Read Online Until the Stars Fall From the Sky by Mary Crawford - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary Crawford
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water simultaneously. “French Toast!” I spit fiercely as my water tips the other directio n and sloshes out. “Just a sec — !” I squeal into the phone as it falls to the table in a crash. I’m afraid to look at the damage, but when I pick up my phone, it is fine. So, I pick it up and answer as nonchalantly as I can, “I’m sorry, hi.”
I hear a deep chuckle. It feels like a refreshing rain on a sweltering hot, muggy night. I perceive Jeff’s pull through the phone. He hasn’t spoken a word, yet I can feel him in every nerve ending. “Evening Pip. Did you just call me breakfast food?”
I flush with embarrassment. Geez Kier, the man isn’t even here. Pull it together, woman!
“What? No! I was about to spill my water when I answered the phone. I’m a huge klutz. You caught me in the middle of all of that,” I explain, somewhat disjointedly.
“I am really sorry I caught you off guard, but that really doesn’t explain French toast,” he says with a chuckle.
“Oh, um, that’s from my dad,” I answer, smiling at the fond memory. “I was a young kid when I started going on the road with him. Well, he and his buddies couldn’t use traditional trucker’s language around me; so they came up with a G-rated version. Since I still work with kids, I’ve just kept using it, even if it’s corny.”
“Can I just say? I’ve never met your dad, but I have a whole new level of respect for the man,” Jeff admits. “By the age of eight, I was privy to a vocabulary porn stars sh ouldn’t know, thanks to my stepdad. My life isn’t at all enriched by the knowledge. I think your upbringing suits you perfectly, Pip.”
“Jeff, I’m sorry you didn’t have a guy like my dad in your life, though your grandpa sounds pretty great. Enough about me; how are you?” I ask, trying to deftly change the subject.
“That’s actually why I called. I’m back in town sooner than I expected. I started Tuesday afternoon. One of the other law clerks already quit. I mean; I almost get it . This kind of child abuse makes you want to punch something or someone. Even so, it’s the reason we all want to put the bastards away.”
“Butterflies ,” I automatically substitute under my breath.
“Butterflies?” Jeff barks with laughter . “Okay, Pip, we lock up the big bad ‘butterflies’ because they hurt women and kids. If you want to be a prosecutor, you can’t be too much of a chicken” — he pauses — “’sausage’ to do it, right?”
I am inordinately thrilled with Jeff’s effort to please me. “So, close! Dad’s word was soufflé because he was a huge Julia Child fan.” Still, even in this moment of levity, I have an overwhelming sense of foreboding as I ask, “Jeff, you’re going to Willamette, right?”
“Yeah, I’m a 3L. Why? I told you this last week,” Jeff responds, sounding confused.
I press forward, afraid I already know the answer. “…and hypothetically, you work for a prosecutor’s office within say an hour of Salem?” I query, gently leading him to the conclusion I don’t really want him to reach.
“Also correct,” he confirms.
“Jeff, this was all a lot easier when we were on vacation.” I sigh in sadness as I ask, “Do you remember what I said I do for a living?”
“Of course I do!” Jeff responds with a touch of indignation. “I remember everything about you in vivid detail.”
“We may not have gotten around to discussing the fact that though I live in Geravis, I actually work for Yamhill county,” I reveal with a sinking feeling in my stomach.
“Well sh — soufflé, Pip. You thought the most complicated thing in our relationship was going to be your paralysis. We may have just stepped it up a notch. The good news is that I haven’t touched the child abuse case. At this point, it’s just a rumor in our office. The bad news is that for the time being, it’s a huge conflict of interest for us to be putting ‘butterflies’ away together. A defense
I hear a deep chuckle. It feels like a refreshing rain on a sweltering hot, muggy night. I perceive Jeff’s pull through the phone. He hasn’t spoken a word, yet I can feel him in every nerve ending. “Evening Pip. Did you just call me breakfast food?”
I flush with embarrassment. Geez Kier, the man isn’t even here. Pull it together, woman!
“What? No! I was about to spill my water when I answered the phone. I’m a huge klutz. You caught me in the middle of all of that,” I explain, somewhat disjointedly.
“I am really sorry I caught you off guard, but that really doesn’t explain French toast,” he says with a chuckle.
“Oh, um, that’s from my dad,” I answer, smiling at the fond memory. “I was a young kid when I started going on the road with him. Well, he and his buddies couldn’t use traditional trucker’s language around me; so they came up with a G-rated version. Since I still work with kids, I’ve just kept using it, even if it’s corny.”
“Can I just say? I’ve never met your dad, but I have a whole new level of respect for the man,” Jeff admits. “By the age of eight, I was privy to a vocabulary porn stars sh ouldn’t know, thanks to my stepdad. My life isn’t at all enriched by the knowledge. I think your upbringing suits you perfectly, Pip.”
“Jeff, I’m sorry you didn’t have a guy like my dad in your life, though your grandpa sounds pretty great. Enough about me; how are you?” I ask, trying to deftly change the subject.
“That’s actually why I called. I’m back in town sooner than I expected. I started Tuesday afternoon. One of the other law clerks already quit. I mean; I almost get it . This kind of child abuse makes you want to punch something or someone. Even so, it’s the reason we all want to put the bastards away.”
“Butterflies ,” I automatically substitute under my breath.
“Butterflies?” Jeff barks with laughter . “Okay, Pip, we lock up the big bad ‘butterflies’ because they hurt women and kids. If you want to be a prosecutor, you can’t be too much of a chicken” — he pauses — “’sausage’ to do it, right?”
I am inordinately thrilled with Jeff’s effort to please me. “So, close! Dad’s word was soufflé because he was a huge Julia Child fan.” Still, even in this moment of levity, I have an overwhelming sense of foreboding as I ask, “Jeff, you’re going to Willamette, right?”
“Yeah, I’m a 3L. Why? I told you this last week,” Jeff responds, sounding confused.
I press forward, afraid I already know the answer. “…and hypothetically, you work for a prosecutor’s office within say an hour of Salem?” I query, gently leading him to the conclusion I don’t really want him to reach.
“Also correct,” he confirms.
“Jeff, this was all a lot easier when we were on vacation.” I sigh in sadness as I ask, “Do you remember what I said I do for a living?”
“Of course I do!” Jeff responds with a touch of indignation. “I remember everything about you in vivid detail.”
“We may not have gotten around to discussing the fact that though I live in Geravis, I actually work for Yamhill county,” I reveal with a sinking feeling in my stomach.
“Well sh — soufflé, Pip. You thought the most complicated thing in our relationship was going to be your paralysis. We may have just stepped it up a notch. The good news is that I haven’t touched the child abuse case. At this point, it’s just a rumor in our office. The bad news is that for the time being, it’s a huge conflict of interest for us to be putting ‘butterflies’ away together. A defense
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