Free The House on Persimmon Road by Jackie Weger Page B

here?”
    “I just told you. She’s gone shopping.”
    “I see,” he said. “Did she approve of my lending you a hand?”
    Pauline hesitated. “She didn’t disapprove. And she was delighted that Pip could get in some fishing.”
    “You mentioned my dad to her?”
    “I think that slipped my mind.”
    “Justine did know I was coming up to the house?”
    Pauline smiled beatifically. “Well, the great room wouldn’t come off as a surprise if I told her, now would it? She’ll be so pleased. You’ll see.”
    All Tucker could see was that he had been had. And by a sly old matriarch, to boot.

Chapter Five
    Some three hours later Justine no more than pulled into the yard and tapped the horn than Pip came flying out the front door.
    “I caught a bucket full of fish, Mom! Real fish . We’re gonna have ’em for supper. They’re called mullet. We’re gonna have a fish fry! We’d still be fishin’ but Wheeler said we’d just have to throw ’em back. I can go on my own now, can’t I? It’s safe ‘n’ everything. Wheeler showed me the path to the—”
    Justine smiled at his exuberance, the genuine joy in his face, an emotion he had not displayed since last Christmas morning. She did not want to put a damper on his joy, but she had not quite understood all that he had said. “Run all that by me again, sweetheart. Slowly.”
    Pip repeated himself with barely an inhaled breath. “Who or what is Wheeler? I thought Tucker was taking you fishing.”
    “He couldn’t. He had to help Gram.”
    A revelatory light suffused Justine’s brain. The reason her mother had been so darned anxious to get her out of the house fell into place. Obviously Pauline had enlisted Agnes and Tucker Highsmith in the conspiracy.
    “Wheeler is Tucker’s dad,” said Pip.
    “His dad?” Somehow, in the periphery of her consciousness, Justine had not expected Highsmith to have a parent, to be that human. It put him in a different light.
    “Wheeler is in old folks’ storage all week,” the boy enlightened, echoing the old man verbatim. “Tucker gets him out on weekends so he can fish and putter around.”
    Justine’s mind was racing. Tucker was sounding more and more like a devoted son. It almost gave them common ground. On the face of it, it was going to be awfully hard to maintain a forceful dislike of a man who was kind to old folks and children, not to mention helpful and attentive.
    On the other hand his behavior could be a deliberate, very fortuitous facade.
    “Wheeler likes me, Mom. He said I’m gonna make a right fair fisherman when I grow up. Next weekend he’s gonna teach me how to bottom fish for flounder. But I can fish for mullet on my own. Can’t I?”
    “I don’t—” Justine stopped herself in mid-sentence. She wanted the children to become independent, learn new things outside the hurly-burly of the city and have more nature in their lives. Pip had tumbled into it headlong. If fishing was an activity that caused him not to dwell on the past, she’d be doing him a disservice to put a halt to it. Gazing into his joy-filled face, she even felt a tiny twinge of envy. “I don’t see why not.”
    “Thanks, Mom! I’ve got to go tell Wheeler. He’s loaning me a pole till I get one of my own.”
    “Hold it! Lend a hand with these groceries first.” But Pip was too fleet of foot.
    “Back in a minute!” he shouted, disappearing beyond the forest of persimmon trees.
    “Justine, dear, you’re back!” Pauline emerged onto the porch, smiling the smile of a satiated cat. Agnes and Judy Ann soon appeared behind her.
    “Yes, I am,” Justine said. “And, oh, what a tangled web you weave, Mother.”
    “She figured it out,” said Agnes. “I warned you!”
    Pauline’s smile slipped. “Now, Justine, don’t be upset. Wait until you see what we’ve accomplished.”
    “I’m not upset. Do I look upset?” She walked in silence to the tailgate of the station wagon, knowing full well if she said one word, she