Читать книгу The Christmas Campaign - Patricia Bradley - Страница 12
ОглавлениеTHE SUN HUNG low on the horizon as Peter walked to his car. He’d tucked the letter from his grandfather in his briefcase to read later tonight. Right now he had to answer a text from the director of the children’s shelter. Call me.
As he dialed Sarah Redding’s cell phone number, he shrugged out of his suit coat. It was unseasonably warm weather for the last of November. That was one thing he’d enjoyed since returning home—the odd days of warm weather in fall and winter. Of course, tomorrow it could be thirty.
Sarah answered on the first ring. “We have a problem.”
“We always have a problem, Sarah,” he responded.
“Well, you know that recent storm damage we had, it’s more extensive than I first thought. And we have the state inspector coming next Monday. I’m afraid we won’t be ready in time. I’ve put the word out for volunteers this Saturday, but—”
“Just hold on, I’ll be there in five minutes. We’ll figure out something.”
That was another good thing about Cedar Grove. A person could go anywhere in town in less than ten minutes. Sarah met him at his car. “I don’t see how they can expect us to get all this done in seven days.”
“Did you call them and explain?”
“I tried to, but they wouldn’t budge.”
He took the list of repairs from her hand and scanned it. Whoa. The roof needed repairing, windows needed to be unstuck, shutters replaced or repaired, leaves were too close to the foundation, holes needed to be filled in the yard, receptacles...the list went on. No way could they get all this done without hiring a crew, and that they didn’t have money for.
“Have you contacted Mr. Davis?” Davis was a handyman the center used for repairs.
“He’s in the hospital with a broken leg—he fell off a roof. I’ve called a few other contractors, but with this warm weather they’re all busy trying to beat the rain predicted for this weekend.”
“Show me what needs to be done inside.”
He followed her through the back door into the kitchen where Tyler Bennett sat at the table. Peter had almost forgotten the trouble the boy had gotten into. “Hey, Tyler. Did something happen at school today?”
The teenager brushed a mop of brown hair away from his forehead, revealing defiant blue eyes.
Sarah folded her arms. “He’s suspended for three days.”
Peter struggled to keep disappointment from his voice. “What was it this time, Tyler?” Even though he knew the answer, he wanted to hear the boy’s side.
Tyler’s mouth twitched. “Nothin’ important.”
Sarah said, “Nothing important? He—”
Peter put his hand on her arm. “Let him tell me what he did,” he said gently.
The hand the teenager had been dealt the past few years was one most adults would want to walk away from, and Peter hurt for the teenager. But the kid had his whole life ahead of him, and in this particular circumstance, having him own up to what he did was the only way Peter knew to help him.
Tyler drew circles on the paper in front of him. Peter waited. When the boy looked up, Peter raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.
Tyler huffed. “I unscrewed the top of the pepper shaker at the teachers’ table. One of the basketball players ratted me out. Shoot, Coach Dawson doesn’t even taste his food before he grabs the salt and pepper.”
Peter clamped his jaw to keep from grinning. “Why?”
The teen looked down. Finally, he lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “Coach wouldn’t let me even try out for the team. Said I should’ve come three months ago with everybody else. Not my fault I wasn’t here, yet.”
“Did you tell him that?”
He shook his head. “He’s the coach, he ought to know.”
“Well, he might not,” said Peter. “So, you don’t see anything wrong with what you did?”
The teenager averted his gaze. Again the half shrug. “Maybe it was a dumb thing to do.”
“Maybe?”
“All right. It was a dumb thing to do, and I won’t do it again.”
“That’s better. Have you written the coach an apology?”
Tyler slid an envelope from the papers on the table. “Along with five pages of ‘I won’t unscrew the top of the pepper shaker again.’”
Peter took out the paper and looked over the apology.
I’m sorry I unscrewed the pepper shaker and ruined your lunch. It won’t happen again.
Tyler Bennett
“You’ll give it to him tomorrow?”
“I can’t go back to school until Thursday.”
Maybe Peter could do something about that. “Okay.”
He turned to Sarah. “Show me what needs fixing.”
They walked into the living room first, and she pointed out the light switches and receptacles that needed replacing. “Like I said, I put out a call for some volunteers this Saturday. The warm weather is supposed to hold until late afternoon before it rains and turns cold. If enough people show up, maybe we can knock out every bit of this.”
Peter looked at the list again. He could replace the receptacles, but it’d probably be faster to hire an electrician. Everything else could be done by the volunteers. “You’re a genius. How many people did you contact?”
“I started with our regular volunteers, and a couple of people I know from church.”
“Good. I’ll see if I can find an electrician for the wiring.”
She tilted her head toward the kitchen. “Do you have time to shoot a few baskets with Tyler? You can turn the floodlights on.”
A mound of paperwork waited for him back at his office, not to mention he’d like to read his grandfather’s letter. But those things could wait. If there was a chance that shooting a few baskets with the teenager might soften those stony blue eyes, he’d give it a try. “Sure.” He turned and raised his voice. “Hey, Tyler, do you have time to shoot a few baskets?”
“Are you kidding? Sure.”
The boy was waiting with his basketball by the back door when Peter walked into the kitchen. “You sure you can play basketball?” Tyler looked skeptical.
“Our team won the state championship when I was a senior.”
“But did you play?”
“I was cocaptain.” Matthew Jefferies was the other cocaptain. “Still want to take me on for a game of HORSE?”
