In Confidence. Karen Young

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      “I knew.”

      “Well, a lot of kids sort of rely on her when they get in trouble or have personal problems and stuff.” He shrugged. “Not that she complains. She says it comes with the territory, but it can get so that she doesn’t have a lot of time left over for—”

      “For her mother?”

      He gave Cam a startled look. “No, sir. Well, not exactly. Gran’s pretty independent about that. Doesn’t want any advice most of the time.” He hesitated, then went on. “What I mean about my mom is she doesn’t have much time left over for anyone, not even herself. And if she did, she wouldn’t do much for herself, anyway. She’d be thinking of Kendy or me or…or Dad. Gran, too.” He paused, watching a squirrel eyeing the tossed sandwich. “And my dad, he’s…ah, kind of…I guess you could say…preoccupied right now.”

      “Preoccupied.”

      “It’s a long story.” Nick shifted so that he faced Cam squarely. “Anyway, Mom’s going to be really maxed out for some time because of this, uh, personal stuff that’s come up.” He paused and then went on in a rush, “And so the favor I had in mind was this. If you could just sort of keep an eye on Gran when Mom isn’t around—or me—it would mean a lot.”

      “Does your Gran know about this?”

      “You mean that I’m asking you to keep an eye on her? Jeez, no! She’d kill me. She’d come after me with my own bat. Mom, too. Anyway, Gran doesn’t think she needs any help, but where would she have been yesterday if you hadn’t just lucked out and happened to see her faint?”

      She would have come around in a few minutes and fixed herself something to eat, Cam thought. And it would have taught her a lesson. But then again, if it had been the heart attack he’d feared at the time, then this boy’s concern was well placed. “It isn’t necessary to ask me to keep an eye on your grandmother, Nick,” he said. “After what happened, I was planning on it. Within reason. But just so you’ll know, I’m a writer and I often get caught up in what I’m doing and lose track of time. You can’t depend on me exclusively.”

      “Yes, sir, I understand that. I’ll be checking on her myself. A lot.”

      They both watched the squirrel scamper across the ground and up into a tree, carrying a piece of Cam’s sandwich. “Speaking of bats,” Cam said, “do you play sports?”

      “Yes, sir, baseball.” He propped a foot on the bottom step. “I started with T-ball when I was six and I’ve been playing ever since.”

      “What’s your position?”

      “First base. For the B team, right now. I mean, I’m in the ninth grade and I won’t have a shot at varsity till next year. Maybe not even then, but by eleventh I should be in.” At ease now, Nick slid his hands into his hip pockets, comfortable talking about a subject he knew well. “Now, my buddy, Ward—Ward Rivers—he’s real good. He’s a pitcher. He might even get a shot at varsity this year, he’s so good. His brother Jimbo’s five years older and he got a scholarship to play for UT.”

      He knew him. Jimbo Rivers had been a pallbearer at Jack’s funeral. “I’ve heard of him,” Cam said.

      “Well, Coach told us he’ll probably be tapped by one of the majors at the end of this season. Is that cool or what?”

      Yeah, cool. Cam clenched his jaw hard. His chest actually hurt, deep down where he kept a lock on everything that made him think of Jack. “The coach would be Monk Tyson,” he said.

      “Yes, sir. You know him?”

      “We’ve met.”

      Nick nodded. “He’s put a lot of athletes into the majors. I mean, they play college sports and then move right on up to the big leagues.”

      “Remarkable for a small town like Rose Hill,” Cam said.

      “That’s what everybody says. Well…I need to get back. I didn’t tell Gran where I was headed and she’ll be breakin’ out the blueberry muffins any minute now.” He flashed a quick grin. “She likes to push food at me when I come and I’m sure not complaining. You should try her pecan pie. Man, it’s to die for!” He hesitated, then stepped forward and stuck out his hand. “Thanks, Mr. Ford.”

      Drawing a deep breath, Cam took the boy’s hand. Bony, young, strong. Like Jack’s. “Cam, not Mr. Ford. And, like I said, don’t rely on me exclusively regarding your gran.”

      “Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir, I won’t.” He started off, but then stopped and looked back. “If you notice anything that me or Mom should know about, will you let us know?”

      “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

      Five

      Rachel had an eye out for Nick at Kendall’s soccer game, but he didn’t show, which was unusual. Since the beginning of the season, he’d made it a point to go to nearly every game because somehow Ted never could. Kendall always beamed after spotting Nick in the bleachers, and her teammates almost swooned with delight over her big brother. But today there was no sign of Nick.

      The team won, anyway, and Rachel saw Kendall off in an SUV with Amy Milton’s mom driving, then headed over to see Dinah. As she got out of her car in her mother’s driveway, she glanced with new interest at the house next door, now that she knew it belonged to Cameron Ford. A rambling forties-style cottage, it was a soft shade of buttery yellow with elaborate gingerbread trim painted white. Clearly, it had been added on to more than once over the years and the result was charming, she had to admit. In the front yard, a huge oak with wide-spread limbs furnished deep shade and beauty that no amount of professional landscaping could match. Underneath the ancient tree was a white wrought-iron lawn set, a table and four chairs that would be the perfect place to enjoy morning coffee while reading the paper or to laze away a summer afternoon with a book and a glass of ice-cold lemonade.

      She’d noticed the house a couple of years ago when she’d called on a student’s parents who lived nearby, never dreaming her mother would one day decide to move to the neighborhood. At the time, she seemed to recall this particular house showing dire signs of neglect. Cameron must have decided to restore it.

      She saw movement of the lace curtain at the upstairs window and wondered if he was watching her now, probably thinking her visit to her mother was in response to his lecture about neglecting Dinah. Turning away, she hurried up the flagstone walk to her mother’s front door.

      As soon as she got inside, Dinah called out from somewhere in the rear of the house. “I’m back here! Pour yourself some wine, Rachel. It’s six o’clock somewhere.”

      Not a bad idea, Rachel thought. An opened bottle of a good cabernet sat breathing on the kitchen counter with one of Dinah’s unique wineglasses ready and waiting. She poured the wine and went in search of her mother.

      “Hi,” she said, upon finding Dinah curled up on a chaise on her patio. Afternoon sun had taken the chill off the day, not unusual in this part of Texas in February. Rachel held up the wine. “Were you expecting someone?”

      “You,” Dinah said. “Nick dropped by earlier.”

      “Oh.”

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