Read Online Things Hoped For by Andrew Clements - Free Book Online
Authors: Andrew Clements
Tags: Ages 10 & Up
Ads: Link
come around here. You want to talk, talk to my lawyer.”
Then Robert lets loose with a big coughing fit, and when he’s done, he says, “And that’s the end of it. . . . No, that’s the end of it.”
And then he hangs up.
I’m back in the study, and I’m looking at Robert’s face. He tries a smile, but it doesn’t work. His cheeks are flushed.
“That guy sounds totally out of it today—yelling and swearing, and he says he’s got papers all ready to sign. And he says he needs to borrow some money against his half of this house or he’s going to lose his business. And he needs to get it settled right now. No wonder your grandfather wanted to get away.”
I shake my head. “If you’re saying Grampa ran away and left me to deal with all this because he was afraid or something, that’s not true—that’s not like him at all. You saw those war medals in the parlor. He would never run from a fight.”
Robert says, “Okay, but if he knew Hank was so nuts about needing some money, and he knew Hank was going to keep pushing, then why do you think your grandfather left all of a sudden?”
That stops me cold. But then the answer comes to me so clearly. “Grampa must have been pretty sure that if he’d stayed, things would have been worse.”
“Worse than this?” Robert makes a face. “How?”
I shrug and I say, “I don’t know.”
And on Saturday, that’s true. I don’t know how things could be worse. But I’m sure Grampa wouldn’t have made it hard for me, not on purpose.
And then I think, Wouldn’t it be nice if everything always happened on purpose.
And then I think, Maybe it does.
chapter 8
HOUSEGUEST
After the phone call to Uncle Hank we have some lunch before we each spend about two hours practicing down in my studio, me first and then Robert.
And then late Saturday afternoon I ask him about staying the night.
“I mean, if you want to. You could even check out of your hotel and just stay here until your auditions are done. In Grampa’s room. If it’s okay with your mom and dad. And you can practice here anytime you want to.”
I keep myself from saying that I don’t want to spend another night alone in this house. But I think he knows that.
He smiles and nods. “That’d be great. And my folks’ll like it, me being at someone’s house instead of a hotel—staying with this kid I know from Tanglewood.” Robert’s already composing what he’s going to say to his parents.
And he leaves and comes back at about six-thirty with a rolling suitcase and a backpack and a bag of Chinese food. Which is good, because I’m famished.
After we’ve each wolfed down some egg rolls and chicken with pea pods, I ask, “So what did your parents say? When you told them about staying here.”
He keeps busy with his chopsticks, talking between bites. “My dad was fine with it, but then my mom said she wanted to talk to your grandfather, and I told her that he’s away for a while. And then she got all mothered out. So I just said, Well, this is what I’m doing because I’m sure it’s all right, and if you were here, you’d know it was all right too. But you’re not here, so you’ll have to take my word for it. And I checked out of the Empire, and here I am.”
When we’re done eating, he says, “So who’s got the practice room first tonight, you or me? I don’t mind taking the late shift.”
Which is perfect for me, because I had the early practice this afternoon, and I’m ready to take another run at my pieces, especially the Bach partitas.
I’m at the top of the stairs when Robert says, “Have you ever played a fiddle tune for your teacher at Manhattan? Because you should.”
I make a face. “Bad idea. Pyotr Melyanovich would not be amused. He’s very formal.”
“Doesn’t mean he won’t like it. Because you should be using that, the energy and the feelings. Have you heard a CD called Appalachian Journey ?”
I shake my head. “Bluegrass?”
“It’s Yo-Yo Ma with
Then Robert lets loose with a big coughing fit, and when he’s done, he says, “And that’s the end of it. . . . No, that’s the end of it.”
And then he hangs up.
I’m back in the study, and I’m looking at Robert’s face. He tries a smile, but it doesn’t work. His cheeks are flushed.
“That guy sounds totally out of it today—yelling and swearing, and he says he’s got papers all ready to sign. And he says he needs to borrow some money against his half of this house or he’s going to lose his business. And he needs to get it settled right now. No wonder your grandfather wanted to get away.”
I shake my head. “If you’re saying Grampa ran away and left me to deal with all this because he was afraid or something, that’s not true—that’s not like him at all. You saw those war medals in the parlor. He would never run from a fight.”
Robert says, “Okay, but if he knew Hank was so nuts about needing some money, and he knew Hank was going to keep pushing, then why do you think your grandfather left all of a sudden?”
That stops me cold. But then the answer comes to me so clearly. “Grampa must have been pretty sure that if he’d stayed, things would have been worse.”
“Worse than this?” Robert makes a face. “How?”
I shrug and I say, “I don’t know.”
And on Saturday, that’s true. I don’t know how things could be worse. But I’m sure Grampa wouldn’t have made it hard for me, not on purpose.
And then I think, Wouldn’t it be nice if everything always happened on purpose.
And then I think, Maybe it does.
chapter 8
HOUSEGUEST
After the phone call to Uncle Hank we have some lunch before we each spend about two hours practicing down in my studio, me first and then Robert.
And then late Saturday afternoon I ask him about staying the night.
“I mean, if you want to. You could even check out of your hotel and just stay here until your auditions are done. In Grampa’s room. If it’s okay with your mom and dad. And you can practice here anytime you want to.”
I keep myself from saying that I don’t want to spend another night alone in this house. But I think he knows that.
He smiles and nods. “That’d be great. And my folks’ll like it, me being at someone’s house instead of a hotel—staying with this kid I know from Tanglewood.” Robert’s already composing what he’s going to say to his parents.
And he leaves and comes back at about six-thirty with a rolling suitcase and a backpack and a bag of Chinese food. Which is good, because I’m famished.
After we’ve each wolfed down some egg rolls and chicken with pea pods, I ask, “So what did your parents say? When you told them about staying here.”
He keeps busy with his chopsticks, talking between bites. “My dad was fine with it, but then my mom said she wanted to talk to your grandfather, and I told her that he’s away for a while. And then she got all mothered out. So I just said, Well, this is what I’m doing because I’m sure it’s all right, and if you were here, you’d know it was all right too. But you’re not here, so you’ll have to take my word for it. And I checked out of the Empire, and here I am.”
When we’re done eating, he says, “So who’s got the practice room first tonight, you or me? I don’t mind taking the late shift.”
Which is perfect for me, because I had the early practice this afternoon, and I’m ready to take another run at my pieces, especially the Bach partitas.
I’m at the top of the stairs when Robert says, “Have you ever played a fiddle tune for your teacher at Manhattan? Because you should.”
I make a face. “Bad idea. Pyotr Melyanovich would not be amused. He’s very formal.”
“Doesn’t mean he won’t like it. Because you should be using that, the energy and the feelings. Have you heard a CD called Appalachian Journey ?”
I shake my head. “Bluegrass?”
“It’s Yo-Yo Ma with
Similar Books
