Free Touching Stars by Emilie Richards Page A

tell him all about the—”
    “No, you go on,” Eric said too sharply. He swallowed more of the same and tried for a gentler tone, but he could see the damage was already done. “I didn’t mean to be short with you, Dillon. I’m sorry, but I’ll be a lot better company in a few days, I hope. Right now I’m just not up to much. And with your brother’s graduation this evening, I’m going to have to rest this afternoon.”
    Dillon still looked stricken, as if Eric’s words had been a physical blow. Noah got to his feet. “Get your suit on, Dillon, okay? I’ll be there in a minute.”
    “Dillon, I promise we’ll spend some good time together just as soon as I’m feeling better,” Eric said.
    Dillon galloped back down the steps without another word.
    Noah turned to his father. “You know, I remember what it was like to be thirteen. It wasn’t that long ago, and you didn’t have time for me, either. Maybe if you’d been more interested then, I’d believe you were really interested now. But I guess I just don’t buy this fatherly routine. And if you wait too much longer, he won’t, either.”
    Before Eric could answer, Noah followed his brother’s path.

Chapter 5
    F or the first hour of Jared’s graduation party, Gayle told herself that Mama’s Worst Nightmare, a rock band made up of five of his fellow graduates, was passably talented. Unfortunately, their repertoire was limited, and now, after three identical sets, she was hoping all the members—particularly the lead singer, whose nasal screeching had never earned him a solo in the high-school choir—were seeking careers outside the music field.
    “How are you holding up?”
    Gayle turned to find Elisa Kinkade behind her. Of course she hadn’t heard her friend come into the kitchen. She hadn’t heard anything except one line the lead singer had shrieked into the microphone over and over again. And five minutes later she still couldn’t figure out the words.
    Which, most likely, was a good thing.
    “I’m dying,” Gayle said. “I’m going to unplug them after this song.”
    Elisa was the wife of Sam Kinkade, the minister of the Shenandoah Community Church, and they had come prepared to help with the party tonight. Sam had marched straight to the grill to help Travis flip hamburgers. At Gayle’s protest, he had threatened to follow her around and quote random theologians all night unless she gave in.
    “The kids love it.” Elisa, dark-haired and dark-eyed, looked almost young enough to be one of them.
    “I’m thinking earplugs would help the situation,” Gayle said. “Or tranquilizers. Strong ones.” Her eyes brightened. “You could help with that.”
    Elisa had gone to medical school in Guatemala and was now doing a residency in Charlottesville so she could be licensed in Virginia. She gave a soft laugh and began to slice a pizza that had just come out of the oven. “There are no pills strong enough to help you sleep through this.”
    “I don’t know what I’ll do if Dillon ever starts a band. I’ll make him call it Mama’s Got a Shotgun.”
    “Where do they put all this food? I take it out, and before I can turn my back, it disappears.”
    The lead singer shrieked the indecipherable line one last time, the drummer banged out a final solo, and suddenly the room was quiet.
    “There’s hope for sanity,” Gayle said.
    “Maybe they’ll take a long break.”
    “Maybe I’ll throw the power switch. We can have a party in the dark, right? As long as it’s quiet.”
    Elisa arranged the pizza slices on a platter. “I had the chance to talk to Mr. Fortman. It was odd to be face-to-face with a real man instead of a news clip.”
    “Everybody in the county has been so kind. Eric will probably be considered something of a folk hero here for the rest of his life.”
    Noah poked his head into the kitchen. “Jared says to tell you the band’s packing up. They have another gig. He thought you’d want to know.”
    Elisa and Gayle’s