Read Online Blackwood by Gwenda Bond - Free Book Online Page B

him nuts," Sara said, grinning as she pulled a loaf of bread down from a shelf. "Turkey OK?"
      Miranda nodded. "Perfect," she said.
      The Rawling family kitchen wasn't small, but it was cozy. Evening light streamed in through a windowed back door and a picture window over the sink, further warming the honeyed tones everything was designed in.
      Sara started removing items from the fridge. She asked, "How do you guys know each other?"
      That didn't take long.
      "We don't really. Phillips just–" happened to come by so I shot him with an ancient gun "–gave me a ride to the courthouse."
      Sara laid several slices of bread across the sparkling clean counter. "I take it he didn't tell you that he took the car without permission and left me abandoned at the Norfolk airport?"
      Miranda shook her head, slowly.
      "He has a way of leaving out these things. You said the courthouse. Did you guys go by the office?"
      "You mean, did Phillips see his dad?"
      Sara nodded, waiting for the answer.
      "What's the deal with them?" Miranda asked.
      "You saw them in action?" Sara slathered some Dijon mustard across a slice of bread. "They think they're polar opposites. Really, though, they're not so different. Neither of them likes doing what they're told."
      Miranda accepted the sandwich from Sara. She took a bite, talked while chewing. Delicate graces weren't her forte. "Who does?" she countered.
      Sara considered her and Miranda squirmed, feeling sized up.
      "Is your dad one of the missing?" Sara asked the question quietly.
      "No," Miranda said.
      Sara had obviously been expecting a different answer. "Then why'd you go by there?"
      The turkey sandwich congealed in Miranda's stomach. She'd have to say the words at some point. The first time might as well be to someone being nice to her.
      "He's dead," she said. "My dad's dead. That's why we went to the courthouse. The chief wanted to tell me in person."
      Sara was instantly at her side, rubbing a hand across her back. Miranda felt a stab of loss, sharp and mean in her chest. She put down the sandwich.
      "Oh, honey," Sara said, her hand tracing a circle across Miranda's shoulders.
      "I'm eighteen in a few months," Miranda said. She needed to lighten the moment, keep the tears away. Her dad had felt too much, and look what happened to him. She needed to stay strong. "The orphan card will get me a lot of sympathy at school. Hello, homework extensions."
      Sara smoothed Miranda's hair back, and Miranda knew she wasn't fooled. Sara said, "You deserve better than sympathy."
      Miranda didn't have anything to say to that. She picked up the sandwich.
      Sara considered her for a long moment, traced another circle on her back. But then she left Miranda's side to finish making Phillips' turkey on wheat, apparently getting that Miranda wasn't comfortable talking about any of this yet.
      "Phillips is special," Sara said, not looking up. "His dad knows that, but he doesn't understand it. Even though he grew up with a mother who was also… special. It's why he lived away all those years. We met out in New Mexico. I dragged him back here because he missed it too much, even if he wouldn't admit it. He doesn't know what to make of things that aren't easily explained. That you just have to take them for what they are, sometimes. He doesn't understand what it's like for Phillips. He loves him, but he doesn't understand."
      Miranda chewed the chalky bread, taking in what she'd said. "He worries about him, right? That counts for something," she said.
      Sara watched her. "It's hard not to worry about Phillips."
      "Special how?" Miranda asked.
      Phillips' footsteps clopped on the stairs, coming down fast. Sara raised her voice, "Just let me get those pictures. He's dressed like a little cowboy. So cute."
      Miranda laughed, despite the tightness in her chest, waiting for Phillips' mock protest. But her laugh faded as she