Promises to Keep, Nan Rossiter [feel good fiction books .txt] 📗

set of ears, you know? There are a lot of medical bills coming in, and I’m not sure about paying things until other expenses are settled.”

David nodded. “Sue is very good with money . . . and living on a budget, and even though I work in finance and I hate to admit it, she has more common sense than me.” He paused thoughtfully. “She also said you’re not going to college—at least not right away.”

Mason nodded. “My mom wanted me to go this fall, but I never sent in the deposit, so . . .”

David nodded thoughtfully. “You know,” he began, “if you feel like you’re ready, they might make an exception . . . considering everything you’ve been through.”

Just then, Ali came back out. “Mom says dinner is in half an hour, but she also has appetizers, so if we do go, we have to be quick.”

Mason nodded and opened the door for her, and then saw Mr. Harrison standing there. “Do you want to come, too, sir?” he asked.

David shook his head. “No, no, you two go. I’ll get a ride when it’s all done—maybe we can go to one of those car cruises at the Blue Mountain Diner.”

“That would be fun,” Mason said, his face brightening.

He climbed in and turned the key, and the Chevelle rumbled to life.

David smiled. There was nothing like the sound of an old classic big block. He waved and watched as Mason backed out of the driveway onto the street. Then he stood and listened as they pulled away.

“Very cool,” Ali said, as she admired the graduation tassel hanging from his rearview mirror.

Mason looked over and smiled. “Thanks.”

He turned onto a road Ali had never been down before. “Where are we going?”

“Just up here a bit,” Mason said. “This is where the man I bought the car from lives. I want to see if he’s home.”

Ali nodded and looked out the window at the row of small, neatly kept homes. Finally, Mason slowed down and pulled up to the curb in front of a small ranch with two shutters hanging askew.

“Is this it?” Ali asked, looking at the FOR SALE sign posted in the long grass.

Mason nodded. “It is,” he said, frowning and turning off the car.

Ali nodded, and watched him walk across the lawn and knock on the door, but then he just stood there. He knocked again, waited, and then tried to look in the windows. Finally, he started walking back to the car, but a man in the next yard called out, and he stopped to talk. Ali watched Mason nodding and then, finally, he waved to the man, walked back to the car, and got in.

“Where is he?” she asked.

“His neighbor isn’t sure. He said his family moved him to a nursing home about a month ago, but he hadn’t wanted to go.”

“Oh, no,” Ali said. “That’s sad.”

“Yeah. Back when I bought the car, he said his family was talking about it and, even back then—last summer—he hadn’t wanted to go.”

“It’s so hard,” Ali said. “My grandma is getting to a point where my mom doesn’t know if she’ll be able to live alone, and they’re going to have to make a decision. My mom thinks she might have to come live with us.”

“Mr. Hawkins seemed perfectly capable of living on his own. He said his family was tired of driving up here to see him, and they said he shouldn’t be driving. That’s why he sold his car.”

Ali nodded. “Does his neighbor know where the nursing home is?”

“He doesn’t, but I remember Mr. Hawkins saying that his family lived down near Savannah.”

Ali raised her eyebrows. “There’re probably a hundred nursing homes—or more—down there.”

Mason shook his head. “I meant to come see him sooner, but with everything going on, I never had the chance. He wanted me to restore it—that was part of the deal—and I wanted to show him I was making progress.”

“Well, you tried, Mase,” Ali consoled. “Don’t be hard on yourself. You came as soon as you could.”

“I know. I just feel bad,” he said, looking over. “I guess we better head back,” he added, remembering Mrs. Harrison had dinner waiting.

26

GAGE CLICKED ON THE LIGHT OVER HIS TABLE AND STUDIED THE DRAWING he’d been working on—it wasn’t finished, but it was coming along. In fact, when Harper had walked by it the night before, she’d stopped in her tracks and stared at the intricate details. “Wow, Uncle Gage, how did you make those tiny white lines and highlights . . . and those little wrinkles around his eyes?”

Gage had looked over her shoulder at the image of his grandfather and pulled out a kneaded eraser. He showed her how to twist it into a point that was as sharp as a pencil, and then how to use it to make the highlights in the old man’s eyes and the wisps of wild white hair.

“Here,” he’d said, handing it to her. “I have a whole drawer of ’em. You just knead it—kind of like Silly Putty—to keep it clean. It’s good for stress relief, too,” he’d added with a smile.

“Thanks!” she’d said. “I can’t wait to try it.”

Later that morning, when she’d been packing up her things before heading to church with Maeve, he’d also given her a roll of his favorite drawing paper and two pencils. “You can have these, too.” She’d been wide-eyed, and given him a big hug. “Thanks, Uncle Gage!”

He smiled, now, thinking about it—Harper is so smart . . . and curious about everything. Yesterday, in the heat of the day, she and Maeve—both fair-skinned and freckled—had coated themselves with sunscreen, donned big straw hats, and weeded the gardens. They’d also planted the two new blueberry bushes they’d picked up at Agway, along with the chicks—which were in a box on the front porch, peeping . . . and they’d talked him into getting a bag of sunflower hearts and a bird feeder, which the birds had already found.

The previous night, they’d sat on the porch while Maeve began the newest selection of The Pepperoni Pizza