Free (2007) Chasing Fireflies - A Novel of Discovery by Charles Martin Page B

internal and private life seemed shrouded in secrecy, her public persona was touched. Few of my childhood memories don't include her, and in truth, she was as much-if not more-Willee's daughter than Jack's.

    Sometime in high school it hit us that I was a foster child in her uncle's home-so I moved into the apartment above the barn, and we quit living like brother and sister. It was never anything physical, just something that shifted in our heads-how we thought about each other. And the moment that happened, an odd distance, palpable as an anvil, wedged itself between us.
    She had all kinds of offers for our senior prom, yet, for reasons I never understood, she asked me. The girl I wanted to take was already going with somebody else, so why not?
    That's when I realized how many looks Tommye got from other guys. Their eyes walked up and down her as if she were an interstate highway. And while she liked it, and to some extent fed off it, she had invited me for a reason. It's a good thing I didn't know much about fighting, because that night convinced me that a man's eyes can hurt almost as much as his hands. We made an appearance, danced, and then left early and ate a sack full of Krystal burgers on the beach in our tux and evening gown.

     

Chapter 7
    parked Vicky, hopped into my canoe, and paddled the twentyseven strokes from my landing to my boat. I tied up, unloaded a bag of groceries, and leaned against the mast, staring out across the marsh. At four o'clock in the afternoon, the shade was turning from dull gold to light root beer.
    One of the interesting things about living on a boat is that unless you live at a dock where power and phone lines are wired in, you have to think ahead. Like getting back and forth to shore. For carrying stuff, I use the canoe. It's sturdy, stable, and minimizes the number of trips. For simple transit, I use the kayak. It's quick and, given the drop-in rudder, maneuvers better in stronger currents-which occur every time the tide turns. On board, most everything runs off propane, so hot water and cooking are never really a problem. But anything electric-like cell phones and laptops-requires a generator if you don't want to run down the battery. I cranked the generator and charged my phone while I checked my e-mail and researched a few ideas online. While my boat borders on the primitive, Red can't stand the idea of my being totally unplugged, so he splurged and bought me a wireless broadband card.
    An hour later, I gave him a call. "It's me."

    "You been to see the kid today?"
    "I'm going now. Thought I'd call you first."
    "What have you got so far?"
    "I called the Georgia Department of Family Services. Based on the appearance of chronic and prolonged physical abuse-and because they don't know whom he belongs to-they've filed an Emergency Shelter Petition, which will put him in foster care as soon as his doctor releases him. It makes him a ward of the state, giving them full custody."
    'When's that happen?"
    "Any day. Depends on the kid."
    'What else?" Red asked.
    "The DA's office assigned one of its own to investigate, see if they can find out who this kid is and possibly look into terminating parental rights."
    "Can they do that?"
    "Only if they find cause."
    "One look at the kid's back will give them cause."
    "Yeah, well, I'm meeting her at the kid's room in an hour."
    "Her?"
    "The attorney."
    "Keep me posted."
    I stepped off the elevator and into the pediatric ward. The same guard sat outside the door, reading a Louis L'Amour novel. He looked up at me and moved his huge shoulders out of the doorway. "He's in there. Scribbling."
    I walked in and pulled up that stainless steel stool that doctors use to slide around in exam rooms. He stopped drawing long enough to adjust the new glasses on the end of his nose and look up just slightly. Not at my face, but maybe at my toes. He was still wearing Unc's Braves cap. Before I went in, I'd decided to call him something other than Snoot, "the kid,"