The Switch, Debra Kayn [best books for 20 year olds .txt] 📗

"Mom?" Kenny popped his head into the loft.

"Be careful. The ladder is old." She motioned him up. "Welcome to the playhouse."

"I can't imagine you wanting to be up here." He sat down. "It's hot."

"There's a window." She shuddered at the cover of cobwebs over the glass. "And at one time, it was clean."

Kenny pulled a wooden box toward him and worked the lock. She watched him, unable to remember what was inside.

He opened the lid and shoved the box out of his way. "Just old books."

She picked out the frisbee from the crate. "Here, you and Zach can toss this around."

"I'm going down and seeing if he and Trina want to play catch." With ease, he lowered his legs off the side of the loft and gracefully climbed down out of view.

She sighed. Today was the third day Speeder's daughter had stayed with them.

Trip's time limit was up, and she had no idea what to do. Tomorrow, she needed to go to work. Johnny, being a member of the motorcycle club, had to know what was going on. But Trip had told her not to tell anyone.

She disliked the position he'd put her in. There was obviously something happening, and without knowing what kind of trouble he was in, it was hard for her to surround Trina with the positivity that her dad was coming back.

Though the girl seldom mentioned her home life. She would've thought it strange considering the circumstances, but teenagers were an odd bunch, and Trina seemed to rely solely on Zach—so who knew what she'd confided in him.

She set the crate back in the corner and dusted off her hands. It was a big week ahead of her. She needed to buy a couch and a table for the kitchen, between her work schedule and dealing with the kids. She couldn't take sitting on the floor one more day.

Crawling to the edge of the loft, she shoved the box Kenny had opened to the edge of the room. Curious to know what books her Grandpa Gene had kept, she opened the lid and put her hand inside.

She pulled out a thick notebook. Turning it over, it wasn't a reading book at all. Thumbing through the pages, she recognized her grandpa's writing.

As if Grandpa Gene spoke in her ear, she leaned over the edge of the loft and dropped the book to the floor of the shed. Once she managed the ladder without killing herself, she grabbed the notebook and went outside.

She squinted against the afternoon sun and found the kids throwing the frisbee around. They really were getting along. At their age, she remembered how it would be when she spent more than twelve hours with one of her friends. She'd start to get tired of the constant conversation and attention that was needed.

But Trina seemed to know when the boys wanted to be quiet or just stare at their phones as they played some game that interested them.

Tipping the lawnmower on its wheels, she pushed the mower next to the shed, out of the way of the kids playing, and went up on the porch. She sat on the top step, setting the notebook beside her, and let her head fall back, closing her eyes.

The late spring temperature was perfect. Not too hot, not too cold.

For the moment, there was nothing to do. There was a whole summer to take care of the yard, weed the flowerbeds, and trim the limbs from the trees at the back of the house. She'd noticed with any slight breeze, the branches scraped against the roof.

A warm quiver rolled through. The first glimmer of hope shined down on her. For the last three days, the boys haven't mentioned their disappointment over moving here. Things were starting to fall into place. Her job, while paying less than her old job, was enough to support her family.

Their expenses were less living here. Outdoor activities were free, and all the big expense items like movie theaters, laser tag, and the fun center were no longer an option for the kids. Plus, living in Grandpa Gene's old house meant there was no rent to pay each month. That was a huge relief for a single mother raising two teenage boys.

"Do you have a bike at your house?"

She opened her eyes to see Trina's reaction to Kenny asking her questions.

Trina shook her head. "I did when I lived with my mom."

"Maybe she can ship it to you." Kenny picked up the frisbee and threw it across the yard.

"Think, dumbass." Zach tossed the frisbee back. "We don't have our bikes here. What is she going to do? Ride by herself?"

"I have fifty dollars from my birthday money still." Kenny tossed to Trina.

"That's not enough. Besides, I'm not buying a bike. Any money I get will be saved for a motorcycle," said Zach.

"You'll never save enough unless you get a job." Kenny gave up playing and sat in the grass, sprawling his long legs out in front of him. "Where's your mom live?"

"She's..." Trina dropped the frisbee. "She's dead."

"Our dad is, too." Having gotten used to only having one parent, Kenny stated the truth as if it had happened to someone else. "Your dad seems cool."

Trina never replied, only kept throwing the frisbee to Zach. Having heard enough, Bonnie picked up the notebook and went into the house. It would be dinner time in an hour.

Hopefully, Speeder picked up his daughter in the morning.

Chapter Twelve

Trip walked across the living room floor, avoiding Zach sprawled on the floor on top of the sleeping bag. Using his senses, he deliberately placed his boots down every eighteen inches, missing the floor joints that were more likely to creak from age.

Inside Bonnie's bedroom, he shut the door without making a sound. Two steps, and he stood at the side of her bed.

Navigating a houseful was amateur stuff. Exploring the Bitterroot Mountains in search of another brother and successfully finding him had tested every skill