Read Online Bones and Roses by Eileen; Goudge - Free Book Online

top-secret government project aimed at averting global nuclear annihilation or some such. My heart sinks. Next he’ll be phoning me in the middle of the night to tell me he’s being “watched” and that “they” are after him. The most maddening thing about it is he’s really good at what he does. He has a genius IQ and the programs he designs work when he’s firing on all cylinders. Tech stuff that confounds me is for him effortless, and he writes code like I do shopping lists. I know who to call whenever my computer is acting up or I need to install a new program. When his meds—an anti-psychotic cocktail, with drugs to counteract the side effects that would dwarf the reputed contents of Michael Jackson’s medicine chest—are working, there’s nothing he can’t handle. When he’s off on one of his tangents, he’s a loose cog spinning aimlessly.
    Today is one of those days.
    â€œArthur.” I adopt a firmer tone, pulling the box of cereal from the shopping cart and returning it to the shelf. “You don’t need three Honey Bunches of Oats, besides which you’ve already maxed out your budget. We talked about this, remember? You can’t blow your entire allowance and then expect me to bail you out. You do realize I’m not made of money?”
    He puts on his haughty professor’s face. “I’m well aware of that. I don’t need you to lecture me.” A lanky six-foot-two, he looks like an elongated exclamation mark in the black raincoat he’s wearing (never mind it’s sunny outside). His square, black-framed glasses are smudged and his brown mop more unruly than usual—he’s overdue for the haircut that’s next up. I want to sock him and hug him all at once. Instead I give him my sternest look, at which he caves. “I’m sorry, Tish. I promise I’ll do better.” He hangs his head, looking up at me with puppy-dog eyes, then his long arm snakes past me to retrieve the box of cereal. “Starting next week.”
    I sigh. Arthur is hopeless with money. Put a dollar sign in front of a number and his mathematical brain utterly fails him. Which is why I’m his fiduciary in addition to the other hats I wear with him: big sister, chief handler, and health advocate. I pay the bills from his monthly SSDI check and give him a weekly allowance for groceries and incidentals. I try not to interfere with how he spends it because I want him to have as much independence as possible. He’ll find out soon enough, when he comes up short at the cash register, how serious I was about not bailing him out.
    â€œListen, about Mom,” I broach, picking up the pace as he energetically steers the cart down the canned beverage aisle. This probably isn’t the best time to bring up a delicate subject, but with my brother there’s never a good time—you just have to jump in and hope for the best. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About … you know.” My voice cracks. “A memorial service.”
    â€œUh huh,” he answers distractedly. “Sure, whatever.”
    I blow out an exasperated breath. “Did you hear what I just said?”
    â€œYes, of course.” He cocks his head up at me as he’s bending down to pull a case of Mountain Dew from the lower shelf. “It’s just that I’m really busy right now. With this project. So it’s kind of hard to focus on anything else.”
    â€œLet me guess. It’s a matter of national security.”
    He nods gravely as he straightens. “Yes, and it’s highly sensitive, so I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to anyone, not even Doctor Sandefur.” Dr. Sandefur is his psychiatrist. “If it were to get back to the people I’m working for …” He trails off, shaking his head as if to say, You don’t want to know .
    My heart sinks further.