Sure is. A hooligan threw a brick through my window thirteen years ago. I replaced the glass myself.”
Roxie sipped her glass of water. How was she going to unload this place at the inflated price he wanted? If he dropped the asking price thirty thousand dollars, she had a fighting chance.
“The police never found out who broke my window, but I figured out who did it,” he said. “I hear he’s come back to town. Went to a wedding with you.”
Her guard went up, and her stomach tensed. She set her glass crisply down on the dusty glass-topped coffee table. “Sloan Harding? He broke your window?”
“I’m certain of it. He failed algebra, and he wanted revenge.”
“Sloan was your student?” The sugary sweet song about the world being a small place shrilled through her head.
“You seeing him?”
Roxie worked to unclench her jaw. “We have...had a professional relationship. He’s renovating the property he owns on Main Street. I was his property manager.” Still was. She might have hung up on him, but he hadn’t taken his business elsewhere and she never defaulted on a contract.
“He’s a wild one. Never thought he’d amount to anything. The two hoodlums he ran with are doing time up in the state pen. I’d be careful of him if I were you.”
Great. Another warning about Sloan. “I don’t discuss my clients, Mr. Fogle. That would be unprofessional.”
“You were always good at following directions. I remember you got an A in my class.”
Mr. Fogle had been a crotchety, bow-tied bachelor even then, but he’d had strict classroom rules which she’d religiously followed. She’d needed good grades for a scholarship, and his class was a ticket she’d had to punch.
“Thank you for remembering me, Mr. Fogle, but let’s get back to staging this house. Will your furniture fit in your new place over at the retirement center?”
His grey eyes clouded with tears. “I can’t bear to part with a thing.”
Roxie wouldn’t blow this deal over a few sticks of furniture. “Some folks place extra pieces with relatives. That way, everything stays in the family. Do you have family nearby?”
He looked thoughtful. “My cousin Lula’s daughter has been after my furniture for years. But Mother said that branch of the family couldn’t be trusted.”
Her smile didn’t dim. “How about a lease? You’d own the furniture and your cousins could maintain it. What do you say to that idea?”
He tipped his head to one side, considering. Then he nodded. “I like your style, young lady. No wonder Lavinia was pleased as punch with you. You’re definitely a chip off the old block.”
“You were friends with my grandmother?”
Mr. Fogle adjusted his red bow tie. “We were in the same class in high school. I couldn’t believe it when Matt Bolen stole her out from under my nose.”
This appointment kept getting weirder and weirder. “You were in love with Gran?”
“She was a wonderful woman. Matt Bolen may have won her heart, but she was my bridge partner for thirty years.”
Amazing how people’s lives interconnected in a small town. Could he help her prove her grandfather’s innocence in the alleged theft of Sloan’s missing inheritance? She seized the idea. “About my grandfather, someone recently said the most outrageous thing to me. They suggested he may have come across a large amount of money that wasn’t his and he kept it.”
Mr. Fogle snorted. “Not likely. Matt Bolen was as straight as the day was long. I can do the math as well as anyone else. If he’d had extra money, he would have spent it on Lavinia. There were no fancy cars, no exotic vacations, no second homes. Matt didn’t steal anything. You send that rumor-monger over to me and I’ll straighten him out for you.”
Her spirits brightened. “Thanks. I thought the same thing, but it’s nice to hear it from someone else.”
“The only unusual thing Matt Bolen ever said to me was the time he asked me about gemstones. He asked me if I thought they were a good investment.”
Spots swam before her eyes. “Gemstones?”
“Mother lost her shirt in a diamond mine once. I told Matt mining stocks were too risky. I advised him to invest in blue chip stocks.”
Her grandfather hadn’t had a stock portfolio. He’d spent all the money he made in his lifetime. Gran had opened Marshview Realty with his life insurance after he died. Roxie had seen the policy. Gran had said the business was a poor substitute for a good man.
“Oh, well. Thank you, Mr. Fogle. It’s nice to hear you had such a high opinion of my grandfather.”
