Sons from Afar Read Free

don’t know anything. We might even be orphans.”
    â€œCome on, James,” Sammy turned to him. “How can we be orphans? We had Momma. And—cripes—we’ve got mothers coming out our ears, between Gram and Dicey and even Maybeth.” That idea made him laugh and James had to smile, too, in the darkness.
    â€œYeah, I know, but—”
    â€œWhy are you getting hung up on that now?” Sammy asked.
    â€œI don’t know,” James said truthfully. “I’ve just been wondering about him.”
    â€œSeems to me the last thing we need is a father.” Sammy sat down. His legs hung over the edge of the dock. “Besides, I thought you had a big algebra test tomorrow, and a history report to work on.”
    James didn’t answer. Sammy didn’t mind. He lay back and looked at the sky. The stars were coming out, little pale pinpricks of light. He knew they weren’t really coming out, that they’d been burning away out in the darkness of space all day long; but it looked like they were coming out, like flowers coming into bloom. Sammy had his head against the stiff splintery boards of the dock, and he was looking out into space so deep it might as well be endless. He thought it would be great to explore space: sailing out among the stars, discovering . . . you couldn’t even begin to imagine what you might discover. If there were huge winds that blew across the vast empty reaches, and your ship had a big metal sail . . . but he didn’t think there were space winds. He could ask James, but he didn’t want to. “I’m good at math and science, I could be an astronaut,” he said to the stars.
    â€œI thought you were going to play tennis,” James answered.
    â€œI’ll do both,” Sammy said. The sky turned darker, and darker still. The stars burned white, making the sky look crowded. You could put a tennis court in a spaceship; the ship would have to be large, anyway, and people would have to have something to do, to fill in the vast stretches of time, and to keep in shape. “Why shouldn’t I do both?”
    â€œBecause they’re both careers for young men—too short-lived,” James’s voice informed him. “Be practical.”
    That was pretty funny, coming from James, Sammy thought. Now James was getting going on being a lawyer and Sammy was letting his brother’s words blow away on the wind. He’d heard it all before, about a 4.0 average so you could get a scholarship to a good college; about the right major, something to do with history or political science, to prepare you for the three-year course in law school; about the best schools and the scholarships they offered to the best students. After that, the voice went on—Sammy had heard it all before—you just chose how you wanted to make your money. Government work was secure but paid the least. If you did corporate law, working for a big corporation, you earned big bucks but the job wasn’t that secure. Or you could work for a law firm, criminal law or property law, or handling wills and estates. You could do whatever you wanted, whatever you were good at, in a law firm, as you worked your way up to being a partner and taking a percentage of the firm’s earnings. With a law degree you could even go into politics—although Sammy couldn’t see anybody voting for James. He didn’t think he would.
    â€œInternational law, international banking law,” James’s voice said. “I think I’d be good at that.”
    â€œI wouldn’t,” Sammy said. “I wouldn’t like something where you didn’t do anything.”
    James sputtered and Sammy was afraid he’d start explaining about how important banking was, but he didn’t.
    James had heard the boredom in Sammy’s voice and reminded himself that Sammy was still young, still just a kid, only twelve. “What about