Chapters (30)
- Dedication
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-One
- Chapter Twenty-Two
- Chapter Twenty-Three
- Chapter Twenty-Four
- Chapter Twenty-Five
- Chapter Twenty-Six
- Epilogue
- Dear Reader . . .
- About the Author
“I’m not changing my lifestyle one bit, boy,” Matthew had said when he’d shown Flynn the bedroom he would be using. “You can earn your keep around here by taking care of this apartment and learning to cook, and you are responsible for your own laundry. As soon as you’re sixteen, I’ll get you a job in the oil field business doing odd jobs after school and on weekends. Good hard work will keep you out of trouble.”
“Yes, sir,” Flynn had said, and he had borne his grief alone. He blinked away the past, coming back to the present. According to the sign on the wall, they still had coconut pie like Nanny Lucy had ordered that day. He imagined that hot dogs were on the menu, but he still gagged at the thought of biting into one. The taste always took him back to that terrible moment.
“Flynn O’Riley?” a masculine voice asked from the end of the booth.
“That’s me,” Flynn said, glad for the interruption that put an end to the sad memories.
“Paul Jones, Lucy O’Riley’s lawyer.” He stuck out one hand, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose with the other.
Flynn shook with him. “Pleased to meet you. Nessa and April should be here soon.”
“I’m a little early,” Paul said, “and I’ve got a lot of papers for you grandchildren to sign. Would you mind if we moved to that table”—he nodded toward the other side of the café—“to give us more room?”
Flynn slid out of the booth and followed the short gray-haired man across the room. Paul took a seat at the head of the table, pulled one of the extra chairs around to sit beside him, and put his briefcase on it. He flipped it open and began spreading out papers in three stacks.
A waitress came from a booth full of ladies, laid two menus on the table, and asked, “What can I get you guys?”
“Coffee and a cherry fried pie,” Paul answered, but he didn’t look up.
“Just coffee for now,” Flynn answered. “Maybe something to eat after we take care of this business, and we’ll need another menu or two by then.”
“Sure thing.” The young girl left smiling and returned in a couple of minutes with their order and extra menus.