Cherry Pie Read Free

sleep.
    Connor shook his head. “Not really. I’m just moving around.”
    John frowned. “What does that mean?”
    Connor stood up, resting one fist on the ground as he gracefully came to one knee and then rose. “It means you don’t have to worry about me.” His soft smile took the sting out his dismissive words.
    John sighed. “I wish it were that easy to turn it off,” he said apologetically, “but I suffer from overactive worry.”
    “I’ll be all right, Mr. Ford,” Connor told him. “But thanks.”
    “Come on,” John said. He turned toward the separate garage. “I know a place.” He turned back to see Connor watching him, his face unreadable. “Do you have anything you need to get? Besides your bag?”
    They stood like that for a minute, a silent tug-of-war between them. Finally Connor shook his head. “No, sir. Nothing.”
    John knew that was a lie. There was a lot that Connor needed. But he wasn’t going to find it here. He turned and walked to the garage, listening to Connor’s footsteps as he turned back to the house to get his bag.

Chapter Three
     
    “Want to talk about it?” Mr. Ford asked quietly as he turned onto Bergamot Street.
    He hadn’t asked for directions. He must have been in Mercury for a while, then. Conn had been surprised to find him in Mama’s house. He’d just assumed the house would be there, empty. But of course the bank sold it. Of course they did. What choice did they have when he didn’t respond to their letters?
    “About what?” He stuck to the man’s question. He’d found that was the best way to get along.
    “Want to start with the dog?” The car turned slowly again. It was a little sports car, something Italian. Conn hadn’t paid that much attention. The two of them barely fit in the thing. Conn didn’t see the point, personally. And Ford looked uncomfortable in it too.
    Conn saw Harper’s Quick Mart had gone out of business. The strip mall beside the empty building had one business left, a tax preparer of some kind. A lot had died in his absence it seemed, including Mercury. “His name was Digger.”
    “Really? Gee, I never would have guessed.”
    Conn wasn’t surprised by the sarcasm of his response. He almost smiled at how mild it was. He was used to a lot more abuse than that. This poor guy would never have survived if he’d been where Conn had.
    “I got him from my dad. I was about five, I guess. He was the diggingest dog I ever saw.” Ford smiled. Conn couldn’t pin this guy down. Why was he being so nice? What did he want?
    “I think that’s the most you’ve said today.” They slowed to a stop at a red light. “Why did you cry?”
    “Who wouldn’t have?” Conn replied. He sighed. “Let’s just say I’ve been to a bad place, and coming back to the best place I ever had…” He let the thought trail off as he continued to stare out the window. “I used to own this town,” he said a few moments later.
    “Literally or figuratively?” Ford asked as he pulled the car to a stop at the curb on Freemont Street. Conn stared at the Methodist church there and felt as if he were looking at a ghost.
    He turned to Ford. “I was the all-American captain of the football team,” he told him with a wry smile. “Most likely to succeed with the cheerleaders.”
    “Ah,” Ford said in understanding. “Figuratively, then.” He looked across the street, and Conn followed his gaze to a nondescript house with a small sign in the yard proclaiming it EPSON HOUSE.
    “What is this place?” Conn asked as he opened the door and got out. Ford got out too and waited while Conn grabbed his bag from the small shelf that passed as a backseat.
    “It’s a shelter and halfway house.”
    Conn laughed. “I hope I’m past halfway, but thanks.”
    “Come on,” Ford said again, walking toward the house, and again Conn followed him. He wasn’t sure why, except that he had nowhere else to be and nothing else to do. “How long have you been gone?” Ford