Free Autumn Blue by Karen Harter Page B

tall, cold glass. “My precious jailbird.”
     She went to one of the chairs, motioning him to do the same. “Please sit.”
    “He’s still doing his time, eh?” Sidney had given him a brief update on her son’s situation when they had met at the mailbox
     on Saturday. He lowered himself into a chair.
    She nodded grimly. “His sentencing hearing is tomorrow. That’s why I didn’t go to work today. I’ve been talking to his attorney.
     She says the judge could try him as an adult, because the charge is a felony, and he could get up to five years.” At that
     she teared up. “Tyson is like a wild creature. He just can’t stand to be indoors for any length of time. He likes to take
     his sleeping bag and sleep out in the woods sometimes, all by himself.” She sighed. “I can’t bear the thought of him in that
     cage one more day.”
    “Have they let you talk to him?”
    “Yes. He’s terrified of jail. That’s why Ty bolted from the school counselor’s office the minute he reached for the phone
     to call the sheriff. He’d been camping out down by Sparrow Creek the whole time he was runaway. The day he was arrested, he
     had sneaked up to the window of my office through the back alley just to let me know he was all right. He said he missed me,”
     she said with a half smile. “But someone thought he looked suspicious and called the sheriff. A deputy apparently got there
     in about two seconds flat.”
    She hadn’t touched her glass to her lips, but twirled the liquid gently, watching the ice cubes go around and around. Neither
     of them spoke for what seemed like a long time. Millard thought he should say something but couldn’t come up with anything
     appropriate.
    “He’s so angry,” she said. “It’s like he’s got a fire smoldering inside him, and it doesn’t take much to fan it to flame.”
     She shook her head slowly. “I don’t know what I’ve done wrong. Well, I do know I’m at work a lot. I wish I could be home when
     my kids get out of school.” She glanced up at her son’s childhood photo, the one where he held a caramel-colored puppy on
     his lap, boy gazing at dog and dog at boy in mutual admiration. She shivered, pulling her sweater around her, though it was
     a mild September day. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.” She sighed. “I’ll find out tomorrow morning at his hearing, I
     guess.”
    Millard glanced nervously out the window just in time to see Rita’s car pull out of his driveway across the street. The blue
     Chevy cruised slowly past, his daughter no doubt straining her eyes to see what he was up to, wrinkling her forehead the way
     she did whenever she disapproved. The coast was clear now. He gulped down the last of his tea and set his glass on the coffee
     table next to a folded pile of washcloths. “Well, it probably won’t be as bad as all that,” he said, searching his mind for
     a
Perry Mason
episode to justify his statement but coming up blank. “You just get a good night’s sleep tonight. Things have a way of looking
     better in the morning.”
    He stood slowly, thanking her for the iced tea.
    “Here I’ve gone and spilled my guts to you again.” She smiled through teary eyes. “I guess you remind me a little of my dad.
     I used to confide in him about everything, but I don’t have him anymore. He passed on a few years ago. Anyway, I haven’t even
     asked. Did you solve your mole problem?”
    “I’m about to. I’m going to flood that sucker out. Mole soup, that’s what I have in mind.”
    She laughed and walked him toward the door. “Sounds delicious!” She placed her hand on his arm. “It was so kind of you to
     fix my downspout, Mr. Bradbury. I’m sure you have more important things to do. You let me know if there’s anything I can do
     for you.” She leaned forward, kissing him on the cheek. “I mean it.”
    He nodded a smile and stepped gingerly down the wooden steps, remembering his morning dive.
    More important things