His leathery face crinkled into a fond smile. “Matt was a good man, and I wouldn’t be doing my duty as a friend of the family if I didn’t tell you to steer clear of that Harding boy. He’s nothing but bad news.”
Her first instinct was to defend Sloan. But she couldn’t do that now. “I appreciate your concern, but I can take care of myself.”
Mr. Fogle slapped his generous thigh and laughed. “You sounded just like Lavinia there. I love independent women. You’ll help me then? You’ll get this place spruced up and get me the money I need to buy into Cunningham Woods?”
“I’ll do my best.”
***
ROXIE THOUGHT IT STRANGE that attorney Chad Powers had invited her to his office for the reading of Les Green’s will two days after his death. With effort she pulled herself together and drove over there, glancing in the rear view mirror in irritation. How was she going to attract clients with an ever-present police escort? Then again, without it, she’d end up shot or worse.
She entered Chad’s office and apologized for being late. She spotted Les Green’s daughter, Andrea Albert, sitting on the edge of her seat, her knuckles white around her black patent leather purse strap. Her thin face pinched in disapproval when Roxie entered. Trevor Nagle, the other attorney in town, rose and shook Roxie’s hand. On most nights Trevor could be found at the all-you-can-eat buffet; consequently his shape resembled a very large egg.
Chad came over to her and hugged her. “I heard about all your troubles. You doing all right now?”
The police cruiser was parked directly outside the window. Anyone with a lick of sense would know that having someone take a shot at you and having a police car shadow your every move were nerve wracking.
“Sure,” she said. “I’m fine.”
“Because I can bring Old Blue over and sit on your porch until we catch this fool.”
Old Blue was Chad’s favorite shotgun. “I’m fine. Laurie Ann has everything under control.”
“She’d better or she’ll answer to me.” He waved her toward a chair. Once they were all seated, Chad Powers began reading the will.
Why am I even here? Roxie wondered as the familiar legal words washed over her. She’d heard them when Gran’s will was read last year. Gran. Gran would know what to do about a shooter and this constant sense of being followed and watched. She’d also know what to do about Sloan.
The words “Friends of the Museum” slipped through Roxie’s fugue. She blinked, tried to replay the words in her head, and failed. “Excuse me. Would you repeat that part?”
Chad nodded. “I, Les Green, being of sound mind and body do hereby bequeath my property on the waterfront, also known as 103 River Street, to Friends of the Museum with the understanding that a nautical museum be established on this site.”
Roxie’s breath stalled. Les had given her a chance. With a little luck and a few grants, her Friends group would succeed. Her dream for Mossy Bog, Gran’s dream, would become a reality.
“That’s not fair!” Red flags dotted Andrea’s sunken cheeks. “That property is mine. I’m daddy’s only family. I put up with his crap for years.”
“I’m sorry, Andrea,” Chad said. “This wasn’t my doing. Your father wrote this will.”
“He messed up. He hasn’t been himself for a long time. He was mentally incompetent. I’ll challenge the will.”
“Challenge away. Les had his doctor sign off on his mental fitness. He knew what he was doing.”
“It isn’t right!” Andrea glared at her lawyer. “Say something, Trevor.”
“I’ll file an appeal if that’s what you want. But Chad’s right, I’ll be wasting your money. Not to mention wasting our time.”
Andrea’s voice shrilled. “Damn you. All of you. Every last person in this godforsaken hellhole is a total loser. I want what’s coming to me. I want that River Street property!” She clomped out of the room and Trevor shambled off after her with an apologetic look.
Chad smiled at Roxie. “So your group inherits the old cotton warehouse. You’ll have that museum up and running in no time.”
Her hand covered her heart. “I’m stunned. I never expected this. Les never hinted at his intentions. I wanted to buy the property from him. Now he’s gone and done something ultra wonderful. I can’t believe it.”
“Believe it, hon.”
“The Friends of the Museum will be over the moon about this. Now all we need is a rich sugar daddy to pay for the rehab.”
“Let me know when you find one. I could use a rich sugar daddy myself.”