“Sure. You can even go first,” Tyler said.
“That sure of yourself, huh?”
Overhead lights lit up the concrete pad and goal. When he bought the property for the shelter, one of the first things he did was have the pad built and a hoop installed so the kids could at least shoot baskets. He bounced the ball a couple of times and sank the first shot from ten feet away.
“Is that your best shot?” Tyler hooted and easily dropped the ball in the hoop.
Peter backed up a few more feet and missed.
“Too bad.” The teenager dribbled the ball to the edge of the concrete pad and shot from twenty feet away, easily sinking the ball.
Now Peter had to make the same shot. Which he missed, earning himself an H. Grinning, Tyler hooked the ball over his head, once again making the shot. And once again, Peter missed.
The boy was good, no doubt about it. Peter knew Dawson, had gone to school with him. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to the coach and ask if he’d give Tyler a chance, since he’d arrived too late for the tryouts.
“How are things going at school, other than the pepper shaker incident?”
Tyler half shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”
The kid was the king of half shrugs. Peter made a mental note to check his grades tomorrow. “You’re a freshman, right?”
“Yeah.” He bounced the ball back and forth in front of him, then made another three-point shot.
Once Peter had the ball, he took his time and pictured himself making the goal. Swish. He grinned at Tyler.
“See if you can make this one.” Tyler dribbled in and executed a layup shot.
When Peter tried, the ball rolled around the rim and bounced out. “That puts you up to R. Two more and you’re out.” Tyler hooked another shot over his head, using his left hand this time.
“I’ll catch up.” Peter bounced the ball, getting a feel for it, focusing. No way could he make that shot. “What are you planning to do after high school?”
“I don’t know. I want to get a basketball scholarship to State, but I don’t figure I’ll stay at any school long enough to play on a team. I’m too short anyway.” He cocked his head. “You going to shoot or not?”
Peter arced the ball over his head, and it landed behind the goal.
The teen retrieved the ball. “Good try. One more miss and you’re out.”
Tyler bounced the ball and stood a little taller, his shoulders a little straighter, and for the first time since the boy had come to the shelter two months ago, he actually looked happy.
“You’re pretty good,” Peter said. He’d like to see what Tyler could do on an actual basketball court. Too bad the youth center was still just a dream. If Peter won the contest, though, it’d be a reality, and the building that went with it would house a gym with a basketball court and a workout area.
Tyler moved to within ten feet of the basket and bounced the ball off the backboard and through the hoop. He handed the ball off to Peter. “Think you can do that?”
It was a throwaway shot. The kid had purposefully handed him an easy shot—he wasn’t sure if it was to prolong the game or for Peter to save face. He took his time and completed the throw. Tyler high-fived him, and then the teenager turned around and made a perfect three-pointer.
“You really handle the ball well.”
“My dad used to practice with me.”
He nodded, not quite sure whether to pursue the subject. Tyler’s parents had been killed in an automobile accident two years ago, and he had shifted from one foster home to another until he landed at the children’s shelter in Cedar Grove in September.
“He taught you well,” Peter said, and just as he shot the ball his cell phone rang. He missed by a good three inches.
“H-O-R-S-E!” The teenager pumped his fist in the air. “You lose.”
“I would’ve made that one if my phone hadn’t gone off.” He fished his cell from his pocket and glanced at the ID. His office. He’d call them back when he left.
“Yeah, right.” Tyler bounced the ball a couple of times, then put it under his arm. “Anytime you want a rematch...”
“I definitely want one, but I better get back to work.”
As he walked away, Tyler said, “Thanks, Mr. E., and I won’t be doing any more stupid stuff.”
Peter looked over his shoulder. “Good. And I’ll talk to the principal and see if you can go back to school tomorrow.”
Tyler rewarded him with a groan.
* * *
PETER STARED AT the envelope with his name scrawled on it in his grandfather’s handwriting. He’d purposely left reading the letter until bedtime and smiled, imagining Grandfather penning the words.
Richard Elliott had always been “Grandfather,” never “Gramps” or “Granddad”—those names simply didn’t suit him. He’d had such a strong personality, although the death of his only son a few years ago had tempered it some.
His father’s death had been a blow to Peter as well, and it’d been hard to withstand his grandfather’s insistence that he join Elliott Manufacturing. He was certain Grandfather devised the contest for the sole purpose of drawing Peter into the company, and he was equally certain the letter would confirm his suspicions.
He unfolded the paper and began reading.
Dear Peter,
By now you have learned what is in the will and are probably scratching your head. I hope you’ll take the contest seriously. I know how much you want the youth center, and I’m sure you don’t like the strings attached, but I hope you will take the challenge.
You probably are thinking I could have just given you both the money, but there is one last lesson for you to learn.
On a personal note, I want you to know how proud I am of you. You are a lot like your father, and that’s quite a compliment. While I don’t agree with your desire to serve the citizens of Cedar Grove in your capacity as director of Social Services, I see what a wonderful job you are doing. You are to be commended. Still, I would rather that you had joined the family business.
It was a joy to be a part of your raising. And never forget, winning isn’t the most important thing—it’s how you win or lose that matters—it all comes down to honor. Remember that whenever you look at the pocket watch I gave you.
I love you, Grandson, and I realize I didn’t say it often enough.
Your Grandfather
Peter stared at the last sentence. His grandfather had only told him one other time that he loved him. The day his father was buried.
A lump settled in his throat. He was going to miss them both.
