Читать книгу Between Love and Duty - Janice Johnson Kay - Страница 8

PROLOGUE

EIGHTEEN-YEAR-OLD DUNCAN MacLachlan saw from half a block away that his mother’s car was in the driveway. So she was home. He didn’t know if that was good or not. Man, he should have stopped to grab a burger somewhere. Mom wasn’t likely to cook dinner tonight.

He parked at the curb, killed the engine and winced at the jerk followed by a barely muted bang. Mr. Kowalski next door glared every time he saw him now. Duncan always waved hello, even while thinking, Live with it, dude. Every penny he was making this summer was going in the bank to pay for tuition. There was no way he could afford to replace the muffler. He’d sell the car before he left for college at the end of August, anyway. Kowalski would have peace and quiet then.

Duncan loped across the yard, but found himself hesitating on the porch. He wasn’t even sure why the reluctance. Who cared how many years Dad had gotten this time? Not him. They could throw away the key as far as Duncan was concerned.

Except, he guessed Mom did care.

Maybe. He frowned, his hand on the knob. She’d been strange lately. Worried about Dad, maybe, but…somehow Duncan didn’t think so.

He gave his head a quick, hard shake. What? He was cowering at the thought of another chapter in the MacLachlan family soap opera? The last chapter, as far as he was concerned.

Five more weeks, and he was gone.

The sweet thought of freedom loosened his shoulders and he opened the door. “Hey, Mom,” he called.

There was no answer. Surprised, he walked through to the kitchen and was more surprised yet to see that she was there, sitting at the table not doing anything. The radio was off; she didn’t even have a magazine open in front of her. And no, she wasn’t cooking dinner.

Dirty dishes in the sink showed that Conall had been around. So did the bread left on the counter, open so it could dry out. Peanut butter that should have gone back in the fridge. An empty milk carton lay on its side. Beside it was a crushed beer can. Duncan felt a rush of anger at the sight of that. Con was twelve years old. Twelve.

Was that what had Mom staring straight ahead, this weirdly unfocused look in her eyes?

Duncan didn’t move past the doorway. “Mom?”

Slowly, almost as if painfully, she lifted her gaze and blinked; once, twice.

“Um…are you all right?” he asked.

Her face contorted, then smoothed again. He saw her swallow. “Your father was sentenced to ten years.”

Duncan nodded. Dad had gotten five last time, got out early—the judge definitely was going to come down on him. He dealt drugs for a living; he deserved whatever they threw at him.

“Do you know where your brothers are?” she asked, in a seeming non sequitur.

Unease crawled up his spine with the quick flick, flick of a snake in the grass. Why was she so out of it? They both knew where Niall was. Duncan’s fifteen-year-old brother was in juvie for possession. Only for a joint—it could be worse. With Niall, it usually was worse. This time, when they called, Mom had said, “He can rot there,” and hung up the phone.

Around a constriction in his throat, Duncan said, “Conall was still asleep when I left this morning.”

Only twelve, Conall had been out late last night. Duncan had heard him come in sometime after one. Mom wasn’t even trying to control him anymore, which Duncan didn’t understand.

“I left a note asking, if he didn’t do anything else today, he could at least leave the kitchen clean.” Mom didn’t even look toward the mess.

Duncan said awkwardly, “I can clean up.”

Her eyes were focused now on his face. So intensely focused, he couldn’t look away.

“I’m afraid—” her voice cracked “—you’re going to have to.”

“Do you, uh, want to lie down or something?”

She shook her head. “I’m done, Duncan. I can’t take any more. Your father promised…”

He couldn’t imagine why she would ever believe anything Dad promised. And she must have known for at least a year that he was moving drugs again. Duncan hadn’t even heard them arguing. It was like she’d given up.

“I can’t do anything with your brothers. You’re an adult now. You don’t need me anymore.”

What was she talking about?

“I’m already packed,” she said. “I wanted to stay until you got home. To…explain.”

Explain what? He only stared.

“I’m leaving,” his mother said flatly. “Your aunt Patty is in Sacramento. She told me I could stay with her until I got on my feet. I don’t want anyone but you to know where I’ve gone.”

“You’re…leaving?” His voice cracked this time, as if he was a little kid and it was beginning to change.

“Yes. You should, too. Maybe Jed’s parents would put you up until you go in August.”

This was like an out-of-body experience. He watched himself standing in the doorway, gaping. Heard himself say, “But…Conall.”

She shrugged. “He’s not your responsibility.”

“He’s my brother.”

His mother had aged. Between the moment he walked in the house and now, she’d added ten more years. She only shook her head. “There’s nothing either of us can do for him, or Niall, either. Face it.” She rose to her feet; her voice hardened. “I have.”

“You’re just…taking off,” he said in disbelief.

“That’s right.” She walked toward him. He had to fall back to let her by. She paused briefly; he thought she kissed his cheek, although he wasn’t positive. “You’re a good boy, Duncan,” his mother murmured, so softly he might have imagined that, too. A moment later he heard the front door open and close.

Her car started. She backed out.

He hadn’t yet returned to his body. He was afraid to. The house was utterly quiet.

His father had been sentenced today to ten years in the Monroe Correctional Complex. His mother had driven away. Apparently she intended to keep going, all the way to California. She thought he should go upstairs, pack his things and leave, too, so that his brother Conall would come home to find no one.

There’s nothing either of us can do for him, or Niall, either.

But he’s twelve years old! A kid. Really, so was Niall.

Not your responsibility.

Then whose were they?

Duncan’s heart was thudding as though he’d sprinted the homestretch of a five-mile run. His breath came in great gasps, like an old-fashioned bellows. His hands had formed fists at his sides.

Not your responsibility.

Then whose? Whose? he raged silently.

Upstairs he had a packet from the university. He was still waiting for a dorm roommate assignment, but he’d already chosen his classes. He was this close to escaping. The freedom had shimmered in front of him since he started high school and understood what he had to do to attain it. Good grades, scholarships, and he was gone.

The promise was so beautiful, he stared at it with burning eyes, understanding now what his mother had seen as she sat there at the kitchen table. Not the here and now, but what could be.

If only he, too, agreed that his brothers weren’t his responsibility.

Duncan made an animal sound of pain and fell to his knees. He pressed his forehead against the door frame and hung on.

There was a reason college and escaping home and family had always shimmered before his vision. That’s what mirages did.