Read Online Blood Bond (Anna Strong Chronicles #9) by Jeanne C. Stein - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jeanne C. Stein
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That’s true. It’s called a Citroën. Funny name, too, right? It means ‘lemon.’”
John-John takes his hand. “It does look like a lemon! I’m John-John. Are you Anna’s daddy?”
“I am. My name is James and I’m very pleased to meet you.”
Dad straightens and turns to greet Frey. They exchange handshakes. Dad knows who Frey is—they met at faculty functions when Mom was principal at his school—and though we’ve made no announcement, he seems to understand that his presence here means something important.
Then we’re loading luggage and ourselves into the car. Frey secures John–John into his car seat and climbs into the backseat beside him. I take the front with my dad. He steers the car out of the parking lot and we pull into palm tree–lined roads that lead away from the coastline and toward the highway that will take us to Lorgues.
We are all quiet for a time. I’m trying to find a way to phrase the question that I’m afraid to have answered. Finally, after we’ve traveled about ten minutes, my dad clears his throat.
“Your mother will be so happy to see you.”
I turn in the seat. “How is she?”
“She’s doing pretty well right now.” A smile. “And that will get better when she sees you.”
“Is she at home?”
“Yes. She wouldn’t spend a moment longer in the hospital than she needed to.”
“Pancreatic cancer,” I whisper. “She’s never been a smoker. She’s not diabetic. How does this happen?”
He glances at me. “You’ve been doing your homework.”
“Before we left yesterday. I didn’t have time to do much research. But I did read that in most cases if the tumor can be removed . . .”
“It can’t.” Dad’s voice is gentle. “It was found too late. There were no symptoms and by the time we realized something was wrong . . . Well, the cancer had metastasized.”
“I just saw her in December.” I hear the plaintive wail in my voice and snap my mouth shut.
“I know.” Dad’s voice is calm, quiet. “We found out not long after.”
My shoulders hunch. I close my eyes. “How long?”
He’s quiet and when I straighten to look at him, I see the muscle at the base of his jaw quiver. I touch his shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll stay as long as we need to.”
He places his right hand over mine and squeezes it.
“How is Trish?” I ask then.
“She’s such a wonderful girl,” he replies, a small smile touching the corners of his mouth. “She wanted to leave school and stay home to care for your mother. But of course, that would never do! Anita insists she maintain a normal schedule. So she goes to class and keeps up with her homework, but she’s curtailed all extracurricular activities. She spends her free time with her grandmother. She won’t hear of anything else. She’s strong-willed. A fighter. Like you.”
I nod approvingly. “Good.” It’s not surprising. Trish needed to be strong to survive her upbringing.
We lapse into silence again. Our drive through Provence meanders along beautiful country roads—now hugging the edges of steep hillsides, now dipping into picturesque valleys. Everything is spring green and alive. When I glance into the backseat, Frey meets my eyes and smiles. His smile warms my heart and I feel a little of my tension melt away.
I shift my gaze to John-John and discreetly probe his thoughts. This landscape, lush, green, rolling, is so different from his home in Monument Valley where the desert is stark and flat and stretches as far as the eye can see, broken only by monoliths of red rock. I wonder what he thinks of this? I pick up only youthful curiosity and wonder.
Then,
Anna, what is that?
His voice in my head.
Maybe I’m not probing as discreetly as I imagine. I smile and look out my window. A purple meadow rolls by on the right side.
Lavender fields,
I tell him.
Do you know what lavender is?
John-John looks at his father, who must be explaining what the flower is. As usual, I can only
John-John takes his hand. “It does look like a lemon! I’m John-John. Are you Anna’s daddy?”
“I am. My name is James and I’m very pleased to meet you.”
Dad straightens and turns to greet Frey. They exchange handshakes. Dad knows who Frey is—they met at faculty functions when Mom was principal at his school—and though we’ve made no announcement, he seems to understand that his presence here means something important.
Then we’re loading luggage and ourselves into the car. Frey secures John–John into his car seat and climbs into the backseat beside him. I take the front with my dad. He steers the car out of the parking lot and we pull into palm tree–lined roads that lead away from the coastline and toward the highway that will take us to Lorgues.
We are all quiet for a time. I’m trying to find a way to phrase the question that I’m afraid to have answered. Finally, after we’ve traveled about ten minutes, my dad clears his throat.
“Your mother will be so happy to see you.”
I turn in the seat. “How is she?”
“She’s doing pretty well right now.” A smile. “And that will get better when she sees you.”
“Is she at home?”
“Yes. She wouldn’t spend a moment longer in the hospital than she needed to.”
“Pancreatic cancer,” I whisper. “She’s never been a smoker. She’s not diabetic. How does this happen?”
He glances at me. “You’ve been doing your homework.”
“Before we left yesterday. I didn’t have time to do much research. But I did read that in most cases if the tumor can be removed . . .”
“It can’t.” Dad’s voice is gentle. “It was found too late. There were no symptoms and by the time we realized something was wrong . . . Well, the cancer had metastasized.”
“I just saw her in December.” I hear the plaintive wail in my voice and snap my mouth shut.
“I know.” Dad’s voice is calm, quiet. “We found out not long after.”
My shoulders hunch. I close my eyes. “How long?”
He’s quiet and when I straighten to look at him, I see the muscle at the base of his jaw quiver. I touch his shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll stay as long as we need to.”
He places his right hand over mine and squeezes it.
“How is Trish?” I ask then.
“She’s such a wonderful girl,” he replies, a small smile touching the corners of his mouth. “She wanted to leave school and stay home to care for your mother. But of course, that would never do! Anita insists she maintain a normal schedule. So she goes to class and keeps up with her homework, but she’s curtailed all extracurricular activities. She spends her free time with her grandmother. She won’t hear of anything else. She’s strong-willed. A fighter. Like you.”
I nod approvingly. “Good.” It’s not surprising. Trish needed to be strong to survive her upbringing.
We lapse into silence again. Our drive through Provence meanders along beautiful country roads—now hugging the edges of steep hillsides, now dipping into picturesque valleys. Everything is spring green and alive. When I glance into the backseat, Frey meets my eyes and smiles. His smile warms my heart and I feel a little of my tension melt away.
I shift my gaze to John-John and discreetly probe his thoughts. This landscape, lush, green, rolling, is so different from his home in Monument Valley where the desert is stark and flat and stretches as far as the eye can see, broken only by monoliths of red rock. I wonder what he thinks of this? I pick up only youthful curiosity and wonder.
Then,
Anna, what is that?
His voice in my head.
Maybe I’m not probing as discreetly as I imagine. I smile and look out my window. A purple meadow rolls by on the right side.
Lavender fields,
I tell him.
Do you know what lavender is?
John-John looks at his father, who must be explaining what the flower is. As usual, I can only
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