Read Online Mason's Daughter by Cynthia J Stone - Free Book Online
Authors: Cynthia J Stone
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balance. At first, I detect a slight hesitation on Mr. Donatello’s part, but a nod from Mike smoothes the deal. Another rescue. Does he ever climb down off his white horse?
Before she got too sick, my mother expressed her fondness for Mike Avery. She believed he would become mayor of Mason’s Crossing someday. Has she decided to work her juju through him?
Mr. Donatello departs the police station with his shopping bag of art glass shards in one hand and Charlie Cromwell’s check for the full amount of their share in the other. Colton holds the door open as Charlie and Judith carry a limping Max through it, then he follows all three of them to wait outside.
Whirling around, I catch Mike staring at me. “What was that all about?”
“According to the owner, the boys–”
“Why did Mr. Donatello need your approval before he accepted my offer?”
Mike runs a finger around the inside of his collar and loosens his tie. “How about some coffee?”
“What right have you to interfere?” The instant the words leave my mouth, I feel the sting of ingratitude, like biting into something sour. Today isn’t the first time Officer Avery has stepped between Colton and an angry property owner. I try a gentler tone. “Mike, please remember, Colton is my business, and no one else’s.”
His office phone rings, and he holds up a forefinger while he backs around the counter toward his desk. I can’t keep Colton waiting. As I stride through the exit, he says into the phone, “No, it’s all settled.”
Once outside, I can’t tell if the bright sunlight has cast too much warmth for early spring, or if the sight of my son with the Cromwells overheats my body. When I approach their group, Colton and I don’t look at each other. Probably best for the time being.
Max stands between his parents, arms linked to them. Judith has finished drying his tears and smoothing his hair, and his face now shows a half-smile of relief mixed with a trace of contrition.
“How long is he grounded?” I ask.
Max’s improved demeanor disappears as if I have kicked him in the shins. I glance at Colton, who has turned his back.
“We’re going home now,” Judith says, as she pats her son’s cheek. “All he needs is a good supper and a hot bath before he goes to bed.”
I arch my eyebrows. “So you’re not punishing his misbehavior?”
Max wails and Judith hugs him tighter, while Charlie charges to his defense. “Max didn’t do anything. He just got swept away by Colton’s–”
“Not according to Mike Avery,” I say. “He got the story from the proprietor.”
“Look, we agreed to pay for half, but we all know your son’s the one who broke the vase.”
Colton turns his head toward Charlie. “Art glass.” At the corner of his mouth, I detect a hint of amusement.
A year ago, I would have climbed all over him for his insolence, but Colton’s behavior since Jack’s death has made me hesitant to discipline my own son. Maybe I have made a mistake in holding back.
As Charlie tucks his son into the back seat of their car, Judith touches my shoulder. “We’ll talk later,” she whispers.
They drive off. Without looking at Colton, I use my words like a fist. “Get in the car. No photography club, not today, not ever. Give me back the camera so I can return it.”
“Too late.” His face muscles harden into a smirk. “I threw the box and the receipt away.”
“Then I’ll keep it. You’ll never be allowed to use it.”
HATRED NOW HAS A PARTNER at my house: silence. After we arrive home, I confiscate the camera and tell him he is grounded indefinitely. Colton retreats to his room while I escape to my greenhouse. I flip the switch on the automatic sprinklers to the off position. Twice I count the trays of begonias and check the angel wings for roots. My mind fixes on repotting geraniums and clipping dead branches from a hanging basket of bougainvillea, and soon my breathing follows a rhythmic pattern.
By the time dusk
Before she got too sick, my mother expressed her fondness for Mike Avery. She believed he would become mayor of Mason’s Crossing someday. Has she decided to work her juju through him?
Mr. Donatello departs the police station with his shopping bag of art glass shards in one hand and Charlie Cromwell’s check for the full amount of their share in the other. Colton holds the door open as Charlie and Judith carry a limping Max through it, then he follows all three of them to wait outside.
Whirling around, I catch Mike staring at me. “What was that all about?”
“According to the owner, the boys–”
“Why did Mr. Donatello need your approval before he accepted my offer?”
Mike runs a finger around the inside of his collar and loosens his tie. “How about some coffee?”
“What right have you to interfere?” The instant the words leave my mouth, I feel the sting of ingratitude, like biting into something sour. Today isn’t the first time Officer Avery has stepped between Colton and an angry property owner. I try a gentler tone. “Mike, please remember, Colton is my business, and no one else’s.”
His office phone rings, and he holds up a forefinger while he backs around the counter toward his desk. I can’t keep Colton waiting. As I stride through the exit, he says into the phone, “No, it’s all settled.”
Once outside, I can’t tell if the bright sunlight has cast too much warmth for early spring, or if the sight of my son with the Cromwells overheats my body. When I approach their group, Colton and I don’t look at each other. Probably best for the time being.
Max stands between his parents, arms linked to them. Judith has finished drying his tears and smoothing his hair, and his face now shows a half-smile of relief mixed with a trace of contrition.
“How long is he grounded?” I ask.
Max’s improved demeanor disappears as if I have kicked him in the shins. I glance at Colton, who has turned his back.
“We’re going home now,” Judith says, as she pats her son’s cheek. “All he needs is a good supper and a hot bath before he goes to bed.”
I arch my eyebrows. “So you’re not punishing his misbehavior?”
Max wails and Judith hugs him tighter, while Charlie charges to his defense. “Max didn’t do anything. He just got swept away by Colton’s–”
“Not according to Mike Avery,” I say. “He got the story from the proprietor.”
“Look, we agreed to pay for half, but we all know your son’s the one who broke the vase.”
Colton turns his head toward Charlie. “Art glass.” At the corner of his mouth, I detect a hint of amusement.
A year ago, I would have climbed all over him for his insolence, but Colton’s behavior since Jack’s death has made me hesitant to discipline my own son. Maybe I have made a mistake in holding back.
As Charlie tucks his son into the back seat of their car, Judith touches my shoulder. “We’ll talk later,” she whispers.
They drive off. Without looking at Colton, I use my words like a fist. “Get in the car. No photography club, not today, not ever. Give me back the camera so I can return it.”
“Too late.” His face muscles harden into a smirk. “I threw the box and the receipt away.”
“Then I’ll keep it. You’ll never be allowed to use it.”
HATRED NOW HAS A PARTNER at my house: silence. After we arrive home, I confiscate the camera and tell him he is grounded indefinitely. Colton retreats to his room while I escape to my greenhouse. I flip the switch on the automatic sprinklers to the off position. Twice I count the trays of begonias and check the angel wings for roots. My mind fixes on repotting geraniums and clipping dead branches from a hanging basket of bougainvillea, and soon my breathing follows a rhythmic pattern.
By the time dusk
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