***
WHEN THE PHONE RANG the following Friday night, Roxie switched off the TV and lunged for the receiver. “Hello,” she answered hopefully.
“Hey, Rox,” her brother said. “Guess what? I’ve got great news.”
It wasn’t Sloan calling to beg her forgiveness. Not that she could forgive him for the nasty things he’d said, but it galled her that he’d turned on her so completely. Sloan she couldn’t fix. Timmy, on the other hand, was a work in progress.
“Where have you been, Timmy? I’ve been leaving messages for you for weeks now. Are you all right?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. I didn’t want to call until everything was all set.”
She bolted upright. “What’s going on? Are you passing your classes?”
“That’s the reason I’m calling. College isn’t for me. I’ve found something better, Rox.”
Why did helping Timmy feel like herding mosquitoes? Roxie massaged her temples. “I thought we agreed you’d stay in school.”
“We agreed I’d finish this semester. I’m doing that. I’m even passing my courses. Amazing isn’t it?”
The excitement in his voice worried her. “But you’re quitting in December?”
“I’ve always wanted to travel. I can’t think straight in classrooms. I want to experience life in its fullest, while I’m young, while I can still appreciate it.”
Chicken and dumplings congealed in her stomach. Disaster loomed. “Trips cost money, money we don’t have. People might take advantage of you. Stay in school.”
“Too late. Can’t you be happy for me, Sis? For once I’m doing what I want, not what you want, or mom and dad want, or even what Gran wants. I have you to thank for it.”
She sank down on the sofa, clutching a pillow to her middle. “What have you done, Timmy?”
“I joined the Army. The recruiter said I’d travel, see the world, and learn a skill. I can go to college later, on the Army. Isn’t that perfect?”
Her pulse soared. “Perfect? People use guns in the Army. You could be deployed to a war zone. This is a bad idea. A really bad idea, Timmy.”
“It’s a great idea. I never would have considered it if not for Sloan. If he hadn’t told me about his Army experience, I’d still be hating life.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but no sound came out for a few agonizing seconds. “Sloan? Sloan is responsible for this decision?”
“He’s not responsible. I am. I joined the Army. I’m of age, and I’m taking charge of my own life.”
“But the Army? It’s so...violent. Couldn’t you wait tables for a year or two to save up travel money? Do something less life threatening?”
“The city’s dangerous, too, Roxie. In the Army, I’ll learn how to take care of myself. Can’t you be happy for me?”
Her heart sank. Happy. How could she be happy about this? She’d failed to keep him safe. Her parents’ faith in her had been misplaced. The Army. How could she possibly be happy? “When will you be coming home?” she asked woodenly.
“Thanksgiving. Now that I’m not trapped here for the next four years, I feel a lot better about college. I joined a study group.”
“Are there women involved?”
He chuckled. “You know me so well.”
“This isn’t what any of us would have chosen for you.”
“I chose it. I talked to the recruiter a lot before I signed up. I know what I’m doing. This is the first thing I’ve ever really wanted to do.”
“That’s great, Timmy. Just great.”
“You’re not mad at me?”
Her brother would be part of a war machine. And he thought it was a good idea. His choice went against everything she knew, against their parents’ nonviolent teachings.
This wasn’t his fault. Sloan had filled Timmy’s head with this nonsense. Sloan deserved her wrath, not Timmy. “I’m not mad. You’re my brother. I love you. But I’m concerned.”
“That’s okay. I give you permission to stop being a worrywart. Worry no more. I’m taking charge of my own life.”
With sinking heart, she realized the matter was out of her hands as Timmy extolled the great benefits of the Army and his plans to see Europe. To put himself in harm’s way. Finally, the call was over. She stared at her reflection in the dark TV screen.
How would she break this news to her parents? A shaky breath rasped through her lungs. Her peace-loving parents would be so disappointed. Their hearts would be shattered at the thought of their only son handling weapons.
She’d messed up all right. But Timmy had been crystal clear on one point. This disaster stemmed from one source.
Sloan Harding.